“Yep. King’s the
man
. Scarred me for life. When we work an accident, I still won’t stand next to a storm drain.”
Her lips twitched, but she squelched the grin, giving him a mock scowl. “Oh, come on, you big weenie. Give me the real scoop.”
“Did you seriously just call me a weenie?”
“I did.” Her droll stare said,
So what are you gonna do about it?
He thought for a minute, considering the risk of sharing his most painful secret. More painful than how he’d become broke. Why not? Cori had been honest with him about a terrible period in her life.
“All right. When I was a kid, I was the short, fat nerd everybody lived to torment. Made straight A’s without cracking a book. I . . . I have a genius IQ.”
“Wow, that’s cool! I mean, the IQ part, not getting picked on.” Cori bit her lip, blushing.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry; most people have the same reaction. I appreciate my gifts now more than I used to.”
“But being the outsider made your life hell as a child, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah. I wanted friends so badly, but the guys were always tripping or pushing me, knocking my books out of my hands, or calling me names like ‘faggot.’ Whatever you can think of, they did it to me at least once. That wasn’t really the worst part, though.” Taking a breath, he went on, amazed the memories hurt to this day.
“My father wasn’t a loving man. He believed in doing right by raising his only son, but resented the hell out of my presence. Nothing about me was ever good enough for him. But even the worst fathers defend their kids from bullies, right?”
“Most do,” she said quietly. “Even Dad took up for us, hard as he was.”
“Well, there came a day when I finally worked up the courage to tell my father what the other boys were doing to me. He said, ‘If they think you’re a fat, useless queer, then you probably are.’ ”
This was obviously not what she’d expected to hear, and her face fell. “Oh, Zack.”
“You’ll be glad to know I exacted my revenge by using his computer to hack into the FBI’s database.”
Her eyes rounded. “You did not!”
“Two badass-looking men in suits knocked on our door less than twenty-four hours later. Dear old Dad almost got arrested until I got worried about who’d take care of me while he was in prison, and confessed. I was only twelve, so they scared the crap out of me and left.”
Cori giggled.
“Long story short, I made it all the way through high school intact, even lost weight and got in shape, made a few friends. But I never again counted on anyone except myself—until I joined the fire department. My father never forgave me for not attending a fancy college like MIT and becoming an astronaut or a scientist who’d develop a weapon of mass destruction.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“If you’re thinking it was to spite him, you’d be wrong. The answer is a lot less complicated.” He smiled. “Most little boys get over playing with fire trucks. I never did.”
Her nose wrinkled in the way women do when they fuss over a cute puppy or kitty. “Aww. That’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Then consider this: I’ve never been more glad I made the choices I have . . . because every one of them helped lead me to you.”
9
Cori sniffed. Picked at her paper napkin.
Don’t cry, dammit! Don’t you dare.
She loathed weepy, wimpy women. Even while married to Alex, she’d never been one to snivel, her smart mouth earning swift retribution more often than not.
And now? All her remaining defenses blown apart by the power of one good man.
Zack’s smile faded. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No! Quite the opposite.” Oh, hell. Snatching up the napkin, she dabbed at the moisture threatening to spill. “Do you stay awake at night thinking up wonderful lines to snare all your women, or does the boyish charm come naturally?”
“Only if the woman is you,” he replied with total sincerity.
Her trembling hand clutched the mangled napkin tight against her breast. “You don’t really know me.”
“Not true. I know you’re strong and brave, ambitious, determined. You’re also funny and warm. You’re a survivor. And . . . you’re perfect to me.”
The connection between them sizzled and popped, smoking like grease in a frying pan. About two seconds from igniting.
“You’re blind without your glasses, poor man.”
“I see just fine.”
God, she could drown in those brilliant blue eyes, framed by thick, sinful black lashes, and go down willingly. He smelled so good, a blend of fresh herbal soap and the natural spice of male. His navy T-shirt hugged the contours of his solid chest, emphasized his flat belly and lean waist.
Her fingers itched to explore underneath the material, to learn whether his skin was as supple and sleek as it had appeared in the shower. To feel his muscles flexing and bunching while he . . .
Shoving to her feet, she waved a hand at the dishes. “Why don’t you go relax in the living room while I clear this away?” Too intense. If she didn’t put some distance between them, she’d poof into a pile of ash.
Zack, however, thwarted her escape. “I have a better idea. Since you cooked, why don’t
you
go relax while I put everything away? Then I’ll build us a fire.”
“Terrific on the fire; no can do on the cleanup. You’re still sick, buddy.” Gathering their plates and utensils, she went into the kitchen to rinse them and start loading the dishwasher. Zack trailed her, carrying an armload of leftovers.
“I’m used to doing for myself. I didn’t come here so you’d have to wait on me hand and foot. Besides, I’m feeling a lot better.” A rattling cough ruined the assertion.
“So I see.” Straightening from the dishwasher, she narrowed her eyes at Zack as he walked directly to the pantry, swung open the door, and reached for a box of plastic wrap resting in the holder mounted inside. Just like he’d known exactly where to find it.
Turning, he caught her frown and froze, giving her a sheepish grin. “Educated guess. Lots of people keep stuff like this in the pantry.”
“Oh. Right.” But he hadn’t even hesitated. As though . . . resuming her task, she shook her head. Jeez, the man possessed a genius IQ; he could certainly hunt down a box of Glad.
Zack finished bringing in the dishes, covered and stored the remaining food in the fridge. Working together in comfortable silence—Cori stealing glances at how nicely her companion’s sweats contoured his tight ass—they were done in minutes.
“I didn’t have what I needed to make dessert,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Hot chocolate?”
