Flames of Love

by Melissa Foster

SIENA KNEW SHE was torturing Cash, and it was bringing her way too much pleasure to stop. Who knew that inside that brash, cranky man was a romantic, chivalrous softy? She couldn’t even pretend to figure out why he was smoldering hot one minute, sending her insides into a frenzy of need, then icy cold the next, but when he’d warmed her hands on the subway, he’d given her pause. And when he held her close, keeping her hair from the wind, she thought it was about the most thoughtful thing he could do. But she’d been wrong. Wrapping her in his coat after she was such a monster to him topped the list and softened her heart toward him even more.

  In his eyes she saw that he was just as confused as she was. It was the tenderness she’d seen when they’d visited Vetta, the same tenderness she saw right now, that made her want to understand him—and torture him.

  “Still cold?” she asked.

  “Feels like summer.” His lips curled into a mischievous grin.

  She wiggled her hips against him, feeling his thick, hard need beneath her.

  “You take wicked to a whole new level.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. His brows knitted together. With her heart hammering against her ribs, she brought her lips closer to his. His eyes searched hers as she grazed the corner of his mouth with hers, wanting oh so badly to take his luscious lips in a greedy kiss. She forced herself to push past those full, delicious lips and press her cheek to his before running her fingers through his thick hair and whispering, “Still an expert at controlling the flames?”

  He buried his hand in her hair, drew her head back so they were eye to eye, and growled, “Do you want me to be?”

  Oh God, no. She opened her mouth, but words didn’t come. She licked her lips, knowing the effect it’d had on him before.

  “Siena.” Her name was one long, heated growl.

  God, she loved that guttural growl.

  He cupped the back of her head. “Do you want me to control the fl—”

  She was breathing so hard she thought she might hyperventilate. “No. God, no.”

  He settled his lips over hers and took her in a greedy, passionate kiss. His tongue moved fast at first, hungrily taking what she had to give, exploring every crevice, the lines of her teeth, the roof of her mouth. Oh God, she never wanted the kiss to end. He tasted of hot chocolate and lust, and his embrace felt like heaven and earth combined—strong, protective, and loving all at once. She clutched his hair in her fists, kissing him harder and moaning for more. He captured her moan in his mouth, then pulled back fast, leaving them both panting.

  “More,” was all she could manage before he lowered his lips to hers again and sent heat searing through her center. He slowed his tongue, stroking her with a slow tease. Holy hell. She’d never been kissed with such virility one second and tenderness the next. His hands slid around the bulky coat and pressed against her back. The sheer power of his hands spurred her body into motion. She pressed her chest to his. Another moan escaped her lips before she remembered where they were. Outside. A bench. Holy shit. She dragged her tongue along his lips as she drew back, panting. Wanting more. Needing more.

  Needing to pull herself together.

  “Go out with me.” He said it urgently.

  “Now?”

  He shook his head and cupped the back of her head again. God, she loved that.

  “Tomorrow night. A date. A real date.”

  She nodded, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Okay.” Her voice was a ragged thread.

  He kissed her again, and she nearly lost it right there on the bench. He was right. It did feel as hot as summer. Only better.

  Chapter Nine

  THE FIREHOUSE SMELLED like pancakes and sausage when Cash arrived the next morning, thoughts of Siena running through his mind. He hung his coat by the door as Tommy came down the hall.

  “Heard you guys had a hell of a night.” With a flick of his chin, Tommy’s hair swung out of his eyes. He carried a plate stacked high with pancakes and sausages doused in syrup.

  Cash eyed him, freshly showered, color in his cheeks, full of energy. “You better?”

  “Oh, yeah. Totally cool. C’mon. Get some food.”

  He followed Tommy into the kitchen, smelling a rat. Joe, Mike, and three of the other guys were at the table scarfing down breakfast.

  “Hey,” Cash said as he filled his plate.

  “Missed you at Studio Twenty-One last night. Dude, killer night. Willow’s got dance moves hotter than a six-alarm fire.” Joe waved his hand up and down his chest as if he were fanning flames.

