Hidden Fire

by Jo Davis

  He dug into his food, thinking that for a simple meal he’d never tasted anything finer. Probably because Grace had cooked it for him. Looking at her, he admired the delicate structure of her face, the arch of her pale brows over stunning violet eyes. Full, pink lips he knew firsthand were made for pleasure, the slender column of her pale throat. Naturally, his gaze dipped a bit farther south to the vee of her blouse, which no doubt hid small breasts that would fit just right in his palms.

  He forced his attention back to her face and found her expression curious. She leaned forward on her elbows, voice animated.

  “What sorts of rescues have you done?”

  He smiled, unable to help the surge of pride it gave him that Grace was interested in what he did for a living. “It might be easier to list what we haven’t done. There’s the usual—traffic accidents, medical emergencies in the home. Those calls make up roughly ninety-seven percent of what we work, and most of the medical emergencies involve the elderly. Calls to fires are rare, contrary to what most folks believe.”

  Dammit! He hadn’t meant to remind her of the horrors the lieutenant and her sister had faced last fall. Cristo, he should cut out his tongue.

  But she merely nodded, appearing unaffected by the blunder, and encouraged him to continue. “What’s the hardest rescue you’ve ever performed?”

  “Physically?” He gave it some thought. “I’d have to say the father who tried to cross a flooded road in his truck with his two children inside. The truck stalled and got caught in the rushing current. We had to run a line from one side of the road to the other, secure both ends, and use it to guide our boat to their vehicle and back to safety. We had to make two trips because the boat wouldn’t hold them all, so we got the kids first.”

  Grace’s eyes rounded. “I’ve seen rescues like that on TV, and they always look impossible.”

  Taking a bite of toast, he barked a laugh. “Ever tried to put a screeching kid into a rubber boat in the middle of raging floodwaters during a storm? Try forcing a scalded cat into a burlap sack, one-handed, and you’ll have an idea how much fun it is.”

  “It’s amazing you got them all to safety!”

  “No kidding. They were terrified to leave their dad. As it was, we barely managed to get him into the boat before his truck rolled and was swept away.”

  Remembering how the vehicle lurched and disappeared just as they hauled the man into their craft still gave him chills.

  “Well, my job isn’t nearly so dangerous or exciting,” she said, giving him a grin. “That might change when I make district attorney.”

  “Gonna lock up the bad guys and throw away the key? Good for you.”

  “It’s a goal, anyway. I don’t see myself working under my father for the next twenty or thirty years only to be stuck running the firm.” She sighed, her tone wistful. “It would kill him to hear me say that, when he’s worked long and hard to build up a legacy to leave to his family.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. Parents are more resilient than we give them credit for, bouncing back from disappointment.” He should know.

  “Speaking of parents, are yours still in San Antonio?”

  He tensed at the normal, innocent question, but tried not to let his discomfort show. “My mother is. Everyone but me. My four older sisters and a younger brother.”

  “Kat and I used to spend a week there every summer, visiting our aunt, but it was just us and her. No cousins. Must be nice to have a large, close family.” His noncommittal shrug did nothing to dissuade her interest in his background. “If it’s not too personal, I’d wondered. . . . You speak Spanish, but your last name is Italian.”

  He cocked his head, studying her. “Not many people notice, or if they do, they don’t bother to ask. My father was from Italy, and my mother’s people are from Mexico City. They met in the States after my dad moved to Texas, and he adapted to her culture. All of us were raised in the Hispanic community.”

  Grace looked absolutely fascinated. “Which one do you resemble most, your mother or father?”

  “My father, but I only know that from his pictures and what my sisters tell me. He died when I was young and my brother was a baby, killed in a drive-by shooting as he left a gas station,” he said, relating the story by rote. Hard to grieve for a man in a photograph, though he’d felt the loss acutely as a teenager who desperately needed a father’s strong shoulders.

  “Oh, Julian,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been horrible for your family.”

