I get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom.
“What do you say, Sara?” he calls out after me. “Will you move in with me?”
I turn around to see him holding my phone, pointing it in my direction. I quickly hide my nakedness behind the bathroom door. Then I peek my head out. “Only if you delete that video,” I say, knowing I’d have said yes, anyway.
“Done,” he says, getting back into bed. “Right after I watch it.”
When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s looking at my phone, disappointed. “Damn,” he says. “You can’t even see anything.”
I turn off the lights and join him in bed. He hands me the phone and I replay the video, watching intently. The recording only captured the headboard along with our faces. You can’t even see my breast when he was fondling me with his mouth because his hand is covering me from the side.
But I realize this is the most precious video we ever could have taken. Because what you do see is pure adoration. Our love for each other bleeds from the screen.
“That’s not true,” I say, tears filling my eyes as I watch the way he looks at me in the video. “You can see everything.”
“Girls,” he mumbles as he kisses my cheek and turns over on his pillow.
It doesn’t take Denver long to fall asleep. The doctor told us he would sleep a lot the first few days.
I lie next to him, counting my lucky stars that we both escaped death. And I pray it’s as close to it as we come for a long, long time.
I watch the video a few more times, getting an idea for a painting. I stare at the ceiling, painting in my head. I know it won’t be long before I have the itch to go into the basement and get started. But before I get out of bed, Denver talks in his sleep.
“Joey,” he calls out in a pained whisper.
Even in the darkness, I see the anguish on his face. I wonder if he’s dreaming about the fire.
I snuggle in next to him and put my head on his chest. This stirs him enough to pull him from his dream. He wraps an arm around me and falls back to sleep just as Kokomo wedges his way between us.
I decide my painting will have to wait.
I’m exactly where I need to be.
Chapter Thirty-six
The holidays with Denver were just as magical as I thought they’d be. Especially when Sawyer flew us to Hawaii to celebrate Christmas. I’d been there before. Several times, apparently. But to me—it was the first time. Everything with Denver feels like the first time.
I lie in bed, watching the steady rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. He went back to work on Engine 319 a few weeks ago. Every time he goes in for a shift, he takes a piece of my heart with him. And every time he comes home, I’m even more grateful to have him next to me.
He stirs and his eyes flutter open. He pulls me to him. “You didn’t sleep very well,” he says. “You tossed and turned all night. Are you nervous about today?”
I nod into his shoulder. “I didn’t think I would be. I mean, according to everyone else, I’ve done plenty of showings before.”
“You have nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. You’re going to be a huge hit.”
“But what if people don’t like my paintings? They’re different from before. More personal.”
He rubs a hand along my arm. “More personal to you. That makes them even better than before.”
“I think you’re a bit biased,” I say.
He flips me onto my back and climbs on top of me. “Care to make a wager?”
“You want to bet on whether or not my showing is a huge flop?”
“Your showing will be a smashing success,” he says. “That’s why I want to bet on it. I’m a sure winner.”
“And what did you have in mind?”
“You know that thing we did last week in bed?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I blush at the memory before pulling a pillow over my head.
He slowly removes it and then leans down for a kiss. “I want you every way I can have you,” he says against my lips.
“Oh, you have me,” I say, shimmying my body beneath him. “You definitely have me.”
He brushes my hair back and cups the sides of my face. “I’ve never heard better words spoken.”
I can feel his hardness on my leg and my body starts to tingle. Morning sex has become one of my favorite things. But then he jumps out of bed.
“Where are you going?” I ask longingly.
He laughs at the pouty look on my face. “We’ve got a big day, sweetheart. We have to get ready for your debut.” He nods back to the bed. “Don’t worry, we’ll give it a good workout later when I collect my winnings.”
I roll my eyes at him, knowing I’d do anything he wants, even if he didn’t win the bet. I’m putty in his hands and I’m pretty sure he knows it.
“We’re still going to see Joey today, aren’t we?” I ask. “I found the most adorable outfit yesterday when I was out shopping. Wait until you see it. It’s got a paint palette on the shirt and the pants have little paint splatters. And I got him another fire truck. Now, before you say anything, I know he has like five of them already, but this one has an actual working ladder and is approved for kids under three. I couldn’t resist.”
Denver smiles. “You bet we can see him today. It wouldn’t be a Saturday if we didn’t.”
For five weeks now, we’ve been visiting Joey at his foster home. We outfitted him with clothes and provided toys for him and the four other kids in the house.
Joey has really taken to Denver, or ‘Uncle Den’ as I’ve started referring to him around Joey.
Denver looks at the clock. “When does Davis have his people coming over to get the paintings?”
“Oh, crap,” I say, realizing what time it is. “In about thirty minutes.”
I get out of bed and falter a little when my left leg fails me. Denver runs over to steady me. He doesn’t mention the leg, he never draws attention to it, he just helps me like he always does—with a smile and a kiss. I think we both have come to realize I may always be like this. And he seems fine with it. In fact, he tells me often that he loves me exactly the way I am.
