The Fireman Who Loved Me (9 page)

Melissa, glaring at him, crossed her arms too. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

An embarrassing moment of silence followed. With him looking at her like that, she couldn’t remember what she wanted to say to him. Which made her feel like an idiot. Which made her angry.

“
Harry?
” Of all things, that was what eventually burst from her mouth.

“Yes?”

“Your name’s Harry?”

“Is that what you needed to speak to me about?” He cocked his head.

“No,
Harry
, it isn’t. You ought to know we can’t give you final approval on an interview. Please don’t encourage her.”

“How should I know that? I’m just a simple firefighter. Now if you want me to rebuild an engine, or—”

“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry I said those things the other night. I was a little bit buzzed. I don’t always behave correctly when I’m . . . tipsy.”

His eyes darkened. “Well, that does explain some things.”

Melissa flushed and wrenched the conversation back to her original purpose. “So will you stop letting Ella promise things she can’t deliver?”

“Why don’t you make her stop? I don’t work for the Sunny Side of the News.”

Melissa gritted her teeth. “She doesn’t care what I say, haven’t you noticed?”

“I’ve noticed that an extremely intelligent woman is letting herself be pushed around. Where’s all that opinionated ranting and raving I listened to the other night?”

“I was not ranting. Or raving. I was expressing opinions.”

“Then what’s stopping you now? Just go out there and lay down the law. She doesn’t seem so unreasonable.”

Irritation took hold of Melissa. Who was this man to tell her how to handle Ella? “Maybe I should drool all over her. Then she’d listen to me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Do you love
her
laugh too?”

“What?”

“You’ve been hearing enough of it. Hahahahaheeee . . .” Melissa mimicked Ella’s trilling laugh. “You said I had a lovely laugh.”

“Are you jealous?”

Melissa snapped her mouth shut. “Don’t be silly,” she said loftily. “I just don’t want you to make a fool of yourself like all the rest.”

Brody’s eyes narrowed. “By the way, you do know Hoagie watches football, don’t you? Or maybe it doesn’t matter with that pretty face of his.”

“Hoagie, as you call him, is more than a pretty face. He’s a wonderful conversationalist. Did you know he studies affirmations to improve himself?”

“He’s a regular Dr. Phil.” A dangerous scowl appeared on Brody’s face, but Melissa barreled on.

“At least he’s not a Pussycat Doll.”

“Ella Joy is an accomplished journalist,” said Brody through clenched teeth. “Worth two extra ratings points, according to her—whatever that means.”

“If I went on the air wearing the stuff she does, I’d get two ratings points too!”

“Why don’t you then?”

The nerve of the man.
“You’re not my career adviser. You want me to dress up in red vinyl and no underwear?”

Heat leaped in Brody’s eyes. He dug his fingers into her upper arms. His mouth lowered to hover an inch over hers. “How do you do this to me? I never argue. Ever. With everyone else I’m calm and in control. I get around you, and I snap.”

“So you’re blaming me?” Melissa fired back.

“Yes,” he said, and his mouth swooped down on hers. Fire shot through her, the same unforgettable heat she’d felt that first night. His strong hands cradled her head, and a shiver shook her entire body. Those hands moved her head at will, tilting her face up to receive his kiss more deeply. She melted into a boneless, liquid waterfall of desire.

The dog whimpered.

“I blame that sweater you’re wearing, and how it moves against your body,” mumbled Brody against her lips.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” whispered Melissa. It was all she could do to get a sentence out.

“I noticed. I’ve been watching you all evening, with that short skirt and those . . .” He groaned. “ . . . those sexy boots.” One of his thighs thrust between her legs, which moved apart to make room for him. Her skirt rode up her thighs as she pressed herself against him. He muttered something else—something like “You’re killing me”—then moved his warm hands to her suede-covered rear to pull her more tightly against him.