  Not as hot as Siena. “That right?” He sat beside Joe and focused on breakfast. The last thing he wanted to do was let those magazine masturbators know he had a date with Siena tonight. It pissed him off that they’d seen her wearing practically nothing. Hell, the world had seen her wearing practically nothing. Jealousy ran its nasty claws down his spine.

  “Caribbean women. Mm-mmm.” Joe elbowed Cash. “How about you? Siena Remington. Dude. Can’t do better than that piece of ass.”

  Cash gritted his teeth against the urge to grab him by the neck and slam him against a wall. These were his buddies, the guys he lived with more often than he lived at his dink-ass apartment. The guys who’d give their lives for him. He eyed Tommy, who’d been ready to do just that a few weeks earlier.

  “So?” Mike leaned across the table, mouth full of pancakes. He often stayed at the firehouse overnight, but when he did go home, he was always back for breakfast before his shift. “Where’d you guys end up? You didn’t come back here.”

  Cash lifted his eyes to Tommy, head still down as he spoke to Mike. “Thought you went home last night.”

  “I did, spent time with Lisa.” Mike and Lisa had been married for five years. They were good together. Lisa understood his need to unwind with the guys, and he was a caring and attentive husband and father when he was home. “Katie was asleep, so I came back around two. I didn’t want to wake Lisa when I left in the morning. Stop changing the subject and answer the question.”

  “Walked her home.” He shoved a forkful of sausage into his mouth.

  Mike didn’t take the shut the fuck up hint. “Damn. You went home with the pink panties girl? And?”

  Cash sprang to his feet, sending his chair skidding across the floor. He glared at Tommy, then dumped his food in the trash and stood in front of the sink, scrubbing his plate beneath scalding-hot water.

  “Shit, man. I guess you didn’t get any.” Joe laughed.

  Cash threw his plate in the sink with a loud clank and spun around, breathing fire, ready for a fight. He didn’t want them talking about Siena that way, much less thinking about her that way. His biceps burned. He fisted his wet hands.

  Tommy put a hand across Joe’s chest. “Dude, back off.”

  “What’s got your balls in a bundle?” Mike asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

  Cash shot him a sneer before turning back to finish cleaning his dishes.

  Tommy came to his side. “What the fuck?” he whispered.

  Cash shoved his dishes in the dish drainer, wiped his hands on his jeans, and dragged Tommy by the arm into the next room.

  “You tell me,” Cash snapped.

  “What?”

  “Sick, Tom? Sick, my ass.” He pulled him into the television room, out of earshot of the others.

  “My tummy ache got better yesterday morning.” Tommy rubbed his stomach. The right side of his mouth lifted in a sarcastic smile, and Cash knew damn well that he’d been had.

  He shook his head. “You frigging set me up. You know I hate those damn calendars.”

  “And I also know you rescued Siena from the side of the road and shoved the magazine with her picture in it in your locker. What am I, blind?” He crossed his arms, a challenge in his blue eyes. “Shit, I did you a favor.”

  Yeah, he did, but Cash wasn’t about to let him know that. He was still confused as hell by Siena’s turnaround—and his own. “I need another.”

  “
You give me shit, then ask for a favor? After I already gave you a handout?” Tommy shook his head and flopped onto the couch. “Sit down and tell Uncle Tommy all about it. What do you need this time? A date with Angelina Jolie?”

  Cash kicked Tommy’s boot. “Ass.” He’d been thinking about where to take Siena for their date. He’d Googled her name last night to get a feel for her lifestyle, knowing full well that he was setting himself up for heartache. What he’d learned was that she’d been photographed with most of the hot, wealthy men in New York City, coming out of expensive restaurants and exclusive venues. But Cash had looked past the Armani suits and capped teeth of her suitors. He’d looked past her four-inch heels and even—after first memorizing every curve of her incredible body—looked past her slinky clothing and perfectly applied makeup. He’d spent most of the night staring into Siena’s eyes in each of those pictures, and what he’d seen had shocked him. In the eyes of other women in similar pictures, he’d seen an almost magical look, as if they were living the dream. Siena’s eyes had felt lonely to him. Maybe it was wishful thinking that she might be a different type of person than those other women, but damn if he didn’t see eyes that were searching for something more. Maybe he could be that something more.

