The Fireman Who Loved Me (19 page)

“Melissa’s a little busy right now.”

He snapped out of his rage and found Ella pouting up at him, her entire body practically hanging on his arm. She seemed to be trying to drag him out of the newsroom.

“I can give her a message. Not that I’m an errand girl, of course. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” She tugged on his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Out of the goodness of my heart, I’m trying to keep you from making a fool of yourself. Do you think Melissa wants you here right now? She hasn’t seen Everett Malcolm in forever. She’s always jabbering on about him. She must be like a kid at Christmas right now.”

Brody took another quick, painful look at the still-ongoing kiss. Ella had a funny idea of what kids did at Christmas. He could have shaken off the petite anchor like a fruit fly, but he allowed her to push him toward the exit stairwell.
Everett Malcolm, the news director.
Melissa hated the man, didn’t she? Apparently not. The image of her snuggled in the man’s arms mocked him.

Getting the hell out sounded like the best possible idea right now. He went, after a vicious sideways slam of his fist against the wall of the stairwell.

M
elissa, wrapped in Everett’s arms, felt bile rise in her throat. Someone made a sound—possibly one of the many newsroom employees avidly watching the show—and she broke away from the kiss. How had she let herself be touched, for even one moment, by the man who had caused her so much pain? She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand to get rid of the feel of Everett’s kiss, but it burned with a mocking fierceness. So did Everett’s gaze.
I own you
, his look seemed to say.
You will never get over me.

A movement at the edge of the newsroom caught her eye. A familiar-looking flannel work shirt fluttered in the doorway, then disappeared. Horror shot through her. Could that have been Brody? Ella sauntered toward her.

“Ella, was that Captain Brody?”

Ella shrugged. “For a second, it was. He bolted out of here quick enough.”

“Shit.” Melissa ran toward the door.

“Melissa! Bad idea!”

She ignored Ella and bounded down the stairs two at a time. In the parking garage, she saw Brody’s truck moving toward the exit. She ran toward her own parking space, but it was empty. Of course—her father had her car.

Never mind. She could still catch Brody. She ran after his truck, shouting his name. By now he’d almost reached the exit, but he turned his head at the sound of his name. Their eyes met. Melissa stopped in her tracks, pinned by two hard gray spears. He revved the truck, and sped out of the garage.

Melissa, panting from her mad dash, kicked the tire of the nearest car, a ratty old Toyota. How dare Brody look at her like that, when he didn’t know the whole story? Besides, he was the one with a pregnant woman hanging out at his house! What right did he have to judge her? What was he doing here, anyway?

He’d probably come to tell her he was getting back together with Rebecca. What else would be so urgent? It was the only explanation that made sense. Brody would be too honorable to break up with someone on the phone. He would do it in person, even if that meant coming to see her at work.

Thank God she hadn’t fallen in love with him.

They’d had a wild few days in bed, but what did they have in common, really? Okay, so they’d had some amazing conversations. She’d felt closer to him than she ever had to anyone.

But he’d loved Rebecca since the age of fourteen. How could she compare with that? Was she destined to always be second best? Second best in Everett’s life, second best to on-air talent, second best to her father’s drinking.

“Hey!” A voice interrupted her. “Back away from my wheels.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” she said sarcastically. “Your car is such a chick magnet.”

The editor, whose name she couldn’t remember, shot her a wounded look and brushed past her.

“Sorry,” she muttered. There was no need to be mean to innocent bystanders. It wasn’t the editor’s fault that Brody had decided to get back together with his ex. Melissa dragged herself back up the stairs to the newsroom.

On the stairs, she passed an assignment desk assistant, and snapped at her too.
Get a grip
, she lectured herself.
Brody’s just one man, and come to think of it, not at all the right one for you. You need someone brilliant and artistic, intellectual and dynamic. Someone like . . .

As soon as she walked back into the newsroom and saw Everett, her heart sank. Everett had every quality she’d just listed. But he was also dishonest, self-absorbed, and in the end he’d been outright cruel. Everett was not right for her. Neither was the screenwriter who’d left her a message earlier today, after disappearing for eight months without a word. Neither was the sculptor who had sent her an invitation to his show opening—the show that had taken up so much of his time he’d decided not to date until it was over.

Only one man would do for her now, and that man had just driven off in his truck, with a look that cut the heart right out of her.

Crap. Double crap. She
had
fallen in love with him.

She couldn’t face the newsroom right now. Or Everett. Or Ella. She fled to the bathroom.

In the back corner stall, she perched on the toilet and wiped away tears with squares of toilet paper. Crying in the bathroom—the last time she’d done that, Everett had just broken up with her. She’d never forget that mortifying moment in his office with Barb Nelson, star political reporter.