Her breath came in quick pants, and her hands roamed his back, loving the feel of those hard muscles she’d dreamed about since the other night. She ran her hands down his backside to his strong thighs, feeling his muscles clench at her touch. Her head swam. “I want you,” she whispered. “Right now, against this door.”

Her words seemed to set him off. He spun her around so her back was to the door, firmly placed her legs around him, and crushed his bulging erection against her groin. A stream of rough, hot whispers came next. “I want to open you up . . . touch you all over . . . make you scream . . . spread you wide . . .” All the while he kept her pinned to the door, so only her hips could move. These seemed to have a will of their own, and she felt them quiver and thrust and tease. Her blood sang, her nerves thrummed.

The dog whined and pawed at Melissa’s leg.

“Stop it, Stan,” Brody ordered, tearing his mouth away from hers.

“The dog is Stan?” Melissa panted.

“Our dogs are always named Stan.” He nibbled at her neck, making her shudder with wild desire. “Stan!”

The dog wouldn’t stop nipping at Melissa’s skirt.

Through the frantic drumbeat of her excitement, she barely heard the footsteps outside the door. Then she was being yanked into the air and set down on her feet. Brody thrust her behind him just as the door opened.

“Oh!” said Fred, jaw dropping. “I . . . uh . . . was just going to the . . . Never mind. I can hold it.” He turned to flee, but Brody stopped him.

“Go ahead. We were . . . um . . . just coming in.”

Hiding behind his broad shoulders, Melissa pulled down her skirt and straightened her hair. Was she halfway presentable? She felt her cheeks; still flushed. Her breath came in fast pants. And what about Brody? He hadn’t unzipped his pants—thank God things hadn’t gone that far—but his shirt was no longer neatly tucked in. They would just have to brazen it out.

Melissa stepped forward. “Thanks for your time, Captain Brody.” She managed not to sound too breathless.

“I’ll think very carefully about your suggestion. Thanks for bringing it up,” Brody answered.

Bringing it up?
Was that a double-entendre? She could still feel his arousal burning against her thigh. Melissa swallowed hard.

“Thank you for listening,” she said. Great. Could she thank him any more times?

“I’m sorry about Stan. He should know better than to paw our guests.” Brody winced as the words left his mouth. One of the firemen snickered.

Oh God, she was going to completely lose it. “That’s okay,” she said in a strangled voice, and hurried to her seat next to Nelly, who glared at her.

“Again?” hissed Nelly. “Just like the front door the other night!”

Melissa couldn’t stop a quick snort of laughter. Her grandmother had a point. Did she and Brody have some kind of door fetish? She shot Brody a sidelong look. His hair was ruffled and his collar slightly askew. The other firefighters looked down, or sideways at each other, trying not to laugh. Ella drummed her fingers on the table. An awkward silence fell over the room.

Ryan cleared his throat. “We sure are grateful you three beautiful ladies came to dinner. Kinda hate to see it end. We might have to hold you to your offer, Miss Ella Joy. When are you going to come back and cook for us?” He aimed a slow wink at her.

Ella brightened. Once again, Melissa experienced a sense of deep gratitude toward the gorgeous Ryan Blake. “Of course, handsome,” said Ella. “You just name the date.”

Wonderful, thought Melissa. Another dinner. She’d have to remember not to go anywhere near a door.

Chapter Nine

A
n enormous golden moon hovered over San Gabriel that night. Crickets murmured, mockingbirds sang. Countless skittering creatures came alive now the heat of the day had ended. The fresh scent of night-blooming jasmine mingled with roses stole through Nelly’s window.

