Bad Boy's Touch (Firemen in Love Book 3) (17 page)

“As you said, there are many worse ways I can spend my Friday night. If you don't want my company...”

“Oh, don't you
dare
lay a guilt trip on me.”

“I'll make you dinner. We can get drunk together and forget all our problems for a night. No Victor, no arsonist, no crazy stalker guy hiding in the bushes. It'll be just us.”

She paused. “Like a date?”

“I just don't want you to be by yourself.”

In the background, her police radio went off. She quickly silenced it.

“I know I'll end up regretting this. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate ploy to get me naked?”

“No, but if you want to get naked for me, I wouldn't complain.”

And she
did
want it. I could hear the interest in her voice. It made my cock stiffen, and instantly I found myself thinking thoughts so dirty, they couldn't be repeated.

“All right,” she said finally. “But so you know, I still think you're bad news.”

“You can think whatever you like so long as I got you in my arms.”

Some of the guys made fun of me as they walked past. I didn't care what they thought.

The only one who mattered to me was
her.

Chapter 12 - Madison

I was reviewing my notes on the arsonist when Brett showed up on my doorstep. He carried in bags of groceries and threw them on my kitchen table.

“I forgot to ask you what you liked to eat. Hope fish is okay.” He glanced up at me and licked his lips. “This is the first time I've seen you out of that uniform. You look amazing.”

He was just trying to flatter me, but I'd give him points for the attempt. No way did I look good with my hair thrown into a messy ponytail and wearing a threadbare t-shirt and ripped jean shorts.

“I meant to change into something a bit more appropriate,” I admitted, “but I got caught up in my research.”

He studied the large bulletin board I'd set up against the wall. On it, I'd pinned facts about the arsonist that we knew, his marks, and his next probable victim: Freddy Ventura.

“Who's that guy, anyway?” He tapped the photo. “You ever find out?”

My stomach twisted in knots. “Yeah. He killed five girls in Florida, but got out of jail somehow when he should have been locked up for life.”

Brett's jaw dropped. “So our pyromaniac is hunting a murderer? I... I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that.”

“Tell me about it. The world
would
be better with this freak gone.”

“The legal system failed the people it was meant to protect,” he mused. “The arsonist wants to make him pay for his crimes. Maybe that makes me a dick, but I wouldn't give half a damn if that guy's house burned to the ground with him in it.”

“But is vigilante justice the answer?”

Brett shrugged and stuffed the groceries into my fridge without asking. I hoped he didn't see – or smell – the containers of week-old leftovers I'd been too busy to throw out.

“You put a lot of stock in the law, like it's this perfect and infallible thing. The world's not that black and white. Sometimes, the right thing and the legal thing aren't going to be the same.”

“You're saying it's okay to break the law so long as you think it's the 'right thing?'”

“I'm saying that relying too much on a system to give you all the answers is a real stupid thing to do.”

Of course he'd think that way. He skated circles around the law most times and outright broke it many others. This was one of plenty of reasons why we would be terrible together.

Yet watching his hard body flex as he reached into my pantry made it easy to forget that.

“Where's your lemon pepper seasoning? And your garlic powder?”

“Uh, probably back there behind the wall of potato chips somewhere.”

He chuckled. “Doesn't look like you cook very often.”

“When I get home after a long work day, it's the last thing I want to do. Jenna brings home food from her job a lot of the time – although subsisting on pizza, lasagna, and spaghetti probably isn't the healthiest of diets.”

“How's she doing, by the way?”

“Took her a while to calm down. She was shaking and crying for an hour after she got home. This wasn't the first time she's been stalked; an ex-boyfriend used to follow her around after they broke up a couple years back.”

“Makes sense she'd be terrified. You think it's the same guy?”

“No, I doubt he'd show up now after two years of silence. Once she got a restraining order on him, he moved away and that was the end of it.”

But who, then, could it be? My only guess was the arsonist, and it was a horrifying thought.

Brett pulled two bottles out of another bag. One was red wine, the other vodka.

“Sounds like you could use a drink. Want to start with the vino, or skip straight to the hard stuff?”

I laughed dryly. “Glasses are in the cabinet to your left. Gimme the Tito's with ice and a splash of orange juice.”

He grinned as he poured it for me. “I knew you could be fun if you tried.”

“It's not being fun. It's wanting to pretend all this crap isn't happening.”

I drank, ignored the burn in my throat, and got back to worrying about work. Still, the booze worked its magic quickly, and my thoughts soon drifted to other matters.

The noise Brett made in the kitchen distracted me, anyway. I barely knew the man, and I'd let him into my home, allowed him to dirty up my pots and pans, and use up food in the fridge.

But I guess he did look pretty sexy standing over the stove, and whatever he was whipping up made my stomach growl. I hadn't been served a home-cooked meal in forever – and certainly no man had ever made dinner for me before except for dad.

“I'm surprised you know how to cook,” I told him.

He reached for something and knocked a jug of milk on the floor. The lid flew off, and the white liquid gushed across the floor before he managed to pick it up.

“Of course I can. I like to eat healthy. Can't keep my body in peak condition eating take-out food, you know.” He dabbed at the milk with a towel. “I whip up a big batch of something good on my off days. Chicken legs, tuna salad, soup, beans. I work out, so I need my protein.”

I was pretty impressed. Not with the milk jug exploding, but his surprisingly healthy diet. It sure would be nice to have him cook
me
meals like that.

Brett stared out the window at the rising moon as he stuck a tray of salmon fillets in the oven.

