Sweet Heat (3 page)

On the ground floor, Brandon shoved through the door with his shoulder. He heard a whoosh, a rumble, a crack, and then the whole building shook. Christ! How many oxygen tanks had the old fart had?

The baby was screaming now, and even stoic Sam was whimpering.

“Fleming, where the fuck are you? Report!”

He was too out of breath from coughing and carrying the weight of his gear, plus the two girls, while running down three flights of stairs to answer. He huffed a ragged laugh and ran for the front door.

The street outside was littered with broken bricks and debris as he loped out of the smoke.

He whooped in a large breath of cleaner air and barked a hoarse, “Here, Chief. Got the girls.”

The crowd that had gathered beyond the barriers the PD had erected began to cheer as they saw Sam in his arms. Several of his fellow firefighters swarmed him, reaching for the little girl, but she clung to him.

“S’okay. I got her.” He squeezed the little girl. He moved toward the ambulances, looking for her mother. A sudden cry sounded and the woman burst past an EMT, tears streaming down her stunned face.

“Samantha!”

Things seemed to begin to move at double time then. The EMTs took the baby from him. The mother, sobbing, hugged her daughters and blubbered her thanks. The medics wanted to look at him too. He tried to brush them off, but the Chief showed up at his side, glowering and tomato-faced, and made him get an exam.

A little smoke-inhalation. Nothing serious. He was lucky.

“Fucking idiot hero,” the Chief grumbled, but he thumped Brandon on the back at the same time.

He wasn’t trying to be a hero. He was just trying to do his job. He told Mrs. Winter that, after she introduced herself and thanked him for the millionth time.

Sam held tight to her mother’s leg and the woman kept touching her hair, as if to ensure that her daughter was still there.

Brandon smiled at the little girl, and she smiled back. If he and Hillary had had kids… He pushed the thought of his ex away. It was good they hadn’t. As much as he’d always wanted to be a dad, he was glad he hadn’t had to put a kid through the train wreck of their break-up.

As it was, he was the only one who’d gotten hurt.

It was only then that it occurred to him that the street they were on was only one over from their old apartment. The one she now lived in with his former best friend Angelo. The tightness in his chest had nothing to do with smoke inhalation as he looked past the police barriers.

The sky had lightened to a faint pearly gray as dawn drew nearer. Brandon wondered if Hillary still went in to work this early. She was a station manager at one of the local affiliates, and had to be in to supervise the morning shows that would start soon.

As if his thoughts had conjured her, he saw her bright yellow Miata glide to a stop at the cross street.

There was no way she hadn’t seen the commotion going on down their end of the street. Was she wondering if he was there? This far away, he couldn’t see her in the driver’s seat, but he knew it would be her. She never let anyone drive her car, not even her beloved sister.

Brandon resisted the urge to raise his hand. His gut twisted as he thought about what might have been, had things worked out with them. They’d been together for five years. He’d been planning to be with her forever. Marriage, kids, house in the suburbs someday maybe.

The Miata pulled away, turning out of sight, and Brandon slumped slightly.

He was beyond ready for this shift to be over.

Suzanne yawned and took another sip of her mocha latte.

“No, I’m telling you, Christine. It was, like…” She trailed off, trying to think of adequate words to describe her date with Antoine.

Her co-worker flicked her thick black hair over her shoulder and leaned back in her office chair. She plucked a piece of pastry from her donut and tucked it between her plump lips. “But he was good-looking?”

Suzanne rolled her eyes. “He was alright. Tall, good body. But… ugh!” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, maybe give him a second shot anyway. My sister Cherise met her husband Franco on a blind date, you know. And they hated each other at first.
Really
hated each other, like, she took a swing at him at the end of the first night. But now? They’re like… Romeo and Juliet or some shit.”

“Wait, hold up. Your sister’s name is Cherise?” Suzanne giggled. “Cherise and Christine?”

Christine smiled and nodded. “We’re fraternal twins.”

Suzanne rocked back slightly on her perch on the edge of Christine’s desk. “Really? How did I not know that?” She shook her head. “You’re not identical, though. So no
Sister Sister
moments?”

They shared a laugh.

“I wish. That would have been fun. But no, we have totally different tastes in everything so it would be easy for anyone to tell us apart, even if we did look the same.”

“So you never did the boyfriend swap thing?” Suzanne had always sort of wished she had siblings - and not only because it would have given her parents another child to obsess over. It would have been nice to be able to share a lifetime of experiences with someone.

“God, no. Though we did date brothers once. Cutter and Isaiah. Talk about bad dates.” Christine shuddered in memory, her nose scrunching up. “Isaiah was my boyfriend freshman year of college. He once took me to a high school party at this house way out in Westchester. I didn’t know anyone, and he ditched me about five minutes after walking in the door. I’d already been drinking and wasn’t feeling well so I’m wandering the second floor looking for a bathroom to throw up in, and I stumble into a bedroom and find Isaiah rolling around with some bleached-blonde skank.”

