Page 58 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

The most undignified sound came out of her mouth, a sort of sniffling gulp. He seemed to know exactly what it meant. A grin spread across his face, creases tugging at the corners of his dark eyes. She tossed aside the can of dog food and launched herself into his open arms.

Fred would never forget the feeling of Rachel’s full-throttle leap into his embrace. For that one moment, all her protective layers were ripped away, and he saw the beautifully warm spirit who lived inside. The way her face came alive, the way her feet actually left the ground on her way to him, as if she trusted him absolutely. The idea that this reserved, precious person would open herself up to him gave him a sense of awe.

While parking the truck, he’d come to a decision. Even though he couldn’t imagine getting a thumbs-up from Rob Kessler, this wasn’t about the man. This was about him and Rachel, and at the moment, she needed him. And if he didn’t have her, he might lose his mind. So he’d go for the ride as long as it lasted, or until Kessler brought down the hammer. If—when—his heart got broken, well, Lizzie owed him plenty of Chunky Monkey.

“I thought you might be angry,” she whispered. He saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks, and wiped them away with a thumb.

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because Dad dragged you away from your nice life and your firehouse and now I’m making things even more complicated.”

“I had a say in the matter,” he said dryly. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be. I don’t care what the Mighty Kessler offered.”

She gazed at him wonderingly, her violet eyes scanning his face. “You wouldn’t, would you? People don’t make you do things. Not even my father. You do what you feel is right. You do what you want.”

He brushed a gleaming strand of hair behind her ear. “Believe me, I don’t always do what I want. If I did, I’d have had you in bed that first night.”

She swallowed so hard he saw the shift of her throat muscles.

“What do you want, Rachel? You, not your father, not your friends—you?”

“I want you,” she whispered. “But I know it’s wrong. No, not because of Dad,” she said quickly, when he started to speak. “Because you didn’t come here for that. And I know we should keep things professional and you’re working hard to protect me and I don’t want to—”

He sealed his mouth against hers in a fast, hard kiss, as if stopping her breath would halt the flow of her thoughts. “Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” he whispered against her mouth.

“It’s been mentioned once or twice,” she whispered back. “I have my reasons.”

“I know you do.” He ran his hands along her sides, along the sleek black curve of her waist, down to her ass, as he’d been wanting to do all night long. She shivered under his touch. “But do you think you could turn your brain off, just for now?”

She nodded. He hoisted her legs so they wrapped around his hips, and settled his hands under her rear. Her dress rode up to her thighs, where satiny skin gleamed in the glow of the stove light.

“I’m going to make love to you,” he told her firmly. “If you have any objections to that, tell me now.”

“Not a single one,” she said fervently, peppering kisses onto his cheeks and jaw. “If you don’t start soon, I might burst into tears.”

“No more tears, unless it’s because I make you feel so good.” He nibbled on the delicate skin just below her ear.

“So confident,” she teased, leaning in to follow the movements of his Adam’s apple with her tongue. “You think you can bring me to tears?”

“If you can cry over dog food, you can cry over me.”

Her laughter bubbled up like uncorked champagne. “I wasn’t crying over dog food, silly.”

Greta bumped against his leg. She was pushing the can around the kitchen with her nose, sniffing it, trying to figure out how to get inside. This struck both of them as hilarious and they burst out laughing. Greta started, then gave them an outraged look that sent them into more gales of laughter.

Fred let Rachel down so she could finish feeding Greta. He watched her empty the can, rinse it out, then wash her own hands. Each moment that ticked past made his desire ramp up even higher.

When she was finally done—it seemed to take an eternity—Fred whisked her out of the kitchen to the living room, where they tumbled together onto the suede couch. Fred pulled her on top of him and their laughter drowned under hot, drugging kisses. He unzipped the back of her dress and sat her up so he could draw it down her body. Her hair streamed in wild curls to her shoulders. Her skin gleamed like marble, a living marble that responded to his touch with floods of vibrant color. Even her breasts, as he unpeeled the dress from her body, were washed with pink, like icing on a birthday cake. He paused before going any further than the tops of her breasts.

“I’ve been trying to picture you naked for days,” he whispered. “But I think my imagination needs work. You’re even more beautiful now that you’re real and you’re right here on top of me.”

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