Her Firefighter SEAL (14 page)

She tore her gaze away from the elevator doors. “I can’t drink,” she pointed out.

“Then you’re going to have to tow me back upstairs when I finish the pitcher. Waste not, want not.” Laura Jo slurped her margarita, ignoring the looks the next-door table gave her. “Or you could call him.”

The
him
in question being Kade.

“It’s maybe a four-hour drive from Strong to here,” Laura Jo continued. “And all evidence to the contrary when he’s driving the ambulance, Kade does know how to use the gas pedal and skip the brake. I bet he could make it in three.”

“You’re the devil,” she said, but her words lacked heat. “And don’t encourage him to speed.”

Laura Jo poured herself a refill and eyed the level in the pitcher. “We’re going to need reinforcements here. And I can’t tempt you if you don’t want to do it. You don’t want just any guy, or you could turn around and pick one out from the bar behind us. Kade’s the one who gets your engine revving. He’s the one who does it for you.”

It would be so much easier if she could. She went so far as to scoot around in her seat and eyeball the man selection bellied up to the bar. Honestly, there were some excellent choices. Like Mr. Tall, Dark, and Business Suit, who looked like he could rock a girl’s billionaire fantasy. Or the slightly scruffy, leather-jacket-wearing guy who flashed a tattoo when he grabbed his beer. Hola, Señor Bad Boy. Imagining walking up to one or both, buying him a drink and chatting him up? That was easy. It was the taking-her-clothes-off and the getting-naked-and-vulnerable part that was harder. Okay. Impossible. Even though both men were probably perfectly nice guys who knew their way around a bed and a girl’s heart.

But just because she lusted after Kade and had no qualms about losing her panties around him didn’t mean they had a relationship. Or anything but her favorite
L
word. Lust, not love.  As long as she remembered that, she’d be okay.

––––––––

Chapter Thirteen

E
very spot at Abbie’s Saturday morning barre class was taken.  Usually, a high occupancy rate was a good thing. Today, however, Abbie hadn’t quite decided how she felt about the unprecedented interest. Frankly, she blamed Kade. She’d planned her class months in advance, so it wasn’t as if she could really swap out the moves to make the guys look
more
ridiculous, but she watched in satisfaction as the
four
smoke jumpers in attendance executed a precision bent-knee lift before dropping into a bent-knee squat.

In addition to her usual group of eight ladies, she had four bonus smoke jumpers. They were all big, cut men in gym shorts and old T-shirts. The ballet moves combined with their bulk should have looked ridiculous, and it was true that Mikhail Baryshnikov wouldn’t have recruited them to do anything but haul sets from point A to point B. Muscles didn’t necessarily translate into grace—or flexibility. But they approached her class with single-minded dedication and focus that she appreciated. Kade winked at her as he switched sides.

It was kind of cute, really—and seriously demoralizing, because none of them were breathing hard when they finished. They might not be able to bend their chests flat to their right leg on the barre, but they could bang out sit-up reps far longer than she could.

Her ladies headed for the door. The smoke jumpers, naturally, didn’t. Nope. They stuck around, elbowing Kade and nodding significantly in her direction. For now, she and Kade had worked out an arrangement. He got to ask her once a day when she planned on moving out to the new place, and in exchange, she got hot, toe-curling, panty-melting sex with him. Apparently, it was time for Kade’s daily request.

Kade elbowed Rio hard, like dance class had just morphed into wrestling or touch football.

“I’ll see you back at the hangar,” Kade said easily.

Rio looked pointedly at Kade’s knee. “Yeah. I’ll bring the WD-40.”

Truth was, Kade walked like the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz. It didn’t stop him from prowling across the too-small dance floor toward her, although she had no idea how the man thought jumping out of a plane at four thousand feet could possibly be a good idea. She thought about that, rubbing her stomach while he closed the distance between them.

“Are you coming to Monday’s class?” She sighed when he came to a stop in front of her. The only classes he had missed had been due to emergency calls. He was apparently a glutton for punishment, and she was a sucker because—even though she’d admit it precisely never—she enjoyed having him in her class.

“Prepaid,” he said, an easy smile on his face.

