A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4)

by Colette Dixon

  He drove her back to her hotel. Instead of pulling up to the entrance, he parked in the expansive lot outside the Marriott. “Let me get the door for you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested, but he’d already jumped out and began to round to her side.

  He opened the door, and she stood, trapped between him and the car, his scent—like onions and disinfectant—drifted over her.

  He leaned close. “I’d like to kiss you.”

  Harper slapped her hand over her mouth. When he retracted his head to a safe distance, she slid her fingers to her temple. “I’m sorry I…suddenly have a terrible headache.”

  He blinked at her a few times, sadness in his eyes giving way to understanding. “Maybe next time then.”

  “Maybe.” She tried to give him a smile but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  The importance of his good qualities had evaporated as fast as isopropyl alcohol on the skin. She suddenly wanted to disappear just as fast.

  She bid Miles goodnight and retreated to her hotel room.

  Grateful to be alone, she collapsed against the back of the door, and let out a long exhale. As she changed into her pajamas, thoughts of Jakub Wojcik rose to the forefront of her mind. She could no longer entertain the idea of dating Miles.

  Miles was perfect in every way except one.

  He inspired as much passion as a sardine sandwich.

  It wasn’t only passion—simple lust—that was missing. She had come face to face with the truth she could no longer deny. True attraction was so much more than the sum of a list, more than a simple carnal urge. A person’s presence, how that person made you feel, these awfully vague things added up in some inexplicable way that mattered. It was what people described with that woefully unscientific term: chemistry.

  She and Miles had no chemistry.

  She’d thought she’d shared a spark of chemistry with Aaron. The sex had been good—very good. But compared to the overwhelming sensation she experienced with Jakub, interludes with Aaron seemed downright robotic. Made Miles not a dating candidate at all.

  She’d thought that such a phenomenon would come when the rest of the criteria was met, the way friendship paved a good foundation for a relationship.

  Perhaps she’d put the cart before the horse. Perhaps chemistry—the way Jakub Wojcik made her feel—was in fact an entry-level quality.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jakub busted the plate glass door to the Rib Shack with the butt end of the ax, bracing for the billow of heat and smoke that would greet him. Ritchie waited in the wings, holding the hose. The scent of burnt grease assaulted Jakub’s nose as the glass shattered into thousands of pieces. He nodded to Ritchie who showered the entrance with foam.

  Kitchen grease fires were not so glamorous, but the smoke they caused could still be dangerous. Smoke had been building for hours in the unventilated structure. They had to be careful. He adjusted the fit of his mask and ducked inside, Ritchie on his heels.

  Before they reached the kitchen, a man’s body lying on the floor came into view. He sputtered and coughed. In his hands, he clutched a zippered bank bag.

  “There’s a man down,” Jakub shouted over his shoulder. “Let’s get him out.”

  Ritchie followed, crouching at the man’s side.

  Jakub put a hand on the victim’s shoulder. “We’re taking you out of here. Are you hurt?”

  He pointed to his chest. “Hurts to breathe.”

  “Probably smoke inhalation. I’ve got you.” Jakub scooped the man in his arms and removed him from the building. “Good thing you laid low. That saved your life.”

  On the gurney his team had placed outside the truck, Jakub set the man down and let the paramedic get to work on him. He rushed back to finish containing the fire.

  Two hours later, Jakub sat across from Ritchie in the station kitchen. Ritchie passed a roast beef sandwich across the counter.

  Jakub tore into the sandwich like a bear devouring its first salmon after hibernation.

  “It’s gonna be arson, don’t you think? Insurance fraud. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars.”

  “Not sure about that,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Why would that guy have stuck around?”

  “To make it look like it wasn’t arson, obviously. Sometimes I wish our job was a little more useful, you know.”

  “I think that guy we pulled out would argue we were pretty useful today.”

  Ritchie plucked a paper from a stack at the corner of the island. He scanned it briefly then passed it to Jakub. “Check it out.”

  Chewing, Jakub took the paper. A California program to train volunteers in wildfire containment. He raised a brow at his friend. “You going?”

  Ritchie shook his head. “Nah. Aurelia would kill me. You could do it, though.”

  Jakub looked back to the paper, ignoring the pain at his friend’s reminder that there was no one significant enough in his life to keep him home. A week in Napa with field training. California was so desperate for help they were throwing in a wine tour. It was something he had considered.

  “Maybe.” He folded the paper and put it in his pocket then focused on devouring the rest of his sandwich.

  “So whatever happened to your pretty doc?”

  He dropped his head and waited for his final swallow. “Scared her off.” It had been weeks since Harper left for Atlanta. She must have returned home by now, but had never called him.

  “I’ve got to hear how that happened.”

  “She told me she was going to the CDC to treat this Ebola case, and I told her not to go.”

  “Ebola in the US? That disease in Africa that’s killing tons of people?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shit.”

  “So, I came off pretty strong. Apparently, she didn’t like being told what to do.”

  Ritchie waggled his eyebrows. “Damn. Too bad. The feisty ones are the best in bed.”

