Firefighter Wolf's Next Door Mate: Midlife Mates Book 1

  Firefighter Wolf’s Next Door Mate

  Midlife Mates

  J. S. Striker

  Copyright 2021 by J. S. Striker - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  HUNTED SHIFTERS COMPLETE SERIES

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  Author Bio

  Chapter 1

  The feeling that something wasn’t right followed Hattie Jones through the rest of the week, starting when she made the biggest decision there was: to leave her stable life and nice apartment in the city and come to a town that she only knew existed because her friend wouldn’t stop talking about all the relaxing vacations he’d taken there. It continued when she spontaneously purchased a house that was advertised as a good deal but turned out to need more work than she’d anticipated, and now it had escalated to this: a loud, banging sound that thundered outside, reminiscent of something physical—like a car collision, maybe.

  Horrible thoughts flew into her head. She frantically threw on the first clothes that she could find before sprinting for the front door. Her gaze was lead to her front yard, green and lush despite the summer heat. But something was definitely not right.

  “My Flowers!” Her mind snapped, realizing there was also a fricking car on her lawn. Her mouth opened, ready to curse this a-hole out. A squeak came out instead when the wheels started to peel out.

  Crushed flowers filled her vision, all the vibrant colors she used to admire gone. The car kept going, crashing into a row of garbage cans until the lids exploded and threw trash everywhere. It kept going, attempting to turn carelessly and crushing one of the fallen lids, a dizzying feat followed by…was that a giggle?

  “Hey!”

  The figure turned, face becoming visible through the driver’s window. It was a young and pretty woman, with a cloud of bouncy dark hair, pouty lips, and what appeared to be hazy brown eyes. When she spotted Hattie, she grinned, though it looked more sleepy than friendly.

  “Hey!” Hattie repeated, incredulous. ‘You just ruined my yard. And the trash can!”

  The woman blinked, then peered at her more closely. After a few seconds, the woman shrugged, waving a hand nonchalantly.

  “It’s not a very nice yard.”

  Hattie blinked back. “It had flowers. And there wasn’t garbage everywhere.”

  “Oops,” the woman said.

  “Oops?” Hattie echoed.

  “I’m uh, late for an event. Cheers!”

  Cheers? The word hummed irritably in Hattie’s head before comprehension dawned that the car was backing away, bumping into more lids as it raced off. When it disappeared down the corner, leaving behind a trail of crumpled paper stuck to the back wheels, Hattie only had a second or two to process what happened before the car was gone.

  “You think?” she muttered to herself, eyeing the garden again. Despite the house’s old state, the flowers had been one of its most attractive factors, cultivated by the old lady who used to live there. Now that was all gone, leaving her with a mess made by a possible drunk woman—one who came from next door where her car had been parked all night.

  Hattie’s gaze zoned in on the house next door, separated from hers by a white picket fence and a bare, no-nonsense yard. There was music inside, just as there had been music last night: loud, unapologetic, and adding to the tingling in her ears that shifted her mood from irritable to pissed off. Without taking the time to think about it, she trudged down the porch’s front steps to cross to their yard, remembering a few key details about the residents next door. They were party people who stayed up all night. They were male, she’d gotten a glimpse of them when they’d been rushing out the door. Admittedly, she’d taken the time to ogle their physique through her window but not their faces, and it had made for some serious inspiration on what her next story could be about. As a writer, she lived through her stories, getting inspiration from everyday life and everyday people—in this case, firemen.

  As a writer who’d moved out of the city, all she wanted was peace, and she didn’t mind putting these rowdy firemen in place to get it.

  The music was some country-rock she’d never heard before, matching her purposeful strides as it boomed through the open windows. A soft, polite knock was ignored, making her scowl. She shifted to more aggressive ones, still able to see her ruined garden from the corner of her eye and feeling her mood plummet further at the sight—

  The door swung open, leaving her fist mid-air as she swiveled to look. Hattie found herself staring at a man with a towel around his neck, sweatpants on his lower body, and not much else, the same chiseled physique on display up-close: rock-hard muscles covered his body, the type who lifted weights on his free time to keep it that way. She had a moment of panic before it kicked in that this wasn’t the same man she’d packed her bags to get away from.

  Stranger, Hattie, she reminded herself. His face got rid of the tense ticking on her shoulder, a friendly but cautious expression on brusque features that had seen a fistfight or two. He was older, too, the sprinkling of light pepper on his hair giving a dashing addition. Nothing too perfect, but his gray eyes looked kind. Set on her purpose, she cleared her throat.

  “You’re the new neighbor,” he said before she could speak. “Did you need help with a fire?”

  The directness took her aback, but she shook her head. “No, there’s no fire.”

  “Is it the music, then? I’m sorry about that. I like music when I’m working out. I can turn the volume down.”