“Next time, bring your tutu.”

“If that’s what it takes.” He stepped closer, filling up her space. “You should smile more often.”

She was tired of being cranky and sad and alone, but it was also habit. And she was equally tired of people telling her to change. Still, the thought of Kade in a tutu was definitely smile material. She could imagine him all too easily, playing dress-up with the peanut.

“We’ll recreate
Swan Lake
and you can be Odette. You’ll make a fabulous swan princess.”

He flapped his arms. “Can’t I at least have a boy part with swords?”

It wasn’t hard to imagine him as Odette’s prince, sword in hand and dressed in chainmail and riding into battle with a ferocious roar.
Remember the story.
She should make it into a T-shirt because it described her own life. Odette died. Her prince died. And Odette’s swan friends killed the evil sorcerer who’d caused the whole mess in the first place. The good guys didn’t get a happy ending, although she’d always wondered what had happened to Odile, who’d masqueraded as Odette and temporarily claimed the handsome prince for her own. It must have sucked to be Odile.

“Lost in thought?” He tapped her nose like she was five.

“Touch me again and I’ll bite you.” She moved away to grab her bag, which turned out to be a mistake. Or maybe she’d done it on purpose, giving him an opening. Mr. I-Wanna-Be-A-Prince didn’t miss an opening.

“Promise?” His voice was husky in her ears as he snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his body. She looked around, but the studio had emptied out. He cupped her belly with one large hand, patting the peanut hello. “When does he grow ears?”

“Too late. He already did.” She grinned at him.

“Good to know.” He held her for a minute. That was the thing about Kade. He was never in any rush. The soft in and out of his breathing in her ear was... good. Damn it. Everything about the man was good. For any other woman, he’d be a prince.

Just not for her.

“Are you worried about corrupting the peanut?” She twisted her head back, finding the perfect spot on his shoulder where they just kind of fit together. Her tension melted away. She both loved and hated this effect that he had on her.

“Let’s be fair. If Peanut’s first word is
fuck
, you’re going to blame me,” he pointed out.

“That’s years in the future.” Eventually, Kade would get over this need he had to fix her, and he’d move on. They hadn’t lasted in high school, and they wouldn’t last now. All they had was a temporary affair of convenience.

He slid her a look. “You kicking me out already?”

She snorted. Right. His thumbs found the tense spots on either side of her stomach and dug in gently.
Bliss.

“Come on.” He removed his hands from her body—
bummer
—and led her to the door. “You can tell me all about your latest pregnancy symptoms on the drive out.”

“Where are we going?” She rolled her eyes, although she’d bet she already knew their destination. Kade took her out to the new house every chance he got, like if she just saw the place enough, she’d reconsider her refusal to move in. It was working too.

“Your place,” he said. He’d parked right in front of her studio, and Stan barked happily from the front seat. The back of the truck was an explosion of blue and purple hydrangeas, colorful balls of flower wherever she looked.

“I brought you flowers,” he said with a straight face. “Now you have to listen to me.”

“What if I’m a rose girl?” she asked lightly, trying to downplay the giddy happiness pouring through her. Kade didn’t do anything halfway. Instead of a dozen long-stem reds in cellophane wrap, he’d filled the bed of his truck with plants. For
her
.

“I’ll swap them. Say the word.”

She had a feeling he would, too.

“They’re gorgeous,” she admitted. “But you shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” he said, like it was that simple. “Can we go to your place now?”

Staying put was ridiculous. She knew that. She currently paid good money for a cottage with moss on the roof, for God’s sake. The hot water supply was temperamental, the yard wasn’t fenced, and the one-bedroom situation would stop working the moment she had a bassinette by her bed. Not that she expected to have a rocking sex life through the newborn and toddler years, but she’d at least like the possibility—and sneaking out to do it on the couch held zero appeal. Plus making the rent wasn’t easy, so why not take the free place?

“Are you going to make attempt number one thousand and sixty seven to change my mind about moving in?”

He opened the door for her. “I’ll take that as a
yes
on our destination. Your chariot awakes.”

Uh-huh. She should have protested, but instead she let him help her up into the cab. In another month or two, he’d need to install a derrick.

