Flames of Love

by Melissa Foster

  He narrowed his eyes and gave Tommy his darkest, meanest stare, hoping he’d leave him the hell alone. He wanted nothing more than to get into the belly of the monster and tame the jealousy that was clawing at his insides, and he knew that wrestling a fire was about the only thing that would do the trick.

  Thankfully, Tommy got the message.

  They arrived at a home on a residential street with flames billowing against the windows and the two upper floors engulfed in flames.

  “We’re looking for three children. Three, five, and seven years of age. They were asleep on the second floor. You know the drill,” Chief Weber yelled as they sprang into action. “Cash…” He narrowed his eyes and pointed angrily at him. “Don’t pull any shit. You and Mike stick together; you hear me?”

  All Cash heard were the voices in his head. Three children. Three, five, seven. Second floor. Get ’em the hell out of there. Joe did a quick 360 sweep of the exterior of the building while the roof crew ventilated the fire, containing it to the rooms it had already swallowed.

  Cash grabbed Mike’s arm and headed into the building.

  “Stay with me, Cash. I’m not fucking around,” Mike said.

  Adrenaline pushed him forward, and he ignored Mike’s warning. Fear pulled at the edges of his mind. Get in. Make the save. Get out. In one breath, Cash sized up the surroundings. No fire on entry. Smoke coming from stairwell. He crossed the floor to the stairwell in three determined steps. Solid, walkable. He took them two at a time to the top. Thick, pitch-black smoke illuminated by flames to the left. No line of sight. Cash hit the floor with Mike on his heels, feeling with his hands, listening to the roar of the fire as he felt his way along the floor.

  “Get the right. I got the left,” Cash hollered. He heard Mike crawl to the right. “Anyone in here?”

  No response.

  He crawled along the floor in the dense smoke as if he were blind. “Stay low. If you can hear me, make a sound.”

  No response. Fuck.

  He felt a bedpost, swung his long, powerful arms under the bed, striking something solid. He dragged it out. A duffle bag. Unzipped. Full of balls. Seven-year-old. He heard the roar of the flames, saw the flash of light as they engulfed the doorway behind him. His heart thundering against the hardwood floor, he used the toe of his boot to push himself forward as fast as he was able. He used his finger to feel the edge of the floor where it met the wall, and when the wall ended, he found the closet. Always the fucking closet.

  Mike’s voice cut through the smoke. He couldn’t make out what he said. No time to waste, Cash pulled open the closet door and felt around. No kids. Shit. Flames licked the floor, heading for the bed. The bed. Cash stood in the thick smoke, eighty pounds of equipment weighing him down, the heat of the fire strangling him. He hit the floor, crawling to the other side of the bed and feeling around again. No kid. Goddamn it. With his heart in his throat, he made his way through the flames to the hall, still unable to see. With no idea where Mike was, he crawled along the floor, feeling for the next doorway. Instinct told him to move toward the fire, not away. He turned back, felt for doorways again, and that’s when he felt it. A child’s foot sticking out of a hole in the wall, limp. What the fuck? He reached into the wall and grabbed the child as flames chased his efforts. With the child against his chest, he threw caution to the wind and stood, blinded by smoke, one hand on the child’s back, the other on the wall, feeling for the stairwell, coughing, breathing heavily and wishing he’d put the goddamn air pack on. Damn it. He hated the fucking air pack. He hit the stairs and got the child outside. Met by the EMTs, he handed over the child.

  Outside the building, red lights blinked, spectators watched, hollering to the firemen. It was all a blur to Cash. He had one focus. The children.

  “More?” he asked the EMT through heavy breaths.

  “Three-year-old.”

  Cash headed back into the building with Joe on his heels. “Mike?” he yelled.

  “Not out yet,” Joe called. “You gotta use your breathing pack if you’re in there!”

  The hell I do. It was a visceral reaction born of habit. He was too focused to remember that he’d wished he’d had it on only a few minutes earlier.

  “Tommy?” he asked one of the other guys.

  “Out. Safe.”

