Flirting with Fire (Hot in Chicago #1) (21 page)

 CHAPTER TWENTY

R
iding the elevator up to the fourth floor at city hall, Luke mentally shit-kicked his brain for his poor timing. It might only be an hour past the official end of his shift, but it was close to zero hour for the working stiffs on the nine-to-five, and he was sardine-canning it with everyone on their way into the office.

It had taken him forever to leave the firehouse, between ensuring that the handoff to the next shift went smoothly and completing the briefing reports he had to fill out because he’d taken over for Big Mac, who was on vacation. Usually a relief lieutenant stood in, but Luke had pulled rank—what little he had—and persuaded the cap that he could handle it in McElroy’s absence. This wasn’t the time for strangers to take up residence. With the shit soup Engine 6 was wading in, the company needed to see the next few weeks through as a cohesive unit.

It was Luke’s job to make sure that happened, especially as his meltdown had put them dangling on the precipice.

The Dempsey dynamic was the perfect microcosm of Engine 6 at the moment—a crap load of tension, everyone sniping, and no one getting along. Alex
knew she’d screwed up, but they all looked to Luke, either to blame because he’d set this whole downward spiral in motion with his fist in McGinnis’s face, or to fix because that’s what he did. He was Mr. Fix-it for Team Dempsey.

The elevator clunked to a grinding halt at the second floor to let off the lardasses who couldn’t walk up one floor. While the bodily real estate was rearranged, a woman beside him sniffed and gave him the twice-over. Yep, that’s the scent of a hard night’s work saving lives, honey.

You’re welcome.

Weird, but since he had promised Kinsey that one time to hold off on the firehouse hygiene routine, he’d been heading out every time smelling like brimstone. As if the mere repetition could conjure up the memory of riding that elevator to her apartment and all but running to her at the end of that hallway. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to wrap his filthy body around her, breathe her fresh, clean scent, lay her on cool, white sheets . . .

Three days had passed since the family powwow in the Dempsey kitchen, and communication between them was bordering on nada. She had left a couple of messages, and like the broody bastard he was, he had ignored them, which was oh-so-high-school of him. He was here to man up.

The third floor came and went—Lisa’s floor. It was a testament to where his scrambled brain was at that he’d not spared his ex-wife a thought when he hopped onto the elevator in the very building where she worked. Huh, go figure. Finally the elevator hit four, and the doors split apart. In the suite opposite,
Kinsey’s cute assistant was chatting on the phone and as he stepped inside, she hung up.

“Hi, Luke.” Eyelash fluttering ensued.

“Hey, Josie. How are the cats?”

Her eyes brightened. “I adopted another one—a gorgeous calico.” She tap-tapped on her phone and pulled up a photo of a kitten who looked like he’d rolled around on a wet Jackson Pollock canvas.

“Isn’t that—?”

“Yes! Your costar on the photo shoot, Millicent. I call her Millie. Most calicos are female, you know, which of course is why she was such a peach in your arms.” She sighed wistfully. “She got a taste of fame that day, so I figured it was a shame to put her back in the shelter.”

He nodded at Kinsey’s closed door. “Her Majesty in yet?”

Josie’s look was filled with
naughty, naughty.
“She’s in a meeting right now, but her nine o’clock is up on the fifth floor, so she’ll be done any minute. Have a seat.”

She gestured to the edge of the desk where he had happily parked his ass on his last visit. He’d come straight here that day from CFD HQ, determined to tear strips out of Miss Taylor. Instead they’d engaged in a fiery battle of wills that ended with him staring avidly as she bent over that desk. Like the secrets of the universe were made manifest with the wiggle of her gorgeous ass.

“I’ll sit over here.” He settled himself on a sofa off to the side of Kinsey’s office and checked Facebook. Darcy and Beck had posted more pics of their island hopping around Thailand. They looked tan, happy,
in love. He smiled, let his mind wander. Maybe one day he’d get a chance to indulge that California beach fantasy of his with his own California beach girl.

