Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3) (2 page)

CC rapped her knuckles against the door for the second time, wondering if anyone was home, or if she was just wasting her time. A truck sat in the driveway, an impressive full-size extended cab heavy duty job. Shiny black paint, shiny chrome. The truck fit the owner, she thought.

If it actually belonged to Big Guy.

She stepped back from the door and looked around. The neighborhood was quiet, the homes on the upper end of modest and nicely maintained. The lawn that spread out around her was neatly clipped and edged, the flower beds that lined the walk from the driveway filled with blooming bushes and a selection of vibrantly colored flowers. She had no idea what kind of flowers, knew only that they looked nice.

She glanced at her watch. It wasn't quite ten o'clock in the morning. Maybe the Big Guy was in the shower. Or maybe he wasn't even home.

Or maybe he was sleeping.

CC smiled at the clear visual that sprung to mind, immediately figuring him for a guy who slept in the buff. And wouldn't that be a nice little treat, if he answered the door like that?

Figuring the third time was a charm, she opened the screen once more and rapped her knuckles against the thick wood door. Harder this time, just in case.

Maybe a little too hard, since she could hear muffled grumbling coming from the other side. The door finally opened, only about six inches, but wide enough for her to realize that the Big Guy had, indeed, been sleeping.

Unfortunately, not in the buff.

But damn close to it.

Her eyes raked over his body in slow appreciation, from his sleep-mussed black hair and piercing chocolate eyes, down to his broad well-defined chest. And wasn't she the lucky one, because that chest was deliciously bare. Her eyes continued their slow descent, down past his sculpted abs and lean hips—damn shame he was wearing such baggy shorts—to his strong legs and bare feet.

Her eyes reversed their travel, pausing to study the intricately drawn tattoo on his left chest, and came back to rest on his dark eyes. She didn't miss the scowl on his face, an expression that made him look just like a pirate, especially with the dark stubble that shadowed his strong chin and jaw.

"Can I help you?" His voice was gruff, hoarse with sleep. Not a single flicker of recognition showed in his eyes.

CC slid the sunglasses up to her head, anchoring them in her hair, and gave him a big smile.

"Hey Big Guy. Did I wake you?"

Recognition, and something very much like surprise, quickly registered on his face. He stepped back, but didn't open the door any wider or invite her in.

"You!"

"Yup, it's me. So, you going to invite me in?" She reached her hand out and nudged the door open a bit, her eyes quickly roaming around the shadowed interior. Neutral living room with a dining room just beyond, stairs leading up off to the right. "Or are you hiding a wife or girlfriend in here?"

He stepped back in mute surprise as she walked past him. He wasn't married—she had already checked on that—but she wasn't sure about the girlfriend part. She looked over her shoulder at him, not surprised that he hadn't moved.

"What?" His brows pulled down in an angry slash as he stared at her. "No! To either one."

"Hey, just checking. Sometimes you can never tell so better safe than sorry."

"No." He shook his head, then turned back to the door and looked surprised that it was still standing open. He closed it, probably harder than he intended, then turned back to face her. He ran both hands across his face then up through his hair and exhaled deeply. "Is there a reason you're here?"

"Yeah. I found this in the chopper, thought you might want it back." She pulled his wallet from the back pocket of her jeans and tossed it to him. It hit him dead center in the chest and he reached up, fumbling to catch it before it hit the ground. He stared at it for a long second, then shook his head again.

"My wallet. Yeah, I know. I was going to run down later today to pick it up at the barracks."

"Lucky you. I just saved you a trip." She walked into the living room and looked around, her eyes taking in more details. Not that there was much to see.

A beige leather sofa and loveseat formed an L, allowing optimal viewing of the large screen television mounted to the far wall. Matching dark oak end tables flanked the sofa, complementing the dark oak coffee table placed conveniently in the middle of the arrangement. Boring. Really boring. A few pictures on the wall added some color, as did the area rug. Other than that, there wasn't much to see.

She moved through the living room to the dining room. A shaker style oak table with whitewashed legs was flanked by four ladder back chairs and a matching bench. An old fashioned hutch stood to the side, an assortment of dishes and collectibles stacked behind the glass doors.

The furniture and decoration wasn't bad, but she would have preferred some color herself.

"So. Do you have anything to drink around here, Big Guy?" He was right behind her, she could feel his presence less than a foot away, and she didn't have to turn around to know he was still scowling. She bit back her smile and wandered into the kitchen, knowing he was following her.

Now this was more like it, she thought. The kitchen was bright and airy, with big windows and French doors opening to the backyard. Yellows, greens and blues mixed in a vibrant color scheme, an extension of the outdoors contained just beyond the glass. She moved over to the counter island, hooked the heel of her boot around a stool, and pulled it out. She sat her elbows on the granite surface, propped her chin in her hands, and offered Big Guy a bright smile.

He was still scowling at her, confusion warring with something else on his face. One hand reached up and he absently scratched at his chest, pulling her attention once again to the tattoo.

About five inches square, it was a detailed black ink drawing of a caduceus against a tattered Flag. The words "My Brother's Keeper" formed a border along the top and side. Even from this distance, she could see the detail was exquisite, and her fingers itched to trace the lines.

And not just of the tattoo.

"Nice ink. When'd you get it?"

"Excuse me?" He glanced down at his chest, then dropped his hand to the side, his fingers curling into a loose fist. She could feel his frustration from where she sat, and smiled even wider. "I'm sorry, but is there a reason you're here?"

"Just wanted to drop off your wallet."

"And you did, thank you. Now you can leave."

