The Firefighter. Susan Lyons
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have shrugged the blanket off. I forgot I was wearing skimpy lingerie—and it’s now plastered to me, leaving nothing to the imagination.
I’d say my body’s pretty average. Slim, toned, nothing special. Guys see me as the gal-pal, best-bud type of woman. Good company for a movie, game, chat or some sex, but nothing to inspire lust.
Soot must be flattering. The firefighter’s expression has gone hot and intense.
And I feel a whole different kind of heat flood through my body, in response to that hungry gaze. Life and death. Male and female. Can’t get any more basic—primitive—than that.
I want him.
Without knowing the color of his eyes or hair, his name, whether he’s married with a half dozen kids, I want him.
His head jerks and he shifts his gaze from my nearly nude body to my face.
And there’s a moment. One of those moments, but stronger than I’ve ever experienced before, where gazes lock and the tension zinging back and forth is almost tangible.
Want you, my eyes tell him.
Fuck, yeah, his say back.
Then he jerks his head again, pulls the blanket over me and lurches to his feet. “You’ll be okay now. I have a fire to fight.”
I pull the mask off and say, “But…”
He’s walking away, doesn’t hear me. So I don’t get a chance to embarrass myself by asking, “Will I ever see you again?”
3
Wearily I shuffle down the hospital corridor in a pair of paper slippers, carrying the bounty given to me by a kind nurse. A face cloth, towel, comb, toothbrush and toothpaste. There are no showers for ER patients, but I can sponge off the soot in the toilet.
I’ve discovered toilet is the word the blunt Aussies use for a restroom. Why do you go there? To pee, mostly. So, call it what it is.
Except, right now my dehydrated body is less interested in peeing than in getting clean. I stand at a sink and stare into the mirror. The face staring back makes me wince.
I’d rather not spend my first morning in Australia in the emergency room, but then, I have nowhere else to go. The only person I know here is Nana, who’s been admitted and is sleeping peacefully after having her leg set. They’ll keep her today and tonight, under observation. The break’s no problem, but she breathed more smoke than I did, and she’s older. More vulnerable. But everyone’s assured me she should be fine, so I’m hugely relieved.
Along with guilty. She was my responsibility. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep without checking to see that she was okay.
If I can find some place to go, they’ll discharge me now. They tested my carbon monoxide level, and, good girl that I am, I passed that test like I’ve passed every other test in my life. Even so, I look like crap and feel seriously grubby.
I start the water running, balance hot and cold, fill the basin. Then I dunk my head and use antibacterial liquid soap to wash my hair and face. I towel myself, then comb my hair and fluff it up with my fingers. The color’s okay, a ruddy shade of brown that looks like nutmeg. But it’s short, fine and limp. Even with my expensive cut, it’ll go flat in no time without styling gel.
My gingery lashes cry out for mascara and my eyes, the same Wedgewood blue as Nana’s, look like they’ve had a rough night. Thank God I at least have great bone structure.
I give my reflection a tired smile, then use the face cloth to give myself a sponge bath.
Okay, now I’m ready to tackle my future.
No purse, wallet, credit cards, passport or other ID. No clothes except the revealing hospital gown and silly slippers.
The logical thing would be to wait until offices open and phone the lawyer who’s handling Auntie Bet’s estate.
Pride overrules logic. I can’t let this be his first impression of me. I’m here in my professional capacity as a lawyer, to handle Nana’s affairs. I want to meet the Aussie solicitor looking like a businesswoman, not a waif.
That leaves Nana’s friends in Clifton Beach.
But she’d hoped to surprise Trev. She hadn’t told her “mates” when we were coming, wanting a day to rest up from travel and get herself prettied up. I don’t want to spoil her fun. The woman’s going to be in a cast for the next few weeks; she deserves every moment of fun she can wring out of life.
So, I’ll have to phone home and ask my family to wire money to a bank.
Nana and I had called them yesterday to say we’d arrived safely. Now I’ll have to confess that I, the person they’d entrusted with her well-being, almost let her burn to death.
I step into the bustling corridor and head in search of a phone. Just which family member will I select? Doesn’t matter, the news will spread like wildfire.
Fire. The very thought makes me shiver.
“Hey, Tash McKendrick. ’Ow ya goin’?” a male voice calls from behind me.
Behind? Quickly I spin around, grabbing the back of my gown with my free hand and pulling the edges together. Too little, too late, I fear.
And how did he recognize me anyway? Not to mention, know my name?
I’d have recognized him anywhere. God knows how, since all I’d seen was a few inches of face, but I know this is my firefighter.
His eyes are blue. Brighter and more vivid than mine. Summer sky blue, against tanned skin. And his hair’s glossy black, damp, a little longer than I’d guess is typical for a firefighter.
The man is even better looking than I’d first thought. He’s the kind of guy who looks equally good in a tux and in casual clothes such as he’s wearing now: jeans, a blue T-shirt worn un-tucked, some kind of rucksack slung over his shoulder. Tooled cowboy boots.
Hmm. Interesting. Cowboy by day, firefighter by night?
“You feelin’ all right?” he asks, and on him that Aussie drawl sounds incredibly sexy.
His question makes me realize I’ve again gone off into a trance, just looking at him. I flush, from head to toe, as I gaze into those eyes and, yes, it happens again.
Another moment, like last night. A spark leaping back and forth, ready to ignite.
Wow, is this what they call chemistry?
I absolutely will not say, “I want you.” At least not in words. So I clear my throat and find neutral ones. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks. They’re discharging me.” Swallowing smoke has made me hoarse, but the effect’s not bad. I’ve got that Dietrich thing going on.
I glance away from the intensity of his eyes and come back to reality. We’re in the middle of a busy hospital corridor. A couple of nurses forget their hurry, though, and dawdle by with their gazes fixed on my companion like he’s an oasis in a desert.
Or a firefighter, in the middle of a blazing fire.
Which reminds me…“You saved my life.” I stick out my hand. “Thank you.”
He gives an easy smile. “No worries.” Takes my hand, holds it, then something’s flowing back and forth between our linked hands. Something fizzy as champagne that makes my entire body zing with awareness.
Thank God the hospital gown is baggy because I know my nipples have beaded. Could use a pair of panties though, if he hangs onto my hand any longer. This man definitely makes me hot.
He’s grinning a lazy, suggestive smile. “Can’t say it was too much hardship, carrying you out of that house.” His gaze flicks down, then up again. Nearly naked. That’s what he means.
This man actually likes my body. He doesn’t even seem put off by my un-madeup face and unflattering