Welcome Back to Apple Grove (17 page)

Pat was about to agree when the alarm sounded. His friend shrugged while Pat ran down the hall, toward the lockers. “Suit up, Garahan,” his lieutenant ordered.

“What do we have?” He stepped into his pants and tugged the suspenders up, shrugging into his turnout gear.

“Duplex fire—over on Kennedy.”

Patrick’s gut clenched, but he showed no emotion on the outside; he’d trained himself to do the job at all costs—and keep the memories bundled tight inside him, praying this next fire wouldn’t leave him raw and bleeding as the memory of that night threatened to rip free.

Focused on the job, he was ready when they arrived at the burning building and did what he did so well—walked straight into hell.

Grace pulled into the lot right behind him. “Hey!” She waved and got out of her car. “I thought you were going to be late?”

He dragged his sorry butt out of his truck, digging deep past the body aches and soul-deep tiredness. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” He walked over to her car, tugged on her hand, and twirled her into his arms.

“Mmmm,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent he was coming to crave. “Are you supper?”

She chuckled and stroked a hand up and down his back as if she sensed he needed soothing. “Rough day?”

He eased back and captured her lips in a kiss that wouldn’t satisfy the need churning inside him but would have to do until he could get her inside. “Yeah. Can we talk later? I’m starved.”

She reached into her backseat and pulled out an overstuffed grocery bag. “I’ve got just the cure.”

“Hell, we don’t need groceries for that.”

She closed the car door and frowned up at him. “I’m hungry too, so everything else will just have to wait.”

His groan had her shaking her head at him. “Why don’t you take a nice hot shower while I make dinner?”

“Already took one at the firehouse—do I smell like smoke?”

She leaned close and gave an exaggerated sniff. “No. I thought it might help relax your sore muscles.”

“Mind reader, eh?” He led the way upstairs, unlocking the door to his apartment. Holding the door open for her, he said, “Come on in.”

The sun was bright in his kitchen, his favorite room. “What kind of pots and pans do you need?”

She set her bag in the middle of the table and started to unpack it. “Do you have a double boiler?”

He opened his cabinets, knowing he had the top of one somewhere; he used the bottom pan all the time. “Here it is.” He handed it to her and watched as she filled the bottom with hot tap water, before going back to the cabinet to find the top pan for the double boiler.

“It’ll heat up faster than using cold water.” She hummed as she took out two blocks of cheddar cheese, a can of crushed tomatoes, some garlic, basil, Italian bread, butter, and a bottle of red wine.

He handed her the smaller pot and frowned at the ingredients she’d set out on his counter. “Where’s the meat?”

“Right here.” She pulled out the burgers and rolls.

“Whoa!” he said when she pulled out lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes. “That looks like the
V
word.”

She giggled. “You sound like Pop. He’s not a fan of vegetables, but they’re good for you.”

She looked around the kitchen until he asked, “What?”

“If you have a paring knife and cutting board, that’s all I need.”

He found them for her and opened another drawer, pulling out a corkscrew. “Cabernet Sauvignon?”

“Mmmm. I like to drink it and it tastes great in the fondue.”

“I’m glad you brought meat—firefighters eat a lot of meat.”

She smiled. “Why don’t you take a glass of wine and crash in front of the TV while I make dinner? It won’t take long.”

He poured two glasses of the robust red wine and handed one to her. “I like seeing you in my kitchen, Grace. Can we have the burgers first?”

She shook her head at him. “You’re going to love this, I guarantee. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I save it for the day job.”

She met his gaze and set her glass down. “How ’bout if I join you on the couch as soon as I toss everything together. If I set the timer, it won’t stick to the pot.”

When he just stared at her, she tugged on his arm to get him moving to the living room. “Isn’t there a baseball game on?”

He sat down and flipped through the channels while a tantalizing aroma started to waft in from the kitchen. “Smells amazing.”

“Tastes better,” she called out.

A little while later, she walked into the room and sat beside him. “All it has to do is heat through so the flavors get happy.”

“You sound like my favorite chef.” He put his arms around her and slipped further into the sofa, relaxing for the first time today.

“You feel good,” he said, drinking in her curvaceous warmth. “Fit good too,” he mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

***

Patrick didn’t move when the timer rang, so she eased out of his arms to check the fondue. She dipped a square of crusty bread into the bubbling mixture, touched it to the tip of her tongue, and popped it into her mouth.

The flavors exploded on her tongue. “Mmmm,” she sighed. “Perfect.”

She tossed the salad and found a hot pad for the table. Refilling their wine glasses, she walked back to the living room and stared at the big man sleeping so peacefully. “Maybe I should let him sleep.”

“Hungry,” he mumbled, opening one eye.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Was,” he grumbled. “Till somebody moved and left a cold spot.”

He sounded like a little boy. Unexpectedly moved by the softer side of him, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Come on,” she urged, taking his hand. “I’ll feed you.”

The dubious expression was back on his face. “If I try the fondue, can you fry up two burgers for me?”

She laughed, delighted with the grumpy-little-boy side of him. “Yes, but prepare to be surprised.”

He eyed the pot in the middle of his table and reached for the wineglasses, handing one to her before taking a sip from his. “Thanks for coming, Grace. I’m not always good company after a day like today.”

“My pleasure. Now sit down and eat,” she told him. “No more stalling.”

He chuckled. “There’s no fooling you, is there?”

She shook her head at him. “I have very wily nephews.”

He laughed and held out her chair. Once she was seated, he scooted closer to her. “OK, now how the heck do I eat this?”

“You’ve really never had fondue before?”

He shrugged. “Not in my ma’s repertoire.”

Patrick was being such a good sport after what she sensed had been a grueling day. “My grandmother Mulcahy used to pile up chunks of bread on a plate and pour the fondue on top—my favorite way to have it—but my sisters always liked spearing the bread with a fork then doing the dip and twirl.”

