Desperately Seeking Fireman (5 page)

“What’s our kind of zing?” There was no point in pretending there wasn’t a zing. They both felt it, and neither was bothering to hide it. Especially not Jeb.

“The kind where I want to find out what your favorite flavor of ice cream is, and whether you like Shane Black movies and who your first crush was and why you looked so sad when you asked me about Melissa and the bathroom.”

She stared at him, totally thrown for a loop. Had she really looked sad? Of course she
was
sad, but she didn’t like to dump that on anyone else. “I think I’ve realized something. You’re not a normal man.”

“Are you insulting me or complimenting me?”

“Just . . . uh . . . getting to know you.”

“Well, good. Getting to know each other is important, especially if we intend to go to bed together.” He winked at her. Heat shivered between her thighs.

“I’m not going to jump into bed with you because you haven’t had sex in five years.”

“You’d better not. That would be a terrible reason. I promise I’ll come up with much better reasons than that. Look, I’m stuck here until Melissa’s done with her interview. I thought we could look at the next few days as one long date.”

“I never sleep with a man on the first date.”

He leaned in, bracing one hand on the wall behind her. His dark hair was cropped short, maybe two degrees away from a buzz cut. He had the look of someone who’d seen a lot in his time, and who didn’t put up with crap. A smudge of dust on his cheekbone somehow set off his eyes, making them look even more tigerish than before. “Maybe that’s because you’ve never had a date with me.”

She felt the breath whoosh out of her. No, she hadn’t. Or with anyone remotely like him.

He gave a little smile, clearly satisfied with the effect he’d had. “So, what’s next on Angie’s honey-do list?”

Nita consulted the scrap of paper she’d shoved in her pocket. “Garden gate’s off its hinges. The place has a gardener, but he refuses to deal with anything that’s not plant-related.”

Jeb crossed to the shut-off valve and turned the water back on. “Does Angie have more carpentry tools?”

“She has a tool shed. I rummaged around and found some stuff. They’re already out there. I like to be organized.”

“See, I knew we were perfect for each other. I like an organized firehouse.”

She mimed checking something off a list. “Likes organization, check.”

“I get points for fixing the pipe, don’t I?”

She felt a smile tremble at the corners of her mouth. “Skilled with his hands, check.”

His eyes heated to a molten gold. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

“You backing out of the date?”

“Hell no. And I think we just made it past the appetizers.”

She laughed, and it felt so good, like a bright bubble bursting in her chest. During the last year, between job stress and personal stress, she hadn’t done much laughing.

She led the way through the Knit, Purl, and Tea, wincing at the reek of the rose-petal essential oil Angie liked to sprinkle on the tablecloths. The Enchanted Garden had never looked so feminine as it did now, with rough and rugged Jeb Stone striding around in it.

But for once, another man sat in the Knit, Purl, and Tea. He was young, sandy-haired, and looked vaguely familiar. His knees barely fit under the dainty little round table. At the sight of Jeb, he leaped to his feet and dashed across the room. The table nearly went flying.

“Captain Stone,” the kid said.

Jeb did a double take. “You know me?”

“I saw you at the station. When you came in to use the bathroom.”

“Right. How are you?”

“I’m Charlie Scott. I’m a volunteer firefighter and me and the other guys want to know—”

“No,” said Jeb.

“But you don’t even—”

“Whatever it is, no. I’m on vacation. And on baby-watch. And on a date.” He slanted a teasing look at Nita, who grinned. Lord, she liked this man.

But the kid persisted. “All we want to know is if you’ll give us some extra training. See, the fire chief . . .” he lowered his voice, “he drinks a lot. He doesn’t teach us anything. We’ve been renting action movies so we can see how real firefighters do it, but we still have a few questions.”

Jeb looked pained. He shot Nita a silent plea for help. She shrugged, wanting to do some teasing of her own. “It’s true about the fire chief, I know that much. The knitting circle’s always complaining about it.”

“A lot of people are hoping he falls off the wharf on his way home from Old Mort’s,” said Charlie cheerfully. “Wouldn’t be surprised to see someone give him a push. Unless they get some real training, that is.”

Nita snorted. The indelicate sound seemed to make the lace curtains shudder. “Are you telling Jeb the chief’s life is in his hands?”

