Page 7 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
What the hell kind of cruel trick is that?
Blaze lets out a small huff at my feet, shifting his weight impatiently. He’s noticed her too, ears perked, tail flicking slow. But he doesn’t bark. He watches like he knows this matters.
I peek again.
She’s moved to the steps now, kneeling to help the boy unzip his backpack. She smooths his hair, her fingers brushing his cheek, and something inside me fractures. There’s a tenderness in her touch, a kind of quiet, fierce love that makes my throat go tight.
She’s a mom.
That realization sinks in slowly and hits hard.
Not just a beautiful woman. Not just temptation wrapped in silk and curves. She’s a mother. She’s got a story. One I don’t know yet, but I already want to.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
I back away slowly again, one hand braced against the bark behind me like it might hold me up. My pulse is a damn drumbeat in my ears. The arousal is still there, insistent, thick, but it’s wrapped now in something messier. Curiosity. Guilt. Hunger. Need.
I haven’t felt this alive in years.
And I’m not sure I know what to do with it.
I haven’t reacted to anyone like this in years, possibly ever. Not since Josie, and even that didn’t hit this fast, this fierce. This... physical. One look and I’m like a damn teenager hiding a hard-on behind a geometry book.
I close my eyes, hoping the cool breeze off the coast might do something, anything, to calm me down. But then I hear her grunt, soft, frustrated, and when I glance again, she’s struggling with some big-ass weekender bag.
It’s slipping off her shoulder, dragging her blouse sideways, and I catch a glimpse of smooth skin where the damp fabric clings to her lower back. My jaw clenches.
Irritation flares in my gut, burning through the lust like a match to gasoline. Not at her, but at myself. For staring. For hiding. For acting like some pervy backwoods hermit instead of a grown man who knows better.
I stalk toward her before my brain can catch up, my boots crunching across the gravel. Her back’s still to me when I reach out and grab the strap, fingers brushing hers.
The bag’s heavier than I expected, or perhaps my grip is off. Maybe everything’s off. Her fingers brush mine, and something sharp zings through me, like a live wire pressed to skin. My pulse jerks. My grip tightens, more reflex than intention, and for a split second, I’m caught. Staring.
Caught in her clean, sweet scent, like fresh linen hung to dry in the sun. I don’t even like that smell. But on her? It’s something else. Something I can’t name.
And all I can do is gawk.
My eyes betray me first. Then, my body follows.
It hits me out of the blue. Heavy. Sudden. The kind of hard that comes on like lightning, no warning, just flash and fire.
I turn. Fast. Don’t say a word. Just haul the bag inside her doorway like I’m being chased. I don’t wait for thank yous or names or her soft breath brushing the air behind me.
She’s saying something, but I can’t comprehend; she’s showing me the boy, and the boy is excited to meet Blaze. I’m seeing her worry. I may have said something, but nothing is registering. All I can think is…
I need space. Air. Cold.
I cross the yard with long, angry strides, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. Blaze trots behind me, tail swishing like nothing’s wrong in the world. But everything is off-kilter.
By the time I’m in the house, I’ve already stripped down, shirt first, then jeans shoved off one leg at a time like they’ve wronged me.
The water hisses on, and I step under the cold before the thought can settle. Before the image of her, sunlight catching in the golden wisps falling from that messy bun, burns into me any deeper.
The shock hits hard. Bites. My back arches against it.
Good.
I need the sting.