“What?” Suzanne broke off a piece of the donut and popped it in her mouth. “That rat!”

Christine nodded at her outrage. “Turns out the party was at his ex-girlfriend’s house. He’d only brought me there to make her jealous. Which worked like gangbusters, apparently.”

“I hope you threw up all over them both.” She slapped Christine’s desktop with her hand.

Christine giggled. “No, but I did throw up all over her parent’s bedroom carpet, so I felt good about that.”

Suzanne high-fived her friend, glancing at the clock. She still had a little time before she needed to be back in HR. Clara was a great boss, and didn’t mind her taking a few minutes in the morning after she’d handled the messages to have a cup of coffee with Christine.

She’d needed it this morning especially, after her disastrous date with Antoine. “It wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever had,” she admitted now. “That honor goes to Trey Michaels in eleventh grade. He took me to a dog fight and then when I wouldn’t let him put his hand up my dress he dropped me off two miles from my house.”

“Holy crap.” Christine’s straight black brows bobbed upward. “Well, that should put last night in perspective then. Maybe Antoine will grow on you. Remember my sister and Franco. There’s still hope.”

Suzanne appreciated her friend’s support, but she shook her head. “I don’t think so, Chris. It wasn’t that I hated him. Not at all. Even when he said the thing about not liking music.”

“Seriously,” Christine piped in, snorting. “Who doesn’t like music? Like, at
all
? What the hell
is
that?”

“I know! But, even then, it’s not like a virulent dislike of the guy. He’s decent looking, successful, reasonably intelligent…” All things her mother thought made a perfect match, and Suzanne couldn’t exactly argue that point. “But…” She trailed off, sipping her coffee and sighing.

“But what, Suz?”

“There was just zero chemistry, honestly. I want
chemistry
. I want a man to look at me like he can’t wait to be with me. Like I’m the greatest woman he’s ever known. I want to be consumed by passion, to be unable to stop laughing or keep our hands off each other, you know? Just once, I’d like to know what that’s like. Is that too much to ask? Aren’t there any guys like that out there for me?”

Christine sighed, picking at the remainder of the donut. “If you find him, Suz, see if he has a brother for me.”

***

Brandon shoved open the door of his apartment and cursed as a haphazard stack of magazines slid across the floor. He tossed his duffel aside and strode into the kitchen. His throat was still scratchy and he was dying for something cold to drink.

The apartment was a bit of a disaster, but he had the next three days off so he could clean tomorrow. Or the next day.

Today, he was just going to crash. Just off a fifteen-hour shift he always felt like a zombie, and the apartment fire in the early hours of the morning hadn’t helped the exhaustion at all.

He pulled a container of orange juice out of the nearly empty fridge and swigged directly from the carton. As he swung the fridge door closed, he saw the note tacked to the front in his own scrawling print and cursed.

RENTER’S INS DUE - WMI

DON’T FORGET

‘Don’t forget’ was underlined three times. The date at the top was today, he knew that without having to look at the calendar.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t risk them cancelling his policy. His lease required him to carry renter’s insurance. If he violated his lease, they could kick him out.

Instead of taking another shower — he’d taken one back at the firehouse, but he still smelled of smoke and soot — and crawling into bed for the next eight hours, he would have to head straight uptown to pay his bill in person. He wasn’t taking any chances. His super could be a real asshole when he wanted to be.

Brandon shoved the OJ back into the fridge and headed right back out the door.

He looked up the address for Waterston Mutual Insurance’s office as he made his way down to the subway.

The ride was mostly a blur of exhaustion and too many people, but forty minutes later Brandon was walking up the slate steps to WMI’s main office. It was an old building of grey stone, maybe twelve or so stories. As he pushed in the front door, an elegant lobby greeted him.

It was carpeted, and plants were arranged around the space. He crossed to the reception desk, where a young woman manned a computer with a small Bluetooth device clipped to her ear. She gave him a big smile and practically chirped a greeting.

“Good morning! Welcome to Waterston Mutual Insurance. How may I help you today?”

She was kind of cute, Brandon realized. Well put together, red hair that looked almost natural, green eyes, nice figure… at least what he could see of it. But she looked like she was barely old enough to drink legally.

He shuddered at the thought of dealing with the kind of drama a girl like her would no doubt create. She reminded him of a younger Hillary. He definitely wasn’t looking for that again. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling weariness heavy on his shoulders.

“Yeah, uh… I need to pay my bill. Do you have a Billing Department or something? Accounts Receivable?”

Her long, mascaraed lashes fluttered. “We sure do. Third floor, on your right. Can’t miss it. Do you want me to call up for you, Mr…” She trailed off, obviously fishing for his name.

