Her Firefighter SEAL (2 page)

He’d be her trusty steed, Will had promised, his brown eyes crinkling up at the corners as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. Or her white knight. Her squire. Whatever, whoever, she needed him to be. Robin Hood, she’d wanted to say, and I’ll be Marian, but that would have been mean. He couldn’t love her wildly or romantically, but she didn’t feel that way about him either, and they’d had a baby on board and a new chance at being a family. It would have been silly to wish for more.

The problem was steeds, squires, and knights only worked when they weren’t dead, and Will was dead. Unlike the six-foot-tall problem plié-ing in her studio. Just looking at Kade took her mind right off Will because he looked ridiculously out of place. He was a big, battle-hardened SEAL in sweatpants and a Navy T-shirt doing cardio barre with six women. If she’d been meaner, she would have snapped a picture with her phone and posted to the town’s Facebook page. Eventually, she stopped worrying about why he was there and just lost herself in the pull and glide of the dance moves. Stretching a little farther, sinking a little deeper. Letting the music hum through her and swallow up all the thoughts she was so tired of.

Kade was stiff, but he caught on quick. Although
pretty arms
wasn’t something he’d be mastering this century, he handled the legwork like a pro. In motion, his body was a thing of beauty, the only moment of uncertainty when he put his weight on his busted knee. His face didn’t give anything away, but even she could tell that knee didn’t work like the other one.

When she moved the class to the mats for ab work, calling out the moves from the front of the studio because this was the one piece she couldn’t do anymore thanks to the baby on board, he smoked them all. It was a pity he hadn’t shed his T-shirt, because she was betting he had a six-pack. Or a nine-, ten-, or twelve-pack. The SEAL took his crunches seriously.

Precisely forty-three minutes into their session, she segued into the cooldown, walking her ladies through a series of gentle stretches.

“And we’re done, ladies. Good job.”

There was the usual flurry of happy noise as her ladies gathered up their things and shoved on street shoes. They chatted about their plans for the rest of the day and moved toward the door. Leaving her alone with Kade. That hadn’t been part of her plan.

Of course Kade stuck. He’d been chasing her for two weeks. Now that he’d run her to ground in her studio, he’d say whatever it was he was so desperate to say. Not that he
looked
desperate. Instead, he looked good, which had pretty much been a permanent condition for him since high school.

“How are you?” He leveled his dark gaze on her, unfazed by his introduction to cardio barre. She should have told him tutus were obligatory wear for newcomers. Maybe then he would have left before she had to make small talk with him. Because what did he
think
she was going to say? TGIF. Fridays sucked. So did Saturdays, Sundays, and every other day ending in
Y.

“I’m fine. Do you want to discuss the weather too? Because this is California. It’s sunny. It’s hot. There’s zero chance of rain and, yes, I know they’re predicting a bad fire season.”

She didn’t give a damn if she came off as hostile. He shook his head but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t Kade’s fault, but she was pissed off at him. He’d come back. Everyone had written him off as dead, but then he’d come back. So why couldn’t Will come back?

“You need help with your social skills,” he said agreeably.

“I don’t need help. Period. What do you want?” She grabbed her towel and draped it around her neck. The towel had been Will’s. It was plain gray and had bleach stains along the edges from the one and only time he’d been allowed near their washing machine.

“To talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest. How unfair was it that he hadn’t even broken a sweat?

Of course he wanted to talk. He’d want to know how she was
feeling
. He’d offer to be the shoulder she cried on or the loaner guy she called when she needed a free handyman. He’d change lightbulbs, move furniture, drive her from point A to point B. It was all so nice. Thoughtful. Blah fucking blah. What she
felt
was mean, and the sooner he—and everyone else in Strong—accepted that, the better.

It somehow seemed even worse because, once upon a time, she and Kade had talked marriage and living happily ever after together. Granted, they’d been young and stupid, and he’d hotfooted it out of Strong and into the military when she’d passed on his less-than-romantic proposal (
hello
, broken condom and teenage guilt), but she didn’t need him to be her pretend husband now.