The pain was worse at night, and instead of sleeping, she held long discussions with Leon. “Disastrous start, but I think it ended up pretty good. Two times Melissa’s gone off with that Captain Brody and barely kept her clothes on. Some sparks between those two. It’s true I wanted that handsome boy for her, but I’ve never seen Melissa act like this with anyone. You should have seen the way they looked when they came back in the room. Oh, it was sweet. And Ella’s face—she looked like she was sucking on a pickled egg. She’s really not such a bad girl. She’s spoiled and needs a good spanking. I wish Melissa would stand up to her. But Melissa’s a funny one. With all her brains, all her qualities, I don’t know why she hides herself away. Not with Brody, though, I’ll tell you that much. Oh . . .” The pain surged, and it was a minute before she could think again.

“Oh yeah, Melissa and Brody. I heard them talking out there in the hall—and don’t try to tell me it’s eavesdropping when I was sitting right there at the table—and she was letting him have it, but good. Oh, she’s going to mess this up, I just know it. And don’t be pestering me, I know time’s running out. I’ve got to hurry things along. Make sure she doesn’t drive the poor man away. And see that she doesn’t get into one of her stubborn fits and decide he’s not her ‘type.’ These girls today, it’s a mystery to me how any of them ever gets married. Back in my day, we didn’t have ‘types.’ Men were all about the same, until you found the one you just couldn’t live without. That was you, for me. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Brody’s the one for Melissa.”

Another pang struck deep.

“I know, I know. Not much longer. I’ll just have to do what I can.” After that, she drifted into a dream in which she and Leon shared a hot fudge sundae, and he gave her his cheeky wink, and said his favorite thing.
You want some sugar? Come on up here and I’ll give you a big old heapful
.

I
n the upstairs bedroom, Melissa also lay awake. She couldn’t have slept if she’d taken a whole case of Valium. Her body still buzzed, her skin still tingled. The way she’d behaved with Brody made no sense. She wasn’t even sure she liked the man. He wasn’t her type. Not at all poetic and soulful. Not artsy and creative. How could she and Captain Brody have anything in common?

Brody might look calm on the surface, but for those few seconds against the door, he’d lost his cool. To be held by him, spoken to like that . . . she’d never felt anything so thrilling. Face it, the man was hot. Disturbingly, outrageously hot.

What must he think of her? In the darkness, her face burned. He thought she was opinionated, rude, and probably, by now, a sex fiend. How could she explain that he brought it out in her? She didn’t normally rant and rave. Or insult virtual strangers. Let alone nearly have sex with them in public places. What was it about him that made her so . . . uninhibited?

She had to get a grip on herself. No more wine, for one thing. She should stay as far away from Captain Brody as she could. Ella could cook her own dinner for the firemen, Melissa had better things to do. First thing tomorrow, she would tell Ella she didn’t have time for another firehouse dinner—she had to work on the foster care investigation.

She’d finally spoken to Rodrigo, who seemed like an intelligent kid. He was twelve and had been in foster care since he was eight. He’d given her his foster family’s name and the name of the social worker and the dates the alleged bribes had taken place. She needed to confirm all that information, which was a whole lot more important than making spaghetti for a bunch of firemen so Ella could stoke her ego.

Yep, better avoid the firehouse like a . . . well, a house on fire.

A
nd across town, in the Airstream trailer parked next to his house-in-progress, Brody cursed the insane attraction that kept making him lose all sense. Was it because he hadn’t been getting laid enough lately? Women had offered. No fireman ever had trouble attracting women. But the breakup with Rebecca had scarred him. The few empty encounters since then had left him temporarily satisfied but depressed.

And then . . . Melissa. What the hell was it with her? Of all the girls who had chased after him since his divorce, she wasn’t the most beautiful. Definitely not the most flirtatious. She always seemed to be yelling at him. So why couldn’t he keep his hands off her? She must think he was the horniest bastard ever. Should he call her and try to explain himself?
When I see your gorgeous skin, those eyes darting green fire at me, those soft beautiful curves you hide away, I lose my mind.

What other explanation was there?

He couldn’t imagine any two people less compatible. Even though he was a news junkie, he didn’t trust newspeople. In the early days of his career, he’d been interviewed a few times, and his words had been twisted around so he hardly recognized them. And then had come the Bachelor Firemen media circus.