“Nah, that’s alright. I’ll just go up. Thanks.” He strode toward the elevators without giving her the chance to argue. The doors slid open as soon as he pressed the button to call it and he stepped in with a sigh.

It occurred to his exhausted mind then that he probably could have paid online. Damn it.

Brandon blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders. Oh well. He was there already and he was the kind of guy that liked to handle things hands-on anyway. He’d rather trust his money to an actual person than a machine any day of the week.

Not that he was a technophobe or anything. He loved both his smartphone and his laptop, and he and the guys played endless rounds of Halo and Call of Duty on the Xbox at the station. But he was still a little old fashioned, and if he could do business face-to-face, he’d rather do so.

He turned right out of the elevator, just like the receptionist had told him, and immediately saw the area marked Billing/Accounts Receivable. There was a counter that reached about waist high, and beyond the counter several desks.

Two of the desks were occupied, one by a slender man with wispy brown hair and glasses, and the other by a woman with long, inky black hair. Perched against the desk next to her was another woman.

Brandon found himself smiling as she threw back her head and laughed. The rich, warm sound was infectious.

He couldn’t tell how tall she was from her position, but her curves were evident in the fitted top and skirt she wore. The outfit wasn’t at all revealing. The white shirt didn’t bare the abundant cleavage she no doubt had, and the black skirt ended modestly just above her knee. It still looked damned sexy on her. Not overtly, in-your-face sexy, but understated, naturally sexy. The kind most people overlooked.

He’d always had a bit of thing for the sweet, girl-next-door types, and this beauty had that vibe.

In contrast to the stark colors of her outfit, her skin was a rich shade of russet, the deep reddish-brown gleaming in the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Her hair was a cloud of small, brown-black ringlets around her smiling face.

The sight of her caused a stirring low in Brandon’s gut. He was so tired it took him a minute to recognize the first kindling of desire. It had been awhile since he’d felt it for anyone in particular.

She laughed again, and his smile widened as he strode across the room and knocked his knuckles gently on the counter.

All three of them turned toward him, but Brandon kept his eyes on her.

“Mornin’.” His voice was still scratchy, but he managed a bit of a flirtatious drawl anyway. “I need to pay my bill.”

She tilted her head a little, her chocolate brown eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Her cheeks were tinged faintly pink from laughing, and her full lips were curved upwards. Her small chin was pointed and Brandon had the sudden urge to grip it in his fingers and kiss her.

“Good morning. Can we help you?”  There were some pastry crumbs on her lower lip and she licked them away. It was a completely unconscious gesture, but it made Brandon’s blood heat hotter than that apartment fire.

He coughed a little, grimacing as it scraped his raw throat. “I need to make a payment. Can you help me?” Like maybe by giving him her number. Would that be inappropriate?

“I can help you!” The other woman, the one with black hair, popped up from her desk and hurried over to the counter. “My name is Christine Jansen, and I’d be happy to provide any assistance you need.”

Brandon had an impression of pale skin and a wide smile, but his gaze wandered back to the curly-haired goddess with the creamy russet skin. She was still smiling at him, and he could see a dimple in her cheek.

“What’s the name on your account, sir?” The other woman was grinning up at him. Geez, she was short!

“Uh. Fleming. Brandon Fleming.” He replied to the short woman’s question but directed the words toward her friend with a smile. Her cheeks darkened and he saw her gaze flick up and down, checking him out.

Brandon’s grin widened. He caught her eyes as they rose back to his face and winked. “What’s yours?”

The dimple in her cheek deepened. “Why? Do you want to pay my bill too?” The sarcastic arch of her eyebrow was undone by her soft chuckle.

“Suzanne,” the short woman at the counter hissed, tapping out things on the computer screen.

Suzanne snorted. Christine had been desperately trying to flirt the with gorgeous hunk of man that had just strolled into AR, but he wasn’t even looking at her. Suzanne wasn’t sure who was more surprised by that, her or Christine. Christine was pretty, petite, and obviously interested. But he had barely glanced at her.

Now, her friend was trying to tell her to be nice to the yummy looking specimen.

And Brandon Fleming was yummy looking. He had to be several inches over six feet, with thick, wavy, honey blond hair and broad shoulders. His features were a little rough-hewn, but gorgeously masculine — square jaw, straight nose, sculpted mouth that was just a bit too full.

The physique revealed by his tight black t-shirt was phenomenal too. His biceps bulged with muscle. Not scary Gym-Tan-Laundry type muscles, but the type you got from a job that required physical activity. Useful muscle. His chest was broad and she could even see the faint outline of a six-pack through the shirt. Or, at least a four-pack above the counter. She was just assuming the rest was there. And the man smelled incredible. Like, unfairly good. Like oranges and cloves and smoke all mixed together.