“Everett, I insist you take her off the campaign special. She blew my confidential source in the vice president’s office. Not literally, of course, as far as I know.”

“No, I didn’t! I wrote exactly what you told me. You even spelled out his name.”

“Why would I burn a source like that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Now, ladies, no catfights allowed. I don’t want blood on my carpet. Barb, give me a moment with Melissa.”

Barb had left, and Melissa had been confronted with Everett’s coldest stare. “I have to take you off the special. I can’t upset my star reporter.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“Barb has a five-year contract and an international reputation. You’re an okay producer. Need I elaborate further?”

“Crushed” didn’t begin to describe her sense of betrayal. Was she really just an “okay producer”? Was that how Everett saw her? Or was it just another mind game?

She hadn’t learned the truth until her last day of work.

Someone knocked on the door of the stall. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yes.” Her voice wobbled. “That time of the month. I get really emotional.”

Whoever it was slid a Kit Kat bar under the door. “Better than painkillers.”

Melissa felt a fit of giggles coming on. The giggles grew to a laugh. She opened the chocolate, took a nibble, and let the sweet comfort spread through her. How had her life gotten into such a mess? Brody gone, Everett back, her career once again hanging by a thread.

Well, she was done letting her heart get broken. From now on, Rodrigo would get all her attention. She dumped her pile of tear-soaked paper in the toilet and flushed.

Chapter Nineteen

E
lla saw Melissa come into the newsroom and back right out again. Good. She needed a little more time to get Everett firmly hooked. It had been a nasty shock to see Everett kiss Melissa so passionately. Then Brody had shown up and she’d had to get rid of him before he scared Everett off. She’d kept her cool and handled the situation, but she had to keep emotions out of this. This was business. This was her career.

She’d heard the stories about Everett Malcolm. He’d left Harvard to sail single-handedly around the world in a catamaran. In a famous article for the
New Yorker
, he’d described the huge storm that had capsized the tiny craft. The article had been made into a movie, and he’d finished his Harvard education as a celebrity. As a foreign correspondent, he’d been sent to prison in Myanmar, then written a best-selling book about the experience. He had been married at various times to a former child star, a princess from an obscure Arab country, and the daughter of a senator.

He was a fascinating man of the world, and now she had him in her office, all to herself.

She traced a finger up Everett’s arm. “Lovers’ quarrel?” she said provocatively. He glanced down at her with a vague look of annoyance.

“Not precisely. We haven’t been together in some time.”

“But there’s history.”

“Indeed. Not my most shining moment, unfortunately.”

Ella spotted an opportunity. “I may be able to help you. I know Melissa pretty well by now.” Everett’s arrested gaze scanned her face. With a beckoning tilt of her head, she strolled, hips swaying, into her office. After a slight hesitation, Everett followed. She arrayed herself in her chair, and propped her legs up on her desk, one ankle over the other. In the process, her tight skirt slid up to mid-thigh, which earned a quick glace of appreciation from Everett.

“Melissa,” she said, tapping her finger against her bottom lip, “brainy or not, is just like any other woman. We all want what we can’t have. We all want what another woman seems to have.”

“Interesting observation. Does it apply to you as well, Ms. Ella Joy?”

It was the first time he’d spoken her name, she realized with a small thrill. And now he was giving her his full attention, with those sardonic blue eyes and devilish smile.

“I want what I want. I don’t pay attention to other women,” she answered, one eyebrow raised.

“Fascinating. And what do you want?” He put his hand on her thigh, just at the edge of her skirt. She shot a nervous glance at the open door, and he reached over and pushed it closed. Ella realized her bluff had been called. She had Everett just where she wanted him. But that intent stare of his unsettled her.

“What if I said you?” she said in a teasing tone.

“Me?” he answered with mock surprise. “But you just met me.” His thumb pushed back the edge of her skirt, revealing the tender golden skin of her inner thigh.

“Well, sure, but . . .” Her voice wobbled. She didn’t like the way he made her feel, so out of her league. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you? Are you wearing underwear?”

Her mouth dropped open on an outraged gasp. This was not going according to plan. She was used to men worshipping her, not asking her crude questions. Her heart raced. “Of course . . . I am.”

“Take it off.”

She gaped at him.

“I thought you wanted me.” His hand on her thigh made her feel weak.

“I didn’t say that. I said
what
if I did?”

“And if you did, I would insist you take off your underwear. If you didn’t do so, I might not believe you. I might think you had a different agenda. I might wonder if you’re playing some kind of game. So . . . why don’t you take off your no doubt very expensive panties and let me see you.”

