Page 26 of The Flames Between Us

I clench my fist at my side, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. God help me, he looks magnificent standing there—powerful, alive, his eyes burning with an intensity that has nothing to do with therapy and everything to do with desire. How can I possibly lie to him when he's looking at me like that?

"No," I admit, the word barely audible. "I don't regret it. But that doesn't change the fact that it was wrong."

Something shifts in his expression—a flash of triumph, quickly tempered by understanding.

"I know it complicates things professionally," he acknowledges. "But I've spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about nothing but you. About us."

"There can't be an 'us,'" I say, though the words feel hollow even as I speak them. "I've already begun the process of referring you to a colleague who specializes in first responder trauma."

"Because of one kiss?"

"Because of what that kiss represents," I counter. "A fundamental breach of the therapeutic relationship. A conflict of interest that compromises my ability to be objective about your treatment."

He takes another step toward me, and this time I don't retreat. "I've already overcome the biggest obstacle—I went back into a fire today and faced down my worst fears. There's nothing stopping me now."

"You might not care about professional boundaries," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but I do. This is my life, my career. Everything I've worked for."

"I do care," he insists. "I care about you enough to not want to jeopardize what matters to you. But I also know there's something between us that's worth exploring. Something real."

"What are you suggesting?" I ask, though I'm afraid I already know.

"We could be discreet," he offers. "Keep it private until we figure out what this is."

"A secret relationship?" I shake my head. "I don't want that, Ollis."

"Neither do I," he says with surprising vehemence. "I don't want to hide. I want to take you to dinner at Lou's and not pretend we're just having a casual conversation. I want to introduce you to my brother properly, not as my therapist. I want to show you off to everyone."

His words wash over me like a physical caress. No one has wanted to "show me off" in years. No one has pursued me with this kind of single-minded determination, this open admiration.

Before I can form a rational response, my body betrays me. I step forward, closing the gap between us as if pulled by an invisible force. He moves simultaneously, and suddenly we're inches apart, his height making him tower over me in a way that should feel intimidating but somehow only heightens whatever this is between us.

"Everly," he murmurs, my name a question and a plea.

I answer by reaching up, my hand finding the nape of his neck, drawing his face down to mine. Our lips meet with none of yesterday's hesitation—only hunger, only certainty.

His arms encircle me, strong hands splayed across my back, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest. The coarse material of his turnout coat scratches against my arms, the scent of smoke and sweat surrounding me.

I should stop this. Should pull away. Should remember my professional responsibilities.

Instead, I find myself helping him shrug off the heavy coat, revealing the department t-shirt beneath, damp with sweat and clinging to his muscled torso. My hands explore the contours of his shoulders and his back while his mouth never leaves mine.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along my jaw and around my neck.

"I've thought about this," he murmurs against my skin. "About you. Every night since that first session."

His confession ignites something primal within me. I pull his t-shirt upward, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He complies, yanking the shirt over his head to reveal a torso sculpted by years of demanding work, dusted with dark hair that narrows to a tantalizing trail disappearing beneath his uniform pants.

My blouse is the next casualty, his fingers making quick work of the buttons before gently pushing it off my shoulders. His breath catches audibly at the sight of me in my simple black bra, his eyes darkening with appreciation.

"You're beautiful," he says, and the reverence in his voice melts away any remaining hesitation.

We move together in a dance of discovery, shedding layers of clothing and restraint. My skirt pools at my feet. His heavy uniform pants join the growing pile on my office floor. His boots and socks, my heels, until we're both down to our underwear, breathing heavily in the middle of my professional sanctuary.

His hands find my hips, thumbs tracing the soft curve of my waist with admiration. I've always been self-conscious about my fuller figure, especially in recent years. But the way Ollis looks at me—like I'm the most desirable woman he's ever seen—banishes those insecurities.

He cups my ass with both hands, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me the few steps to my desk. Papers scatter as he sets me on the edge, his mouth finding mine again in a kiss that obliterates any remaining doubts.

His lips travel downward, across my collarbone, between my breasts, down to the rolls of my stomach. He kneels before me, looking up with those intense hazel eyes as he positions himself between my thighs.

---