One Fine Fireman (13 page)

When he got back to Maribel’s house, she met him with a tender smile and a happy-to-see-you hug. “Pete’s asleep in my room,” she whispered. “Out like a light. We’ve got hours until he wakes up.” She tugged him toward the living-room couch. He sank into its soft cushions with a sigh that seemed to come straight from his core. She knelt next to him, nudging him to twist a bit to the side. Then cool, gentle hands were playing across the back of his neck, stroking his tight muscles, rubbing out the knots of tension. His eyes drifted halfway shut at the pleasure of her caresses, the sweetness of being taken care of.

When he thought he’d reached a state of unmatchable bliss, it got better. Those sweet little hands reached around his front and tugged his shirt up. He raised his hands like a child, although the lower half of his body was all adult. The X-rated kind of adult. In no time flat.

She seemed happy about that sudden bulge in his jeans, if her next actions were any indication. Slipping off the couch, she came around in front of him and straddled his lap. Her cottony pink skirt flowed over his legs. It was like having a summer flower sit on him.

“Lie back, you stud. It’s my turn.” Her voice was huskier than usual, and he noticed an extra wash of pink on her round cheeks. Since resistance seemed pointless, he lay back and let her run her hands over his chest, her expression rapt as a kid at Christmas. Her light touch made his senses swim; it was as if she were a blind person reading him with her fingers. He closed his eyes. Instantly, his whole world shrank to the tracking of her every move, anticipation of her next exploration.

Her fingers discovered everything: the two chunks of missing flesh, the biopsy scar, the swirls of hair around his nipples, the skipping of the pulse in his neck, the way his very heartbeat danced to her touch. Her hands did more than discover; love flowed from her fingers through his ravaged skin into his heart, which seemed to expand into an unbearably bright sun, an inside sun that could never hurt him.

“You, my dear,” she murmured as she trailed her hands to the top button of his jeans, “are one fine fireman.”

“Is that right?” His voice was hoarse.

“Oh yes.”

Her voice now came from the region of his crotch. He jerked his eyes open to find her kneeling between his legs, unzipping his jeans. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” She smiled up at him, her pink lips already parted.

“Yes, but . . . you don’t have to.”

“Look, buster.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I love every piece of you, and I want to show you just how much. I don’t want to hold back or tiptoe around you or hide what I want. If you have a problem with any of that, you’d better tell me right now.”

“No. No. I . . . uh . . . no problem.”

“Then zip it. Not this”—she reached inside his fly—“but that.” She gave his mouth a scolding look, then wrapped her precious lips around his cock.

Oh sweet lord.
Give it up, Kirk
.
This woman owns you
. Scraps of thoughts flew through his brain as she moved her warm mouth up and down his shaft. Anything . . . forever . . . I’m yours . . . so good . . . Oh God . . . Maribel . . . inside . . . need . . . now . . .

When she paused for breath, he swooped in and whirled her onto the couch. “I’ve got to be inside you.”

Maribel gave a little gasp, staring dizzily up at the man who’d been at her mercy one second ago. Now he braced himself over her, every ripped muscle vibrating with tension, his voice gritty from lust. She could just about faint from the desire written in every line of his usually serious face. It looked as though the restraint had been scorched out of him by raw, white-hot need.

“I want you, Maribel.”

“Oh, me too.” She brought his hand under her skirt, between her legs. She knew he’d find her wet and ready. Loving him with her mouth, feeling his instant response, the swell and surge of him, was an incredible turn-on. He practically ripped her panties down her legs. That sudden show of strength made her gasp again. Then his hands were on her, those work-roughened, all-knowing hands. She nearly moaned from the happiness of having him touch her again. When was that first time . . . yesterday? It felt like eons had passed.

But it didn’t matter; they were together again, hands on flesh, skin against damp skin, lips on mouth, heart against heart, him inside her, her around him.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, reveling in their power as he thrust into her body. Each flex of his hips set off a sparkling fountain of pleasure, each one deeper and sweeter and more piercing. “I love you, Kirk,” she chanted in a whisper. “I love you, I love you.”

She had no choice; her body, soul, and heart pushed the words out of her.

His answer seemed torn from the deepest part of himself. “Oh sweetheart. God, how I love you, Maribel.”

And then great waves of pleasure lifted them up and away, spun them around, and launched them into endless, exquisite wonder.