Oh my goodness.
What had she gotten herself into? If she’d wanted a challenge, that’s what she was getting. Everett’s thumb circled across the flesh of her inner thigh, creating the most amazing sensations. She definitely wasn’t used to that.

Ella didn’t care much for sex. She found it messy and embarrassing. She only had sex when it furthered her ends. This would most definitely further her ends. If she slept with Everett, he’d be more likely to give her a chance. He would at least have to give her an interview. And who knew where else it might lead?

And there was something else. Something she’d never felt before. She felt weak in his presence. Unable to deny him what he asked. Unable to resist the dark challenge in those commanding bleached-blue eyes.

She bent her knees toward her chest and reached under her skirt to pull down her red silk panties. Keeping her knees together, she inched the panties down her legs in as provocative a manner as possible. She might not like sex much, but she had long ago perfected the striptease. His eyes, glued to her every movement, heated up. When the panties were off, she lifted them in the air with one finger. With a wink, she tossed him the panties. He put them in his pocket.

“Now pull up your skirt and touch yourself,” he ordered.

“What the hell?” No one ever ordered her around. But under his demanding gaze she subsided.
Put up or shut up
, he seemed to say. She pulled up her skirt. Her naked backside rubbed against the fabric of her chair in a way she found surprisingly arousing.

“Good girl. Now widen your legs. God, you are something else. Look at you. You’re absolutely perfect.”

His admiration relaxed her. She let her head fall back on the edge of the chair as she gave herself up to his gaze, her legs propped apart for his viewing pleasure. His eyes ate her up.

“Didn’t I tell you to touch yourself? Damn it.”

Ella jumped, and before she knew it her hand flew to her crotch.

“That’s it. I want to see you wet. Move your fingers. Do it.”

And she did it. With shaking hands, she fingered herself. For a moment she couldn’t believe she was here in her office, exposing her most intimate parts to the most famous news director in the country. She felt weak, helpless . . . and more aroused than ever before in her life. As he watched with hungry eyes, she rubbed herself until she felt slick and slippery. Then he pulled her wrists away from her body. He stared at her for a long moment while she throbbed. Holding both her wrists in one hand, he pressed the heel of his other hand into her heat. She jumped, and bit back a gasp. He ground his hand against her as she writhed wildly. Just as she reached the edge of orgasm, he pulled his hand away. She gave a squeak of protest. He looked down at her heavy eyes and drenched crotch.

“I’m staying at the Hilton. I’ll keep these panties. Don’t put on any others until I tell you to. Do not satisfy yourself. Come see me tonight, after the show.” And he closed her legs, with one last teasing tweak of her aching crotch.

After he’d gone, it took a while for Ella to stop shaking. Who was he to boss her around? She was supposed to be the one in charge. This had never happened to her before.

And yet, for the rest of the night, she followed every one of his commands. For the first time in her life, she anchored the
Eleven O’Clock News
without any underwear on.

T
hat night, a tap on the door made Brody jump eagerly out of bed. It must be Melissa, here to explain herself, explain why she’d been passionately kissing Everett Malcolm. Since Brody had peeled out of the garage, he’d cooled off a little. He’d overreacted—perhaps because Melissa brought out his impulsive side. Maybe he’d taken her by surprise. Maybe it had begun as a polite, glad-to-see-you kiss. If she had a good explanation, he would listen. He was a reasonable, fair man. Ask any of his fire crew. Willing to listen, willing to forgive.

In his boxers and bare feet, he padded to the door. He thought about pulling on a sweatshirt, but he knew how much Melissa loved his bare chest. If it gave him an edge, he’d stay half naked. And if things went well, he’d be entirely naked before the night was over.

The first smile since he’d seen what he now thought of as The Kiss tugged at his lips, but it disappeared when he opened the door. Rebecca stood before him in a clinging nightgown, a thin cotton robe wrapped around her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, honey. It’s just hard to sleep sometimes, you know, when he starts kicking.”

“He’s kicking?”

“Yeah. Wanna feel?” Before he could object, she grabbed his hand and put it on her belly. Sure enough, he felt something bump against his palm.

“Lively one, feels like.”

“Sure is. I hope he calms down once he’s born.”

“It’s a boy?”

“I think it is. Just a feeling, I don’t know for sure. I can’t afford the test. Hey, it’s kinda cold out here, ya know.”

After a brief hesitation, Brody stood back and let her in. He threw on his sweatshirt and went to the stove. “Want tea or something? I can heat up some milk.”

“I’m dying for a cup of coffee, with a shot of rum.”

A sharp look made her teasing smile disappear. “I’m just joking. I’m doing everything right this time, Harry. I swear I am.”

