Fallen Angels: Beguiled\Wanton\Uncovered (45 page)

But just as he'd suspected, Clair stayed on his mind, distracting him, filling his thoughts and making him edgy. That is, until a truck driver swerved off the road, striking a gas line and sparking an apartment fire on the north side of the town.

The collision smashed a natural gas manifold, and intense, gas-fed flames shot up into the building's roof, turning the four-unit apartment into a gigantic blaze. Harris temporarily plugged the gas lines so the fire was no longer fed, but flames were already licking a large portion of the building. Harris's unit was forced to fight the flames on two fronts, one group using a fog stream to keep the fire contained in the rear, while Harris and several other men engaged in fire attack and an internal overhaul.

Not long after that, gas workers arrived to shut off underground pipes, diminishing the danger. It was still another two hours before the fire was completely out and only smoke remained. Cleanup would take awhile, but thank God, other than a few minor injuries, no one was seriously hurt. The renters, including several small children, all made it out safely. One older woman suffered smoke inhalation, but she'd be okay. A young man had some minor burns and the paramedics were already working on him.

Harris was exhausted, dirty, and reeking of smoke. Muscles in his neck and shoulders cramped. His eyes burned. He shoved aside a pile of embers, making sure they were cold before moving on. Ethan stepped up beside him. He looked as bad as Harris felt, but he was smiling.

Harris said, “There has to be about fifty-thou worth of damage. Three of those apartments are no longer habitable, and a bunch of people are going to be hunting for a place to stay.” He pulled off his helmet to swipe black soot from his face. “So why the grin?”

Ethan followed suit, removing his helmet and running one gloved hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Rosie.”

“What about her?”

“Whenever there's a fire, she dotes on me.” Ethan elbowed him. “And I don't mean she brings me chicken soup, either.”

Reminded of the love between Rosie and Ethan, Harris felt a little melancholy. He forced a smile. “I might be too young to hear this.”

“You're definitely too young for details. Let's just say that I'm sorry for the damage, I hate it that people will be displaced, but I'm anxious to get home to my loving wife.” Ethan winked, replaced his helmet, and sauntered away.

Harris grumbled to himself. It'd be nice to have a loving woman waiting for him…whoa. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze unseeing. A woman waiting? The same women,
every day?
That sounded a lot like…marriage. Was he ready for that? He knew he wanted Clair, definitely more than he'd ever wanted any other woman. And it wasn't just sexual.

Hell, he'd given up sex with other women, but not once had he considered giving up jogging with her. He felt more alive when he was around her.

As he worked, removing the burned remains of an old lawn chair, tearing down the precariously hanging door on one unit, Harris considered all the different things he felt for Clair. He wanted to be with her, damn near all the time. He never tired of her company. Clair seemed to read his moods, sitting quietly with him when that was what he wanted, or teasing him when he felt like clowning around. Her company never felt intrusive. Being with her just felt…good.

He knew her moods, too. But maybe that was because Clair didn't play games like most women did. If he said something that pissed her off, she told him so. Other than the sexual teasing of late, which he knew they both enjoyed, she was open and honest.

For sure, she didn't like his attention veering to the mystery woman. Harris didn't really like it either. Not anymore. Who needed a woman who left secretive notes and naked pictures rather than confronting him face-to-face? He'd much rather concentrate on Clair and all the new ways she bedeviled his libido and his dreams.

His mind made up, Harris decided that he'd thank Dane and Alec for their help, pay them what he owed them, and pull them off the case. Tomorrow.

Because tonight, he wanted Clair.

He shook off his distraction and got to work. The sooner they had the site cleared, the sooner his shift would end. And the sooner he could see Clair.

 

C
LAIR HEARD
about the fire on the news and she was so worried, she couldn't stop pacing. Loving a firefighter had never been easy, but now, as Harris had claimed, things were different. She didn't have to hide her feelings behind friendly camaraderie.

The second she saw Harris's car pull up, she grabbed her keys and dashed out the door. She didn't think about her shoes, or Harris's reaction, she only thought about reaching him, making sure he'd escaped once again without harm.

Harris was already inside the building, but only just opening his apartment door when Clair arrived. She stopped when she saw him, catching her breath, absorbing the sight of him. He looked…wonderful. Exhausted and red-eyed, but still strong and tall, still the man she adored with all her heart.

Seeing him now, with the evidence of his work weighing heavy on his shoulders, Clair didn't know what to say. Emotion closed her throat, love burned her eyes. She twisted her fingers together. “Harris.”

He'd just shoved his door open and he turned to her with a smile. “Hey. I was going to change and come over in a few minutes.”

Clair swallowed hard, fighting the urge to leap on him. “Change into what?” Dunce. What did it matter?

He turned his nose against his shoulder, sniffed, and made a face. “Something that doesn't still reek of smoke. I showered at the station, but the damn smell clings to my hair and my—”

Clair gave up. She couldn't stand it, couldn't wait a second more, couldn't patiently stand there while he went through cordial chitchat. Launching herself at Harris, she grabbed his neck, kissed his mouth, his chin, his throat, then rested her cheek on his chest and squeezed him tight.

Slowly, Harris brought his arms around her. “Hey? What's wrong?”

Almost too overwhelmed to speak, Clair shook her head, then confessed, “I was…worried.”

“I'm sorry.” He smoothed her back, returned her bear hug, then caught her arm and urged her inside.

He was sorry?
Agog, Clair tried to acclimate herself to Harris's new persona, to his easy acceptance. What did it mean?

His voice low and somber, he said, “Let me shower again and change, then we'll talk.”