  He did so with a click, then returned to her with that open, still-cautious expression. At the same time, he started wiping his sweat with the towel, which had her pointedly, politely maintaining her gaze on his face.

  “It’s not the music.”

  “Oh…did you want to come in, then? Have a soda or something? We haven’t been properly introduced, which is rude of us. Work keeps us busy.”

  The offer held a warmth, and the invitation told her that this wasn’t the first time this man invited a woman in. Somehow, it pissed her off more, and she narrowed her gaze before deciding to take control of the conversation.

  “I’m not here because I need a fire put out or to listen to your shitty music or for a soda. I’m here to discuss what your girlfriend did.”

  “Girlfriend?” Surprise flitted across his features, his hand scratching his head absently. His gaze flicked outside as if searching for someone else—maybe thinking that it was some prank—before it landed on her yard. He stilled, only his mouth moving to form an O. “Holy shit.”

  “You can see where my outrage’s coming from.”

  “And you can see my astonishment because that’s one whole mess of a yard…oh, and I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “She was parked here last night. She drove through my yard this morning. She destroyed my garden. I daresay that she spent the night at your house, got very drunk, and was irresponsible enough to destroy property without paying for the consequences—which is what I’m here for.”

  “Because she was here?”

  “Because you’re going to tell me where I can find her. Or you can pay for the damages yourself.”

  “Which I would, except I already told you I don’t have a girlfriend,” he shot back, shaking his head. There was a hint of confusion there, the caution increasing as his smile dimmed. But he was still as polite as ever as he inhaled deeply. “And I’m not the only one living here, you know.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “Now, about this girlfriend thing…”

  Hattie crossed her arms, refusing to get pulled into another excuse as she shook her head. “I don’t have time for this. Either you tell me her information or I’ll call the cops. Unless…”

  “None of us here have girlfriends unless Bruce has been hiding a woman from me. We’ve been roommates for years, I think I would know, so your unfinished sentence might hold ground.”

  The voice was deep, smooth, and held a slight rasp that was quite velvety, reminding her of a night sky. The door opened wider when a figure stepped out, taking up space with broad shoulders in a tight white shirt and pants that encased hard thighs. How she noticed it when she didn’t notice Bruce’s that much was beyond her, but Hattie found herself staring at the second man, bombarded by a presence so sheer that she lost the rest of her words. This one was leaner, just as tall
, with dark hair a fluff of mess on his head, he probably just rolled out of bed. Almond-brown eyes, piercing and as deep as his voice, studied her openly, while firm lips pursed as he crossed his arms. Her gaze flicked to the movement, his muscles bulging in response before she returned to his face, where he caught her looking. He certainly looked amused, though nothing about the expression was friendly.

  Immediately, it registered that he was younger than Bruce, less polite, and maybe less serious—case in point, when he glanced at her yard and the trash, he gave a low whistle and turned back to her without missing a beat and without much remorse.

  “He’s Bruce Mason, by the way, a tenured firefighter in this peaceful town.”

  “Hattie.”

  “I’m Rafael Delgado. Rafe. You’re pretty worked up.”

  “You’re pretty rude.”

  “I’m not the one who came knocking on someone else’s door looking for a confrontation.”

  “I’m not the one who’s denying someone else’s right to know who the hell messed up her property.”

  They glared at each other, her heart pounding so fast that her breath started to match it, too. She snapped her mouth shut, then took a deep, steadying gulp of air, not wanting to get into a shouting session this early in the morning—and God, she just wanted to write, not get into whatever she was getting into now.

  If Bruce gave off a kindness vibe, this man put every bone in her body on alert. This was the type of man that she’d be happy avoiding, with his unfairly perfect face and the confidence that told her he knew it.

  “Fine,” Rafe said, yanking her back to the present. “If you’re so hell-bent on pinning this on us, maybe you can describe this woman. I’ll try to be as helpful as I can.”

  The sarcasm wasn’t missed, punctuated by Bruce’s exasperated look towards Rafe. But the latter wasn’t fazed, so she matched that attitude and crossed her arms, too.

  “Dark hair. Brown eyes.”

  “There are plenty of women—”

  “Giggles in a higher pitch than when she talks,” she kept on, glaring. “Doe-shaped eyes, so they get very big when she’s taken aback. Full lips with a hint of red lipstick. Red halter top, no bra.”

  Recognition flared in Rafe’s expression, while Bruce remained neutral. It was the former who spoke again.

  “Ah. That woman.”

  “Yes, that woman.”

  He tilted his head. “So the talk was right.”

  “What talk?”

  “That you’re a writer, and it looks like you’re a very descriptive one.”

  “You’re diverting. I’m not the type easily distracted by diversions, Mr. Delgado.”