“Class is over,” she said. “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Is that the best you can do?”

Not at all. She was still holding back, giving him a chance to retreat. She wasn’t a nice person to be around now, and he was trying to do what he thought was the right thing. See? She gave him credit for that.

“Out,” she repeated and pointed. “I need to lock up.”

He nodded and headed for the door. Unfortunately, he also held it for her so she couldn’t barricade herself inside. Damn him for being a gentleman.

“What’s with the manners?” She hated the way he made her feel off-kilter.

“I’m a polite guy,” he said mildly. “But I can let the door smack you if that’s your preference.”

“I’d prefer to be left alone.”

He jiggled the door. “If wishes were horses.”

She snorted before she could stop herself. It wasn’t funny, but God was it true. “I’d have a horse farm.”

“Yeah.” Reaching out, she poked him in the stomach. Hard.

Darn. The reason why he’d smoked them all in the abs workout was obvious. The man was ripped. The warmth of his chest penetrated her palm through his T-shirt, tempting her to curl up against him and bask.

No basking.

His current position left her pinned between the door and his body. She could retreat back into the studio, but she wasn’t giving anything else up. Losing Will had been enough. She’d paid her karmic dues there and now the universe owed her a free pass for the next fifty years or so.

“Move it, soldier.”

He looked down and his fingers closed around hers. How could his hands possibly seem bigger and rougher than they had in high school?
Sexier too
, her libido sighed happily.

He raised an eyebrow. She’d always hated that move because it was usually followed by an explanation of why she was wrong—and he was right. “Manhandling me?”

“Is that what you want?” she snapped.

“You have no idea what I want.”

“Try me,” she suggested and then wished she could take it back, realizing how it sounded.

The look in his eyes was unexpected but recognizable, part heat and part curiosity. Apparently her US Navy SEAL did see her as something more than a baby incubator he needed to watch out for. She probably should have felt shocked or horrified in her widowhood, but instead she was unexpectedly flattered. And more than a little bit intrigued. Apparently, she was as bad at widowhood as she’d been at marriage.

She missed Will on so many levels, but the casual things were the hardest.  Things like Will pausing behind her chair to rub her shoulders, the bump of his hip against hers as they loaded up the cart at the grocery, turning over in bed and brushing against him.

And that wasn’t even sex. She missed the sex too, although God knew her sex life with Will had been anything but exotic. However, the pregnancy gods had decreed she turn into one of those pregnant women who wanted sex all the time, her hormones rampaging gleefully, lustfully out of control despite the unavoidable fact that she was alone.

She didn’t like where her hormones were taking her though, so she reverted back to bitch mode. “Nice,” she said. “Hitting on the widow.”

Ooh. That got a reaction out of him. His firm mouth tightened further—shockingly, she wondered what he would do if she traced her tongue over that hard line—and the warm light disappeared from his eyes.

“Come check out the house.”

She shook her head. “Not happening.”

“Reconsider.” He gave her that tight-lipped smile that wasn’t a smile. It was all too easy to imagine him moving through the streets of some dangerous Afghani city, clearing buildings with a submachine gun.

She pretended to think for a moment. “Nope. I’m good, and I’m going home.”

“You have a perfectly good
new
home on the lot you and Will bought.” Now he sounded frustrated. Good. That made two of them.

“I like where I am.”

They went a couple more rounds, arguing about whether or not she should pack up and move to Will’s dream house.  Or rather, she argued while he stood there like an immovable human wall. The new house was supposed to have been part of their do-over future, a fresh start for a future that wasn’t happening now. All of her memories, all of her life with Will, had taken place in the small, run-down rental cottage. No matter how gorgeous the new house was, it was empty of memories and memories were all she had.

Eventually she gave up arguing and walked forward, betting he was enough of a gentleman to not let her pregnant belly slam into him.

Score one for her. Kade moved aside to let her pass.

“Got you,” she said, deliberately brushing him as she took her victory walk.