Clair watched him walk away, and he was whistling. The exhaustion remained, in the set of his shoulders, the dark smudges beneath his eyes. But he seemed more lighthearted, as if she'd pleased him in some way.

Clair looked around herself with dawning realization. Harris was in a mellow, receptive mood. His apartment, other than a small kitchen light, was dark. She had the perfect setting and probably wouldn't get another chance like this anytime soon.

Her heart in her throat, her pulse humming in anticipation, she trailed silently after him. She pushed open his bedroom door to see Harris standing in the middle of the floor, his shirt off, his shoes and socks gone, and his hands at the snap of his jeans.

Almost there,
she thought.

Harris looked up, their gazes locked for long moments, and his expression heated. “Clair?”

Not giving herself a chance to back out, she flipped the wall switch, stealing the scant light and filling the room with obscure moon shadows.

Harris, now a vague shadowy blur, asked, “What's this?”

Cautiously moving forward, Clair found his chest, firm and sleek and very hot. She moved her hands up to his broad shoulders, then to the back of his neck. She pulled his head down to hers. “I was afraid for you.”

His hands looped around her waist. “I'm good at what I do, honey. You don't have to worry.”

“You said sex would change things.” Clair tunneled her fingers into the cool softness of his thick hair, such a dramatic contrast to his hard, hot body. “Well, get used to me being concerned. I know you don't like it. God knows you bitch enough any time a woman starts to worry, but if we have sex—”

His hands widened, sliding down to her hips. “We are,” he murmured. “Right now in fact.”

Clair drew in a breath. “Great. Then I have rights.”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “The right to worry?”

“You betcha. And I also—” He kissed her, cutting off her demands in midsentence. “Harris?”

“I'm open to the new rules, honey. But let's talk about them all in the morning.”

Morning? The sun would be out, light flooding through the windows. “Do you expect me to stay the night?”

“Damn right. Next to me. In my bed.”

“Oh.” Maybe by then it wouldn't matter. Maybe by then he'd realize that he wanted her and only her. Or maybe he'd even figure out that she and the mystery woman were one and the same.

“You followed me into my bedroom, Clair. You're claiming the right to worry. That gives me a few rights too. Like the right to make love to you all night long, whenever the mood strikes me.” His hands kept moving on her, caressing her back, her hips, her waist, stroking her, learning her in a way that had been forbidden before now. “In case you get antsy or horny,” he teased. He turned, took two steps and lowered them both to the bed, half covering her. In a near growl, he added, “Or if you just plain want me.”

“I always want you.” Clair closed her eyes as his fingers found her inner thighs. Her heart pounded. “Harris?”

“I smell like smoke,” he complained. With his mouth open and damp, he kissed her neck, her shoulder, leaving her skin tinging. “No matter how long I shower or how hard I scrub…”

“I don't mind.” Clair pressed her nose to his throat and inhaled. She wondered if the fires affected him that way, made him feel like he couldn't get away from the smoke, the damage. She nuzzled against him. “All I smell is you, Harris, and you smell delicious.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, rising up to smooth her hair. With a smile barely perceptible in the dim room, he removed her glasses, stretching to put them on the nightstand. When he leaned back to her, he caught the hem of her shirt and tugged it up and over her head. His hand found her breast, gently shaped her, then he stilled. “Damn, Clair, I need a light.”

“No, not yet.” If he turned on the light, he might recognize her. She wanted the intimacy between them before she told him the truth. In the morning, she'd confess. But not yet, not before she had that special bond to cushion her admission.

Harris continued to caress her breast, toying with her nipple, making speech impossible. “Why not?”

Why not? Why not?
She forced herself to concentrate, then murmured, “I'm shy?”

Slowly, with delicious precision, he tugged at her nipple. “You don't sound certain, Clair.”

Oh Lord, how could he expect her to talk while he did that? “I just…I'd rather leave the lights off.”

Harris sat up beside her. “
I'd
rather see you. All of you.” Clair tried to protest, but before she'd even raised herself up on her elbows, a lamp came on, spilling light across the bed. Clair hurriedly turned her face away, her breath catching in dread.

The seconds ticked by in agonizing silence. Slowly, because she couldn't bear it any longer, she turned back to Harris. He didn't look the least bit exhausted now. His blue eyes were bright, his gaze piercing while he stared at her breasts. His dark hair fell across his brow; his muscles were tight, delineated. He got to his feet beside the mattress, his gaze still unwavering, and began stripping off his jeans. “Can you see me without your glasses?”

Clair bit her lip. “You're a little fuzzy, but yes, I can see you.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Good.” His jeans got shoved down and off his hips, and he stepped out of them. Her eyes widened. She could see him, but she wished she still had her glasses on so she wouldn't miss a single detail.

She started to sit up, to get closer to him, and he said, “Now you.”

Not yet! If he saw her tush, would he recognize her as the woman in the photo?

Clair tried to scuttle away, but that only amused Harris. He caught the hem of her shorts, and since they had a loose elastic waist, they came right off. Unfortunately, he took her panties with them, leaving her naked. “Harris!”

“Clair.” His voice was dark, intense. “You're beautiful.”

He still didn't recognize her? Clair couldn't believe it. She should have been only relieved, but damn it, she was nettled too. The man had fawned all over those photos, studied them in detail, had them enhanced. But he didn't see her as a sexy mystery woman, so he didn't make the connection.

When Harris stretched out beside her, she flattened both hands against his chest, holding him away. He tried to kiss her, but Clair wasn't having that. Not yet.

With dark menace, she demanded, “What about your mystery lady?”