  Cash hit the stairs running. Flames engulfed the hallway. Goddamn kids. With no idea where Joe was and thinking of Mike, he found his way on his stomach through the flames to the hole in the wall where he believed the other child might be hiding. Fucking Mike. Where are you? He ripped the drywall out of the wall, grabbed his air mask, and shoved it on the little boy’s face, pressing him against his chest. He had no idea if the child was alive or dead, but he knew he had seconds to get him out as flames tore at his sleeves and his back, making even thinking beyond getting out impossible. Out. Out. Out. He crawled to the stairs. Hands tore the child from his chest; heavy boots thundered down the steps.

  “Out, Ryder!” Chief Weber yelled.

  “Mike out?” Cash hollered, pressing the mask to his face and breathing deeply. His lungs burned, ached.

  “They’ll get him,” Weber said.

  “He’s got a kid.” Cash had to get him out of there. He was back inside the smoke-filled house when he felt Weber grab his arm.

  “Out! Now!”

  Like hell. Vetta flashed into his mind, then Lisa and Katie. He had less to lose than Mike did, and he’d be damned if he’d have to look into Katie’s eyes and tell her what a great guy Mike had been. Cash wrenched his arm from his grasp and hit the stairs two at a time, ignoring Chief Weber’s command that followed him through the front door—Use your goddamn breathing mask! He crawled in the direction Mike had gone, ignoring the angry commands coming from the stairs. A window shattered. Venting the room. He followed the sound of coughing.

  “Mike!”

  “Ryder, get outta there!” one of the guys from the ventilation team hollered through the window. “We got him!”

  Cash pushed to his feet and stumbled forward toward the coughing sound he’d heard. He found Mike, tossed him over his shoulder, and brought him to the window to the ventilation team.

  “Get Mike out,” Cash hollered. He turned back, but the flames were too thick, the smoke too dense to pass. He could barely breathe, though he didn’t notice. Adrenaline sent him onto the sill, and he rode down with the ventilation team, bitched out the entire way.

  “What the fuck was that, Ryder?” Chief Weber stood over him as he sat on the running board of the ambulance, mask on his face, sucking in air. “You’re dangerous. Fucking more out of control than ever.”

  “I got ’em out, didn’t I? How’s the kid?”

  “Shit shape, but he’ll make it, they think.” Chief Weber paced, his fisted hands shooting right and left as he hollered at Cash. “Damn it, Ryder. We talked about this. You didn’t just risk your life. You risked the lives of your team. If you got stuck in there, we’d have men risking their lives trying to save your ass.”

  Cash pulled the mask from his face. “But I didn’t.”

  “That doesn’t fucking…Forget it. This is your last warning. It’s time to get over what fucked you up or get out. This loose cannon shit isn’t you, Ryder, and you know it. You’re forcing me to make a decision, so take this warning seriously, because your ass won’t like desk duty. ”

  He watched Weber stalk off. Yeah, he was right, but hell, if Cash knew how to rein it back in, he would do it. If he’d taken a chance that night, Samuel might still be alive, and how the hell was he supposed to get past that? His mind drifted to Siena, and he knew he had to figure this crap out fast. Regan? The idea pissed him off even more.

  SIENA THOUGHT SHE might lose her mind if she had to spend one more minute with Gunner Gibson. She sat at a table in Corner Reads, the bookstore where they had planned to meet at seven—and he’d shown up at seven forty. Jewel had told her to just look interested in him, gaze at him, engage him in conversation. She said they didn
’t have to look like they were in love; they just needed to look interested to pique the public’s interest. Siena still didn’t get the point of the whole situation. She was a model, not an actress, and practically no one outside the industry knew who she was beyond being a pretty girl they’d seen in a magazine. But Jewel had assured her that this was what her career needed for her to remain as one of the top models, so she sucked it up and put on her best interested face as he scrolled through his text messages.

  “Gunner, what do you like to read?” Jesus, what am I going to talk to this guy about?

  His eyes remained trained on his phone. “Eh, you know, sports stuff mostly.”