CC didn't flinch at his rudeness, not when she knew it was a result of his being flustered, by not knowing what to make of her. She almost laughed, but didn't think he'd appreciate it. "You can't even offer me a drink before I go? I'm not picky. Water's fine."

Big Guy watched her with narrowed eyes, his impatience and uncertainty warring with something else, something that caused just a brief flicker of heat to flash in his dark eyes. He muttered something then turned his back on her and reached up to grab a glass from a cabinet. Her eyes roamed across his broad shoulders and down his back, down to the tight ass that even his baggy shorts couldn't hide.

He turned on the faucet and let it run for a second, then placed the glass under the running water until it was filled. He brought the glass over and sat it in front of her with a small clink, his gaze still narrowed.

"No ice?"

Without a word, he turned to the steel-fronted refrigerator, opened the door, and reached into the ice bin. He returned and plunked two ice cubes into the glass, ignoring the water that splashed over the rim.

"Thank you." She smiled and raised the glass in a mock salute then took a long swallow, her eyes never leaving his. She lowered the glass and ran her tongue across her lips, noticing that his gaze dropped to her mouth, watching. Another flare of heat sparked in his eyes and he looked away.

"Now that you've dropped off my wallet—and had something to drink—you can leave now."

"Are you always so grumpy, Big Guy?"

"Dave. The name is Dave." He uttered the words through clenched teeth, his frustration clear. "And when strangers show up at my house uninvited, yes, I get a little grumpy."

"Strangers, hm?" She took another swallow of water then put the glass down, pushing it out of her way. She folded her arms on the counter then leaned forward, watching him. "You know, something funny about that. I've learned that people who talk to one another, get to know each other, aren't strangers for very long."

Dave just watched her, saying nothing. She kept her eyes on his, refusing to look away. A small twitch teased the corner of his mouth, just the briefest movement, but she saw it. Saw it, and smiled.

His tension eased out of him, bit by bit until his shoulders weren't hunched quite so tightly against his ears. Lines eased from his face, relaxing his mouth and eyes and making him look younger, less worried, more approachable. CC felt a small glimmer of victory shoot through her at the transformation. She knew she hadn't read him wrong last night.

"That's really nice work, by the way." She nodded her head to the tattoo again. "When did you get it done?"

He looked down at his chest then up at her and shrugged. "About three years ago. Um, excuse me, I need to go grab a shirt—"

"No, really, you don't. I'm kind of enjoying the scenery." Her words stopped him cold and he froze mid-step, the tips of his ears turning pink. She watched the muscles in his strong throat work, and briefly wondered if he was trying to swallow—or trying not to choke. He didn't say anything but he did turn to look at her, now only a foot away from her.

She swiveled on the stool and leaned forward, reaching out and tracing the outline of the tattoo with the tip of her finger. The muscle underneath was rock hard, the flesh firm and hot, scorching. His chest rose and fell with one deep breath before his hand shot out and closed around her wrist.

She slid off the stool and stepped next to him, looking up into his eyes, watching heat swirl in their depths.

"What are you doing?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, tugging at something deep inside her. But there was something else, a wariness, a hunger, a deep need that pulsed through him and into her.

"So I'm not the only one who felt it." She breathed the words, barely aware of saying them out loud, wondering even as she said them what he was thinking.

What would he think if she leaned up and pressed her lips against the pulse beating heavily at the base of his throat? If she leaned up and pressed her lips against his mouth?

Anticipation, excitement, need. Heat. Desire. They swirled together, building, mixing with something else, something basic and primitive that pulled them closer.

Fire flamed in the depths of his eyes and her body burned from the heat of his skin, so close. His hand tightened around her wrist and she saw the hesitation, the confusion on his face. She thought he'd step back or push her away.

Then his mouth crashed against hers, hot, hungry, demanding. She moaned as his tongue plunged into the recesses of her mouth, searching with greedy need. His hand released her wrist and she flattened her palm against his chest, against hard muscle and hot flesh.

His arms came around her waist and pulled her closer, his hands cupping her ass and molding her hips against his body. Another moan escaped her as he pressed the rigid length of his erection against her stomach, rocking against her with a throaty growl she felt clear down to the tips of her toes.

Her hands drifted up to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. She brushed her fingers through the short strands of his hair, surprised at the softness.

He deepened the kiss, the pounding in his chest matching the throbbing in her veins. She leaned in closer, needing to feel more of him, all of him, needing to lose herself.

He dragged his hand up her back, his calloused palm skimming the flesh as he dragged the hem of her shirt up. His touch was hot, searing, and she moaned again at the sensation, the sound lost in their kiss.

And then he pulled away with a ragged groan, his breathing harsh, heavy. Hooded eyes stared down at her, dazed. He blinked. Looked at her and blinked again.

He pulled his hands away from her body and stepped back, an expression of horror crossing his face before he looked away. Disappointment raced through her as she watched him run his hands over his face, his chest rising and falling with each harsh breath.

She reached behind her, searching for the stool, then slid onto it, a smile lifting her lips when he finally looked at her.

"Jesus Christ. Are you insane?"

She pretended to think about it, then shook her head. "No."

"Really? So you make it a habit of just showing up at some guy's—some
stranger's
house and...and..." He waved his hand between them, unable to finish his sentence. She watched him again, her lips pursed in thought. Then she shook her head.

"Nope, can't say I do. This is pretty much a new one for me."

He ran both hands through his hair, mussing the short length even more, then folded his hands behind his neck and looked up at the ceiling, his lips forming around silent words. CC grabbed the glass of water and took a sip, watching him.