Not a couple of minutes had passed when the sound of muted laughter and a shuffle of movement told him Kinsey’s meeting was done. The door opened and out stepped . . .

Daniel McGinnis.

Daniel “Suit Wearing, Smooth Talking, Wife Stealing” McGinnis. He was gripping Kinsey’s hand, pulling her toward him ever so subtly. Enticing her into his body.

Cold fury grabbed Luke by the throat, his body oozing rage. He stood. Kinsey had her back to him, but her relaxed stance and upturned face told him everything he needed to know.

“Glad we could finally meet, Kinsey,” Dan was crooning. “Though I feel like I already know you so well with all those calls you left. Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“That’s okay, Detective. I’d much rather you were out catching the bad guys. Just glad you could take a few moments to talk.”

“If there’s anything I can do to make it go more smoothly, you let me know.” He released her hand with a slow slide, savoring the skin of Luke’s woman. “Good luck with Almeida. It’s going to be a tough sell.”

“What is?” Luke snapped, unable to keep quiet any longer.

He had to give it to Kinsey: as she spun around to face him, she didn’t look like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar of dicks. Not like
Lisa’s shocked, openmouthed gasp when he found her with his so-called friend in their marriage bed. Kinsey was too cool a customer, and Luke supposed it wasn’t the same.

It just felt like déjà fucking vu.

“Luke,” McGinnis said, lifting his chin in acknowledgment, eyes the color of regret. “See you soon.” He left, his designer loafers silent as he glided across the carpet.

Luke stared at Kinsey, his molars crunching hard enough to expel bone dust from his ears. “What’s gonna be a tough sell?”

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

No, he would not. He had half a mind to chase down McGinnis, jury-rig the elevator so the doors slammed on his skull. Again and again and again. Then throw him down the stairs. All three flights.

Kinsey remained silent while soul-sickening understanding rolled off her. Frozen in a furious block, he could do nothing but stare. When he still made no move—when he couldn’t—she turned to Josie. “Could you call upstairs and tell them I’ll be late to the meeting?”

“How late?” Josie asked, hand already on the phone.

“As long as it takes.” Without looking at him, Kinsey pivoted and walked into her office, and Luke followed her in like the blind fool he was.

Inside, he found her leaning against her desk, the smooth lines of her skirt hugging her stellar thighs. He had missed her body. He had missed her. But he was so rigid with rage that he wondered how he could do this.

He had never been good at compartmentalizing his problems. Stuff tended to bleed across the boundaries, his anger so amorphous it spilled over into his work and his relationships. Now hurt and resentment tangled up inside him so much he could barely think straight. In this moment, he had a choice. Approach the situation rationally and calmly, or let his anger do the heavy lifting.

“What the fuck was he doing here?”

So, seemed he was going down the road rage route, then.

“We’ve set the date for the community party at Engine 6 for a week from Saturday,” Kinsey said, her tone clipped. “That’s why I was meeting with Detective McGinnis.”

Luke knew McGinnis would be attending so they could put a cast on that fracture between the CFD and CPD. Maybe everyone could sign it like a yearbook. What he failed to see was why Kinsey had to have one-on-one time with the man who had destroyed Luke’s marriage and prompted a fistfight that almost deep-sixed his career.

“I know he has to be there for appearances’ sake, so if you’re worried I’ve got a problem with that, then don’t be. Does he have a problem with it?”

“He’s fine with coming to the event, and the mayor would like to see him and his colleagues from the Third District there—”

“But?” Because he could hear it coming as clear as day.

“The mayor would like you to ask him.”

“What?”

“He’d like you to formally invite McGinnis onto
your turf. That’s why I was meeting with him first—to make sure he didn’t get all high and mighty when you talked to him. I know it’s ridiculous, but it would go some way to smoothing this over.”

“You mean I’m supposed to apologize.”

“In a manner of speaking. Luke, I know he’s an asshole, but as far as the mayor’s concerned, you’re in the wrong here. You threw the first punch, and while you might have the moral right on your side, you don’t have the mayor. He doesn’t know . . . the full story.” Her eyes softened. “And you need him. Especially now.”

