Page 57 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
The words stick. I swallow hard, forcing them past the tight, burning knot that’s risen behind my sternum.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Parker’s with Connor. I have to go get him.”
His eyes close, his chest sinking like I’ve pulled the floor out from under him. For a moment, we don’t move. He just breathes me in, hands sliding to the small of my back, holding me there like he can freeze time if he wishes hard enough.
“I’ll have him brought to you tonight,” he says in a low voice. The world rearranges itself the second he speaks. “Just…a few hours, please come with me.”
My fingers tremble against his chest, curled into the fabric of his shirt. I want to stay. God, I’ve never known a man begging could wreck me like this. That it can make my heart clench and my skin burn at the same time. Maybe one more chance, it won’t hurt.
“Okay,” I whisper. Just one word. “Yes.”
The second it leaves me, his entire body shifts. Relief, need…..all of it rolls through him like a wave. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out this ragged, almost broken exhale, and before I can blink, his arms are around me.
I let out a startled gasp as he lifts me off the ground, strong hands locking behind my thighs, hauling me up against his chest like the world can fall away and he won’t feel it. My arms loop around his neck, holding on, heart hammering against his.
The gravel crunches under his boots as he carries me across the parking lot, obviously not caring who sees, not caring about anything but the fact that I said yes.
The truck door creaks open, cold metal brushing the back of my legs as he lowers me onto the worn leather seat, slow and careful, like letting go might undo him.
My heartbeat's still hammering, hands trembling as they fall from his shoulders, watching him close the door and looking as if he’s afraid that if he takes his eyes off me for one second, I’ll vanish.
The truck rumbles to life, headlights slicing through the dark, but the ride itself barely registers. His hand stays fixed on the gear shift, knuckles pale from how hard he grips it, like keeping the truck steady is the only thing holding the rest of him together.
I sit there, chest tight, fingers curled in my lap, staring out at the road, but I don’t see the town lights. I don’t feel the turns or the tires humming over the pavement.
All I feel is him.
His presence, thick and impossible to ignore, stretches across the truck, and something inside me kindles slow and steady. I know the moment this truck stops, I won’t be able to stop either.
It’s the shortest ride of my life.
And when the tires finally roll to a stop, I know exactly what I’ve signed up for.
I’ve barely blinked before Noah is out of the door and already beside me again. He opens the door, and his arms slide beneath me again, lifting me against his chest as if I weigh nothing at all.
My breath hitches, caught somewhere between shock and surrender, and the world seems to fall away.
I don’t protest. I don’t even try.
His heartbeat thrums steadily beneath my ear, each of his footsteps falling in time, steady and sure.
His grip tightens, firm and secure, almost as if he can’t afford to give me room to second-guess or a single inch of space to fall back into old defenses.
The gravel shifts under his boots, the low groan of the porch boards giving under his weight, and still, he doesn’t let me go. Not once.
His arms flex around me, muscle taut beneath my palms, carrying me straight through the front door as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, like the ground was never meant to have me.
The soft creak of the door shutting behind us barely settles before his mouth crashes down onto mine. I should ask him for the explanation he promised, but as usual, I can’t think straight when he’s around me.
The kiss isn’t sweet, and it isn’t patient. It’s wild; raw, unspoken need poured into every touch, every tilt of his head, every desperate slide of his lips against mine.
His breath spills into me, rough and uneven, the low rumble in his chest vibrating against my ribs as I fist my hands in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left to close.
I feel the wall press against my back before I realize he’s moved us at all. He pins me there, his palms braced on either side of my head, his mouth never straying far, nipping at the corner of my lips, trailing down the line of my throat until my knees threaten to give out entirely.
My hands tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, anchoring myself to the only steady thing I can feel. His name slips from me in a whisper; it’s barely a sound and more breath than a word.
I feel him freeze in response, just for a heartbeat.