  Chief Weber poked his thick neck and enormous head into the room. “Ryder, ten minutes. My office.”

  Reality slapped him back to the present. Why the hell Cash thought he could be that something more was beyond him.

  “Got it, Chief.”

  “What’s the favor?” Tommy leaned forward.

  “Get Paul to cover for me tonight? He’s sleeping, and I don’t want to wake him.”

  Tommy laughed. “What’s goin’ on tonight?”

  “Nunya.” He glared at him.

  “You’re pulling a nunya? You can’t pull a nunya. The last time you pulled a nunya, you asked out my sister.”

  Shit. He’d forgotten about that. He hadn’t even wanted to date her. He’d just wanted to piss off Tommy for something, and now he couldn’t even remember what it had been. “Can you ask him or not?”

  Tommy stood and placed his hand on Cash’s shoulder. “Sure, whatever. But I do for you, you do for me. Whatever’s mine’s yours kind of thing…” He winked, translated as, I’ll ask, but I get to ask out Siena.

  Cash knew Tommy was just trying to piss him off, the same way he’d been when he’d asked out Tommy’s sister. “Did I already say you’re an ass, ’cause if I didn’t, let me clarify. You’re a jackass. Don’t forget, ’kay? I know he’s free. He told me yesterday, but I wasn’t sure I’d need him to cover.” Cash headed for the chief’s office, turning back before leaving the room. “Hey, Tom.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll let you know tomorrow if I owe you a thank-you for yesterday or if I need to kick your ass.”

  Chief Weber was sitting behind his desk, his hands steepled together beneath his chin, when Cash walked in.

  “Ready for me, Chief?”

  Chief Weber nodded, his face unreadable.

  Cash took a deep breath, steeling himself for Chief Weber’s reaming. Cash had wondered how long it would be before the chief brought him in. He liked to let the guys hash out their own shit, but people who hashed things out with Cash typically lost. He’d been pulled from the third floor of the burning building kicking and fighting to get back up there to try to save Samuel. He’d been visually unscathed. His emotional scars, however, were taking much longer to heal.

  “How you doing, Cash?”

  Cash nodded. “Pretty good.”

  The chief lifted his chin, his dark eyes filled with concern.

  Cash let out a breath. He had too much respect for the chief to tell him an outright lie. “I’m getting over it, Chief. Much better.”

  “Getting over it?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  Eight years was a long time to work with someone, and in the eight years he had worked with Chief Weber, he’d never had his integrity questioned. Cash knew that if ever there was a time that he deserved it, it was now. He tried to formulate an honest answer, and no matter how he strung the words together in his mind, he came out looking like a pathetic hotshot, a weak excuse for a firefighter, and Cash was anything but pathetic or weak.

  “Cash, I know you’re struggling. I got a call from Patti Forsythe.”

  Cash held his breath. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken to the damned therapist, even if his chief required it.

  “Don’t worry. She didn’t break any confidences. But she did say you’d stopped seeing her rather abruptly and she was concerned.” He rose and closed the door. The room suddenly felt much too confined.

  Cash adjusted himself on the chair and cleared his throat. Adrenaline rushed through him.

  Chief Weber sat on the corner of his desk, arms crossed. “I know being blocked by that beam pissed you off, Cash, and better men than you have walked away from this work after the same type of situation.”

  I can’t breathe.

  “I’ve been right where you are, Cash. You hear the alarm go off and I see you sweat like never before. Your face turns beet-red. Guilt and anger are eating you alive.”

  Cash ran his hands down his thighs, just to feel something. To make sure he was still breathing.

  “I remember when you used to panic after being trapped in the firehouse for too many days without a fire to fight.” He smiled, nodded. “The way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You quit the bullshit risk taking—listen when you’re told to evacuate, or not to enter a portion of a building. Stay with your partner when I tell you to—and get back on the horse like the commendable firefighter you are, or you walk alongside it.”

  “It’s not about being blocked.” His voice was so quiet, he wasn’t sure he’d really said the words.