“There was a race tonight. Axel asked me to go. Wanted a rematch.”

I threw down my pen. “After what happened, you're even thinking about racing again? You do, you're asking for a one-way ticket into a jail cell.”

He smirked. “They didn't catch us. Not even when we made that little pit stop in the woods.”

The memory of it made me blush. The pleasure he gave to me, the excitement of tempting fate with him, I longed for that again.

That, and more.

He'd spanked me good and hard. I wanted more than spankings. I wanted him to dominate me, to make me
his.

“The whole station was up in arms about it for a while. It was the most exciting thing that happened in days, so everyone was talking about it.” I gulped my drink. “Victor was pissed. Out of all the racers, we only bagged seven. He yelled at us for hours.”

“Well, I'm sorry for that,” he said, stirring the food in the pot. “But I'm not sorry for doing any of it. You and I had a blast. The look on your face... You were genuinely enjoying yourself.”

I scoffed. “I don't enjoy breaking the law.”

“Maybe not that so much. You're like me; you crave the rush of it all. That's why you do what you do.”

“I do it to stop the bad guys.”

“Who says you can't have a bit of fun at the same time?”

Nine o'clock rolled around, and the wonderful smells of Brett's dinner soon filled the house. Thanks to the booze in my veins, I was finally able to let myself relax some. He'd been right; I really did need to take a break from this madness.

Talking and laughing with him took my mind off everything else. He may have been a bad boy, but he sure knew how to make me smile.

“It was the craziest thing,” he said as he spooned food onto plates. “Jayce and his friend want to keep their apartment building, but he's gotta get married first. So guess what they decide to do?”

“What?”

“They come up with a plan to marry each other.” He brought my plate to the candlelit table. “Actually,
I
came up with the plan.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. Lucky for them they fell in love for real, and now he's got a wife and kid he loves to death.” He shook his head. “If it weren't for me, Jayce would still be single, picking up a new girl every night at Jezebel.”

He stuffed some creamed spinach into his mouth, a distant look in his eyes. Was he reminiscing about the past, the adventures he and his buddies would no longer go on together?

I turned my attention to my own plate. It looked and smelled like a gourmet meal: salmon sprinkled with lemon juice and dill, a salad with Caesar dressing made from scratch, spinach and a dash of grated Gruyere cheese...

I dug into my lettuce first. Oh, I never knew salad could taste like this.

“Think you should have been a chef, not a firefighter,” I mumbled, talking with my mouth full.

The funny look on his face went away, and he beamed. “You like it, then?”

“Best freaking salad I ever had. What's in this dressing, anyway? Crack?”

“Just some lemon juice, parmesan cheese, egg yolk, anchovies...”

I clutched my stomach. “
Raw
eggs? And aren't anchovies those stinky little fish?”

“That's the way it's made.” He took a big bite of his own. “Tasty, isn't it?”

“You're going to give me food poisoning.”

He just laughed at me. I ate the rest of it anyway.

Then I moved onto the salmon, so tender it melted in my mouth. An article I'd read in some trashy womens' magazine came to mind.

Guys who could cook well were quite creative and generous in bed, it said. Maybe tonight was a good time to put that theory to the test...

While Brett regaled me with some story about a fire they'd put out, my gaze fell on the calendar on the wall.

Friday, May 14. Charlie's birthday.

Brett reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “I'm boring you, aren't I? You can just tell me if so. You're not gonna hurt my feelings.”

“No, you're very entertaining.” I shook my head. “It's just... I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I'm actually happy you came tonight.”

He must have known I had something more on my mind, and wisely said nothing as he waited for me to continued. So I did.

“Remember I told you about my brother earlier?”

He nodded. “Thought you said he was having a birthday party or something.”

I never told anybody about Charlie. Talking about him was just too painful, too personal – yet Brett seemed curious. It felt like now, on his special day, that it was right to remember him somehow.

“His name was Charlie. Ever since he was a child, we all knew something wasn't right with him. He was sweet to me and Jenna, very protective, always looking out for us. But then there were times when he'd lose it. He'd get this look on his face, like his soul had left his body and nothing was left inside.”

Brett cocked his head. “Lose it?”

“He had these mood swings. They got worse the older he got. He would do awful things: tear stuff up around the house, get in trouble at school. Steal things from stores. Eventually he started getting violent and fighting anyone who looked at him the wrong way.”

I cringed at the memory of him crawling home one night, his eyes black and blue with blood dripping from his nose. He'd picked a fight with the wrong guy and paid dearly for it, but that wasn't enough to make him stop.

“After he had one of his outbursts, he'd shut himself in his room for days. Refused to come out, to eat meals or even talk to us. He and us girls had always been close, so you can imagine how this was for us.” I wiped away a tear. “Jenna always tried to talk sense into him. She was young; she didn't understand why he would ignore her when he claimed to love us.”

“And nobody ever found out what was wrong with him?”

“Dad washed his hands of the whole thing and said Charlie just needed a good beating to knock some sense into him. He was never the sort who believed in mental illness, even though it was clear that he was very sick.”

I stabbed at my fish, suddenly not so hungry anymore.

“Mom didn't live with us then – she'd married some other guy – but still took him to a psychiatrist. She claimed he had all kinds of problems: bipolar, depression, anxiety, with a dash of autistic tendencies too. They tried dozens of medications and therapy, but none of it worked for long. Once we thought we found the right drug, but it turned out Charlie was only pretending to be better so he could stop seeing the doctor every week.”