Desperately Seeking Fireman (9 page)

“That’s impossible. Who else could have carried me up three flights of stairs?”

A couple of the San Gabriel firefighters came to mind, Vader Brown in particular. But he chose not to mention that.

“Now get in here before you have a heart attack.” She opened the door for him. Staggering inside, he collapsed on the big bed, which was scattered with ruffled little pillows. The room had curved windows on three sides, with a view of tree tops and clouds. Right now, the trees were moving restlessly in the wind. The crescent moon kept emerging and disappearing behind the racing mass of clouds.

“Any word on the forecast?” He asked Nita. She was prowling toward the bed—there was no other word for it. Slinky and determined as a panther, she climbed onto the bed, straddled him and ran her fingers under the waistband of his jeans.

“Yes. The forecast is for horny.”

“Accurate so far.”

“They’re calling for lots of nakedness.” She unbuttoned his fly, which bulged from the pressure of his rising erection.

“Those naughty weather people. Are we on ‘Stormwatch’ yet?” The Southern California news stations were infamous for their weather freakouts.

“We’re on ‘Sexwatch.’” She lifted her dress and eased herself against his groin. He lifted his hips and pushed his jeans out of the way. His cock was trying to burst out of the opening in his boxers. When he tried to fix it, she shoved his hands away and did it herself, maneuvering his shorts off his shaft and down to his thighs.

“I hope there’s more than watching involved,” he gasped.

She licked her lips and rocked her soft wetness against his penis. Maybe he’d died and this was heaven, this little tower room and this amazing woman.

Then she stilled for a moment. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Married for eighteen years, sex-free for the past five. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“And they tested me up the wazoo in the hospital. Literally. If a wazoo is what I think it is.”

The sultry heat in her eyes didn’t lessen a bit at her mention of the hospital. That had to be progress. But still . . . “Do you think you could stop talking now? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“On what?”

“Fucking your brains out.” Finding her opening, he thrust into her, pleasure streaking from the base of his cock, up his spine, and into his brain. “Holy Mother of God, that’s good, Nita.”

Her head was tilted back, her glorious hair swaying with the motion of her body. He put his hands on the front of her little sundress. “How important is this dress?”

“Three dollars at a thrift store,” she gasped. “Has a stain on the back.”

He ripped it open. The buttons landed on the floor in a flurry of dull clunks. She was naked underneath the dress—sleekly, wonderfully naked. He flicked his thumbs across her nipples, lightly, the way he’d already figured out she liked.

“Oh Jeb,” she breathed softly, the sound going right to his already engorged cock. He pumped into her, slow and sure and rhythmic, feasting his eyes on her. If he was the drum, pounding out a steady beat, she was the lead singer, every sensual movement of her body like a melody made into flesh. With every one of her sexy little shudders, she inflamed him even more, until all he knew was the blood thundering in his ears.

He gripped her soft hips, felt them tremble. She was making a keening little moan with every one of his upthrusts. He loved that sound. Loved knowing how turned on she was, how much pleasure he was giving her. He loved the way she threw herself into their lovemaking, the way all her sadness vanished when they were in bed.

He wanted to live and die here, buried inside her. The intensity of the feeling shocked him.

And then the urgent drumbeat picked up speed, thundered through his veins, driving him on and on, up and up, into her body, into that soft, clenching heat. Her inner muscles tightened around him. She called out his name in a wild voice. And he splintered into a million shards of glory.

Chapter Eight

S
INCE HER FIRST
night here, Nita had imagined making love in this perfect little turret room. From the first moment, the room had felt like a bubble of serenity, almost like a snow globe, a safe place where nothing could hurt her. But she’d never pictured anything as raw and wild as what she’d just experienced with Jeb Stone.

She lay next to him, catching her breath, basking in the heat that radiated from his solid body. The sound of his jagged breathing filled the quiet room. She listened as his breath returned to normal. The sweat began to cool on both of their bodies. She huddled close to him, felt his strong arm come around her. And the question that had been simmering in her mind bubbled over.

“What was it like before the last five years?”

“What?”