Even if Melissa was a great producer, why did she work at the Sunny Side of the News? That channel was a joke. Exactly the kind of “news” he detested. Hadn’t they run the very first Bachelor Firemen story? No, the two of them were a gasoline leak and a lit match. For their own good, and for his reputation among his men, they ought to stay away from each other.

Several hours later, a persistent knocking on the door of his trailer yanked him out of a delicious dream involving a green-eyed, dark-haired mermaid.
This better be good.
On his days off, Brody liked to sleep late. He stumbled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweats, and went to the door.

When he opened it, a green-eyed, dark-haired man peered in at him. “Haskell McGuire. You called the other day. Said you wanted an estimate.”

Damn.
Brody had forgotten about Haskell McGuire. With those deep green eyes, this man had to be Melissa’s father, or some relation. The last thing he needed was Melissa’s relative hanging around while he was trying to keep his distance. How was he supposed to forget about Melissa that way?

He opened his mouth to tell Haskell he’d changed his mind, but the man had a certain look about him. His hands, clutching his toolbox, trembled slightly. A recovering addict, most likely an alcoholic. Brody had known enough of them to see the signs. This man was probably working hard to turn his life around. How could Brody fire him before he’d even started?

“Go ahead and take a look around the house. I’m sure you saw it on the way in. I’ll join you in a few,” he said finally.

Haskell nodded and headed for the house. If he was related to Melissa, she hadn’t gotten her way with words from him.

Brody made himself eggs and toast for breakfast, put on a pot of coffee, then made his way toward the house carrying an extra mug for Haskell.

He found the man squeezed between studs, tracing wires. “How’s it going?”

Haskell grunted. For the first time, Brody experienced real doubt that he was related to Melissa. He sure wasn’t much of a talker.

“You from around here?” He thought he heard a “yep” in response, but it was hard to tell. “I moved here from Moorpark a year ago. Been building the house since then, but it’s tough going on top of a full-time job.”

More silence. Brody found it kind of restful. “My wife left me, you see. I gave her the house. People said I shouldn’t, but that’s what felt right to me. You a married man?”

“Was.”

That fit. Melissa had said her parents were divorced, her mother dead.

“Kids?”

But Haskell, without answering, put his head between two boards and peered up toward the ceiling.

What was he doing, anyway? Interrogating a total stranger to find out if he might be related to some girl? What was it about Melissa? She certainly didn’t resemble Rebecca, who wouldn’t have been caught dead in horn-rimmed glasses, with nothing sparkling on her body. No sequins, no dangling earrings, no diamond tennis bracelet. Rebecca would have thought her boring. So why did he find Melissa so fascinating . . . and so aggravating?

And in the meantime, he’d called this man to his house on the off chance he might be a member of that maddening McGuire family. He opened his mouth to tell Haskell he’d changed his mind and would handle the job himself. But at that moment, Haskell extracted his head from between the studs and brushed wood shavings off his work shirt.

“It’s a good thing you called when you did. You made a good start, but then when you put in this three-way wire, you headed down the wrong road entirely. Easy mistake. I won’t have to tear everything out. Just back to that wire.”

“Sounds good. So you want the job?” What was he doing? “I need the whole house wired.”

“Don’t you want an estimate?”

“Can you do it right now?” Brody handed him the cup of coffee. “Got a seat for you right here.” He gestured to the overturned bucket on which he usually ate lunch.

“I guess.” Haskell sat down, pulled out an envelope and a stubby little pencil. He worked out figures on the back of the envelope.

Brody sat on the other bucket, sipped his coffee, and wondered if Melissa ever did her work on the back of an envelope. It seemed unlikely. He gazed out the framed, empty window. The day was going to be hot and dry, already smelling of plaster dust and sagebrush. His trailer glinted silver in the morning sun.

