The Night Belongs to Fireman (15 page)

“It sounded more like you ended it.”

Fred didn't want to answer that. He didn't want to talk about Courtney at all. Desperately he turned the subject around to Rachel. “What about your exes? What sort of guys do you go out with?”

“Me? Oh, you know . . .”

They reached the benches at the shoe rental return. He plopped down and began unlacing his bowling shoes. “No idea. That's why I'm asking.”

“Well,” Rachel sat down next to him. “I don't go on many dates here in San Gabriel. Back home, I usually go out with people my father already knows. We might go to a fund-raiser or a charity event, things like that. He's less worried about that type of person.”

“The rich type,” Fred offered grimly.

“Not necessarily rich. Just . . . in the same world, I suppose.”

“You don't have to explain.” He understood perfectly well. Never in a million years would Rob Kessler consider plain old Fred Breen suitable dating material for his daughter. Bodyguard material, sure. But that's where it ended. The thought made him suddenly grumpy.

She folded her arms across her chest. “You have this look on your face like we're snobs.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“I can tell what you're thinking. You're not very good at hiding your thoughts.”

“Better than you think,” Fred muttered. If she had any idea how many of his thoughts involved her body parts, she'd be stunned. “Your father wants the best for you, that's all. I don't have a problem with that.”

“I'm twenty-five years old. Don't you think I can decide for myself who's best for me?”

“Your father runs security checks on your dates,” he pointed out. “What happens if he says no? That'd be the end of that, right?” He didn't know why he couldn't leave it alone. The thought of rich guys in tuxedos escorting her to fund-raisers made him crazy.

She yanked off her bowling shoes and glared at him. “You are so annoying.”

He shrugged. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

Surging to her feet, bowling shoes in hand, she rounded on him. “You know . . . up until now, this has been the best night of my life. And I was going to . . . to kiss you for it.”

The way she said “kiss” made him think she meant something different. That thought kept him rooted to the bench while she continued her rant.

“But now you've ruined everything. And I'm not going to kiss you. I'm just going to . . .” She interrupted herself by bending down and pressing her lips onto his. Sweet fire crashed through his system. He went hard as a bowling pin, and his head spun. Images cascaded across his vision. Her legs in those black vinyl pants. The thin sliver of skin revealed by her belly shirt, and her vulnerable shadowed navel. Unable to stop himself, he shaped his hands to her waist, feeling the tender give of her skin and the slickness of the vinyl.

She yanked her head away from his, putting her hand to her lips as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done. Then she took a giant step back, so her body slipped from his hands.

“Okay, I guess I will kiss you.
Did
kiss you. Once. That's all. Because it was a really great night. Can we go now?”

He took in a deep, lung-clearing breath. “In a minute.”

“I want to go now!”

“
In a minute
.”

She flicked an indignant glance up and down his body, which didn't do his painful hard-on any favors. “Oh.”

R
achel had been all set to tell Bradford Maddox IV that she no longer needed an escort to Cindy's wedding. But then Fred had started in with his teasing, and his insinuations that she wasn't in charge of her own love life, and she changed her mind. He could take his opinions and his rude ex-girlfriend and shove it.

Sure, maybe he had a point. Her father did dictate certain aspects of her life. On the other hand, she'd fought so hard for every piece of her independence. If her father had his way, she'd be back at Cranesbill, attending charity events with millionaires. Instead she was living on her own in San Gabriel and running the Refuge. Didn't Fred understand what a miracle that was?

Still, the germ of truth in Fred's accusation got under her skin. It seemed even more accurate when Bradford picked her up in his red Porsche convertible. Dressed in a custom-tailored suit, his Bluetooth behind his ear, he looked the part of the picture-perfect Silicon Valley venture capitalist.

Come to think of it, she'd never seen him without his Bluetooth.

Bradford helped her into the Porsche with a glance back at Fred, who was just getting into his pickup. “You got yourself an official stalker?”

“That's one way to put it.” She didn't want to talk about Fred. She wanted to get to the wedding, stand next to Cindy on her big day, then get straight to the champagne.

Bradford had been the first of her father's colleagues to back the Refuge, and she'd always been grateful for that. Anyone who cared about animals was okay in her book. On the other hand, the last time she'd seen him he'd talked about nothing but his financial dealings and never mentioned the Refuge. She was starting to wonder how deep his commitment to wildlife went. And if he rattled on about his investments again, she might start to zone out.

Well, at least it was a wedding, so there would be plenty of distractions.

Distraction Number One, a fireman named Fred, followed close behind them as they drove. Rachel kept stealing glances in the rearview mirror, which meant she kept missing Bradford's efforts at conversation. He didn't seem to notice as he related the current Silicon Valley rumors.

“So how are the creatures faring?” Bradford asked when he'd run out of tech business gossip.

“The Refuge is doing well, for the most part. There were quite a few mountain lions and coyotes injured in that brushfire last month. We've been busy patching them up.”