“Do you think we’ll have time to stop by the new place today and check out the cabinets they put in yesterday?” he asks.
“We should,” I say on the way to the bathroom. “Why don’t we just get ready early and then go right from Joey’s to the new apartment and then to the showing?”
“It doesn’t sound like you’ve left any time to eat dinner,” he says.
“Dinner? We can grab you a bite somewhere on the way, but I won’t be able to eat right before the show. I’m already in knots as it is. Plus, they’ll have some food at the gallery if I decide I can stomach it.”
“And champagne,” he says.
“Well, that’s good. I might need a lot of that to get through the night.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You’ll need it to toast all the sales you’re going to get.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Denver.”
“Just stating the facts, sweetheart. Now get your pretty little ass in the shower.”
A few hours later, after the gallery has picked up all of the paintings for tonight, we’re on our way to see Joey. But when we’re a block away, we hear a horrible sound of screeching tires and buckling metal. We turn around to see a car has barreled into the front steps of a row house, just thirty feet behind us.
My heart slams into the front of my chest. Ninety seconds ago, Denver and I were walking in that exact spot.
“Call nine-one-one!” Denver yells over his shoulder as he drops the bag he was carrying and runs in the direction of the car.
My shaky fingers dial the numbers and then I tell the dispatcher what I see. She says help is on the way.
While I’m glued to the sidewalk in sheer terror, what I see over the next few minutes is amazing. When you’re in love with a firefighter, you don’t get to see him work as you might if you were in love with
a plumber or a contractor, or maybe even a doctor. My eyes track the swift and fluid way Denver takes control of the situation, dealing with both the onlookers and the person in the car.
He pulls a man out of the car and starts doing CPR on him. Just as an ambulance pulls up, the man coughs and opens his eyes. The bystanders applaud. Denver stays with the man until the paramedics load him into the back of the ambulance.
When the ambulance pulls away, Denver sits on the curb and takes some deep breaths. I walk over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He startles and looks up at me like he’s just now remembering I’m here.
“That was amazing,” I say, sitting down next to him. “You saved that man, Denver. I’m sorry I just stood there like an imbecile. I froze. I couldn’t even get myself to help you.”
“It’s not your job to help,” he says. “Besides, you did help. You called nine-one-one.”
I shake my head in awe. “I can’t believe you do stuff like that every day. You’re an incredible person, Denver Andrews. It’s hard to believe you ever had any trouble responding to car accidents. You handled that like a real professional.”
He nods. “It took a long time for me to get there.”
“Well, most of the best things in life are worth waiting for,” I say.
He grabs my hand. “You can say that again.”
I lean over and kiss him on the cheek.
He helps me up and then looks at his pants. “Well, shit. The knees are all ripped.”
“It’s not a problem. We can stop by the townhouse on the way to the gallery so you can change.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really don’t want to make us late, but I can’t show up looking like this.”
“Are you kidding, Denver? You just saved a man’s life. I’ll be late for that any day of the week. Come on,” I say, pulling him in the direction of the foster home. “I can’t wait to tell Joey what his Uncle Den just did.”
He furrows his brows at me. “Why do you call me that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You two get along so well it’s almost like you’re family.”
He cocks his head to the side and studies me.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes off my question. “Nothing, let’s go. Joey is waiting.”
When we get to the house, we watch all the kids open the new toys we brought with us. Then I sit back and appraise Denver as he interacts with Joey. I’ve never seen a man without children be so comfortable around a child. It makes me think of one of the paintings that will be on display tonight. It’s a surprise for Denver. He’s not seen it yet and I can’t wait to show it to him.
Before we leave, Joey crawls up into my lap and looks up at me with his gorgeous blue eyes. I’m happy he’s finally taken to me. He didn’t have the instant connection with me that he had with Denver. But the way he’s looking at me right now—it’s like he knows me. It’s like he trusts me.
“We’d better head out,” Denver says hesitantly. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave. I think he shares some kind of kinship with the kids here because they’re all orphans.
I share a kinship with them because they were the ones left behind.
A few miles away is the new apartment we’re renovating on Fifth Avenue, and by we—I mean we. Well, we’ve had some help with the new cabinets and the plumbing, but Denver has taken this on as a project and it’s been fun to see something come together that we’ve both had a hand in.
Over the last few weeks, the apartment has been transformed from an old, dilapidated dump into a modern three-bedroom oasis. Denver insisted on finding a fixer-upper, that way he could contribute more towards the cost of the place and put in some sweat equity.
I’m so excited to be able to move in next month. It’ll be a whole new start for me. For us.
He walks around the room that is to be my studio. “I can’t wait to see what you create in here,” he says.