“Sometimes I think I’d be happier living in that thing the rest of my life,” he said, half to himself.

“Could be. The simple life.”

Brody glanced at Haskell in surprise. Maybe the coffee was waking up his conversational skills. If he wanted to learn more about him, now was the moment. “Are you a family man?”

At first he thought Haskell wasn’t going to answer. Eventually he said, in a gruff voice, “My wife died. My daughter and I don’t speak much. I blame myself for that.”

No doubt about it, this man had to be Melissa’s father. Not that it was any of his business. “Sorry if I got too personal.”

“It’s all right. At AA they say it’s better to talk. I been trying to get better. Here.” Haskell handed Brody the envelope and pointed to a figure on the bottom.

“That’s very reasonable.”

“Well, there’s a reason for that. One thing I better tell you. I done some time. Two years, for robbing a liquor store. Got out three years ago. Quit drinking, been toeing the line since then. Thought you should know. You don’t want to hire me, I’ll understand. But I’ll do a good job and you won’t get a better price than that.”

Haskell got to his feet. Again Brody noticed the tremor in his hands, his stooped shoulders. His heart went out to the guy. Brody knew how to read people. He had to, working with rookies, training his crew. In Haskell, he saw a man who’d been through hell, and was doing his best to put it behind him.

He looked down at the envelope. Haskell had just handed him the perfect excuse not to hire him. He wouldn’t have Melissa’s father around, reminding him of her. Yes, that’s exactly what he should do. He opened his mouth to give Haskell the bad news.

“Thanks for telling me. Can you start tomorrow?”

Jesus Christ. Didn’t he have control over his own words anymore? But watching the relieved smile cross Haskell’s face, he didn’t regret his impulsive decision. The guy deserved a chance.

Besides, if he hired Haskell, he wouldn’t wind up electrocuting himself. Unless, he thought wryly, he touched Melissa again. That was guaranteed electrocution.

Haskell drained his coffee mug and left. Brody watched him go, mulling over the bit of information he’d revealed. So Melissa had a father who’d done time. What had that been like for her? Was that why she and her father didn’t speak much? How had she gotten to be a hotshot news producer with such a rough family history? She probably wouldn’t like him learning her deep, dark family secrets. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything. And with Haskell working for him, he might have a chance, if he could pry the words out of him.

A
fter her sleepless night, Melissa went to work early with every intention of researching the San Gabriel County Child Services Department. But first, as if magically compelled, she found herself heading to the tape archives. Somewhere in the rows of old tape lurked the
Today
show feature on the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel. Her curiosity was killing her.

When she finally located it, she closed herself in the viewing station and pushed play.

Whoever had last viewed the tape had left it cued up to the Bachelor Firemen story. A beautiful young feature reporter stood outside Fire Station 1 with the whole crew lined up behind her. Captain Brody stood next to her wearing a polite smile. The reporter spoke in a “kicker” tone, signifying the story was not to be taken too seriously.

“We’re reporting live today outside a historic firehouse in San Gabriel, California, where we’ve uncovered a fascinating situation. Not only is this one of the most active and successful stations in the country, but it has—pay attention, ladies—the highest number of bachelors of any firehouse in the nation. Yes, believe it or not, only two of the handsome, heroic men you see behind me are married.”

The show switched to a taped story. Various lingering close-ups of firefighters in action flowed across the screen. But Melissa didn’t care about any of the shots except those of Brody. The man, on top of everything else, was annoyingly photogenic. The camera made his eyes look more silver than gray, striking against his dark hair. He moved with power and grace, directing his men, polishing the fire engine, hauling hose, checking equipment.

He didn’t seem happy to have a camera following him, however. He kept shooting irritated glances in the audience’s direction. Luckily, Ryan got the lion’s share of the attention. He didn’t seem to mind one bit. He kept giving the camera that sexy, slow wink Melissa remembered. It was just as devastating on tape.