Seducing the Fireman (Risky Business) (10 page)

“I need to be inside you,” he said, stroking his cock and pumping into his own hand. “I need it fast and hard and sweaty.”

Her eyes lit up at the proposition and a wicked grin spread over her face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Grabbing a condom from his wallet, he rolled
it on, thankful he was prepared in more ways than one.

Becca wrapped her legs around him, giving him complete control of her body as he drove into her, burying himself to the hilt. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his back as he withdrew and thrust into her over and over, pushing them both toward oblivion. He hadn’t expected this favor to end with an orgasm, but he wasn’t
complaining.

Being with Becca? It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. The way she responded to his touch spoke a hell of a lot louder than the endless snark she dished out. And one way or another, he’d prove to her that he’d changed. He wasn’t the same kid who’d left town without saying good-bye, and whether she realized it or not, she could count on him for a hell of a lot more than
a good time.

“Jax,” she panted, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m going to come.”

He cupped her ass, holding her body flush as their hips crashed together, tension coiling low in his gut.

A few more strokes and she was chanting his name like a prayer. Her teeth clamped down on his shoulder, sending him over the edge, his own orgasm searing through his body like a four-alarm
fire. A shudder ran down his spine, but he held her tight, savoring the moment, knowing it would end too soon. Any minute now reality would come crashing back, and she’d remember all the reasons she couldn’t—wouldn’t—trust him.

“Looks like you were wrong about the table after all,” she whispered.

“I have to admit it’s pretty sturdy for an import.” Finding her mouth with his own, he
kissed her slow and deep. “But if this is what it feels like to be wrong, well, give me a few minutes and I could be wrong all over again. What do you say?”

“What do I say?” She looked up at him with wide eyes and scooted off the table, forcing him to take a step back. “I say it’s time to pack up your hose and go. I, um, have work to do.”

Not again.

He watched in disbelief as
she gathered her clothes and headed for the bedroom, shutting the door very deliberately behind her.

So much for beating her at her own game.

Chapter Twelve

Becca took an empty seat at the end of the wooden sushi bar and checked her watch. If Quinn was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge—
and
buying lunch at Sushi Katsuei—she was up to something. And whatever it was, it felt big.

She drummed her fingers on the counter while she waited, thoughts of Jax creeping in as they always did when her brain was idle. Which was exactly
why she’d been keeping busy, busy, busy. The last thing she needed to do was spend any more time thinking about
him
.

Even if he had given her the best orgasms of her life.

Still, he was infuriating and pushy, and she didn’t need him invading her life or her brain or her panties. No, what she needed was to focus on her photography. Her time would be much better spent trying to figure
out how to leverage the FDNY Calendar of Heroes into something bigger, because what she really needed was more freelance work to build her portfolio.

And more of those mind-blowing orgasms.

Where the hell had that come from? She cringed and shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts. After giving Jax the post-coital brush off—
again
—the odds were pretty good he was done handing
out orgasms. To her, anyway. The other four million women in New York City? They were probably fair game. And that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? So why did the idea of Jax moving on to someone else leave such a sour taste in her mouth?

Thankfully, Quinn breezed into the tiny restaurant, providing a much needed distraction.

“Sorry I’m late,” Quinn said, taking the empty stool to Becca’s
right. “I always forget how long it takes to get to Brooklyn.”

Becca grinned. Manhattanites acted like Brooklyn was an entirely different country, when in reality it was a twenty-minute ride on the subway, a trip she made twice a day Monday through Friday.

Once they’d ordered a variety of sushi rolls, Quinn was ready to talk business.

“So, did you see the article I wrote on the
models from the FDNY Calendar of Heroes?”

Had she seen it? The article had set off a firestorm among Quinn’s female readership. “Of course I saw it. I think every woman in Manhattan commented on that article,” she teased.

“Exactly,” Quinn said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I swear when I write about serious matters, no one gives a damn, but throw in hot, sexy dudes and my
reach grows exponentially.”

“I’m not so sure that’s actually a good thing.”