  No wonder you have to rely on strip clubs. Siena didn’t see anyone taking pictures, and she wondered how long she’d have to sit there pretending that she was okay with a guy focused on his phone and wasting her time. But she knew how to get guys like that to talk.

  She fluttered her lashes—of course he wouldn’t see her doing it, but it put her in the right frame of mind—and in her best fan girl voice, she asked, “Tell me what it’s like being out there on the field with all those big men rushing after you. Aren’t you scared?”

  Bingo! His eyes found hers. The hand holding his phone dropped to his lap, and a smile graced his full lips and pushed at his high cheekbones. Maybe she’d think he was handsome if he weren’t such a nimrod.

  “Scared? Hell no. I’m as big and strong as they are. But a normal guy, yeah, they’d be worried. My guys have my back, and if one of the other team break through…” He patted his chest three times. Hard.

  Siena envisioned Tarzan banging his chest, and she stifled a laugh.

  “I can handle myself. You know, I’ve got the second-best record in the league.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, biceps flexing beneath his black T-shirt. “Best record in the bedroom, too. We could blow this bookstore and go have some real fun.”

  Siena narrowed her eyes at him and held his stare. She leaned forward with a smile on her lips, and in the most seductive voice she could muster, she said, “How about we get through this impossibly boring situation, get the pictures taken so the press thinks there’s a chance in hell I wouldn’t despise everything you just said, and then we move on with our lives?” She fluttered her lashes again. She was damn sure he saw it this time. His hands fisted, and he tilted his head.

  “Your loss.” He shrugged and turned his attention back to his phone.

  Siena glanced out the front window of the bookstore and finally noticed two guys with cameras. Damn, they’re good. No wonder they caught so many celebrities off guard. She’d had no idea they were even there. She focused on Gunner, smile in place, and said under her breath, “Cameraman. Front window. Act interested.”

  On cue, Gunner lifted his eyes and reached across the table, grabbing her hand and gazing into her eyes with an almost-as-believable look in his blue eyes as Siena knew she had in hers.

  Several flashes later, cameras still clicking away, she rose to her feet. “I think they have enough.” She picked up her purse, and when she turned back to him, his lips were on hers. She pressed at his chest. What the fuck? With camera flashes in the window, she was all too aware of the situation at hand. She pushed him away with the smile still in place. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Like you minded.” He put his hand on her lower back and walked with her out the door.

  She stood rigidly beside him, her insides churning with anger, but when her feet hit the pavement, she still flashed a smile while flagging a cab. She couldn’t get inside the cab fast enough, and when he started to slide in beside her, she pushed him out the door. “We’re done.” She slammed it behind him.

  She rested her head against the seat and let out a breath. God, that was awful. She told the cabbie to take her to the firehouse. She needed to be with Cash. On the way over, she called Jewel. Her call went straight to voicemail.

  “Jewel, the guy’s an ass. How can you do this to me? This can’t be a necessary part of being a model, and if it is, then we need to discuss my future.” She ended the call after leaving the message.

  When the cab reached the firehouse, Siena was still shaking with anger. She debated not going in and texting Cash instead, but she wanted to see him, needed to feel his arms around her. She walked into the empty bay, the heels of her boots clacking across the concrete floor.

  “Hello?” she called out. When no one answered, she walked through a door to her right that led her into the station house. A burly man with a mustache and thick brown hair sat behind a desk in the front of the station, a phone pressed to his ear. Her nerves tingled, making her want to turn around and walk out. Why did I come here? She knew absolutely nothing about firehouses. What if there was some sort of guy code where the firemen weren’t supposed to bring their girlfriends around?

  “Yes. Thank you.” He hung up the phone and turned his attention to her. “Can I help you?”

  She debated saying she was lost and making up something that would allow her to leave gracefully when the sound of the fire truck returning pulled the man’s attention toward the garage.

  “Um…”

  “Sounds like the guys are back. Are you looking for someone?”