  “Rafe,” he returned. “We’re neighbors, after all.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “You will,” he promised, huskiness followed by a quick grin that instantly transformed the chiseled perfection into boyishness.

  It made him more approachable—and more dangerous. It shot lightning down her chest, traveling to her stomach. It made her grit her teeth when she realized that she could envision the sparks flying in the air, mortifying her so intensely that she almost took a step back. Avoid, her brain warned. Men like him were trouble, and she had enough trouble as it was.

  “So you do know her?” she persisted.

  The grin widened, his eyes darkening. “Yes.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Fine. The woman you’re describing came from my bed this morning.” He scratched his chin, drawing her gaze to his mouth. “Oh, and she’s not my girlfriend. Just a girl spitting mad because I refused to fuck her when she asked me to.”

  The word travelled to her brain like a lightning bolt, blazing images of two bodies writhing in bed. She could see him clearly in her mind’s eye and her cheeks immediately heated up before she brushed it off, furious that she’d even go there.

  “…”

  “You know how it is. If you don’t get out of bed screaming from a bout of pleasure and release, you tend to be in a pissy mood.”

  “I…”

  “I’m talking about her, by the way,” he continued as if reading her ruminations. As if he knew where her mind had gone.

  Their gazes met, a clashing that spit fire and knowledge, drawing them together and pushing her back at the same time. Hattie made a sound in her throat that bordered on outraged but was reminiscent of a squeak, mortifying her once more at how out of sorts she’d gotten in the span of a few minutes—all because of some young hotshot who assumed he could have any woman wrapped around his finger.

  She’d been there, had been duped by that. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice, and the reminder of such bad memories was like a blast of cold water to her face, erasing the embarrassment as her spine stiffened again.

  “I know that you’re talking about her. I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “Good.”

  “So are we done here?”

  Her chin lifted. “No. You and I are not done. But I’m good with Bruce.”

  Bruce, who’d been watching the exchange quietly, raised a brow. “Oh?”

  She nodded, returning his politeness. “Yes. Thank you for your time.” Then she turned to Rafe. “Now, can we talk about the damages caused by your lover so you can start paying for them?”

  Chapter 2

  There were plenty of things that amused Rafael Delgado, but what entertained him right now was how his next-door neighbor turned out to be the opposite of what he expected. He and Bruce had known she was coming since the house had been sold but hadn’t had the chance to introduce themselves. He’d expected a sweet, quiet woman who matched the quietness of the town, which fit into his idea of a comely neighbor that he could visit out of curiosity.

  None of that came to fruit this morning, as she’d visited them first—and not on friendly terms, either. The hangover he had upon waking had him stumbling blindly to the kitchen to make a herbal concoction as the voices had sifted through his foggy mind, Bruce’s gruff tone making headway before he heard the other one: female, low-pitched, just a tad bit smoky and nothing like the high-pitched, overly sweet one who visited last night. Oh, and this one had been very irritated, which was mostly the reason why he couldn’t leave Bruce alone anymore to deal with it. The damn man was too polite for his own good.

  Proof? Bruce opening the door wider.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  Surprise flitted in Hattie’s eyes at the invitation, even while she shook her head. “No,” she replied, no bite to her tone.

  “No,” he said at the same time. She lifted her chin again as she looked back at him.

  She was not very likeable: cold, pissed off, nose turned up as if she were too good for the likes of him or this town. But Mrs. Whitman had been singing praises about finally getting her house sold to a nice young lady, so maybe there was something inside this package that he just wasn’t seeing yet.

  And what a package it was. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at her since he’d wandered to the front door, and who could blame him? He perused her again, taking in everything as subtly as possible: the silky blonde hair in a low ponytail, showing off a gracefully arched neck, the full lips that looked very soft and kissable. The body that, even encased in just a gray shirt and denim shorts, looked tight and soft at the same time, drawing at his imagination on how her flared hips and those round tits would feel in his hands. Then there were those blue eyes, an ocean color that pierced his soul as much as they pinned him in place. They would pin him, all right, no matter what she did…no matter what position they were in.

  The idea alone made his cock stir, a tightening that he didn’t need. He cursed inwardly, realizing how long it had been since he had a woman in his bed—and no, the giggling one in his bed earlier didn’t count because she’d snuck in and tried to seduce him by attempting to grab hold of his crotch without his consent. Not cool, she was a stranger who wasn’t invited or welcome in his goddamn bed.

  He liked sweet girls. He liked women who gave him time to get to know them, allowing them to flirt with each other before either seduced the other until they were steeped in some form of pleasure. The woman from last night didn’t do it for him with her forward advances, and this one…this one blasted him with an attraction that blew his mind and made him fumble, and he didn’t like that.