Sparking the Fire (42 page)

“I panicked,” she confessed. “Everything with you is turned up to the max, and although my instincts were telling me you were what I needed, I've had problems trusting them lately.”

Wry smile. “Thing is, Molly, you're not the only one who's been second-guessing what's for the best. I didn't think I had it in me to be the guy you needed, the one who steps out on your arm and guides you through all that shit.” He waved his hand, presumably in the direction of “all that shit” on the red carpet. “I'll be honest and say I didn't like that one bit, but if you need a date, I will always be here for you. And when you don't need a date”—he pulled her close and leaned his forehead against hers and she thanked her stars she was wearing these heels after all—“when you need your man and some peace and a place to rest that beautiful head of yours, then I'll be here for you, as well. Wherever you need that to be.”

She closed her eyes, soaked in those heart-healing words. “And Roni?”

“I told you those were excuses when you brought that up before, but in truth, I let you get away with using them because it was easier not to fight. All my life, I've kept my distance from makings things too personal. Until I met you and you undid the knots inside. Unraveled me completely. As for the attention, Roni can handle it better than any of us, and her mom's gonna have to understand that her daughter is a Dempsey and with that comes a certain amount of drama and a whole lot of sun. Kid wants an invite to the Golden Globes, by the way.”

“Not the Oscars?”

“She says TV and Netflix are where it's at.”

Clever girl.

Joy bubbled up inside her. Uncontrollable, crazy, ebullient joy. She wanted to scream. She wanted everyone to know how happy she was.

But for now, the only person who needed that information stood in front of her.

“I know I'm not the easiest woman to handle, but you've been unbelievably patient so far, putting up with my diva crap. I hope you're up for more, because you're the only one I want. The only one I trust to keep me safe, grounded, and protected. I love you, Wyatt Fox. So much.”

He closed his eyes as if he wanted to hold on to this moment, and when he opened them again, deep blue emotion shone back at her.

“I'll be your reality check and you can be what you've always been.”

“What's that?”

“The woman of my dreams. Falling in love with you was the easiest thing I've ever done. Falling is easy. Staying that way is hard. But I've been choosing hard all my life, so why the hell would the life I make with the woman who completes me be any different? I love you like a madman. You're the air I breathe, my next heartbeat, and I'm never letting go.”

Her warrior heart kicked hard. This man. This beautiful, scene-stealing man.

And then he kissed her, a Wyatt Fox special. Her entire body sighed into his, and she let him ruin her makeup while he used that wicked pirate mouth to tell her everything in his heart.

When he broke the kiss, she coasted fingertips along his smooth-shaven cheeks. “I miss the beard.”

He smiled against her lips, a smile she dissolved into, and she realized she didn't miss the beard after all. Because here he was, the guy she loved, losing the mask and leaving the shadows.

Her protector, her lover, her soul.

“There
is
something I need to ask you, though, Molly. And our future depends on the answer to this question.”

That sounded ominous. “What happened to ‘the air I breathe' and ‘my next heartbeat'?”

His big, blunt hand skimmed her hip and cradled her ass professionally. “That tattoo—can I assume it was temporary? Because while I can put up with the Cards tee, only, and I repeat only, because it does amazing things for your breasts, any further besmirching—”

“Besmirching?”

“Besmirching of the Cubs' name is an absolute deal breaker.”

She thought on this a moment and cast a sneaky glance toward the closed door.

“That, Marine, is something you're going to have to find out for yourself.”

Needless to say, they were late for the gala.

 EPILOGUE

“D
oes anyone else think this is a terrible way to cook a turkey?”

Gage shot Kinsey a condemning look over his shoulder. “Listen, Cali girl, just because you believe lettuce is the foundation of a well-balanced meal, there's no need to piss on our carnivore ways. And it's not a mere turkey, it's a royal turducken.”

“N'Awlins style,” Brady added as he lowered the Frankensteined bird into the outdoor fryer set up on the patio. An ear-splitting sizzle went up as the virgin meat hit the oil, followed by a big cheer from everyone present for a Dempsey family Thanksgiving.

With his chest warmed by her back, Wyatt wrapped his arms tighter around Molly and buried his chin in the tender skin of her neck. It was hard to believe that almost three months had passed since he'd claimed her on that red carpet.

Currently in postproduction,
Into the Blaze
was scheduled for a big summer release and was expected to be huge. (The trailer was sitting at fifteen million views and counting and had knocked Alex's luxury car slice-and-dice YouTube video off its perch, much to his sister's annoyance.) Meanwhile, Molly was focusing on lining up projects for her production company, but she had signed on for a ten-week movie shoot in Vancouver starting in January. It would be their first big test of being apart. More attention brought more paparazzi out of the woodwork, but he was trying to keep his cool.

Except when he had Molly in his bed. Only then did he unleash his primal hunger, his raging desire, his unquenchable thirst for the woman who had coaxed him into the light.

“Okay, we're looking at T-minus ninety minutes,” Kinsey said, “so before everyone gets sloppy drunk on the rum-spiked eggnog, we're doing holiday card photos.”

“I have more than enough ugly sweaters for everyone,” Gage added with a grin. “But I call dibs on Santa with a light saber, riding a unicorn.”