  He poked at the remnants of his breakfast, appetite deserting him. “I don’t think Mama ever got over his death. She never remarried, and God knows she could’ve used a husband’s love and support through the years.”

  Especially after what I did.

  Dios, he was tired. Laying his fork on his plate, he stood, a tortured curse escaping before he could stop it. Tidal waves of pain washed over him, but at least he didn’t feel nauseated. Bad enough being incapacitated in front of her—even if his mishap did bring her to his door—but to get sick? Not happening.

  Immediately, Grace was at his side. “Okay, let’s do this once more. Get to the couch, stretch out, and rest, you hear?”

  “Yes, bella.” Her soft laugh, the welcome TLC, thawed places that hadn’t felt warmth in a long, long time. Chipped the ice from a particular cold place in his chest that had been barren for as long as he could recall.

  “What does that mean? Bay-yah?”

  “Beautiful, because that’s what you are.” As he limped to the sofa, he glanced at her rosy cheeks in satisfaction.

  “Oh. Well, I’m not, but that’s sweet of you to say. Here you go.”

  “It’s the truth,” he said, grimacing as he eased himself down. After taking a few deep breaths, letting the pain subside, he pinned her with his gaze, completely serious. “I’d never lie to a woman about her beauty, inside and out.”

  “But you’d lie about other things? Just teasing,” she said, cutting off the denial that sprang to his lips. “You’re blind, is all. I’m too tall, too skinny, and I have no chest.”

  “You’re perfect to me, Grace.”

  For a long moment, she fell silent, studying him with an intensity that must compel her clients to blurt full confessions in under a minute. “Close your eyes while I clean up the kitchen,” she said quietly.

  Then she left him there, wondering what had just transpired between them. And feeling foolish as hell.

  Chingado! What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you learned by now to keep your trap shut?

  Be glad she’s here, dumbass, and accept what she’s offering. Don’t push, and for Christ’s sake, don’t drive her away.

  A real challenge for him. Either he acted like he didn’t care or he pushed too hard, as Zack had so tactfully pointed out. Exhausted, he lay down on his left side, the only position that didn’t hurt too much, and closed his eyes. Right away, he began to drift, last night catching up with him despite his resolve to stay awake and keep Grace company.

  Just a few minutes . . .

  Gradually, the muted sounds of canned laughter seeped into his brain. Weird, the quiet noise tearing at the cobwebs in his head, prodding him to consciousness when he wanted to stay buried. But he surfaced anyway, finally recognizing a verbal tennis match coming from the television, courtesy of Lucy and Ricky.

  Cracking an eye open, he blinked, trying to focus his vision. As it cleared, he noted the sun filtering through the curtains near the TV had dimmed, the angle lengthened, and shadows were encroaching. Late afternoon? And what was that smell?

  Something savory cooking. That got him motivated to move when nothing else could, except the thought of seeing Grace. He couldn’t believe she was still there.

  Sitting up with a groan, he was amazed it was possible to feel more stiff and sore than he’d been before. His body felt like he’d been beaten half to death by the Titans’ defensive line. And shit on for good measure.

  “Grace?” he croaked.


  Apparently he sounded pathetic enough to bring her in a hurry, a worried frown furrowing her brow. “Hey, there. I was afraid I was going to have to light a stick of dynamite underneath you.” Perching next to him on the sofa, she brushed her fingers over his forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “My head doesn’t feel too bad, but the rest of me? I’m ready to trade in for a new model.”

  Her lips curved up, eyes twinkling. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with this one until it heals.”

  “I can’t believe you stayed.” Crap, he hadn’t meant to blurt it like that.

  “You thought I’d just leave after you pretty much passed out?”

  “Well, no, I just . . .”

  “You went down hard,” she said, patting his knee. “I’ll leave when I’m sure you’re okay, or when you get sick of my company and ask me to go.”

  He snorted. “Hope you brought a toothbrush.” God, he loved her smile.

  “You never give up, do you?”

  “That’s the quickest, surest way to lose.”

  “Then it seems we have something in common after all.” She gave his knee a squeeze before letting him go. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.” For you to keep touching me, and never stop.