  “Sure it is. The beam trapped that man in the apartment, and it kept you from doing your job.”

  “No. It was the guys who kept me from doing my job. If they hadn’t dragged my ass out of there, I might have saved that old man.” He forced himself to say the man’s name. “Samuel. I might have saved Samuel.”

  “You knew if you went in there, you might not come out alive. You calculated the statistics in seconds, Ryder. In the blink of an eye, you knew what the chances were of you getting in there and making it out before you were both swallowed by flames. You knew that another beam would mean the end of it all.”

  Anger pushed breath from Cash’s lungs hard and fast. “I was willing to take that risk. I could have saved him.”

  “Cash, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Every firefighter experiences a loss at one point or another. Frankly, I don’t give a damn if you’re walking the horse or riding it for the next six months, but I gotta know what’s what. You’re one of the best men we have, so if we can fix this shit, let’s figure it out.”

  Cash stood and paced. He ran his hand through his hair and fisted and unfisted his hands. “It’s not that I’m ashamed, Chief. He was Vetta’s husband. I saved her. I should have tried harder to save him.”

  “My ass, Ryder. You tried everything you could. Those men saved your life. I can think of a hundred valid, shitty-ass reasons you’d have perished in that fire if you’d have gone in, and so can you.”

  “No.” Cash stood before Chief Weber, eyes locked on his. He was panting, sweating, his muscles tight. “I don’t give a damn if I could have died. That’s my job. I put my own life on the line every time I walk into a fire—just like everyone else in this damn firehouse.” He tried to tether his anger, but it had been gnawing at his gut for too damn long. “It was the guy I couldn’t save.” Say his name. Fucking give him a face. “Samuel Miller.” He sucked in another breath and blew it out fast. “He wasn’t doing his job. And he was my responsibility. Mine, and I didn’t just let him down. I killed him.” Killed him. I killed him. Cash paced again, unable to sit still.

  Chief Weber sighed. “Cash, you know the risks of the job. You know the realities that go along with it. You’v
e been doing this a long time. You know damn well that you didn’t kill that man. You didn’t start that fire. Your job is to come in, put out the monster, and save the victims that you’re able to save. You were blocked. Hell, the truth of it is that you almost lost your life when the ceiling came down. If Tommy hadn’t risked his own life, you very well could have died right along with Mr. Miller.”

  Cash stopped pacing. “Those were my zones.”

  “He had a heart attack, Cash. We looked into it, as we always do. He didn’t die of smoke inhalation. He didn’t burn to death. His heart failed him, not you.” Chief Weber’s eyes softened.

  “Would he have had the heart attack if I had gotten him out? He was ninety-two. Scared shitless, I’m sure. And every time that fucking alarm goes off now, all I can think of is that I went to school for that shit. Fire protection engineer. If any one of us should have known the dangers, it was me. I should have acted faster to beat the beam burning through.”

  “Cash, you know that’s messed up, right? You were in the belly of a five-alarm beast. You got four people out of that fire alive.” Chief Weber stared him down, meeting his angry gaze, his own filling with strength. “Sit down,” he commanded.

  Cash sat down and leaned his elbows on his knees, locking his eyes on the floor.

  “Here’s how this is gonna go. You can believe whatever you want about Mr. Miller. There’s no way of knowing for sure if his heart would have given out if you’d saved him or not. You’re a good man, Cash. You’ve stepped up to the plate. Mrs. Miller has called me several times to commend you for your chivalry.”

  “She called you?” Goddamn it. “So you’ve known I’ve been hung up on this the whole time?”

  Chief Weber shook his head. “How the hell could I not? You’re out there at every fire running in before your partner, disregarding evacuation orders long after the rest of the team has pulled out, and generally putting your life even more at risk than your job demands. And by doing that, you’re risking the lives of your brothers. You know this shit. You used to drill it into guys’ heads. The guys covered for you the first few times, but I finally noticed for myself the way anger and guilt are practically propelling you into the fires with a wild look in your eyes. And that is when the warning bells go off. I’ve seen it before, as I said. Now it’s time to fix it.”