Yes, she had to admit, it was a confusing question. “You and your ex stopped having sex five years ago. But what was your relationship like before then? Because you’re . . . well . . .” How could she put this? “You’re a fantastic lover.”

Scalding heat washed across her face. That wasn’t exactly what she meant to say, though it was true.

“What I mean is, you seem very sexual.”

He lolled his head to the side and cast her an amused glance. “Very sexual, huh? I think I’ll take that as a compliment. Unless you’re wondering if my insatiable need for sex drove my wife away.”

“Of course I didn’t mean that.” The thought flitted through her mind that if she was with Jeb, she’d be even more insatiable than he was. “I’m just asking inappropriately personal questions.”

“Honey. We’re naked in bed. How could anything be inappropriate?” He laid his big warm hand on her stomach. She felt the heat travel through to her spine. Tendrils of desire meandered to her sex. The man did something to her, something she wasn’t completely prepared for.

“So I can ask you anything?”

“You might have noticed that I’m a big believer in honesty. For better or worse.”

“Is your wife gay?” As soon as she said it, she clapped one hand over her mouth, then added the other on top of that one. Maybe two hands would be able to bring back that blurted question.

Peering up at him, she saw it was not to be. He’d heard the question, all right. His tiger eyes glittered.

“Melissa,” he hissed grimly.

“Don’t blame her! I was curious.”

With a sudden movement, he flipped her onto her back and braced himself over her, the weight of his body pinning her to the bed. He looked and felt so powerful, looming over her. “You want the story?” He asked in a low voice. “Or did Melissa tell you all you need to know? Did she give a full report to her friendly neighborhood press agent?”

She pushed at his chest, which was more or less like pushing at a cement wall. But he relented and withdrew enough so she could sit up. “That’s horribly unfair, Jeb. I’m not a press agent right now. I’m a woman in bed with a man. And I couldn’t help wondering about you and Belinda.”

He ran his hand through his hair, his muscles flexing. She hated that she’d upset him.

“Melissa shared her private speculations, and told me that’s what they were. She also told me to keep them private, and instead I just blurted it out to you. So I’m to blame, not her.”

He rolled away from her, stretching out on his back, and threw his forearm across his eyes. “No blame. It’s okay. I just haven’t faced this situation before. Usually it’s enough to say, ‘I’m amicably divorced.’”

“It is enough. It’s fine,” Nita said quickly. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. I’m not. It’s a part of me. If you want me, this goes with the package.”

Wild butterflies took flight in Nita’s stomach.
If she wanted him
? What was he offering? Could he possibly be thinking beyond the next few days? “I want you,” she said softly, choosing not to think about the many possible meanings of that statement. “I want to hear. I want to know.”

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. “I don’t know if I would say Belinda’s ‘gay’. I’d say she loves sex, and she loves women, and she loves me. But she loves women more. She’s with a woman now. In Thailand.”

“So . . .” Nita shook her head in confusion. “She’s not a lesbian? Or she sometimes is?”

“You’d have to know Belinda to understand. That’s why I don’t go by labels anymore. Everyone’s unique. I’ve known Belinda since we were kids. We both came from very repressed families. Very rigid, very strict, especially about sexuality. I rebelled early on. I partied a lot. But it was easier for me to sow my wild oats than it was for her. I was her first attempt at stepping outside the line, and when we got pregnant, of course we had to marry.”

“Of course?”

“We cared about each other and we both wanted a family. It was a no-brainer. We had Alison. Things were good. The first years with Alison we were scrambling. I was trying to get my firefighting career going, she was always sleep-deprived. When things settled down, we remembered what brought us together in the first place.” He shot her a sidelong glance, his tiger eyes picking up a spark from the moon. “Sex.”

Nita gulped. Well, she’d asked for the whole story.

“We started going wild in the bedroom. Belinda wanted to try everything. We were married, so it was okay in her mind. She finally got her chance to sow those oats. Being a red-blooded young man, I didn’t mind. But the more time went on, the more it became obvious that Belinda was more excited about other women than anything else.”

Nita listened in growing astonishment. What was missing from this speech? It took her a minute to put her finger on it. Oh yeah.
Bitterness.
“And that was okay with you? That she preferred women?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. His body, so snug against hers, tensed.

