Page 22 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

That realization brought a surge of protectiveness. Someone that softhearted could get into big trouble.

As they headed back toward her office, he asked, “How are your friends?” The last he’d heard, everyone had been released from the hospital and the wedding postponed for a month so everyone’s bruises could heal.

“They’re all getting sick of telling the story over and over again. And Cindy really wants to invite you to the wedding.”

Embarrassment crept over him at the memory of how Cindy had announced on TV that she was dedicating her wedding to him.

“Tell her there’s no need for that.”

“Oh come on. They’d really appreciate it. She’s going to send an invitation to the firehouse.”

“I’m a little wedding-ed out. I’ve been to three in the past year.”

“Yes, but how many of those were people whose lives you’d saved?”

He thought about it. “Actually, all of them, in a way. Although Psycho would never admit it.”

“Psycho?”

“Another fireman. He moved to Nevada, so I don’t have to save his ass anymore. But if you pinned him down, he’d tell you I had his back a bunch of times. Sabina too, and definitely Vader. I saved Vader’s mom when their house burned down.”

“You just go around saving people’s lives?”

He shrugged. “Well, sometimes. If it works out. It’s the nature of the job.”

“I’ve never met a firefighter before.” She paused to wait for Stan to take a leak on the base of a tree. He hadn’t even noticed that Stan had to pee; she really did have superior dog communication skills. “You’re not exactly what I would have expected.”

“What’d you expect?”

She eyed him up and down, giving him that tingling sensation again. “I didn’t really think about it, I suppose. Maybe more … swaggering?” She put her thumbs in the belt loops of her pants and mimicked a boastful stance, lowering her voice to a macho growl. “I can put out fires with nothing more than my bare hands and a mouthful of spit.”

He gave a surprised hoot of laughter. “Have you met my captain, Vader? Dead-on. Nah, I’m just kidding. Firefighters have a pretty healthy respect for fire. If we ever swagger, it’s just to keep our confidence up.”

“You don’t seem to swagger much. You must be really confident.”

Taken aback, he paused outside the closed door of her office bungalow. “I don’t know. My brothers are confident—you don’t want to mess with them. Me, I’m confident in my training and my crew. When I go out on a call I feel like I know what to do. What’s that add up to?”

“Sounds like confidence to me. I’m not just good with animals, you know,” she added. “I’m pretty perceptive when it comes to people too.”

“Oh really?” He knew he shouldn’t ask the next question, but he just couldn’t help it. “So what have you picked up about me so far?”

“You really want to know?”

He angled his head to look down at her. In the world of San Gabriel firefighters, he was on the short side at roughly six feet. Rachel stood nearly a head below him, so if he leaned forward, he’d be able to press his lips to the dark curls framing her forehead. Not that he would, of course. He barely knew her, and then there was Courtney.

Courtney, who would make someone a powerhouse wife, and didn’t understand why he wasn’t that “someone.” Courtney, who usually got what she wanted and didn’t like to lose.

Rachel, despite obvious signs of wealth, didn’t look like someone who always got what she wanted. She looked like someone who knew life could knock you over the head sometimes.

He realized they were staring at each other. If she was really good at figuring people out, she’d probably already determined that he wasn’t the star of the firehouse, or the star of anything, despite Ella Joy’s new crusade. He was just … Fred. Fred the Fireman. He put out fires and got people out of trouble.

While she was … well, whatever else, she was clearly something special.

“Sure,” he said, his voice gruffer than he intended. He cleared his throat. “Lay it on me. What have you picked up about me?”

“This,” she said in a dreamy voice. Then, under his astonished gaze, she tilted her body toward him, rose onto the tips of her toes, and brushed her lips against his. He froze as a wash of electricity sizzled across his nerve endings. The touch was so slight, so brief, like a butterfly coming to a rest. Her breath was warm and sweet; he wanted to soak it in through every pore.

And just like that, every thought that didn’t involve Rachel Allen fled his mind.

He felt as if every cell of his body had turned into one of those satellite arrays, rotating toward a newly detected signal. Who’s this? Where did she come from? Electric desire raced through him. He wanted to know her, body and soul, on a raw, primal level. He wanted Rachel Allen in a way he’d never wanted anyone—or anything—before in his life. Urgently. Compulsively. Impossibly.

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