The Night Belongs to Fireman (16 page)

“First of all, I went to high school with Mindy and she married a good friend of mine, who might complain if I gobbled her up. Second of all, aren't you the one looking at that dude like he's Brad Pitt and Bill Gates rolled into one? And if I didn't notice when you left the room, why would I be here right now?”

“You probably have to pee,” said Rachel stubbornly, too miserable to give an inch.

He let out an incredulous snort. “Are you kidding me?”

His scent was taunting her, that freshly laundered, healthy man smell. Would he mind if she licked his neck? Because she really, really wanted to. She leaned in, just a hair, just so she could inhale a tiny bit of his essence.

Slam
. Suddenly she was smack against his chest again, sealed against him, thigh to collarbone. All the breath fled from her body, chased by violent shivers of need. His arms clamped around her.

“Are you playing some kind of game with me?” he growled in her ear. “I knew you left the room because it felt empty. I knew because I couldn't smell the rose garden anymore. Because everything went flat without you. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear how it's torture watching you with some other guy?”

She shuddered against his body, like a junkie who'd finally gotten a fix. Wrapping her arms around him, pulling him even closer, she stammered, stupidly. “R-rose garden?”

“Rose garden and rain.” He nuzzled the tender spot below her ear. “Right here.”

Shivers skittered from her frazzled nerve endings in a direct line to her nipples. She pushed her breasts against him, needing the hard pressure of his chest. In a daze, she caught his deep groan rising through his rib cage, through his sweater. “I want you,” she said in a ragged voice. She wasn't even sure what it meant, since she'd never felt this way before. But no other words seemed to express the turmoil raging inside her.

“
Fuck
,” he said with equal rawness. “I want you so much I can't see straight.” With a strangled groan, he thrust her away from him. “But we shouldn't. I'm working for you.”

She gave a helpless little whimper, which made his eyes darken. He caught her to him again. “Just tell me one thing. Do you like that guy?”

“No, I just wanted to make you jealous,” she burst out. “And it didn't even work. All it did was make me crazy.”

“Oh, it worked all right,” he said grimly. “Too fucking well.” And he claimed her mouth in a savage kiss.

Y
es, yes
. . . this was what she'd wanted. Glorious hardness against her, raw passion firing her from the inside. They crashed against the wall of the little restroom alcove, feeding on each other like wild beasts. A potted ficus on a side table wobbled, about to topple to the floor. Fred snaked out his arm to rescue it, while Rachel clutched madly at his back, where the slide and flex of his solid musculature nearly made her swoon. Losing her head . . . The phrase swam into her dazed brain. It had never made sense to her before, but that's exactly what she was doing. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste when she finally allowed herself to slide her tongue along his neck.

“I have to say something,” she gasped. But then she couldn't remember what it was. The utter, overwhelming sweetness of Fred's hands on her drove everything else from her mind.

“Can it wait?” His mouth was buried somewhere in her hair so he could deliver maddening nibbles along the whorls of her ear. “Because I don't think I can stop.”

His callused palms stroked heat along her exposed shoulder blades, then traced the dip of her sweetheart neckline, setting the sensitive skin of her chest ablaze. “You've been driving me crazy with this dress. I don't know how Bradford kept his hands off you.”

The mention of Bradford finally brought her back to her senses. She pulled away, panting, then clutched at his shoulders to stabilize herself. The wallpapered alcove spun around her like a kaleidoscope of cream and gold. “Oh God. Bradford.”

He yanked his hands off her and buried them in his hair. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Rachel.”

“Don't be.” She shook her head fiercely as she adjusted her dress. “This was all my fault. Anyway, Bradford doesn't care about me. If my last name was Spurkel he wouldn't say boo to me.”

“Spurkel?” Fred scratched at his head. His hair stood up in all directions. He was so adorable her knees shook.

“Generic silly last name.”

Fred took a long step backward and shoved his hands in his pockets as if to keep them safely stowed away. A huge bulge protruded from the front of his pants. She covered her mouth as a little laugh escaped her.

“Laugh it up, Kessler,” he said with mock grimness. “Enjoy yourself while I suffer.”

Behind them, someone cleared his throat. Fred spun around, while Rachel peered over his shoulder, sure it was Bradford. Luckily, it was a stranger in a business suit, who muttered, “Get a room,” before pushing his way into the men's room.

Fred turned back to Rachel, offering his hand. “You'd better get back to your date.”

“It's not a date,” she told him, suddenly horrified at the idea that she'd kissed one man while out with another. “I'd call it more of a business conference. All he wants to do is talk about his investments.”

“Rich guy, huh?”