  Standing, she offered him a hand. “Good! Let’s eat.”

  He let her help him up, and as he followed her to the table, he noticed how the prim skirt hugged her round little butt. The flow of white blond silk down her back, the clip gone. He cleared his throat, willing down one very uninjured part of himself. “After three? You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”

  “Why? Got a hot date?” She gave him an odd look before ducking into the kitchen.

  “Nope. The only date I want is right here, even if I had to get smacked like a cue ball to get your attention.” Pulling out a chair, he sat gingerly.

  “Oh, you’ve had my attention,” she said, carrying in a dish and placing it on a hot pad in the center of the table. “Though apparently I’m not the only one you have on a string.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A very enthusiastic lady friend called for you earlier. Someone named Carmelita.” She made a couple of trips, setting a bowl of peas and two glasses of iced tea in front of them, as Julian struggled with how to respond.

  Shit, shit. The thought of Grace hearing something she shouldn’t, and getting the wrong impression about his relationship with his old friend, made his stomach sink.

  “What did she say?”

  “I didn’t speak to her. She left a message for ‘Jules, baby’ to call her back, and hung up.”

  Damn. He gave Grace a weak smile. “Okay, thanks. I’ll call her later. She’s just a friend—”

  “I wasn’t asking. Peas, Jules, baby?” She grabbed the serving spoon, giving him a droll stare and silently daring him to refuse.

  “You bet. I love peas.” He hated them. Bought them only in a moment of madness because they were on sale. Of course, he took a healthy portion, along with a bacon-wrapped chicken breast smothered in some sort of white cream sauce. “This looks really good, Grace. Thank you.”

  “No sweat,” she said, waving a hand, then dishing up some for herself. “You need some real food in your stomach, and thankfully for you, I’m a much better cook than my sister.”

  Dutifully, he cut off a piece of chicken and took a bite—and groaned in appreciation. “This is awesome. You can come over and work your magic on my frozen meat any time you want.” Grinning, he winked at her, hoping she didn’t take offense.

  She smiled back. “Don’t think this counts as our first dinner date, buddy. I fully expect to be wined, dined, and otherwise spoiled until your wallet screams for mercy.”

  He laughed. The first real, honest laugh he could remember enjoying in ages. It felt foreign. And good. “I think I can handle that. Should we pin down the day before you change your mind? Next Friday, one week from today?” He hated to wait so long, but he wanted to plan a special evening, to be fully functional again and show her a good time. Nothing was going to spoil this, if he had any say.

  “Next Friday, then. Sounds good.”

  “Great! I’ll pick you up around seven and we’ll go from there.” After Sean’s intervention, almost guaranteed to be a bad scene, he’d be more than ready to spend an evening relaxing with Grace.

  They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Julian basking in the warm glow of his shift of fortune. If he was a superstitious man, he’d think the reversal almost scary. Which was why her next question threw him, though he probably should’ve anticipated it.

  “Tell me something. . . . Why did you go off on me about Derek Vines that day?”

  Oh, God. Not now. Couldn’t the man just fall off the face of the earth? “Grace—”

  “I want to know. Your reaction to seeing him was disconcerting, to say the least. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind and I haven’t turned up any damning information on the man. Frankly, it’s made me uneasy in my dealings with him. Never a good way to feel around a client.”

  A giant, unseen fist grabbed his gut and twisted, and a chill blasted through his body. “Have you asked him what my problem is?”

  “No. With my clients, I only discuss what pertains to their case. I try to avoid getting into personal issues unless they have a direct effect on my ability to provide a fair defense.” She took a sip of her tea and waited.

  Sitting back, he laid his hands in his lap to hide their shaking. “I don’t know what more you want me to say,” he managed. “My opinion of Vines wasn’t welcome the first time around, so I can’t imagine what’s changed.”

  “I care about you, that’s what,” she said quietly. “And after I got over being angry with you for trying to interfere, I realized you must have good reason. But it’s hard for me to understand where you’re coming from when you won’t explain.”