Afterwards, they went into her sunny kitchen, where she put him in the chair farthest from the window and brought him coffee. “Coffee, black?” she asked, her voice still adorably sex-husky.

“Like old times.” He smiled at her over the mug, blinking like a lovesick puppy.

She sat across from him, her pink skirt floating around her. He’d never forget that skirt.

“Pete and I are supposed to meet with the arson investigator tomorrow. Do you think you could come?”

The request made his heart glow. “Of course. Pete’s not going anywhere without me for a while. I told you.”

With a nervous, sidelong look, she plucked at the fabric of her skirt. “Kirk, while you were gone, Pete and I talked. We don’t like what you’re doing. It’s not right.”

Now that was a punch in the gut. He put the coffee mug down on the rickety side table by the couch. “Don’t start, Maribel. You’re not going to change my mind.”

“But Kirk, have you forgotten you’re
moving
? You’re supposed to stay out of the sun, and it’s nothing but sun here. It’s bad for your health. We can’t accept that.”

Agitated, Kirk jumped to his feet. Maribel stood as well, arms folded, her hair a rumpled tangle around her head.

“It’s my choice. I’m at risk either way, whether I move or don’t. It won’t kill me to stay a little longer.”

“But you said the UV level is higher here.”

“I’ll take the chance, Maribel. I stay covered up, I use sunscreen. But I’m not taking chances with Pete’s life. I won’t. Don’t ask me to, sweetheart.” He took her by the shoulders, willing her to understand. “Last night I lay on your couch and promised myself I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or Pete, if I can do anything to stop it. Nothing matters to me more than the two of you.”

Tears swam in her wide hazel eyes, hung on her eyelashes. Fiercely, she dashed them away and glared up at him. “Don’t you get it, Kirk? We don’t want anything to happen to you either! We want to come with you to Alaska.” Her face went pink as a peach. “I mean, if you want us.”

“Wh . . . what?” He clutched her tighter, not sure he’d heard right. “Come to Alaska?”

“Ye . . . es.” Her gaze dropped away, as if she was embarrassed. “I asked Pete how he’d feel about going with you. I said, ‘I’m sorry you can’t have a dog, but what about a fireman instead?’ Kind of joking, you know. I explained that I loved you, and that you’d said you loved me too, and asked what he’d think of us all being together as a family and moving to Alaska and—are you okay?”

Sure, he was okay, as long as breathing wasn’t absolutely essential. He managed to choke out some words. “What did he say?”

“He loves the idea,” she said simply. “He thinks you’re the best thing on two feet. Hagrid’s the best on four, of course. Oof!”

He didn’t remember how it happened, exactly, but he was suddenly squeezing the breath out of her, making her laugh and hug him back in a blaze of bright, shining joy that threatened to lift the little house off its foundations and float all the way to Alaska.

Fairness compelled him to double-check, though. “Are you sure? All the way to Alaska? I never thought . . .”

“It’ll be an adventure,” she said firmly. “I’ll expand my artistic horizons and Pete can work some other climate zones into his epic novel. And we’ll be safe from . . . you know. They’re not going to hunt him down in Alaska. And, most important, we’ll be with you.”

True.

Of course, they’d have to discuss a wedding, or at least an engagement, but for now it was enough to hold her tight and feel happiness seep like a healing balm through every cell of his body.

K
IRK BROUGHT
P
ETE
to the firehouse with him to say goodbye. Maribel was training her replacement at the Lazy Daisy but sent along a few dozen farewell muffins, everything but bran. All the Bachelor Firemen and the newest female member of the crew, the pretty, turquoise-eyed Sabina Jones, gathered around to shake his hand, clap his shoulder, and offer hugs. After the milling and chattering had died down, Captain Brody cleared his throat for attention. Hagrid was at his feet; his ear already looked nearly healed. Pete dropped down to pet him and scratch his neck until his tail threatened to pound a groove into the floor.

“The crew has voted. We all feel—unanimously—that the fairest thing to do with a dog as brave and fearless around fire as this one is to turn him into a firehouse dog. We checked with Gonzalez in Colorado and he’s fine with it. So if it’s okay with you, Pete, we’d like to adopt Hagrid here at San Gabriel Station 1.”

“Really?” Pete looked up from his mutual adoration-fest with Hagrid.