“I won’t lie. I had some rough moments. But I got through it. I love Belinda, but she was always a handful. She’d probably say the same about me. We sort of . . . raised each other. Saw each other through our wild times. We were kids when we got married, we didn’t know what the hell we were doing. But we took care of each other, and managed to put our daughter first. Well, mostly. Belinda probably knew ten years ago that she didn’t want to be married anymore, but she stuck it out. I don’t blame her for anything. And I’ll always love her. She’s my family. Whatever she is or isn’t, I still love her. Even if it doesn’t fit into what I thought my life would be.”

Nita swallowed hard. Was he saying that he was still in love with his ex-wife? Even though she’d switched to the other team? Not that she had a right to ask. This thing between her and Jeb was . . . well, it wasn’t anything. A few days of sexual bliss that might end at any moment.

But she couldn’t help herself. She had to know. They were naked in bed, and he’d said nothing was too personal. She inhaled a deep breath. “You still love her?”

“Of course I do.”

Her stomach sank like a falling elevator. “Oh.”

He glanced at her sharply, then raised himself on one elbow. “You goose. You think I’m pining after my runaway, lesbian ex-wife? No. I love Belinda because I grew up with her, I married her, she’s Alison’s mother, and I know her inside out. But we don’t love each other like
that.
She’s like a . . . not a sister, exactly. She’s part of me. But she’s not my future.”

The word “future” trembled in the air. A future was exactly what they didn’t have. Especially now that she knew about his marriage. Nita couldn’t imagine him waltzing from a long, complicated relationship like his marriage to Belinda into something new. He needed to enjoy his freedom. Remember the joys of sex. Reconnect with the side of him that had tried all those wild things with Belinda.

Jealousy percolated through her like an overflowing coffee pot. She couldn’t help it. How could an uptight, driven press secretary ever compete with the memory of the adventurous Belinda, who also happened to be the mother of his child?

A sense of bleakness made her drop her head to her pillow. She’d let herself get too involved, too quickly. Sexual healing was one thing; getting your heart broken was another. And these days, her heart was too fragile to risk.

A finger tapped gently on her forehead. “What’s going on in there? What wheels are turning?”

“Nothing.”

“Not buying that. You’ve got to be thinking something. If you’re rewriting the senator’s statement, we’re going to have a problem.”

She snorted into her pillow.

“Have I blown your mind? Are you figuring out how to tell me to get lost?” Despite the humor in his voice, she sensed it wasn’t an easy question for him to ask.

Since he’d been so open with her, she couldn’t lie to him. “No. Not that. Did you ever . . . I don’t know . . . doubt yourself? When she stopped wanting sex?”

He stayed silent for a long moment. Wind rustled against the windows. “Maybe a little. But only a little. I tried not to take it personally. That’s who she is. And she enjoyed sex with me plenty over the years. I’m . . . well, confident in that arena.”

As well he should be, she thought. The man was a package of dynamite wrapped up in a devastating body. He was magnetic, magical, forceful. Not only that, he paid attention. He’d already figured out what pleased her, and did those things until she was thoroughly satisfied. He was, easily, the best lover she’d ever had.

Whereas she had failed at being a woman. Failed to keep Bradford. Failed to carry her baby.

There was only one thing to do. Retreat, before the damage to her heart grew even worse.

A
N UNPLEASANT BANGING
woke Nita from vaguely disturbing dreams about tsunamis and sand castles.

“Nita! Nita Moreno!”

Ugh, it was the senator’s deep, carrying voice, the voice that didn’t even need a microphone to speak to a crowd of thousands. When he called for her in that angry tone, it meant that he’d screwed something up and needed her right away. That tone meant stress, panic, adrenaline.

She sat up with a jolt, horrified at the thought of her boss catching her in bed with a man.

Except there was no man in her bed.

Right
. She’d feigned exhaustion, then dropped off to sleep. Then she’d woken up when he’d tried to tiptoe out of the room. Panicked at the thought of never getting to make love with him again, she’d lured him back to bed, where they’d explored every inch of each other’s bodies and she’d come twice more, once under the skillful stroking of his tongue, once at the touch of his fingers.