“Coyotes.” He shuddered. “Aren't they classified as vermin? My neighborhood in the San Jose hills is infested with them.”

“Maybe you're the ones doing the infesting,” she pointed out, bristling. “Why should you have any more right to be there than they do?”

He gave her a patronizing smile. “Your passion for your work is praiseworthy.”

The words might have been dipped in suntan oil, they were so smooth. Fred might tease her until she lost her temper, but at least he wouldn't spout fake flattery.

Forget Fred
.

At the wedding chapel, she stood alongside Liza and Feather. Cindy being Cindy, she'd commanded them to wear their sexiest little black dresses and the most outrageous shoes in their closets. Rachel had chosen her favorite dress, the one with the heart-shaped neckline that revealed just a touch of cleavage. It flared in flirty folds just above her knees. Her shoes of choice were metallic stilettos.

Her gaze kept stealing to Fred, who stood at the side of the chapel in brown gabardine dress pants and a creamy sweater. She knew he was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, but somehow she couldn't keep her gaze off him. Forcing herself to check in on Bradford, who sat midway down the aisle, she noticed that he was murmuring something into his Bluetooth. What kind of person took a phone call during a wedding?

The brief ceremony passed in a blur. When the minister proclaimed them man and wife, Bean kissed Cindy so hard her feet lifted off the floor. Rachel felt a shocking, profound moment of envy. Would she ever love and be loved like that? She'd put her heart and soul into the Refuge, because anything else was too complicated. But now something wild and wanting tugged at her heart. Why couldn't she . . . why shouldn't she have love, romantic love, like other people?

They all drove to a restaurant called Castles for the reception. As Bradford helped her out of the Porsche, she tried to catch Fred's eye. But he had his game face on and was scanning the area for . . . something. Something that wasn't her. Feeling out of sorts, she let Bradford guide her into the magnificent interior of the restaurant. She cast a grumpy glance at her surroundings. Strange how gilded columns and crystal chandeliers could feel like a prison when you were facing tedious conversation with a man who didn't interest you.

Luckily, Liza and Feather pulled her aside as soon as they walked in. With a smoothly social laugh that grated on Rachel's nerves, Bradford backed away to fetch drinks. Fred, channeling James Bond or someone, cruised the perimeter of the restaurant.

“We're dying to know why you brought two men to a wedding,” Liza whispered. “We're not talking ménage here, are we?”

Rachel's face went so hot she pressed her hands against her cheeks. “That's disgusting.”

“Which part of it's disgusting?” Feather looked sensational in a black tube dress, lace-up go-go boots, and a chunky crystal necklace. “The older-dude-with-Porsche part or the sexy-hot-fireman part? He's the one who saved us from the limo, right?”

Rachel nodded miserably. “Dad hired him to be my bodyguard, that's the only reason he's here. My date is Bradford. Fred's just doing his job.”

Her two friends draped sympathetic arms around her. “And you like the fireman. Of course you like the fireman.” Liza shook her head so her dangling chandelier earrings brushed her jawline. “But you can salvage the situation.”

“How?”

“Three words. Make him jealous.”

“Who?”

Liza sighed. “Rachel, you really need to spend less time with dogs and more time with men. Fred the Fireman, that's who. You're here with another man. That's a chance to make Fred jealous.”

“That seems so mean.”

“A little jealousy never killed anyone,” said Feather blithely. “He's a big, strong fireman, he can take it. Sometimes guys need a little kick in the pants, that's all.”

“But I don't even know if he's . . . if that's . . . what I want.”

“Don't pull that with us. You and the fireman were flirting with each other back when he was Random Cute Guy with Trophy at the City Lights Grill.”

“That's ridiculous. I had too much champagne and he kept getting me out of trouble. Besides, you guys made me steal that trophy. There was no flirting, that's for sure. I'm not even sure I know how to flirt.”

“This is the perfect moment to learn. Go forth and flirt with Bradford and make Fred jealous.” Ruthlessly, Liza gave her a little push toward Bradford, who was making his way across the room with two flutes of champagne. “Come on, make us proud.”

The whole thing seemed like a horrible idea, but since Bradford was her date, she ought to at least be nice to him. They found Cindy and Bean and offered their congratulations.

Cindy leaned in to whisper in Rachel's ear. “You ready for this?” Then she tapped a champagne bottle with a fork. “Attention, wedding people!”

Into the surprised silence, Bean spoke. “Thanks for coming, everyone. In case you never watch the news, the fact is that Cindy might not even be here today if it wasn't for
that man
right over there.”

He pointed at Fred, who had propped himself against a wall across the room. Looking startled, Fred jerked to attention.

“That's right.” Cindy spread her arms wide in an extravagant gesture. “Fred Breen, awesome San Gabriel firefighter, this is all thanks to you.”

“We're grateful, man. Really grateful. We have a special gift for you.”

Bean reached behind him to grab something from the banquet table. With a triumphant gesture, he thrust it into the air.

