Authors: Jennifer Bernard
B
y the time Engine 1 arrived, the fire was virtually out. The guys on shift surrounded Ryan with the familiar ribbing.
“Way to put the wet stuff on the red stuff, Hoagie,” said Double D, clapping him on the back. “Don’t know why you called us in, though. You interrupted a Jenga marathon for that? But we’re sure glad to have you back on the job. Maybe the girls will start coming around again.”
“I’m not back,” he tried to explain, but Two interrupted.
“It’s a firehouse, not a
Blind Date
episode.” She took off her helmet so her long brown braid fell down her back.
“All I ask is a friendly female for a change.”
Ryan stepped in before any blood got spilled. Double D wasn’t exactly good at changing with the times, and Two had no patience for his old-school ways. “I’m not back yet. I’ve been moonlighting here until the captain makes the call. Drinks on me tomorrow night, if we can open after this.”
Double D surveyed the ramshackle bar with a skeptical air. “You get many girls in here?”
Two shook her head in disgust and headed back to Engine 1.
“We get our fair share. And why do you care? Having trouble with Mrs. Double D? Is the curse striking again?”
“Don’t know why that curse works on everyone except me. What’d I do wrong?”
Ryan coiled up the hose and took it to the rusty hose reel mounted to the side of the house. For some reason, Double D’s caustic humor didn’t sit well with him right now. He wished he hadn’t called Brody, wished Brody hadn’t called the guys and made it official. When it came to fires, no one could fool Captain Brody. The man knew damn well something wasn’t right with this scenario. Question was, how far would he push it? Would he question Katie about the fire?
Damn it, Ryan wanted to be the one to let Katie have it. He wanted to ream her up one side and down the other, until the stubborn girl never wanted to so much as light another match. When she truly understood her crime, they’d have spectacular makeup sex. In a bed, where he could explore her responsive little body to his heart’s content.
Speaking of Katie . . .
He finished stowing the hose and looked around for her. When he didn’t see her right away, a horrible thought struck him. Would she be crazy enough to go inside and start cleaning up? That’s probably exactly what she would do, determined to get the bar open for business by tomorrow.
He dashed around to the back, where smoke still wafted from the charred doorway. “Katie! Katie, are you in there?”
The stench of wet, burnt wood and plaster drifted toward him, but no Katie.
“Shit,” he muttered, and moved closer, preparing himself for a plunge into the unknown. He didn’t even have any gear on. If the fire decided to flare back to life, he’d be fresh meat. But Katie would be even more vulnerable. She knew nothing about fires.
“Ryan!” Brody shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I gotta get Katie out.”
“She left.”
“Left?”
Ryan frowned. Katie had left before he could yell at her? What the fuck? She’d left while he was rescuing her from her own foolishness. While he was performing another act of derring-do for the Hair of the Dog. She’d left after all they’d shared that day. Just walked away.
He saw Brody watch him narrowly. Diving into dangerous situations without proper forethought was the habit that had nearly gotten him fired. He ground his teeth. Way to make a good impression on the boss.
Another thing he could pin on Katie.
By the time the scene had been cleared and Brody and the crew of Engine 1 had left, Ryan was boiling mad. He called Katie’s cell phone, but got her voice mail.
“You’ve reached Katie Dane. Please leave a message, because people who don’t leave messages bug me.”
He punched the end button. The hell if he’d leave a message if she put it that way. He felt steam coming out of his ears. If he didn’t talk to Katie soon he’d explode. But he had no idea where she lived.
Ten minutes later, he strode into Toned feeling like the Terminator on a mission. He found Bridget in the same large glass-walled room as before, yelling out commands to rows of pretty girls in colorful workout outfits. Not in the mood for manners, he barged right in. The smell of sweat assaulted him.
Bridget was shouting something about “walk it around, up and down.”
“Bridget,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder.
She jumped about a foot, then shot him a glare that reminded him right away of Katie.
Which made him even more determined to find her and have his say. “I’m looking for Katie. Where does she live?”
“Why do you want to know? And how dare you interrupt my class?”