“Sounds like we have time,” Wyatt murmured in Molly's ear.

Her entire body relaxed in his arms like a smile. “Sneaking away during a family gathering. Which Dempsey commandment are we breaking again?”

“Number one, babe. It's always number one.”

As everyone else trickled back into the house, Wyatt caught Roni's arm and pulled her in for a hug. These days he refused to hold back his love for his people, even though his niece risked dislocating her eyeballs with every eye roll.

“I'm going to start charging you for every one of those, y'know. Get my college fund in good shape.”

She wouldn't have to worry about that. “Just glad you're here, Roni. All of you.” Her mom and grandmother had joined them for the holiday, an invitation he'd gladly extended, not expecting acceptance. Sure, it was a touch awkward, but these blended-family situations often took time while they fumbled their way through the dysfunction on the path to harmony. Jen needed to see how awesome Logan's family was and how much they all loved her daughter.

Molly had taken advantage of his moment's distraction to inhale deeply from baby Ella, resting peacefully in her papa's arms. She couldn't get enough of Beck and Darcy's newborn, one week old today. “Love that new-baby smell,” she murmured.

Beck indulged her for a minute before heading back into the warmth with the sage advice, “Get your man to give you one of your own, Molly.”

Wyatt had added that to his New Year's resolutions.

Beneath a star-spangled sky that had been spitting out the odd snow flurry all afternoon, he led Molly to the yard next door, but at the last moment switched to the alley. Her soft giggle told him she knew exactly what he was up to. In the garage, the Camaro was still on blocks. He was tempted to leave it that way, a shrine to their illicit affair, but come the spring, he'd return to making it whole again.

Tonight, however, it was the perfect spot for a furtive, fevered fumble in the dark—or would have been, if he hadn't taken a few moments to festivize the garage. Icicle lights streamed on the brick walls, their cheery glow illuminating Molly's surprise.

“Wyatt,” she gasped.

Chuckles and sighs were their soundtrack as they maneuvered their bodies into position in the backseat, warm breath and heated skin keeping the temperature inside a few degrees above the November chill.

He still couldn't believe his luck—the brusque firefighter and the Hollywood superstar.

They
saw her on the screen, that beautiful smile a promise they'd forget their worries for a couple of hours. But no one saw her the way he did. Vulnerable, open, in bloom, new layers revealed with every moment he held her.

“Gettin' it on in the Camaro.” Her fingers stroked his jaw, at once loving and inciting. “Do you think maybe—”

“I could grow back the beard?” Surprise, surprise. “How 'bout I dress as Santa in the next couple of weeks?”

“Spice things up with a sexy stranger?”

“Gotta keep you interested. Not sure that redecorating our home will be enough.” He wouldn't allow her to contribute to the mortgage—and he was fully aware of how ridiculous that was when Molly could wipe it out with the click of a bank transfer—but he'd given her free rein to spruce the place up to her designer heart's content. Outside, it would be your typical Chicago brownstone, inside a palace befitting his queen.

“Our home,” she murmured against his lips. “I like that.”

“So do I.” And then he kissed her the way they both liked it, fiendishly slow, taking his time to get her primed. In the dark, he listened to her body, waiting for those sweet sounds that told him she was close. Her language of sighs and moans was as fluent to him as the shape of her hand-filling curves, and when he slipped inside her at last—
ah
. He'd never tire of that gasp of surprise while he filled and stretched her. Just the sheer miracle of this woman sent his heart and blood soaring into the cold, starry night above their heads.

Every time, Molly. Every time.

“I know, Marine,” she whispered in answer to his unspoken affirmation, and then, like always, their bodies finished the conversation.

S
o many people have helped to make the Hot in Chicago series the awesome world that it turned out to be. Captain Jerry Hughes at Truck 33 in Chicago lent his expertise whenever I had a question about the Chicago Fire Department. Movie business maven and author Abby Green answered my queries about film shoots and scripts. My agent, Nicole Resciniti, told me what to fix. My editors at Pocket, Elana Cohen and Lauren McKenna, crafted great stories from the word lumps I sent them. Copy editor Faren Bachelis kept me honest. Melissa and Jean Anne in publicity at Gallery/Pocket did a fantastic job getting the word out. As for the art department—just look at my smokin' covers: need I say more?

Thanks to Monique Headley and Lauren Layne, who read early drafts of the various entries in the series and provided incalculable advice. Several other authors went out of their way to recommend the series and help readers discover the Dempseys, and their support makes me feel warm and blessed: Eloisa James, Sophie Jordan, and especially Sarah MacLean, who told everyone, including whomever she was standing next to in line at the grocery store and her UPS lady, that they should read all about these sexy firefighters.

I'm so grateful to my readers' group, Kate's Kittens, for loving my books and spreading the word. Several of the kittens are bloggers and reviewers who've been with the series (and me) from the start. Thanks to Slick, Laurie, Kim, Maria, Michelle, Missy, Beth, Gretchen, Jaime, Angy, Miranda, Elizabeth, Misty, and CL (phew!) for all their support.

To Jimmie—you know what you did!

Finally, thanks to the brave men and women of CFD and fire departments everywhere for the work you do and the lives you've saved. With such amazing source material, creating stories based on what these heroes see as “just their jobs” makes
my
job the best in the world.