“Yes. But I have to tell you, there’s a catch.”

“What?”

Kirk started to smile. He knew exactly what was coming.

“According to tradition, every firehouse dog here at Station 1 has been named Constancia. After Constancia B. Sidwell.”

“Ill-fated bride of Virgil Rush, who left him in the lurch and inspired our bachelor curse,” explained Ryan with a wink. “Which some of us call a blessing in disguise.”

“Constancia? That’s a horrible name!” Pete cried, appalled. “He’s a boy, first of all.”

“Good point. Besides, he just doesn’t look like a Constancia to me. It’s a bit old-fashioned. What do you say to the name Stan?”

“Stan,” muttered Pete, stroking the dog’s floppy ear. “Good boy, Stan, good boy.” Hagrid/Z-boy/Stan cocked his head in answer. “That’s fine. He’s okay with Stan.”

“Stan it is.”

A cheer went up from the firefighters. Captain Brody smiled broadly. As Pete got to his feet, the captain clapped him on the shoulder. “You can visit him any time.”

Ryan elbowed his way through the crowd. “You’ll probably hear about him on the news way before that.”

“Why?” Pete asked. “Because he’s such a hero?”

“No, not that. We’re going to spread it around that two dogs were at the scene and Stan slept through the fire. Throw off the arsonists. Nope, Stan’s going to be known as the official Bachelor Fire Dog of San Gabriel. Now he’ll never find a Mrs. Stan.”

Sabina snorted and rolled her eyes. “You guys don’t really believe in that curse, do you?”

Quiet descended.

“Anyone else notice how Kirk didn’t hook up with Maribel until after he quit the department?” Vader said in a spooked voice.

“Hey,” Kirk protested, with a quick glance at Pete. “We didn’t ‘hook up.’ We’re getting married.”

The firemen let loose another round of cheers and hoots, before quieting again. “Weird, though,” said Vader, as though telling a ghost story. “Six years without saying ten words at a time to her—”

“Record was seventeen,” Fred pointed out. “Last Christmas. Sixteen on July 13.”

Vader ignored him. “And suddenly, they’re getting married. Makes you wonder.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Brody firmly. “Back to work, everyone. Pete, Kirk . . . good luck in Alaska. Keep in touch.”

“Will do, Cap.”

One last bear hug from the best captain he’d ever known, a last wave of goodbyes, one more lingering cuddle with Stan the Bachelor Fire Dog, and Kirk and Pete headed home, where Maribel, the moving van, and life itself awaited.

Want to see more of Stan the Dog
and the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel?

Turn the page for excerpts from
the other Bachelor Firemen novels
by Jennifer Bernard
from Avon Books

An Excerpt from

THE FIREMAN WHO LOVED ME

H
OT
M
EN FOR A
G
REAT
C
AUSE.

The words on the poster were black, the background an orange fireball, and, front and center, a hunky fireman gripped his hose.

In the crowded lobby of the San Gabriel Hilton, Melissa McGuire stopped dead at the sight of the poster propped on the large easel. This couldn’t possibly be right. She and her grandmother must have gotten their wires crossed. On Nelly’s birthday, they usually gorged on hot butterscotch sundaes or the all-you-can-eat lunch buffet at the Bombay Deluxe. Had she misread “Hilton”? What else started with an H? Hooters? That seemed even more unlikely. But with Nelly, you never did know.

As she dug in her jeans pocket for the envelope on which Nelly had scrawled the directions, someone jostled her from behind.

“Hey!” she protested.

Oblivious, a pack of girls streamed past her, a blur of cropped tops and streaked hair. Now that she thought about it, the crowd was made up entirely of young women in their twenties and thirties. They were virtually stampeding in the direction of the ballroom. The last time Melissa had been here, she’d been covering the mayor’s victory party for Channel Six. This had to be a mistake.

The envelope, when she finally found it, said otherwise.
San Gabriel Hilton, five p.m. I’ll save us a seat at the front of the ballroom. Your loving grandmother, Nelly.
“Loving” was underlined twice. That meant trouble.

Melissa stumbled as a sharp elbow to her back nearly knocked her over. “Do you mind?”

“Oops, sorry,” said a girl in a glitter-sprinkled party dress. “But all the good seats are going to be taken if we don’t hurry.”