Page 30 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Maybe I’ll have to find some other way to persuade you,” he said, low in his throat, his voice a good octave deeper than usual.

She squeaked out an answer that was little more than a surprised grunt, before he was kissing her, hot and deep. Not like the kiss she’d given him, which had barely qualified for the name. This kiss sent lust streaking through her like a freight train. She forgot about the purse, forgot about her squished position. Arching her body against his hard, eager weight, she kissed him back, just as fiercely as he was kissing her. He made a funny sound and, with one knee on the couch, took her face into his hands and devoured her mouth. His fingers fanned across her jaw, his thumbs stroked along her cheekbones. Her heart raced about a mile a minute.

When the doorbell rang, they pulled apart with a sharp gasp. Had she made that sound, or had he? Or both? She took in a long, ragged inhale. A few inches away from her face, Fred fought for breath, his eyes dark as midnight.

“Holy Bomb Squad,” he muttered. “I thought it might have been a fluke, but it wasn’t.”

That was more words than she could manage. She struggled to sit up, still mute, while he backed away, adjusting his jeans. Her eyes flew to the impressively large bulge at his groin. The thought came to her that she’d done that. She’d turned him on and gotten him all hot and bothered, with nothing but a kiss. Heat flashed through her all over again.

“Must be the pizza guy. Let’s hope he’s nearsighted,” he said, wincing as he swung off the couch. “Lamb chops,” he chanted under his breath. “Cod liver oil. Creamed spinach. Bugs in my cereal milk.”

She giggled, which she seemed to do a lot around Fred, when she wasn’t kissing the bejeezus out of him.

“Just warning you,” he said over his shoulder as he loped uncomfortably toward the door, “if I look at you I’ll lose it again. So don’t take it personally if I avoid looking your way until my … um … tent pole goes away.”

She was already thinking of ways to get the tent pole back when she caught sight of the very last person she wanted to see at Fred’s door.

The person who’d rung the doorbell wasn’t carrying a pizza box. She was carrying a bottle of wine.

“Hi, Stud,” purred Ella Joy as she prowled toward him. He held up a hand to stop her.

“This isn’t a good time.”

“Not yet, it isn’t. If you play your cards right, it could be.”

“Ella, I’m serious. Whatever you’re up to, I’m not interested.”

Fred looked nervously over his shoulder, but couldn’t see Rachel or Greta. Maybe she’d found her way to the bathroom. He devoutly hoped that she had. He didn’t want Rachel to get the wrong idea. Ella Joy was a man-eating anaconda, and sure, he’d been bowled over by her the first time she’d had dinner at the firehouse. But that was a long time ago, and he was no longer susceptible to her brand of sleazy ambition.

She was staring at his crotch. “My, my. Have you been thinking about me?”

“No. Except to wish you’d leave me alone. You’re taking this too far, Ella.”

Her gaze was still fixed on his erection. It was starting to go down, thanks to the shock of her appearance, but it had a long way to go. He’d never felt anything like the urgency that had overwhelmed him while kissing Rachel.

“I’m starting to see the reason for your nickname,” mused Ella. “You never struck me as a ‘stud’ before now. But my, my, my. Little Freddie’s packing some heat.”

She advanced toward him, handing him the bottle of wine. He backed away in horror. The last thing he wanted was to have Ella touch him, or to accidentally touch her. He was sure it would be like touching a snake.

“What are you doing here, Ella? I’m busy.”

“You don’t look busy.”

“I’m about to meet someone.” If Ella hadn’t seen Rachel, he didn’t want to give away her presence.

“Someone better than me?” She pouted.

So much better. It would be like comparing ice cream to a frozen lump of coal. “I didn’t invite you here.” He put some steel into his voice. “You’re one step away from trespassing.”

“Rawr.” She mimicked a tiger claw. “Oh fine. How about we cut the crap?”

“Since you’re the only one dishing out the crap, go right ahead.”

“Tired of your fifteen minutes already, Freddie?”

Again she tried to move past him, but he barred her way. He couldn’t, absolutely could not, let Ella see Rachel. Rachel was trying to avoid the news cameras, for some reason.

“If it was just fifteen minutes, I wouldn’t mind. But we’re past a week now, and enough is enough.”

“Never enough, Stud. Never enough. But don’t worry your pretty little”—again she glanced down his body—“head about it. I’m willing to negotiate.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’d planned to simply seduce you, but you clearly want to make my life difficult. So I’ll make you an offer instead. I’ll lay off the Bachelor Hero stuff, even though it’s great for ratings and my news director will complain, if you do one thing for me.”

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