“Tell me about it.” Quinn snorted. “But I’m a woman of the people, and I intend to give them more of what they want. They’ve made it quite clear they want a series featuring those sexy firefighters.”

“How does your editor feel about this?” It was hard to imagine the magazine approving an entire series
dedicated to a shirtless FDNY. Besides, Quinn tended to favor serious, investigative pieces, and this pitch sounded a lot like fluff.

Quinn waved dismissively. “I’ll get her on board. Besides, I fully intend the whole thing to culminate in a piece of legitimate journalism about the danger of their work. They may be hot, but those guys really are heroes.”

“So part human interest, part
profile, part news story?”

“Exactly.” Quinn grinned from ear to ear, scooting her stool closer. “Each week I’ll profile a couple of guys, which I can do one-on-one, but I’ll also need access to a firehouse to really get the ‘day in the life’ angle right.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” she said, wondering once again why Quinn had asked her to lunch. Clearly she was missing
something, a key element to the plan.

“Almost.” Quinn paused as their plates were delivered. “
Arigatou
,” she said, thanking the sushi chef, before returning her attention to Becca.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like where this is going?”

“Probably because you’re a spoilsport.” Quinn popped a sushi roll into her mouth, chewing slowly. “Huh. This is pretty damn good.”
She studied her plate. “Great balance of texture and flavor. Who knew you could get sushi like this in Brooklyn?”

Becca rolled her eyes and selected a spicy tuna roll from the plate, dipping it in soy sauce before raising it to her mouth.

Quinn used the back end of her chopsticks to remove another roll from their shared plate. “I want you to convince Jax to let you do a ride along
with his company.”

“No way,” she argued, dropping her chopsticks and abandoning any pretense of etiquette. “Uh, uh. I told you. He’s trouble.”

Quinn arched her brow.

“I kind of had sex with him again.” She closed her eyes, guilt crushing her like an anvil. “And then kicked him out.”

“Again? Please tell me he wasn’t naked this time?” she asked, a pinched look contorting
her face. “Seriously. What is wrong with you?”

She sighed. Quinn wouldn’t understand. The other woman had never had her heart ripped out by the opposite sex. Finally she just went with the old standby. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is.” Quinn rubbed her forehead, shedding her best friend role and slipping into that of Back-alley O’Malley, all tough love and hard facts. “Never mind.
Whatever weird sex thing you two have going on is personal. This is business. You want to get your photography business off the ground? This is your chance.”

“Whatever,” she said, crossing her arms. No way in hell was she asking Jax for a ride along. Or anything else, for that matter. No. Way. Quinn remained silent, staring at her expectantly. “You’re the writer. Shouldn’t you go? You know,
to get all the facts and whatnot?”

“Come on, Becca. A picture is worth a thousand words. I can make magic with a twenty-minute interview, but what you can do with a camera? Those images will bring their stories to life.” Quinn paused before pulling her trump card. “Besides, it pays.”

Well, crap. That changed everything, didn’t it?

“Since when do you turn down freelance work?”
Quinn asked, grinning triumphantly.

“I don’t.” Her shoulders slumped. Sometimes being a grown-up sucked monkey buns. She needed the money and the photo credits. There was no way she could turn the job down, even if it meant asking Jax for a favor. “What exactly do I have to do?”

…

Jax was finishing up the daily equipment check, ensuring all the guys had their gear clean and operational,
when O’Rourke entered the apparatus bay.

“Hey, Lieutenant. You, uh, got a visitor.” O’Rourke stuffed his hands in his pockets. Whoever he was, he made the kid nervous. FDNY brass? Seemed unlikely. Especially unannounced at seven thirty in the morning.

“A visitor?” he asked, signing off on the log and signaling the guys to begin loading their equipment for the day’s shift. “Who is it?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” the kid responded, sliding his gaze toward the bay doors. “She was pretty insistent. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“She?” He stepped out from behind the apparatus to see Becca standing there with two white bakery boxes, smiling sweet as you please. Which made zero sense, since she’d made it perfectly clear—every chance she got—they had no future. So what
the hell was she doing at the firehouse?

“Thanks.” He handed O’Rourke the clipboard. “I’ll take care of this.”