We take a look at the third bedroom across the hall. “You can keep your guitar in here,” I say. “And maybe we could find a desk and a couple of comfy chairs. Or, if you want, we could get some exercise equipment and make it a home gym.”
He studies the room. “I don’t know. The building has a state-of-the-art gym. I’m not sure we should waste the room on something we already have.”
“Whatever you want, Uncle Den.”
He runs a thoughtful hand along one of the newly painted walls.
“Denver?” I ask, wondering where he went off to for a second.
He swats my behind and I squeal as he chases me into the master bedroom. “I can’t wait to have you in here,” he says.
“I can’t wait to have you in every room,” I say, pulling him against me until his lips capture mine.
I feel his growing erection and it has my insides stirring. I moan my appreciation into his mouth.
“Woman, you’re insatiable,” he says. “Don’t we have someplace to be?”
I shrug, running a finger under the waistband of his pants. “Maybe we could just stay here and christen the new place.”
He steps out of my reach. “Not a chance. I’m getting you to that showing if it’s the last thing I do.”
I let out a long sigh. “Fine. Let’s go get you some new trousers, then.”
Thirty minutes later, after Denver is looking dashing in a fresh pair of pants, a cab drops us off at the gallery.
“I told you I’d get us here in time,” Denver says. “And look, we have fifteen minutes to spare. It’s not even open yet.”
I look up at the entrance, my stomach twisting in knots.
“Sweetheart, it’s going to be fine. Trust me.”
He opens the door for me, and as I walk through, I pray that he’s right.
But then, I realize my prayer is not going to be answered as my eyes fall upon the last man I ever wanted to see again.
Oliver Compton.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“What’s this asshole doing here?” Denver asks Davis.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in with my sloppy seconds,” Oliver says, slurring his words.
“He’s drunk,” Davis says. Then he touches the tip of his nose. “And maybe high. He just arrived a minute before you did. I was in the process of asking him to leave.”
Denver looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. A vein throbs at his temple. His jaw tightens. I put a hand on his arm, hoping it will keep him from doing anything impulsive.
“Get the fuck out,” Denver says. “You will not ruin this for her. Haven’t you ruined her life enough already?”
Oliver laughs maniacally. “Ruined her life? She called the fucking cops on me.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Oliver says. “My neighbor said they showed up with a warrant for my arrest earlier today.”
“Oliver, I haven’t even given you a thought since I left London two months ago. You aren’t worth my time. I didn’t call the police. But I’m happy someone did, because you’re disgusting.”
Denver steps back and opens the door. “Now, leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says.
“Well, now I will call the police,” I say. “It sounds like they’d be very interested in knowing where you are.”
Oliver pulls a can of spray paint out of his pocket and holds it up to one of my paintings. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Go ahead and spray it,” I say, getting out my phone.
Denver puts his hand over mine, preventing me from dialing. “No,” he says. “I won’t let him deface your work.”
“They aren’t important,” I say. “I can always make more paintings.”
“God, man,” Oliver says in disgust. “See what you’ve done to her? She’s gone soft.”
“What the hell do you want, Compton?” Denver asks.
“What have I always wanted?”
Denver looks at me and then stands in front of me protective
ly.
Oliver laughs. “You still think I want her? The cold fish who’s scared of a little cock?”
Davis laughs behind us, mimicking Oliver’s words. “Little cock.”
“Oh, shut up, you fucking faggot!” Oliver shouts. Then he motions to my leg. “She’s damaged goods now. Who wants a woman who can’t even walk properly?”
Denver balls his hands into fists and he takes a step forward. I grab him and hold him back. The last thing we need is Denver risking another head injury over Oliver’s hateful words.
“You want revenge,” Denver says. “Revenge for something she didn’t even do. You did this all to yourself. This is your fault.”
We hear a noise coming from the back. “What the fuck is that?” Oliver asks.
“It’s a showing, Oliver,” Davis says. “They are getting champagne and hors d'oeuvres ready.” He looks at his watch. “People will start arriving any minute. I suggest you leave before you get thrown out.”
Oliver laughs. “Who’s going to throw me out? The faggot or the firefighter?”
Everyone else in the room knows Denver could easily take Oliver down without much of a fight. But Oliver is clearly under the influence. People like that make bad decisions. And I’m pretty sure nobody here wants to end up in a worse situation than we’re already in.
Oliver is still holding the can of paint with his finger on the nozzle.
“Put down the paint, Compton,” Denver says. “Aren’t you in enough trouble already? You’ve been asked to leave. Do you really want to add trespassing and vandalism to your list of charges?”
“What does it matter?” he asks. “I’ll never work in this country again. And once they arrest me, I won’t be able to go back to London.”
Oliver shakes the can of paint and before we can even react, he defaces one of my paintings with a bright-red X.
Denver is still standing in front of me, protecting me as if Oliver were wielding a gun instead of a can of spray paint.
“No!” Davis cries as Oliver shakes the can and points it at another painting.
Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series) Page 29