Because of this situation with Alex. “My sister is going to lose her job anyway. How exactly are you doing on that, Kinsey?”

Annoyance furrowed her brow like a corduroy swatch. “I’m working on it. The priority is to limit the city’s liability—”

“Yeah, because it’s not to save my sister. That’s right, PR princess, you keep spouting the party line. Your job is to make sure Cochrane doesn’t sue, even when CPD is covering up the fact he was driving drunk.”

Kinsey threw up her hands. “Luke, come on, you can’t prove that and I can’t fight it. At the moment, I’m doing my best to make sure Alex won’t be financially ruined, which is what will happen if she’s made a party to a lawsuit against the city.” Her sigh was impatient, exasperated. “But yes, her job is likely toast unless the union can pull a rabbit out of its hat. And I’ve been told to wrap up the Rehab Engine 6 campaign so I can move on to other projects.”

His body’s radar went haywire. He’d known it
was coming, that this forced time together while she kissed his boo-boo better would come to an end. He wasn’t ready for it to come to an end. He wasn’t ready for them to be over.

But his vision field was filled not with her beauty and smarts, not with mental snapshots of the amazing times they had spent together, but with that image of McGinnis cupping her arm possessively. His ears still heard the tinkle of laughter as she wrapped up her schmooze. Every muscle in his chest went rigid at the idea of Kinsey and McGinnis talking about Luke and his propensity to fly off the handle at the smallest thing.

Unaccountably, his cock stirred, remembering how it felt to work his way inside her, to feel those silky muscles tighten around him in need. But Kinsey didn’t need Luke, not really. She just needed him for how he could serve her. Give her an orgasm. Make her look good to her boss by kissing McGinnis’s ass.

Well, Luke wasn’t going to be doing that anytime this century, so Kinsey would have to find another way to impress the mayor.

“McGinnis and his pals can join the party, but you can tell Cooper that there won’t be any gold-plated invitation or apology from me. And seeing how cozy you and the detective were a few moments ago, I’m sure you can use your particular methods of persuasion to get him on board.”

She tilted her head, folded her arms, and cocked a hip—the trifecta of pissed-off woman. “I hope you’re not suggesting there was anything more to that meeting with McGinnis than a request for his cooperation.”

“Me? No, no, Miss Taylor. I’m just a blue-collar stiff, too emotionally stunted to see what’s in front of his face. I’m not so good at reading between the lines.”

“Luke—”

“Gotta go. You know where to find me.”

A moment’s regret that he was being such an ass nagged at him. But then it was swallowed up by the knowledge that Kinsey had met with McGinnis so they could craft a strategy on how to bridle Luke. Make sure he acted like a good little soldier. How had he ever thought she would be on his side in this?

Stiffening his resolve, he left her office, letting a good head of righteous indignation fuel his exit. The misguided notion that he had gotten off easily with a slap on the wrist and a few embarrassing photos of his chest on billboards slammed through him. Sometimes there are worse punishments, like the blow to a man’s pride. Playing host to that bastard, welcoming him into his firehouse with an invitation to make himself at home—not gonna happen.

He’d take ten suspensions, the loss of pay, and a year’s worth of shrink sessions before he said sorry to Daniel McGinnis.

K
insey stared at the door through which Luke Almeida had just stormed out in a full-throttle hissy fit.

That pigheaded, obstinate idiot.

Perhaps she could have handled that better, but Luke had caught her off guard by showing up unannounced. He hadn’t even given her a chance to ask why he was here at nine in the morning after ignoring
her texts and calls for days. Clearly straight from his shift, too, smelling like he’d put in a hard day’s night and he needed some TLC. Then seeing her with his sworn enemy first thing . . .

She could understand his being annoyed. Pissed off, even. But to accuse her of using her body as a tool of persuasion? To imply that she was some kind of shrew willing to open her legs to get ahead in her job? As if she would ever do something like that—and with the sleaze bucket who destroyed his friend’s marriage? Just. No. She knew firsthand how much betrayal hurt.