A trophy. Rachel gasped.
The
trophy. The one with the karate guy. It had been glued back together and a black plaque had been added to the base. Cindy must have gone back to the City Lights Grill and found it.

“It says ‘First place in our thanks, Cindy and Bean Potter,'” Cindy said. “Let's hear it for Fred, everybody!”

Everyone cheered wildly as Fred made his way to collect the trophy. Even though his face was beet red, he was a good sport about it, bowing and hugging the pair, even doing a funny end-zone style dance. Why did he have to be so darn . . .
endearing
?

After the excitement had died down, Rachel, feeling thoroughly disgruntled, joined Bradford at a small table, along with plates of crab cakes and baked brie with asparagus. Bradford launched into an account of the leveraged buyout he'd just orchestrated.

As she'd feared, Rachel started to zone out. Fred took a table nearby. That was good, right? He would see her laughing and having fun with Bradford, and jealousy would ensue. Then he'd sweep her into his arms and kiss the breath out of her and . . .

One of the platter-bearing servers, a young blond woman, stopped to offer him steamed dumplings. When he looked up with one of his friendly smiles, she lit up. They began chatting away like new best friends.

Rachel ground her teeth. Who was supposed to be making who jealous? Or should there be a “whom” in that sentence? She pondered that grammatical question, then remembered that she had a job to do, and it didn't involve staring at Fred while he flirted with someone else. She forced herself to turn back to Bradford. Remembering Liza's orders, she offered Bradford her most dazzling smile.

Annoyingly, he barely noticed, since nothing could be more fascinating to him than his investments. Keeping her smile fixed on her face, she rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, as if he was so riveting she couldn't even hold up her own head.

The drone of “debt to equity ratio” and “cash flow” made it impossible for her to overhear what Fred was saying to the waitress to make her laugh so much.

Forget Fred
, she ordered herself.
Don't be rude. Focus on the man in front of you
.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't. Her thoughts kept drifting to the handsome fireman at the table behind her.

“I have to visit the ladies' room,” she murmured as soon as Bradford paused for a breath.

He nodded absently and took a sip of his Grey Goose martini. She wondered if he was calculating its cost-per-sip.

Fred was still deep in conversation with the waitress. The poor forgotten steamed dumplings were about to slide off the tray. Rachel tried for a sexy swish as she passed Fred's table, but it had no effect. He and the waitress seemed to be locked in some sort of instant love connection.

In the ladies' room, she finally let the smile drop from her face. Her cheeks ached from the effort of looking interested. She took a long time washing her hands, going after every little crevice that might hold a speck of dirt. This was a disaster. Liza's stupid plan had completely backfired on her. She was swimming in jealousy, a horrible feeling, like wading through a swamp. Her friends were absolutely wrong. She'd never wish this feeling on anyone, not even her worst enemy. And Fred wasn't close to her worst enemy. He was kind and sweet and brave, and he was probably going to fall in love with that waitress and in later years they'd laugh at how they met, when he was guarding that odd, freaky rich girl, the one who'd once been kidnapped.

Ugh, she hated feeling sorry for herself. Self-pity was even worse than pity.
Get over yourself
.
Go out there and dazzle someone. Anyone
.

She flung open the door and strode out, only to slam into a man's hard chest. Fear shafted through her. In a sudden blind panic, she flinched backward, but the man grabbed her by the upper arms.

“What happened? Rachel, is something wrong?”

Her swimming vision cleared, and she realized the man was Fred. Handsome, wonderful Fred, holding her steady, worry in his dark eyes. She shook her head. “Sorry. You surprised me. What are you doing here?”

“I looked up and you were gone. You're supposed to tell me when you're going somewhere. How can I protect you if you wander off on your own?”

Now that was just the icing on the cake. “You were occupied. I didn't want to ruin your moment.”

“My moment?” A little crease appeared between his eyebrows. Her gaze drifted to his mouth. She hadn't been this close to him since the kiss at the bowling alley the day before. Her lips tingled just remembering that kiss.

But then jealousy lanced through her again. What if he was planning to kiss that waitress? Maybe they'd already made a date for later tonight. Or in a week, when he'd done his duty as her bodyguard.

Stop being such a child
, she thought fiercely. But she couldn't help it. “You and the waitress were having a moment. I think she's into you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Really, is that what you think?”

“It was obvious from the way you were looking at her,” she burst out. “As if you wanted to order her instead of the crab cakes.”

He shook his head incredulously. “Are you jealous of Mindy?”

Mindy. Of course she would be named Mindy. Cute blondes were always named Mindy. Fred and Mindy. Perfect. It sounded like a frickin' sitcom. “Just because you look at her like you want to gobble her up, and you don't even notice when I leave the room, of course not, why would that make me jealous? Don't be ridiculous.” She tried to shake him off, but he clamped his hands tighter. The heat of his grip ignited something deep inside her, some ferocious, primal urge.

She fought against it, her gaze clashing with his. He looked as fierce as the wild bear that had once found its way to the Refuge.