“If you’re making a callback joke to
Swan Lake
,” she informed him, “there were no chariots in the last production I danced in.”

He looked up at her as he shut the door, and something inside her melted. Maybe it was the easy grin on his face or the small crinkles around his eyes. He looked like he was enjoying himself, enjoying
her
just the way she was. Other than her street address, he didn’t seem to want change one thing about her, and that was strangely seductive.

“I’m hoping one thousand and sixty seven is my lucky number,” he said. “Although that’s going to be hard to fit on a jersey. You should have agreed sooner.”

As he went around the truck and got in, she curled up in the seat, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

He slid into the driver’s seat, rolled the window down, and looked over at her. “Ready?”

God, no. Crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over her head sounded perfect. Unfortunately, she’d probably drag him with her and continue her streak of doing things she shouldn’t do.

She patted him on the thigh. “Mush.”

~*~

T
he smoke-jumping team had been putting in a swing set for the past two weeks. Unfortunately, the swing set had arrived in approximately four thousand unidentifiable but almost identical pieces, the instructions appeared to require a PhD in astrophysics to interpret, and they had about three guys too many trying to stick the fucking thing together. It was a good thing the peanut was at least two years away from being ready to play on it because Kade predicted that the assembly process would take that long.

He’d taken to coming out to Abbie’s house every free moment that he had. He’d told himself that the place was perfect for a good trail run, but the truth was he just liked being here.  Probably because he’d had one too many fantasies about Abbie in her new place, but he didn’t need to admit that. As soon as he put the truck in part this morning, however, Abbie bolted for the house and Joey Carter came up to him, looking like a man on a very unpleasant mission.

“You doing okay?” Joey led with the standard question, but it was an icebreaker and they both knew it. In fact, Joey didn’t even wait for Kade’s reply—which was good because he had no idea how to answer—and instead got down to business. “You think she blames me for Will’s death?”

The
she
in question was Abbie, of course, and it wasn’t like Kade could read her mind. Fuck, if he could do that, he’d have her out here and she’d be happy.

“Why would she?” Answering a question with one of his own wasn’t fair, but Joey nodded like Kade was a font of wisdom.

“Because I was there. Because I could have gone back for him.”

“You weren’t a hotshot team of two,” he pointed out, but he knew how Joey felt. Team was team. You didn’t leave a man down. If he fell, you fucking went back for him, no matter what it took. Joey didn’t say anything, but he nodded his head and when Abbie stuck her head out the front door of the house, he pounced.

“You got a moment?”

Abbie patted him on the arm. “I’ve got nothing but time for you, babe.”

Joey helped her down the steps like she was one of those little crystal figurines in the antiques store. Kade figured the other SEAL was lucky Abbie didn’t kick him in the balls. She really didn’t like special treatment. But maybe she sensed Joey was feeling a little fragile, because she let him do his thing and damned if she didn’t smile the whole time.

Since it was none of his business what went on between those two, Kade concentrated on unloading the truck. Bits and pieces of their conversation reached him anyhow because, short of cranking up the radio, there was no way to drown out their words entirely. He hadn’t known Joey could string together that many words. Maybe dating Mercy Hernandez had been good for him.

“I should have gone back for him,” Joey announced on the other side of the truck. Kade was pretty sure Joey punched the side of Kade’s truck, which sucked. Joey was a big man; there’d be a dent.

Abbie murmured something in response, her words too low to catch.

“I miss him.” Joey’s voice was muffled, thick with pain and something else. Guilt. Sometimes being the one who survived seemed harder than being the dead guy. Kade had seen the way his brother SEALs had looked when he and Stan had made it out. They’d want to tear shit apart, blow stuff up, but there weren’t enough explosions in the world to fix the mistake that had left Kade injured and at the insurgents’ mercy.

Abbie’s voice, when it finally came, was too quiet. “I miss him too.”

There was a second dull thud as Joey took out his frustrations on Kade’s poor truck. Since it had seen worse, he kept unloading. He’d picked up a truckload of hydrangeas from the nursery. The plants had all these puffy blue-and-white flower balls on them, which Katie claimed would “dress the place up.”