  “Yeah, well, not going to happen.” Jakub had that very same thought, however, that night he left her townhouse.

  He respected her for her career. For her courage. It had taken all he had not to storm back in there and ravish her. That would not have gone over well.

  No, the first time, he’d make love to her gently and slowly. He wanted her to feel safe. He wanted her to give herself over to him. Willingly. Beg for his body, even.

  What the hell was he thinking? He was never going to make love to Harper Peters. “After that I proceeded to drunk text her.”

  Ritchie sucked air through his teeth. “Not good.”

  Jakub gave his friend a flat smile.

  “What did you say?”

  “A whole lot of misspelled shit that I didn’t even remember until the next morning. Obviously, she wasn’t impressed.”

  Harper wasn’t the kind of woman who was easily impressed. Though, she had sent him that one last text. What will I do in Atlanta without you if I fall and break my kneecap? Some part of her was soft for him, but not so much that she’d allowed him into her life.

  He had to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to impress her enough to be granted another chance. That was, if she didn’t have Ebola by now.

  At the thought of her ill and alone, his heart burned in his chest.

  Harper hiked her suitcase up the stairs of her townhouse. Once she’d made it to her bedroom, her knee ached a little. She unpacked her clothes, re-folding the sweaters she ended up not needing in the tidy Marie Kondo way she’d perfected before placing them on the top shelf of her closet.

  A blonde teddy with a brown ribbon came tumbling down to her feet.

  She bent to pick up the stuffed animal. She placed it on her bed and finished unpacking, every so often stealing a glance at the bear.

  Joe Morden had walked out of the hospital as Harper had promised he would—thank God—assisted on each side by his wife and adult daughter. He’d regain his strength in time. Harper had stayed long enough to test negativ
e for the virus before she was cleared to return to Chicago.

  She sat on her bed and checked her email. Nothing urgent that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

  She still hadn’t erased Jakub’s text from her phone. For a moment she considered sending him a message letting her know she’d survived the Ebola encounter.

  It had been weeks since their fight. Weeks in which she’d had time to understand the need to revise her approach to dating, yes, but that still didn’t prove Jakub was relationship material.

  She turned her phone off and went to bed.

  The next morning, she tied her running shoes, butterflies knocking around in her stomach, part guilt at leaving Jakub hanging when he’d followed up his demands in her house with worry for her health—albeit with boyfriend-like hovering. But she’d decided she couldn’t entirely keep him in suspense of her well-being. At the very least, if Jakub caught a glimpse of her running, he would know she was healthy.

  Her hands shook a little as she made loops with the laces. Ridiculous. She had enough courage to treat fatal illnesses, she could certainly run by a man—who just so happened to send her priorities swirling in the wind—without coming undone. He might not even be at work this morning for all she knew.

  She jogged down the sidewalk through the crisp winter air. Sometimes she’d considered buying a treadmill for the winter, but she’d read a study that found running in the cold weather built muscle faster. She rather enjoyed the few minutes outside, knowing the rest of the day in the hospital she’d be insulated from the sun’s rays through layers of building materials.

  The old farmhouse came into view and the fire station loomed beyond, all cement block and red Chicago brick. The trim of the firehouse windows were freshly painted in, yes, a fire engine red. A figure moved beyond the glass of the window near the door. Her stomach did a little somersault.

  The door swung open. Jakub strode out into the cold morning in his short-sleeved uniform. He crossed his arms as he surveyed her, biceps bulging and stretching his tattoo. She slowed to a walk to catch her breath before she reached him.

  “Hi,” she said, still a little breathless, as she crossed onto the fire station property.

  His face was stoic. “You’re back.”

  She raised her hands a little more melodramatically than intended. “Yep. Still alive.”

  “Funny. And a nice jab at my worry. But I’m happy to see you’re well.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but wasn’t sure what to say. Jab at his worry? He made himself sound like a concerned grandmother when that was not how he’d come across at all that night in her townhouse with his demanding posturing.

  That night he’d kissed her so possessively.

  At the memory, heat raced to her palms. Under her arms. Over her face.

  She folded her arms and tucked her fingers into the warmth of her ribs. “I’m happy to see you’re well too.”

  He quirked his head to the side. “And why wouldn’t I be?”

  She waved a hand to the fire station. “Fighting fires and whatnot.”

  He grinned widely, warmth jumping to his eyes as the color rose in his cheeks from the cold air. His breath crystalized into little clouds as he spoke, “Someone’s gotta do it. How’d it go with your patient?”

  She gave him a wary glance through the corner of her eyes, taken aback by this interest in her work. “Happy to report he made a full recovery. It was quite a victory, really.”

  “That’s great.” His smile was warm and focused on her in a way that made her believe he wasn’t thinking about her patient anymore.

  She rubbed her palms on the outsides of her shoulders. “I need to get go—”

  “Harper.” His voice was like a cascade of warm water.

  Oh, God, if she stayed here any longer, she’d lose all her convictions. “Yes?”

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry about that text.”