She shrugged. “I'm sure he'd show you his portfolio if you asked.”

A shadow came over Fred's open, square-jawed face. “Come on. He must be wondering where you are.”

Rachel managed to avoid both Fred and Bradford for the rest of the reception. She wasn't sure why Fred had changed gears, going from passionate kisser to blank-faced bodyguard. But it made her heart ache. Those few hot moments had made her long for him with an intensity she'd never experienced before. It felt as if they'd become neurologically connected in some mysterious way. Even when she was chatting with Cindy's parents, she knew exactly where he was. She knew when he was watching her, knew when he turned his attention elsewhere.

At the same time, she didn't think she could bear another car ride with Bradford. As soon as it seemed polite to leave the reception, she pulled him aside.

“I'm exhausted, Bradford,” she said, hiding a yawn behind a discreet hand. “Would you mind if I drove home with Fred? It'll save you the trip.”

“In what? That truck's one step removed from a mechanical bull. Surely you'd rather ride home in the Porsche.” He took her arm possessively. She slid it out his grasp, trying to hide her instinctive revulsion. She wanted only one man touching her, and it wasn't Bradford.

“No, thanks. Thank you for accompanying me, Bradford. I'm glad we got a chance to catch up. I'll send your best to my father.” She stuck out her hand, leaving him no choice but to take it. His blue eyes, pale as dawn, flickered between her and Fred, who'd just joined them.

“What's up with this guy?” Bradford asked nastily.

Rachel stiffened. Was it so obvious that she turned into a human torch the instant Fred got close? “I told you Fred's my temporary bodyguard. We're driving to the same place, I'm exhausted, and I'd rather just catch a ride with him.”

Bradford toyed with the Bluetooth practically implanted in his ear. “I don't like what's going on here.”

Fred, who'd been silent until now, stepped in. “Whether you like it or not, Rachel said she's tired and would prefer the evening to end here.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Bradford directed his attention to Fred. The two men faced off with each other, Bradford's cool, moneyed sophistication versus Fred's forthright sturdiness. A little thrill went through her as she realized there was no contest, not really. Maybe it was Fred's experience with fires and rescues and other life-threatening situations, but he didn't back down one bit under Bradford's narrowed, condescending stare. The exact opposite, in fact. His solid strength made Bradford seem almost inconsequential.

Maybe Bradford realized it, because his lips tightened. “I hope you don't think anything's going to come of this,” he told Fred, his lip curling in disdain. “I think I can speak for Kessler when I say—”

“
Bradford
,” Rachel hissed, balling her hands into fists. “You don't speak for my father, and he doesn't speak for me. How dare you? We're leaving now. And don't call me again, unless it's on board business.”

The color came and went along his bladelike cheekbones, then he whirled around and stalked from the restaurant. Rachel, so furious she was shaking, clutched at Fred's arm. Without a word, he guided her along a path through the linen-draped tables. The low clinking of champagne glasses rang in her ears with a bell-like din, adding to the drumbeat of furious thoughts. Why did everyone think they had a say in her love life? Did Bradford really think she was so obedient to her father that she couldn't make her own choices?

Halfway home, she realized she was saying these things out loud. The restaurant sounds had been replaced by the rumble of Fred's truck. He was driving, focused on the road ahead, listening with a frown.

“Well?” she demanded. “Don't you think he was completely out of line?”

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I don't like the guy, but he probably has a point.”

“A point? A
point
? What point?”

“Rachel Kessler and Fred Breen. Does that make sense to you? Wealthy heiress and ordinary fireman. Come on.”

She turned on him in a passion. “Don't do that. Just don't, or I swear I'll . . . I'll . . . throw myself out of the truck.”

He took a turn so tightly the tires squealed. “Don't even joke about that.”

“Why should someone who saves people's lives be less important than anyone else?”

“It's not about importance . . .”

“What, then? Money? Sure, Bradford knows a lot about money. I thought he cared about animals too, but he doesn't. All he cares about is his portfolio. I bet the Refuge is nothing more than a tax write-off to him!” That, to her, was the worst sin of all. “My father might be rich, but he cares about things besides money. He loves computers and he wants everyone else to love them too. He'd probably be designing new systems for free. I should have known Bradford wasn't like that.”

Fred drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “So Bradford isn't your favorite person.”

“No. Or the fifty other men just like him who've asked me out.”

“
Fifty?
”

“Fifty, a hundred, what does it matter? I'm not interested in men from my dad's world. And they're not really interested in
me
. They have no idea what my life is
really
like. I know what they want from me. The Kessler billions.” That came out more bitter that she'd intended.

“Well, that's not what I would want.”