Charlie looked hopeful. “Will that work?”

“No,” said Jeb. “Anyway, I don’t have time to train anyone. I’m only here for a few days.”

“But even a little bit would help, especially from one of the Bachelor Firemen. My girlfriend has a whole scrapbook on you guys . . . oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Nita swung toward Jeb. “A Bachelor Fireman. How could I forget?” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Do I get a prize for going on a date with a Bachelor Fireman?”

“Yes.” He quirked one eyebrow. “You can claim your prize tonight.”

She flushed. If he was rusty at flirting, she’d hate to see him in top form. “Sorry, Charlie,” she told the young fireman. “This fire captain is already spoken for. Maybe you can have him later.” Circling his wrist, she tugged him across the room. The feel of his warm flesh and the solid bones underneath made her oddly happy.

A wind chime jangled as they walked out the front door, into the charming front yard, which was enclosed by a white gingerbread fence. Roses tumbled over little stone benches, while a sculpted Cupid poured water into a mossy fountain. Lanterns hung in the lemon trees. Truth to tell, she’d booked the place solely because of this garden with its white cabbage roses and velvet-hearted black-eyed Susans.

She inhaled the fragrance, letting it seep into her being. Maybe when she got back to work she’d make a habit of keeping flowers at her desk.

Right. As if she’d ever have time for that.

By the sidewalk, the gate stood off its hinges, one end resting on the grass. Jeb knelt down next to it and peered at the hinges. “The wood’s rotten. The hinge came right through it.”

“Great. What do we do?”

He gave it a long, thorough scrutiny that made her wonder what it would feel like if he looked at her like that. While she was naked.

“I could build one.”

“You can
build
a
gate
?”

“Sure. It’s not complicated. Pretty simple design. But it’ll take some time. I can also just replace this one piece here.” He tapped the offending post. “If Angie has any extra lumber lying around, I can take a look.”

Nita beckoned him toward a path that wound around the side of the building. “Let’s check the tool shed.”

As she led the way, she could swear he was checking out her ass. Fair enough, since she’d scoped him out a few times. She added some sway to her stride. Talk about rusty. When was the last time she’d tried to look sexy for a man? Probably early-Bradford era.

It seemed to be working on Jeb, because when she glanced back, she caught him watching her with a little frown between his eyebrows. But his next question wasn’t flirtatious. “Do you like working for Senator Stryker?”

An easy question, easy answer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Where was her automatic “yes, of course”? Her “it’s a dream come true”? Or “it’s an incredible opportunity”?

“I was the first Hispanic press secretary Senator Stryker ever hired. He’s California’s longest-serving State Senator and very influential.”

“That’s impressive.”

“I’ve always wanted to shine, to prove myself.”

“I’m sure you’ve done it.”

She hadn’t answered the question. He probably realized it, but didn’t push. Nibbling at the inside of her cheek, she wondered why she hadn’t given her usual answer. Was it because it had stopped being true? Was it because she couldn’t lie to someone as forthright as Jeb Stone?

Reaching the shed, she undid the latch and opened the door. Jeb stepped inside, gave a quick scan, then turned to face her. The only light came from the open door, which made the little building soothingly dim, a welcome break from the vivid sunshine outside. There was barely room for the two of them, and suddenly even the dust motes seemed to quiver from the energy vibrating between them. She took an involuntary step back and hit the door jamb.

He cocked his head, as if trying to make out what she was feeling. Then he slowly offered his hand to her, palm up. An offering? An invitation? Whatever it was, she hesitated only a moment before placing her hand carefully in his. Slowly, surely, he tugged her toward him until nothing separated their bodies except their clothes and a humming layer of air. He kept his hand clasped with hers.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured. “But I see you might be wary.”

She was staring at his chest—his husky, broad chest—hugged by the still-damp, hunter green T-shirt. Lifting her gaze, she passed the neckline of his shirt, a scattering of dark hair peeking out, the strong tendons of his neck, his firm jaw, and fastened on the mouth that had fascinated her from the beginning.

“Should I be? Wary?”

“That all depends on what scares you.” With his free hand, he brushed her hair away from her face. “You know what I want. What do you want?”