“I’m sure you are, Rebecca,” he said heavily.
This time
, as opposed to when it was his baby. He filled a teapot with water and turned on a burner. “So what happened with Thorval?”

“Oh, T is just a jerk. He didn’t want a kid. Begged me to get an abortion. But . . . you know. I just couldn’t. Not after what happened before.” He heard the pain in her voice, and for the first time began to soften toward her. In the back of his mind, he’d always wondered if she’d been relieved to miscarry. Had he misjudged her all this time?

“He didn’t understand?”

“He didn’t give a shit. Said get rid of it, or get out. So I left.”

“And came here?”

“No, I just went to a hotel. He felt real bad after that and came after me. Said he’d thought about it, and he wasn’t one to ditch his responsibilities and all that. But I’d been thinking, and I said to hell with you and your responsibilities. Then I came here.”

Brody frowned down at the teakettle. He didn’t want to look at Rebecca, but he could picture her perfectly. Her eyes would be wide and vulnerable, her lips slightly trembling. She’d always known how to bring out his protective streak. He’d married a fragile, frightened girl who clung to him as if he were her personal knight. She seemed different now. More grown up. Sharper. She had a harder edge than when he’d seen her last. And yet she was turning to him again, as she had since junior high.

“What made you think of me?”

“I know you think I sound nuts.”

“Did I say that?”

“You’re looking at that teapot more than me.”

“The teapot didn’t dump me for a flip-flop salesman.”

“Don’t be mean, Harry. The flip-flops were just to support his surfing career. Did you ever think maybe we just got married too young?”

“We were definitely young.” Maybe she was right, but all he’d wanted back then was to take care of her.

The teakettle whistled. Brody poured boiling water into two mugs and dropped in the teabags. “Sugar?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Don’t do that.” But his voice had no conviction. He put a teaspoon of sugar in her mug and stirred it.

“Why not, Harry? I never forgot you,” she said softly. “Did you forget me?”

“No. But I’ve moved on.”

“You met someone?”

“Yes.”

“Is it serious?” Brody didn’t answer. He and Melissa had never talked about their feelings for each other, or their future. Maybe it was too soon, or maybe she didn’t have feelings for him. They’d gotten so close to each other inside this trailer, but they had never taken their relationship into the real world. They hadn’t wanted to. They’d only wanted to stay cuddled in their little nest, talking, laughing, loving.

But the word “love” had never been spoken by either one of them. And then there was The Kiss.

“Because if it isn’t,” Rebecca continued, “it could be just like it almost was, like you always wanted it. We could be a family.”

Brody, still as stone, stared into his mug of tea. So that’s why she’d come back. Finally he spoke. “Why?”

“Cuz you’d be the best father. Out of all the men I’ve ever known. Maybe you don’t love me anymore. And I don’t know what I feel, with all these crazy hormones. But I know my baby would be the luckiest kid in the world with you for a dad. And who knows, maybe we can fix things between us.”

Dad. Father
. At her words, all the deep longings he’d buried came flooding back. Of course he wanted to be a father. He always had. But he’d convinced himself family life wasn’t for him. Now here she was, offering him exactly what he’d always wanted. Wife and child. Tied up in a pretty package. Only one catch: It wasn’t his child. And they didn’t love each other. At least she was honest about that.

“What if we can’t ‘fix’ things between us?”

She shrugged. “We’ll do the best we can, for the baby. We didn’t do so bad, before.”

No, they hadn’t done so bad. But they hadn’t lain in bed talking about nothing for hours on end. They hadn’t shared their most humiliating third grade moments, or talked about their first crushes. He felt a sudden longing to hold Melissa, to watch the laughter dawn in her forest-green eyes, to hear her whisper his name. How could he be with anyone who wasn’t Melissa? The truth swept over him like a tsunami. He was in love with Melissa. Fatally, inescapably in love. Maybe it had taken Rebecca’s appearance to make him see it.

But were his feelings the most important thing in this situation? What was the most honorable course of action? Maybe he owed Rebecca for what she’d gone through in the past. And then there was the baby. A baby he could help. They needed him, Rebecca and her child. And maybe, whispered his most secret fear, this was as close as he would get to happiness.

“Give me some time,” he said gruffly. “This is a little sudden.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be here. Over there in that lonely house.” She lifted herself out of her chair. “I’m ordering Italian tomorrow night, why don’t you come by?”

He nodded mechanically.

“And tell some of the guys, Hoagie and Double D, whoever you want.”

“No!” He didn’t want his crew to know anything about this. They’d seen how he suffered after the breakup. And now they all loved Melissa. He didn’t want to hear their opinions.