His grin was downright evil. “I’ve prepaid. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, her girl parts either thought the grin was a good look for him or were thrilled he was coming back for more.

Damn it.

––––––––

Chapter Two

K
ade’s second attempt at cardio barre was slightly more successful than the first. He waved his arms, he mostly kept up with the group, and the number of covert smiles decreased. His knee had reacted badly to yesterday’s class, locking up and refusing to bend until early this morning. This time would be better.

“You need to stop bugging me,” Abbie declared after class as she swiped her water bottle from the floor. She wore another one of her curve-hugging, drive-Kade-crazy workout outfits, a hot-pink leotard with a black exercise top made out of little straps that crisscrossed her shoulders and her breasts. He had no idea how she got it on—or off. Finding out was quickly becoming a favorite fantasy of his.

Bugging her, however, didn’t top his to-do list. Running his hands down the sweet, straight line of her spine, cupping her ass, and pulling her up against him? Yeah. That was on the list. Kissing her made his personal top ten as well, and he had even more ideas about where he could put his mouth. Her ear, her throat, the sun-kissed curve of her breasts. Lower. Yeah, definitely lower.

“You need to listen to me,” he countered. Nice wouldn’t help her, he reminded himself. She already had an overdose of that from Strong’s well-intentioned but suffocating residents. He’d volunteered to give her a mental kick in the butt, and he needed to stay on task. Given their personal history, that shouldn’t be difficult to accomplish. After all, he’d routinely pissed her off while they’d been dating, and that had been without even trying.

She gave him a look that expressed her disbelief all too clearly. “You’re not making your case.”

“Your house is ready for you and Baby.” He eyed her stomach. “Once we paint the walls, you can move in. Have you picked out names yet?”

“No,” she bit out.

The ensuing pause warned him she wasn’t going there. So fine. She’d pick a name or she wouldn’t, but naming junior was a future problem, and he needed to focus on today. He’d checked out her rental cottage—from the outside and with a couple of the other smoke jumpers—while she’d been teaching her afternoon dance class, and he didn’t like thinking about her alone in that place. The roof had a green carpet of moss around the edges, and the front porch sagged, presenting a tripping hazard. If Will hadn’t been dead, Kade would have kicked his ass for letting Abbie live in a run-down dump like that. She didn’t need a broken ankle to go with all the other party favors life had handed her.

“The new house is better,” he announced.

“Why is it better?” She propped her hands on her hips and glared at him as if he was supposed to have a list of reasons to feed her. He was no fucking Realtor. He didn’t know how to sell her on the house, but something about her eyes got to him, like the angry sheen of wetness he saw there was because, just maybe, the ice she’d encased herself in had melted a little. Like he was getting through to her. She didn’t have to do this by herself. She wasn’t alone. She had friends who had her back, and only an idiot would throw that away. Fuck. Now he felt like a self-help book, which was an entirely new—and unwelcome—sensation.

“Waiting here,” she snapped when the silence dragged on as he wrestled with the unexpected need to analyze his
feelings
. And hers. “Or is your silence your concession speech? Because I can totally work with that.”

Funny how there could be all those years between now and the last time he’d seen her and he recognized the tone of her voice. He’d screwed up, and she’d decided to take it upon herself to point out his shortcomings. Familiar territory. He’d grown up since then, and she didn’t get to be always right anymore.

“Do you even know how to be nice?”

Her lips moved silently, like maybe she was counting to ten. “I don’t want to be nice.”

He got that. He wasn’t particularly nice himself, although he was making an effort for Katie. He preferred a good fight, a few fists flying to clear the air. But from everything he’d heard about Abbie and from what he remembered from their high school days, she wasn’t that kind of person. She didn’t lash out or yell—just sniped with lethal accuracy—but right now she was hurting, and part of her needed everyone else to hurt, too.

“You don’t have to be nice with me,” he said, meaning it. “You just have to pick out paint colors.”

“And move.” She sighed. “I half expect to wake up one morning and find that you all have carted me over to the new house in my bed.”