“Ryan?” One of the girls in the class called out to him. He glanced her way. Oh right, Alison something. He’d dated her a couple years ago. She looked different. Skinnier.
“Hey Alison. You’re looking great.”
She blinked, a huge smile lighting up her face.
“Are you messing with my sister?” Bridget hissed at him. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“What?” For a moment, he forgot his anger at Katie. “I thought you two didn’t get along.”
“So what? She’s still my sister. Just because she doesn’t know how to dress and refuses to do anything the normal way doesn’t mean she isn’t a fantastic person. So don’t play your games with her. She’s not that type.”
Bridget put her hands on her hips like some kind of avenging spandex-clad angel. For the first time, Ryan saw her appeal. But he still preferred Katie. “I need to talk to her. There was a fire at the Hair of the Dog.”
“Really? Did it burn down?”
Was that hope he saw on her face? What was wrong with this family? “No, it didn’t burn down. We caught it in time.”
“Oh. Well.” She glanced at the women, some of whom were hopping in place, others sitting on the little step stools, panting. “Get up, get moving!” she barked at the class. “Keep that heart rate going!” The women leaped to their feet.
“Slackers,” she muttered. “Katie lives on El Contento Drive.” She gave him the full address. “But if anything bad comes of this, I’ll hurt you.”
He had no doubt she could. And would. Bridget Dane was an intimidating woman. It almost made him sorry he’d yelled at Katie—and that he intended to do more yelling as soon as he saw her.
Almost.
K
atie lived in the worst neighborhood in town. The building looked like a place that rented out rooms by the night. Or the kind of place a homeless man might sleep off a bender. Iron bars protected the windows, which made him feel better about Katie’s personal security, but not about the neighborhood.
Katie shouldn’t be living in a place like this. Every time she left home she put herself at risk from druggies and crazies. And when she came back at night after work . . . His annoyance with her mushroomed as he considered the possibilities. By the time she opened the door he was just as mad as before.
“What the hell kind of place is this?” he exploded, without even saying hello.
She tried to close the door in his face. He slammed out a hand to prop it open.
“This isn’t safe. You have to find someplace else.” She spun around and escaped inside. He followed. “I can’t believe your family allows you to live here. What are they thinking?”
She whirled around to face him, planting her bare feet on the hardwood floor as if ready for a throw down. “When exactly did I invite you here to insult my place, and what the hell makes you think my family has any say in where I live? Not to mention you!”
“Mention me?” He saw now that she’d been crying. The skin around her eyes looked puffy. Katie, crying. The sight worked like a dagger to his heart. “What’s the matter?” He aimed for gentle but didn’t quite make it.
“Oh no, don’t you dare go acting all nice now. I have a memory, you know. Two seconds ago you were yelling at me.”
“Actually, I think two seconds ago it was you yelling at me. I finished at least ten seconds ago.”
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if asking for help from the acoustic tiles above. “So you’re finished yelling? I assume that means you can go now?”
“Nope.” He folded his arms and looked around for a chair. He had to admit her apartment looked a lot nicer inside. The hardwood floors gave it a cheerful ambience. Bookshelves overflowed with an amazing number of books, which spilled onto piles on the floor. He spotted a cherry-red futon in the corner next to a bright yellow beanbag chair. It looked a bit like kindergarten.
“Danielle would love your place,” he said.
“Kids always do. In general, I get along with kids a lot better than adults.”
“Which explains why you work at a bar.”
“So now you’re going after my job too? What’s left? My clothes? Hair?”
“I love your hair. I could do without the clothes.”
Her eyes flew to his with a wounded look. Oh shit. That had come out all wrong.
“You know, because I like you better naked,” he said quickly. Images of their time together in the truck flashed through his mind. His cock responded with a twitch. He reminded himself he’d come here to yell at her, damn it.
“Stop changing the subject,” he told her sternly. “I have some things to get off my chest.”
She bit her lip, but not in her usual worrying way. More in a trying-not-to-laugh kind of way. “Fine. Why don’t you sit down? Would you like anything to drink?”
“No.”
He wasn’t about to fall for that trick. Trying to soften him up. He lowered himself onto the beanbag chair. “Don’t think I’ve ever actually sat in one of these.”