For a moment, she lost her breath, desperate for Fred to continue that thought. He brought the truck to a jerking halt in front of her apartment building, then leaned toward her, his hand rising halfway between them. Her cheek tingled, waiting. She wanted, needed him to touch her. But then his gaze arrowed past her, and she swiveled to see Marsden waiting for them in the lobby.

His hand dropped away; she watched it with a sense of despair, as if it symbolized her entire life. Always separate, always apart.

“Go ahead upstairs,” he told her. “I'll watch you until you're inside, then park the truck. Tell Marsden to do the security check with you.”

She lingered on the sidewalk, seized by the feeling that as soon as she parted from Fred, he'd put her out of his mind forever. “You're coming up right away?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “But Rachel . . .”

“I'll see you upstairs.” She hurried away from the truck before he could say anything else. Whatever he was about to say, she could already imagine.
It was a mistake. I'm not from your world. Your father would fire me
. Who could blame Fred if he said any of those things? What sane man would want to take on her and her father, not to mention a possibly vengeful kidnapper still on the loose?

Upstairs, Greta squirmed happily against her legs. Rachel kicked off her stilettos and knelt on the floor to hug her. Her warm doggy enthusiasm made the tight, fearful knot in Rachel's chest loosen. It was okay if she made a fool of herself in front of Greta. Dogs didn't care about things like that.

A tear dropped onto Greta's fur. “Oh Greta, I'm afraid I've ruined everything,” she whispered to her dog.

A hot tongue licking her hand assured her that she hadn't. She swiped at her tears with the heel of her hand and padded into the kitchen, illuminated by nothing more than the light of the stove hood. She didn't want to turn on any more lights; the semi-darkness suited her mood. In the pantry, she took out a can of dog food and found the can opener.

If she could do nothing else in her life, she knew how to make dogs happy. Maybe that would be enough. It used to be enough. Until she met Fred.

“Rachel,” came his voice from the other side of the kitchen.

She spun around, clutching the half-opened can, her stomach cratering with fear. Here it came. Rejection, withdrawal, abandonment. All of the things she'd been imagining. Instead, he opened his arms with an almost helpless gesture, as if to say,
Here I am, if you want me
.

The most undignified sound came out of her mouth, a sort of sniffling gulp. He seemed to know exactly what it meant. A grin spread across his face, creases tugging at the corners of his dark eyes. She tossed aside the can of dog food and launched herself into his open arms.

F
red would never
forget the feeling of Rachel's full-throttle leap into his embrace. For that one moment, all her protective layers were ripped away, and he saw the beautifully warm spirit who lived inside. The way her face came alive, the way her feet actually left the ground on her way to him, as if she trusted him absolutely. The idea that this reserved, precious person would open herself up to him gave him a sense of awe.

While parking the truck, he'd come to a decision. Even though he couldn't imagine getting a thumbs-up from Rob Kessler, this wasn't about the man. This was about him and Rachel, and at the moment, she needed him. And if he didn't have her, he might lose his mind. So he'd go for the ride as long as it lasted, or until Kessler brought down the hammer. If—when—his heart got broken, well, Lizzie owed him plenty of Chunky Monkey.

“I thought you might be angry,” she whispered. He saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks, and wiped them away with a thumb.

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because Dad dragged you away from your nice life and your firehouse and now I'm making things even more complicated.”

“I had a say in the matter,” he said dryly. “If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. I don't care what the Mighty Kessler offered.”

She gazed at him wonderingly, her violet eyes scanning his face. “You wouldn't, would you? People don't make you do things. Not even my father. You do what you feel is right. You do what you want.”

He brushed a gleaming strand of hair behind her ear. “Believe me, I don't always do what I want. If I did, I'd have had you in bed that first night.”

She swallowed so hard he saw the shift of her throat muscles.

“What do you want, Rachel? You, not your father, not your friends—you?”

“I want you,” she whispered. “But I know it's wrong. No, not because of Dad,” she said quickly, when he started to speak. “Because you didn't come here for that. And I know we should keep things professional and you're working hard to protect me and I don't want to—”

He sealed his mouth against hers in a fast, hard kiss, as if stopping her breath would halt the flow of her thoughts. “Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” he whispered against her mouth.

“It's been mentioned once or twice,” she whispered back. “I have my reasons.”

“I know you do.” He ran his hands along her sides, along the sleek black curve of her waist, down to her ass, as he'd been wanting to do all night long. She shivered under his touch. “But do you think you could turn your brain off, just for now?”

She nodded. He hoisted her legs so they wrapped around his hips, and settled his hands under her rear. Her dress rode up to her thighs, where satiny skin gleamed in the glow of the stove light.