  She’s reaching out, he realized. She’s worried about me more than about having to defend him. But he couldn’t tell her, or anyone, the truth. No, that secret would die with him.

  And with Derek Vines.

  What if Grace was right, and his being hit wasn’t an accident?

  “Get rid of him, Grace,” he said hoarsely. “Pass him to another attorney, quit altogether, or shove him off the nearest cliff. Wash him out of your hair like the parasite he is, and you’ll be safer, trust me.”

  “That’s harsh,” she observed. There was no accusation in her tone, only concern.

  “I wouldn’t piss on the man if he were on fire, and that’s the truth.”

  She stared at him a long moment, as though weighing whether to keep prying until he cracked. For whatever miraculous reason, the normally tenacious woman let it go—for now.

  “I’ll take what you said seriously, and as we get to know one another, I hope you’ll feel more comfortable leveling with me.”

  To that, he had no answer. “Do me a favor and don’t mention my name to him, okay?”

  “I haven’t, and I wouldn’t.” She leaned forward, a half smile on her lips. “All right, I probably shouldn’t even say this much, but I’ll toss you a line—Vines won’t be my problem much longer. Whatever he’s done, past or present, doesn’t matter, because my dealings with him are almost concluded.”

  “I hope that’s true, because the man is a cancer and I hate the idea of his being near you,” he said, jaw clenching. He wanted badly to ask her what Vines was accused of, not to mention how he’d managed to maneuver his sorry ass out of trouble yet again, but suspected she couldn’t or wouldn’t be any more forthcoming than he’d been.

  She nodded. “Count on it. No worries, okay?”

  She looked so beautiful sitting there, gazing at him as though she really did care and, if he wasn’t mistaken, with a certain amount of heat.

  “No worries, querida.”

  And maybe it was true. Maybe a man could outrun his past, find love and happiness, and live the rest of his life in peace.

  Surely a man wouldn
’t be doomed to lose everything twice in one lifetime.

  Julian strolled down the sidewalk toward the Diamond Cadillac with a slight limp, damned glad to be out of the condo. Even though he’d gone back to work the previous day, the calls had been light and there hadn’t been much to do.

  He didn’t do convalescence well, hated being forced to lounge around for days, the only perk being Grace’s three visits; she’d returned Saturday and Sunday to check on him, bring him something to eat, and keep him company for a few hours. But since Monday, she’d been busy at work, and he’d been bored out of his mind.

  He missed her. He’d gotten spoiled by her laughter, her sunny smiles, the way she seemed to fill all the empty spaces with joy. Not the bubbly, bouncy, over-the-top kind of joy, but the quiet sort. Like her name, she was as calm and steady as the Cumberland River on a lazy Sunday. Strong, self-assured.

  Unattainable.

  She’d kept him at arm’s length, driving him mad with the need to taste her lips again, to press his body to hers. To roll her underneath him as he longed to do, spread her legs, and lose control—

  His cell phone chirped and he snatched it from his shirt pocket, half-expecting it to be Carmelita searching for yet another excuse to chew him out—as if raking him over the coals for not calling to tell her about his mishap wasn’t enough. Yeah, she was pissed that he’d waited two days to return her call from Friday and let her know.

  A glance at the caller ID, however, sent his heart into overdrive. Not Carmelita. Flipping the phone open without breaking stride, he didn’t bother to try to hide his pleasure.

  “Hello, bella.”

  “Hey, you! I called your place to see about driving over and got no answer. I suppose you’re feeling better if you’re out and about, but I hope you’re not overdoing it.”

  Regret lanced through him that he’d missed Grace’s call. He hadn’t expected her to even consider making the drive to his condo, especially when they’d see each other tomorrow night. “Well, if I can work, I can certainly go for a walk. I’m much better and I was going stir-crazy at home.” An idea occurred to him, and he brightened. “What if I come over to your place instead? I won’t overstay my welcome, since you have to work tomorrow, but we could, you know, hang out for a while.”