  He was sorry he’d worried? Sorry he’d ranted drunkenly that she was fucking beautiful? “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not like me.” He took a step toward her.

  His proximity was clouding her thinking. She nodded to let him know everything was okay between them. No need for him to come closer.

  He came closer. “I don’t usually get drunk and send women indecipherable texts.”

  “I understood the important parts.” She cringed at how she’d given away she’d been flattered by some of his words.

  His smile grew wider. “Harper.” He was only a couple of feet away now. “Will you please go to dinner with me? You can choose the restaurant. The time. Everything. Unless I’m working, of course.”

  Despite her best intentions, a thrill rushed through her at the thought of sitting across a dinner table from Jakub. He was being so nice and deferential and not controlling. Maybe she should give him a chance.

  But what of his drinking status? It was easy to say one didn’t typically do drunken things.

  Maybe she’d grant him the one date. She could use the opportunity to observe his habits.

  If he was a drinker, better to let him know upfront. “I don’t drink,” she blurted.

  He eyed her curiously. “Okay,” he drew out the word. “I didn’t ask you out to a bar. I asked you out to dinner.”

  A man stepped out of the front door, all hard muscle and tattooed neck and forearms. Jakub swiveled. Smiling, the man ignored Jakub and strode straight toward Harper.

  He thrust out a hand, a conspiratorial grin on his face. “The name’s Ritchie.”

  She shook his hand. “Harper. Nice to meet you.”

  He nodded and smacked a shocked-looking Jakub on the shoulder. If Harper wasn’t mistaken, Jakub’s face had reddened further and not from the cold. Had he told this coworker—Ritchie—about her?

  She thumbed the direction from which she’d come and started walking backward. “I’ve got to get back and get ready for work.”

  “Wait,” Jakub called out. “What about dinner?”

  A smile crept over her face. She shouldn’t say it. But she couldn’t say anything else. “Sure. Call me later.”

  He gave her a glowing smile in return that warmed her the whole return trip to her house.

  Though she wasn’t entirely convinced dating Jakub Wojcik was a good idea, she wanted nothing more than to bask in the presence of his smile again as soon as earthly possible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jakub couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. Harper was sitting across the table from him. On a date.

  She’d curled her chocolate-colored hair and long tendrils corkscrewed down over the low neckline of her dress. While she perused the menu, he admired her fine, feminine hands. Hands she’d threaded into his hair while kissing him. God, how he wanted to kiss her again. And so much more. He wasn’t sure he could make it through this date. Suddenly the crotch of his pants was much too tight. He shifted in his chair.

  She looked up and caught him staring at her. “What?” she asked. As though she had no idea.

  “Nothing. Just…you look great.” He picked up his menu and scanned the words.

  “Thank you. You did tell me that when you picked me up.”

  “I’m only allowed to say it once?”

  “No,” she said with a coy half-smile. “A woman likes to be appreciated for more than her looks too.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but the waiter appeared at the table and asked for their drink order.

  “Just water for me. No ice.” She gave the waiter such an unreserved, bright smile he envied the guy.

  Jakub really wanted a beer but since she didn’t drink, he wasn’t sure what he should order. If she were a recovering alcoholic, she might not want him to drink. But if she just didn’t like the stuff, she probably wouldn’t mind. He should have clarified that before now. He considered her shrewdly. He didn’t think she was the recovering alcoholic type. Too high achieving and uptight. Maybe she avoided it for health reasons or just didn’t like the stuff.

  �
�I’ll have a pint of the winter lager.” Jakub raised a brow to Harper. “Do you mind?”

  She shrugged noncommittally.

  The waiter nodded and disappeared.

  “So, tell me about your family,” Harper asked.

  He was grateful to move on to other topics. “I have a sister who lives at home with my parents in Portage Park despite the fact she’s almost thirty.”

  “She’s never been married?”

  “No. She’d rather mooch off my parents for the rest of her life.”

  “And you? I’m surprised no one has snatched you up.”

  He took the compliment, allowing her words to warm his insides for a moment before his stomach sank at having to talk about Samara. “I was married.”

  Harper dropped her menu and snapped her gaze to his.

  “But she passed away. A few years ago.”

  Her mouth parted open. “Widowed so young. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their drinks arrived and he took a long swig of his beer.

  She didn’t touch her water. She told the waiter she needed another minute. After reading the menu for the tenth time, she peeked at him over the top. “I’m thinking about the half-roasted chicken but the scallops sound good too. Was she ill?”

  He nearly missed the question the way she tacked it on at the end. But he was used to this kind of prying. People wanted to know how such a young woman died. “Not exactly. It was sudden. An unfortunate turn of events.”

  “So tragic. I’m sorry. We don’t need to keep talking about it.”

  The familiar dark anger crept in when he thought about how unjustly Samara had been taken from this earth. “More tragic because it could have been avoided.”

  Harper winced.

  But he’d decided after the malpractice suit was settled, he’d try to let go of the bitterness for his own health. That kind of anger could eat you alive. “I’d much rather talk about you. Tell me about your family.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just my mom and me. She lives in Philly now.”

  “No siblings?”