He looked at the fork and the pot, and asked, “Can we have it Grandma’s way?”

“Absolutely.” She passed him the bowl of bread and stood up. “I tend to spill if I try this sitting down.”

She fixed his plate then hers before sitting. When he just watched her, she finally laughed. “OK, I’ll be your royal taste tester.”

She stabbed a cheese-covered cube of bread and started to eat. Patrick did the same, only his eyes widened as he chewed. He dug in after that first bite, pleasing her immensely when he asked for more.

He finished a second helping when she passed the salad to him. “Repeat after me,” she said. “Green things are my friends.”

He laughed as he scooped out generous portions of salad on both of their plates. “I like frogs.”

Their shared laughter warmed her heart. “You’re fun to cook for, even if you are a little grumpy when you’re hungry.”

He hooked his hand around her neck and brushed his lips across hers. He tasted of garlic, cheese, and red wine. She licked her lips, delighted when he softly moaned. “You taste great in grandma’s fondue.”

“I’ll taste better after I have those burgers.”

She got up and turned on the pan. “How done do you want ’em?”

“Rare.”

When they’d eaten their fill, they sat at the small table in his tiny kitchen, sipping wine. She couldn’t recall ever feeling this content…and wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with the feeling; she was used to the highs and lows a relationship went through at the beginning, but not the sense of companionship and abiding affection she also felt for Patrick. Afraid to jinx things, she didn’t want to admit—even to herself—that she was sliding toward love.

He brought her back to the present with a jolt when he asked, “What’s for dessert?”

“Don’t you need to digest first?”

He stretched and patted his stomach. “Look,” he said. “I just made more room.”

She laughed at his antics and got up. “Well, I just happen to have something—in case you were hungry in a couple of hours.”

He got up and followed her to the fridge. “Does it have chocolate in it?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

She tried not to laugh at how disappointed he sounded. “I brought you a slice of whiskey cake.”

His eyes lit up. “Seriously? When did you have time to bake today?”

Grace narrowed her gaze at him. “I didn’t.”

“Who baked it?”

“Who do you think?”

“One of the McCormack sisters?”

“Wrong,” she said. “Mary Murphy.”

“I’ve never been to her store,” he told her, holding the door while she slipped the cake out of the fridge.

“She carries a little bit of everything and always has one or two of her specialties on hand for special occasions.”

He took the cake from her and set it on the counter. “Am I a special occasion, Grace?”

She bumped the door to the fridge with her hip to close it. “Very special,” she whispered, walking into his open arms.

“Maybe I can hold off on dessert for a little while.” He nibbled her earlobe.

She slid her arms around his waist and lifted her face for his kiss. “Maybe we could.”

“Can it sit out on the counter?”

“Yes, why?”

He swept her off her feet and walked down the hallway.

She gasped as his grip squeezed most of the air out of her lungs. “Are you in a hurry?”

“Oh yeah,” he rasped. “Let me show you what I’ve been dreaming of doing since last night.”

He opened the door to his bedroom with his shoulder and knelt on the bed, with Grace still tucked in his arms. “Don’t go anywhere.” He eased her onto the bed and stepped back, staring at her.

Nerves had her licking her dry lips. “What?”

“You look like you belong,” he told her.

His words wrapped around her like a hug. “Do I?”

He reached for the hem of his T-shirt, grabbed it, and yanked it off. “Yeah.”

His body was perfection, as if each and every muscle had been lovingly sculpted for her viewing pleasure. The wide span of his shoulders, the depth of his chest with all of those lovely muscles—“You have a shamrock tattooed over your heart?”

He grinned. “Yeah. You should have seen the look we got when the four of us walked into Shotzie’s Tattoo Parlor asking for them.”

But she was only half listening; the bright Kelly-green symbol of their shared heritage just added another check in the what-will-he-do-next-to-surprise-me column.

“Grace.” Her name on his lips had her looking up to meet his gaze. “You’re not leaving tonight.”

She immediately agreed. “No.”

He shucked off his jeans and stalked toward the bed. “You’re overdressed.” He tugged her shirt off first, her jeans next, until she was naked in his bed.

“That’s better,” he growled.

She shivered, about to ask what was wrong, but lost the ability to speak when she saw the predatory gleam in his eyes as his gaze raked her from head to toe.

“You’re like a dream—every one of my teenaged fantasies rolled into one beautiful package, just waiting for me to unwrap it.”

She finally found her voice. “I think you already did that part.”

His snort of disbelief had her watching for a clue to what was going on in his head. His words surprised her. “I love your sense of humor.”

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” she asked.

He knelt on the edge of the bed. “I promise not to bite you too hard.” Nudging her legs apart, he pinned her to the mattress with his hips.

“You’re skin’s so hot.” She trailed her fingers up and down the line of his spine, twirling her fingertip along the top of his pelvis.

He pressed down, capturing her attention when he bent to kiss a path along her collarbone. When he playfully bit at her shoulders, she pinched his taut backside.

“How flexible are you, Grace?”

She stared up at him and waited a heartbeat for an explanation. When it didn’t come, she asked, “Physically or mentally?”

He snorted. “I guess both.”

“Mentally, I try to be open to new experiences.” The dark desire swirling in his amber eyes had her lady parts twitching.

He swooped down and tongued a new path from the base of her throat to her navel, dipping his tongue in before retreating, sweeping to the left to nip at her hipbone…and then to the right.

“Is that so?” He scooted down until his breath fanned out over her belly. “Let me taste you, baby.”

As she started to nod, he gripped her hips with his hands and lifted her hips toward his mouth. Breathing on the soft curls hiding her center, his eyes promised everything—his lips, teeth, and tongue delivered.