“With marshmallows?” he asked hopefully.
“If that’s your pleasure.”
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing better on a cold night. I have a terrible sweet tooth.”
The way he said it, all low and rumbly, gazing at her from beneath his lashes, indicated he might be referring to tasting more than just hot chocolate.
Wishful thinking, Corrine. The man just got out of the hospital, for Pete’s sake!
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure and satisfy it, won’t we?” She could swear his pupils dilated. “Um, why don’t I fix the cocoa while you start the fire? There’s plenty of wood stacked outside by the deck.”
“Deal.”
Ogling his awesome retreating backside, she blew out a breath. Mercy, living in such close proximity to Mr. Rev My Fire Engine would be the death of her!
Humming to herself, she heated the milk in a pan the old-fashioned way—cocoa nuked using tap water ought to be outlawed—and poured the steaming froth into two heavy mugs with the chocolate. Last, the requested marshmallows. By the time she carried their mugs into the living room, Zack had a cheery blaze dancing in the wide brick fireplace.
He’d left the lights off, and the room was bathed in a romantic amber glow. He’d arranged a few of the sofa’s throw pillows on the floor and sat in front of the hearth, staring into the flames, hands hooked around one cocked knee. In that brief, unguarded moment, the poor guy looked exhausted. And something more, a wistfulness she couldn’t put her finger on.
But that didn’t stop his face from lighting up when he noticed her joining him. “Hey, beautiful.” Carefully taking the hot mug from her, he blew on the top, then took a cautious sip. “Oh, man, that’s awesome. I can’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate. I’m glad it’s one of those treats a person never outgrows.”
“Me, too.” She placed her mug on the hearth and sat next to him on the pillows, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Where were you just now, when I came in?”
“Lost in space, I guess. Long day.” Deftly, he diverted the subject. “So, what’s your schedule like during the week with your classes and hospital rotations?”
“I have class all day Mondays and Fridays, with tests and evaluations on Fridays. Tuesdays through Thursdays, I have morning classes and clinicals at Sterling in the afternoon, working in the ER with my friend Shea—no pay for me yet because I’m a student.”
“Sounds tough.”
“In all, it’s not too bad now that graduation is on the horizon. I’m usually home by six, but that will change once I get my real shifts.” Picking up her mug, she took a drink, observing the interesting hesitance, the trepidation in his expression.
“What about your dancing? Are you booked every single Thursday through Saturday night? Could be hell on a girl’s social life.”
Setting down her mug, she barely suppressed a triumphant smirk at his transparent fishing expedition. “I’m nearly done with school, so I’ve been able to taper off my engagements quite a bit. This coming weekend, for example, I’m booked only on Friday night for a bachelor-party gig, doing the whole bursting-out-of-a-cake-wearing pasties-and-a-thong thing.” His scowl was so fierce, she couldn’t help but giggle.
“What?”
“The look on your face!” She laughed harder, which only made him grumpier.
“What’s so freakin’ funny? You’ve got some creep bothering you and you’re just gonna continue to prance around for a bunch of horny, drunken shitheads, showing your—your—” His cheeks reddened.
“Boobs?” she supplied helpfully.
“Yes, dammit!”
“They’re just boobs, Zack, not mysterious oracles of divine truth,” she managed around fits of laughter. He looked as if he’d swallowed a hair ball. “I’ll be careful. I always have someone walk me to my car afterward. And I’ll have you know that horny, drunken patrons tip very generously. Most of them are actually pretty harmless.”
“Dandy, but if you insist on doing this, you’re not going by yourself.”
“Fine, just don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. Just . . . concerned.”
Nope, he was irked, but she wisely decided against correcting him. “You can’t escort me every weekend, though. You’ll be cleared to go back to work in another week or so, and then what?”
“I’ll get one of the guys from B- or C-shift to take you if I have to. Dammit to hell.”
“What now?”
“Station Five doesn’t have any butt-ugly guys,” he muttered.
Enjoying this, she scooted close and leaned into him, raking one manicured nail down his chest. “Why, Mr. Knight. Are you saying you’d be jealous to entrust my care to one of them? Hmm, fireboy?”
The blue fire returned, the heat blazing just as intensely as the flames in the fireplace. Purposefully, he set his mug on the hearth next to hers. “Yes, goddammit.”
Faster than she could blink, she found herself wrapped in his arms, breasts crushed against his chest. His mouth came down on hers, and his tongue swept past the seam of her lips. Stroked inside, licking, exploring behind her teeth, the roof of her mouth. Ooh, he tasted fabulous, like dark chocolate and marshmallows. A sweet, sugary treat, and, beneath the heady flavor, all man.
But even his essence was nothing compared with the delicious weight of him as he pushed her into the pillows, onto her back. Pressed his body over hers, entwined their legs together, his hard length settled intimately at the juncture of her thighs. She loved the friction of his erection riding her clit, no less pleasurable because of their clothing.
As he kissed her deeply, Cori splayed her fingers across his back, reveling in the feel of his strength surrounding her. He felt so right here, like this, her entire body hummed and rejoiced in recognition. As though every cell in her being had been waiting only for him, for a lifetime. Crazy.
Her hands went roaming underneath his shirt, trailing the indention of his spine to his shoulders. His back was smooth and warm, muscles flexing lazily at her fingertips. “Off. Take your shirt off.”
She tugged at the offending material, needing him closer. No barriers between them. Chuckling, he helped her get the shirt over his head, and she tossed it aside. Immediately, she skimmed her palms over his solid pecs, fascinated by the light dusting of springy dark hair. The tight brown male nipples peaking under the brush of her thumbs, gooseflesh rising on his skin.