That was the thing. She couldn’t have what she wanted. All her passionate love, all her hard work, all her carefulness, hadn’t kept disaster at bay. For a moment, the harsh grief threatened, like a demon clutching at her soul. But then there was this man standing before her, a man like no one she’d ever met, and he was looking at her steadily, unafraid, attentive. Wanting her.

Rising onto her tiptoes, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, she lifted her face to his. Carefully, gently, she pressed her mouth against those beautifully formed lips of his. He tasted like . . . life. Like fresh orange juice and a morning breeze off the ocean. A soft, melting effect stole across her senses. He didn’t open his mouth, but simply moved his head from side to side, a tiny shift that brought delicious sensation in its wake.

She sighed as her body relaxed against his. He was holding her now with both hands, a solid clasp that promised not to let her down. Her torso met his, the intimate contact of her breasts against his chest making her tremble. Those strong hands made circles on her back—slow, arousing circles.

He smelled so good, a whiff of coffee mixed with spicy aftershave. She wanted to bury her head in his neck, nuzzle against the warm flesh there. But she also didn’t want to budge from where she was, that magical space in which her mouth pressed against his. It was a little bit sulky, that lower lip, a little James Dean, a little Jim Morrison. He had the mouth of a rock god, of a man who’d drawn women to him since puberty, of a man completely confident in his own manhood.

She opened her lips, swiped her tongue against his lower lip. He gave a little growl, which scraped across her nerve endings. Then he gently caught her lower lip in his teeth, and those nerve endings pulsed into triple overdrive. Her heart raced with an unfamiliar emotion.

Desire.

She’d forgotten what it felt like. It felt astonishing, like a favorite song she hadn’t heard in years. Or a favorite color.
Red. How could I have forgotten that I love the color red? How did I live without red?
He explored her mouth with commanding assurance, as if he knew exactly how much turmoil his tongue and lips were generating. As if he wanted every part of her to vibrate with excitement, tremble with anticipation.

As she tilted her head back, abandoning herself to his kiss—was it a kiss, or a statement of purpose?—her thoughts took on a cartwheeling, giddy quality.
How could I have forgotten there’s something in this world that feels so good? I’m alive, I’m alive. So good. But has it ever felt this good before? Did I forget that I’m a woman, not a medical project?

That thought acted more or less like a shower of ice cubes on the moment. She tore her mouth away from his, knowing it was wet and swollen, knowing how turned-on she looked. Putting a trembling hand to her lips, she felt tears spring to her eyes. Quickly, she blinked them away.
Don’t notice, don’t notice
, she pleaded silently.

Fat chance. Jeb Stone didn’t miss a trick. His eyes narrowed in concern. “Was I out of line?”

She shook her head, still beyond words. Struggling for a grip on her unruly emotions, she trailed a hand on his chest, lingering over the spot where his heart beat fast and steady. He covered her hand with his.

“What is it?” He asked gently, as if he really wanted to know. And that was what undid her. Even knowing that their “date” might end after one great kiss, she couldn’t resist the worry in his gold-striped eyes.

But she had to look away before she could say it. Fixing her gaze on a row of hammers on a pegboard, she braced herself and said, “Bradford left me because I got pregnant. He wasn’t interested in having a child with me. Then, when I was four months along, I lost the baby.”

Chapter Five

N
ITA HAD HER
eyes squeezed shut, as if afraid to face him after her revelation. Jeb cupped her face in one hand and brushed his thumb against her mouth, still plump from his kiss.

“That’s rough,” he said. “Really rough. Are you doing okay now?”

“Better,” she said cautiously, opening one eye a sliver and looking almost surprised to see him.

“I’m still here,” he reassured her. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

She opened both eyes. “It’s not exactly first-date entertainment material.”

“I asked, remember? I asked because I wanted to know.” Now that he knew, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Clearly she was still raw from the whole experience. “I knew Bradford was an ass.”

Maybe he’d picked the right tack, because she managed a smile. “He wasn’t a total ass. Maybe about seventy-percent ass. He said he’d pay child support. I decided to have the baby by myself, even though my mother cried for a week. But I’m smart and capable, right? I was scared, but happy too. Then, at about sixteen weeks along, it all just ended. There was an infection, and I had to go to the hospital. The doctor said it happens.”