“Comfy, isn’t it?”
More than comfy. Almost womblike. He felt like he’d reverted to preschool years. And when he tried to resume his planned tirade, it felt ridiculous. Like trying to yell at someone while carrying a balloon and licking a clown-shaped lollipop.
“Brody could have gotten hurt,” he began.
“You can skip the lecture. I already decided I’m going to call the whole thing off.” She sat on the edge of the futon. “I realize it was insanely stupid. If the bar goes under, it goes under. We’ll manage. Besides, I have another plan.”
“What?”
“Well . . .” She plucked at her skirt. The same skirt he’d pushed up her thighs not long ago. “I don’t want to say.”
“You owe me.” Between the lulling coziness of the beanbag chair and the hypnotic movement of her fingers, he couldn’t drum up much conviction. Those bare legs of hers ought to be wrapped around his waist. Those fingers ought to be doing clever things to his cock.
She didn’t seem to realize all that. “I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, it has nothing to do with fire. That was wrong and stupid. When I saw that cinder hit your leg . . .”
She refused to meet his eyes, but he heard the catch in her voice.
“Bet you felt horrible.”
She nodded.
“Bet you felt really sorry for me, like you wanted to take care of me and kiss me all over.”
Now she met his eyes, dark sparks of indignation shooting his way. “Ryan! That’s what you’re thinking about, while I’m racked with guilt over my evil deed?”
“It wasn’t evil. You had your reasons. It was . . . misguided.” He couldn’t stand it another moment. He had to touch her. “Come here.”
She looked suspicious, but gamely stepped to his side. He took her hand and pulled her off balance so she toppled into his lap with a squeak. He shifted his body so she cuddled on top of him, her hips nicely cupping his growing erection. He saw desire flash in her eyes, but she kept her arms stiff so her chest didn’t touch his.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
He tried to remember all the things she’d done. She smelled so sweet, her own honeysuckle scent mixed with smoke. “You said the fire thing was history.”
“It is.”
“Then I’m good. Can we kiss now?”
Her lips twitched. He traced them with his index finger. He loved the contrast between her two lips, the stubborn look of the upper one and the rounded, sensual look of the lower. Both were so sensitive. As he caressed the soft lines of her mouth, her breathing picked up, little puffs of air warming his finger.
Then she dropped onto his chest and he gathered her against him. What bliss to have her back in his arms. So warm, so alive, so . . . real. She kissed his neck. “Ryan,” she whispered.
“Hmmm.”
“When you get your job back, please don’t ever get burned.”
The distress in her voice reached inside him, deep inside to a place he wasn’t sure had ever been touched before. He shied away, adopting a flippant tone.
“Me? Burned? Nah.”
After that, he lost himself in the fine texture of her skin and the variations of her scent—different in the crook of her elbow than in the curve of her jaw. He shoved her clothes aside, piece by piece. The delicacy of her bones required his attention, as did the sweet, sweet flesh of her nipples. He gorged himself on her with tongue and hands and nose and mouth. He listened to her heart beating crazy rhythms in time with his caresses. He hummed along with her sighs and moans.
And when she couldn’t bear it anymore, and lifted herself onto him, he felt like he was floating through pink sunset clouds along a river of gold.
That was Katie. A heart of gold. The phrase didn’t leave his head as he moved inside her, feeling every nuance of her inner walls responding to him. God, she was tight, so tight and hot. She moved over him, completely naked now, her dark pink nipples taunting him, just out of reach of his mouth. He gathered them in his hands instead and watched her throw her head back in pleasure.
He thrust up, hard, wrenching a hot moan from her. And then her body arched and twisted. He felt her orgasm all the way to the base of his spine. He delayed his so he could watch her face go pink with ecstasy.
He’d never get tired of watching Katie come.
And then he let himself go, let his orgasm rip through him. It felt like stepping off a tall, tall building and floating through the air. Katie caught him in her slim arms and they drifted through the new land of joy they’d discovered together.
Holy crap.
He lay blinking at his own flight of imagination. He never got all poetic after sex. Never. He looked at Katie to see if she was feeling it too.