  Shouts and laughter, cursing, and heavy booted footsteps filled the hallway she had just come through. Siena’s stomach twisted. She found herself eye to eye with several soot-covered, bare-chested firemen, who were standing in the hallway staring at her. It took her only a second to find the tall, handsome blond man she’d come to see and to recognize the anger in his eyes as they narrowed. He parted the bodies between them, pushing them to the side as he barreled his way through.

  “Siena.” His eyes darted to the men beside him.

  She watched his shoulders draw up, the ridges of his muscles tighten around his neck and arms.

  “Siena? Isn’t that the girl from the magazine?” one of the guys asked as he pushed past Cash.

  “Yeah. You’re the Johnnie Walker girl.” He ran his eyes down Siena as if he were imagining her in the pink panties. His eyebrows rose, and his pectoral muscles jumped. He nodded. “Oh, yeah, you are.”

  Cash’s hand gripped his shoulder.

  The guy glanced back as Cash moved him aside and grabbed Siena’s hand, then dragged her down another hallway and into a room with a television. He looked her up and down, surveying her. He was taking stock, not sexually drinking her in.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she managed, her voice weakened by the weird night and the scene with his friends.

  He leaned down and kissed her, a quick, welcoming kiss. “Why are you here?”

  “I…” Shit. I needed to be held? I’m such an idiot. What am I? A weak girl? Oh my God, what am I turning into?

  He searched her eyes and pulled her against his bare, sooty chest. His hand cupped the back of her head. “You’re trembling.”

  He kissed the top of her head, and she cursed herself for loving every second—and needing every moment—of his warm embrace. She’d had a shitty evening. Why on earth would that bring her here? How could she need him so badly, so fast?

  Because she hadn’t wanted to meet Gunner in the first place.

  Because she’d rather have been with Cash.

  Because she’d allowed Jewel to talk her into something she didn’t believe in.

  Cash smelled like smoke. Oh God. He was out saving lives and risking his own, and there she was whining about an uncomfortable meeting with some guy. She stepped back.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. Are you okay?” Jesus, he was sexier than any man she’d ever seen, and the way he was looking at her—his dark eyes caressing every inch of her in a protective, caring way—drew her to him again.

  “Sorry,” she said against his smoky chest. “Just one more second. I just need one more hug.” She drew in a deep breath and then stepped back again. “Okay. Sorry. You were at a fire?”

  He took her hand and drew her down to the c
ouch. Siena recognized the brown-haired guy who poked his head into the room from the photo shoot. Joe.

  Cash glared at him.

  “Sorry, man.” Joe went away, leaving them alone again.

  “Residential fire. What’s going on? Did something happen with Gibson?” He tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Not really.” She wanted to tell him about the kiss, but suddenly she felt silly. Like a tattletale. So what? The guy stole a kiss, and he was an asshole. And it will be in the papers.

  “Siena.” In his eyes, she saw it. He was calling her on the bullshit.

  She sighed. “When I stood to leave, he kissed me, and they took pictures. I didn’t kiss him back, and it’s not a big deal, but—”

  His eyes darkened and his chest expanded as his anger rose to the surface. The oblong muscles along his jaw flexed. Siena felt the couch buckle as his massive thighs tightened and he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Not a big deal.”

  “Cash…” She’d known he’d be upset, but she also knew he’d see it in the papers. That was the point of the whole damn evening, but he’d be hurt and angry if she didn’t tell him about the kiss before the papers came out. She went to his side.

  “So every guy here is going to see you sucking face in the newspaper with some guy. And I can’t tell them it’s not real?” he said in a harsh, heated tone, his eyes burning a path to hers.

  “Do they even know about us? Because it didn’t look that way.” She turned toward the door. “I’m not even sure why I came here. I don’t know why I said what I said. I don’t care if your friends know we’re dating or not.” She heard anger in her voice, but it wasn’t anger she felt. It was frustration at herself for putting them in this position in the first place. She wasn’t upset about his friends not knowing about them. Hell, she hadn’t even had time to tell Willow yet.

  He stepped in front of the doorway, blocking her from leaving. “No, they don’t know yet. But it’s not for whatever reasons you might think.”