“The Hartbreak Kid rides again!” Anderson called, abandoning any pretense of loading gear. “Think you’ll get another radio spot?”

Jax flipped him off.

Becca kept that charming smile fixed on her face as he approached, but her eyes were wary. Perhaps she was wondering
if he was going to let her have it in front of the entire company. There was no way she hadn’t heard Anderson’s jokes. Or his delightful new nickname. After everything she’d put him through, he’d be well within his right to ask her to leave. But no, he wasn’t angry. Just curious. He had yet to figure out exactly what was going on in that pretty little head of hers, but maybe if he played his
cards right, she’d clue him in.

“Good morning.” She shifted her weight and peeked over his shoulder at the crew of firemen who were no doubt watching their exchange with rabid interest.

“What brings you to the neighborhood?” he asked, wishing O’Rourke hadn’t brought her to the bay. He didn’t want an audience, but more importantly, he didn’t want the guys staring at those fucking perfect
legs. The skirt she wore ended just above the knee, but as far as he was concerned it was NSFW. “We don’t usually get visitors so early.”

“I was on my way to work, and I wanted to drop off some homemade desserts for the guys,” she explained, thrusting the white boxes into his chest and leaving him with no choice but to accept them. She offered a tentative smile, looking up at him from under
her lashes. “To say thank you for…helping me. With the whole elevator thing. Italian cookies and tiramisu.”

There was more to this visit than a simple thank-you. She was nervous. And rambling. What was she up to now? He remained silent, determined to let her sweat it out.

“I’m sure they’ll be a hit,” she said, rubbing her palms together. Her gaze traveled around the apparatus bay before
returning to him. “Mom made them.”

“Thank you. These guys love a good dessert.” He turned, as if to end the conversation. “See you around.”

“Wait.” She reached out, grabbing his forearm. “There’s something else.”

He’d suspected as much.

She chewed her bottom lip, looking unsure of herself. “I need a favor.”

“A favor?” he asked, feigning disbelief and enjoying the
flash of annoyance in her eyes. “From me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Quinn’s doing another piece on the FDNY. Part human interest, part news. The magazine hired me to shoot the series, but I need permission to ride along.”

“And since I’m the only fireman you know, you were hoping I could help you out?”

She sighed, letting him know
exactly how she felt about the prospect, and nodded.

Laughter bubbled up from his gut. Irony was a bitch. “Let me get this straight. Now you want to invade my life and follow
me
around?”

“It’s strictly professional,” she bit out through clenched teeth. It was probably killing her to ask this favor of him, given her proud nature. Just another thing they had in common. He hated asking
for help himself. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with her.

“I don’t know. A ride along?” He rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to think it over. “That’s a pretty big ask.”

“Come on, Jax. Don’t be a jerk.” She tucked a curl behind her ear and licked her lips again. “I need this job.”

“I know,” he said, unable to resist goading her a little bit.
“And that’s why I’m going to need you to ask me nicely. Maybe even throw in some flattery.”

“Listen, stud. That dessert?” She raised her brow and nodded at the white boxes. “That’s tantamount to begging. But if you’re not interested…” She glanced over his shoulder and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, putting his dick on high alert. “I’ll find someone who is.”

Over his dead
body.

“In fact, I think O’Rourke kind of likes me.” She waved, and dammit if O’Rourke wasn’t returning the gesture, cheeks burning bright.

“Don’t get too excited.” He widened his stance and planted his hands on his hips, blocking her view and cutting off the amateur hour flirt fest. “O’Rourke likes all women. The kid doesn’t exactly discriminate.”

“Perfect.” Beaming up at him,
she called his bluff. “Then he won’t be hard to convince.”

With a determined look in her eye, she sashayed across the bay, wiggling her ass with each step.

Well, shit. That had backfired, hadn’t it?

“Oh, no you don’t, shortie.” He chased her down, cutting off her path. The only firefighter she was going to be riding with was him. “I’ll need to get it cleared with the captain.”
He winked at her, knowing it would just rile her up more. “By the way, I like it when you fight dirty.”