The Firefighter. Susan Lyons
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his. Which I do, reluctantly. “Not that it’s not, uh, nice to see you, but why are you here?”
“C’mon, let’s get out of people’s way.” Clearly he knows his way around the hospital because he’s soon found us a curtained-off cubicle that’s empty. “I checked at the front desk and they say your grandmother’s coming along nicely.”
“She is.” And how sweet of him to ask about her.
“The house didn’t do so well, sorry to say.” He drops a shoulder to let the rucksack slide off, and I dart a glance to his left hand. No ring. He pulls something out of the bag.
At first I haven’t a clue what it is, this blackened, twisted lump. Then…“My purse.”
“Your ID didn’t make it through the fire. You’ll want to replace your credit cards, passport, driver’s license.”
I don’t want to touch the purse. “The house is really bad?” No one at the hospital has been able to answer that question.
His eyes soften with sympathy. “Looks like it’ll be a tossup, whether to restore it or tear it down and start over. Sorry, we did all we could.”
I realize he must have just come off shift, after fighting to save Nana’s house. “Thank you.” But God, what a mess.
“Neighbors said you and your grandmother just arrived last night?”
“Yes. She inherited the place from her sister. We were going to…” Well, we hadn’t resolved what to do with it. Could we sell a burned-out wreck?
“You got a solicitor here?” he asks.
I draw myself up a little straighter. “I am a lawyer.”
His eyes crinkle in a quick smile. “No offense. Just meant, if a solicitor was handling the estate, there’d be adequate insurance coverage.”
“There is. I’ve seen the policy.”
“So you shouldn’t suffer any financial loss.” He grimaces. “Just lots and lots of inconvenience.”
“Yeah,” I agree gloomily.
“You don’t want this?” He holds up the purse again.
It had been navy, like a lawyer’s purse should be. But the leather had been the softest, finest imaginable. I’d paid a lot for it. One of those feminine indulgences like my silk lingerie that reminds me I’m a woman.
It can be replaced. Like the house. Like my passport and credit cards. My clothes, jewelry, everything I’d brought with me that I loved. The important thing is, Nana and I will be okay.
I can’t tear my eyes away from my purse. If the man who held it in his big, long-fingered hands hadn’t come along when he did, Nana and I would be in much the same shape as it was.
For the first time, it really sinks in that we could have died.
The trembling begins in my hands, moves up my arms, then my whole body’s shaking and my eyes are filling and overflowing.
“Hey, now.” He sounds alarmed, but the next thing I know, he’s reached out and gathered me in.
My shaking arms wrap around him and cling. Tears pour down my cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
He’s right. We could have died, and the fact that we didn’t makes everything else—the losses, the inconvenience and hassles—trivial. Unable to speak, I nod, the movement brushing my nose against his soft T-shirt. Making me aware of the warm, hard muscles underneath.
“I d-don’t do this,” I manage to gulp out between sobs. “I’m n-not the emotional type.”
“Can see that,” he says dryly. Then, “It’s shock. Everyone reacts differently.”
The tears are easing. Emotion spent, relaxing against him, I become aware of the way my senses drink him in. A tangy soapy scent that tells me he showered recently, those fantastic muscles against my cheek. Cautiously my hands move on his back, exploring, finding another set of impressive muscles.
His body stiffens for a moment, then relaxes and now his hands begin to roam. Down my back. One slips inside the opening of the gown and touches—no, caresses—my bare skin just above my waist.
I suck in a breath. Let myself move a little deeper into his arms.
Bring my belly up against the front of his jeans and press, feel him respond.
So’s my pussy, not to mention my tits and pretty much every other square centimeter of skin. God knows how I moved so quickly from tears to super-arousal. Maybe it’s that life-and-death thing.
But he’s feeling it too. His cock’s rigid against me and under my cheek his chest is heaving. He lets out a soft groan.
I turn him on?
This really is an upside-down land, where a man like this reacts to a girl like me as if he’s been on a desert island for the last ten years, and I’m the first woman he sees when he gets off.
Not that I’m complaining. My ego is loving it.
“You don’t mean this,” he mutters. “It’s not me, it’s just reaction. From the fire.”
“And what are you reacting to? The fire as well?” I raise my head so I can see his face. He’s a firefighter, so maybe fire’s a turn-on.
His dark cheeks are flushed, his eyes blazing. “God no. You. Just you. But I shouldn’t. You’re vulnerable.”
Vulnerable? The fire, my tears, of course he’d think that. But he’s also the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and the only one who’s looked at me this way. Yes, I could have died last night. And that means, if there was ever a time for carpe diem, this is it. I’m going to seize the day.
And the man.
“Not vulnerable,” I tell him. “Horny. For you.”
He gives another groan, then as if he can’t help himself reaches down, cups my bottom in both hands through the gown and pulls me up even harder against his erection. I wriggle against it, wishing we were both naked.
Want you. My whole body is saying it, and his is answering back.
“You’re not going to turn me down,” I tell him.
He gives a choked laugh. “Nope. Be a fool to do that.” He starts to bend down for a kiss, then suddenly straightens. “Crap, we can’t do this here.”
Oh God, we’re still in the hospital. I’d lost all sense of my surroundings but now I hear voices on the other side of the screen. Did they hear us too? Hear me proclaim my horniness?
I flush. “No, not here.”
We both loosen our grip until we’re holding each other lightly, bodies barely touching. Staring into each other’s eyes. This is a dream, it must be, for him to look at me with this hunger.
“But we’re definitely gonna do it,” he says, and it’s not a question.
“Oh, yeah, we’re gonna do it.” A shiver of pure lust ripples through me.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
“Yes!” Then reality sets in. “Oh no, there’s paperwork to sign, and I need to check on Nana, leave a phone number.” I bury my face in my hands. “God, I don’t have a phone. Or clothes, or any money.”
He grabs one of my hands and tugs it away from my face. “No worries. Let’s go do it.”
“Do…it?”
A wicked grin, a slanting wink. “I like the way your mind works, Tash McKendrick, but I meant the paperwork.”
With a start, I realize something. “I don’t even