Page 15 of Code Red Chemistry

“Like what you see, Doc?”

She doesn’t try to deny it. “Can’t fault a girl for appreciating how fit one of New York’s bravest is. Though from what I hear, half the women in Manhattan have already expressed their appreciation.”

“That life’s behind me,” I say quietly, needing her to understand. “I’m not that guy anymore.”

“No?” She turns over the key in her hands, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Look, I know I’ve got a reputation. And maybe, having muscles instead of brains made it easy to lean into being the hot firefighter stereotype—”

“Don’t do that,” she cuts me off. “You’ve always sold yourself short, Levi. Sure, you’re fit. And yes, your dating history is…extensive.” Her lips quirk. “But I’ve known you since we were kids. You’ve always been quick on your feet, good with people. It takes more than good looks and a quick wit to make it through the fire academy and handle emergencies every day.”

Her defense catches me off guard. “Most women just see the surface.”

“I’m not most women.”

“You can say that again.”

She steps closer. “And if you’d had the balls to step up and be the man I know you are, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

The heat flooding my chest has nothing to do with physical attraction. “Careful, Doc. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“Maybe, I do.” Her admission hangs in the air between us. “When you’re not leaving me high and dry, that is.”

Damn, she’s making me work for it. And I’ve never wanted to labor so hard in my life. Suddenly, the space feels smaller with each passing second, but I can’t help it. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Last night was…” she starts, trailing off. Silence stretches out, filling the space of a long minute before she finishes. “Good.”

Good? Good? That’s all I get?But she must sense my reaction because she lifts a shoulder. “Okay, definitely better than good.”

That’s more like it.

Twenty minutes later, we’ve solved three puzzles using subway routes and a Metro card, decoded a message hidden in the inscription on the bottom of the Statue of Liberty, and unraveled a clue from an audio recording of a Broadway play and a copy of its playbill. All while our bodies constantly brush in the confined space.

“That’s definitely not a clue about the Staten Island Ferry,” she says when I suggest the pattern of lights we uncovered might match maritime signals.

“You got a better theory?”

She steps close, reaching past me to rearrange the sequence of lights, her chest pressing against my arm. I nearly forget what we’re supposed to be doing. “It’s the Brooklyn Bridge,” she says, her breath warm against my neck.

Damn, she’s right. And brilliant. And standing so close, the heat radiating off her body is making me sweat. Before I can stop myself, I catch her wrist gently. “Zoe…”

“Remember how they looked that night, reflecting on the water?”

I do. But what’s seared into my memory is the way she’d absolutely glowed in that pale pink dress, how her laugh echoed across the rooftop, and the perfect fit of her body against mine as we danced. “Zoe…”

She stills and raises her gaze to meet mine, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “We…we should focus on the puzzle.”

“We’ve got time.” my thumb traces circles on her inner wrist, her pulse jumping. “Plenty of time.”

Her breath catches as I back her against the wall, careful to avoid the prop subway sign.

“Do we?” she murmurs, but her free hand fists in my shirt, and she tugs me closer.

“You know, I do know how to take it slow. It’s just that whenever I’m around you, I can’t seem to help myself.”

“Same,” she admits, the confession flowing out on a soft breath.

I lean in, pressing my body against hers, drawn by those lips that have been tempting me all night.

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