by Kathryn Shay
She nodded, holding his gaze, flushed and feverish, like she was getting the flu. Three buttons, then four were undone.
“Tug your shirt out of your pants.” His voice was low and husky. She obeyed, caught in the spell of sexual arousal.
Slowly he drew apart the sides of her blouse. “Oh, God.” His eyes turned the color of summer grass when he saw she wore no bra. He took one full breast in his hand. “Fondling is good,” he whispered as he massaged her. When she closed her eyes, he stopped. “No, open your eyes. Watch me touch you.”
Her breathing quickened. He grasped her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it back and forth, making her whole body contract. She forgot all about baseball and mitts and steeped herself in the sensation of Alex’s hands on her.
oOo
Two nights later they were in the Jacuzzi, once again draining the tension out of sore muscles. “You hit the ball pretty good for an amateur,” she told him.
“Under protest. I still don’t think you should play in the fire department softball game next week.”
“The doctor said I could. If I’m good enough to go back to work a week from Saturday, I can play in a silly old game.”
Closing his eyes, Alex lay against the edge of the tub. Back to work. Into burning buildings. On runs to tend to guys with knife wounds. He had to forcefully push the upsetting thoughts out of his mind. “Silly game? I’m exhausted. How many grounders and pop flies did I hit you?”
She smiled. “About a hundred. Your arm must hurt.”
“It does.” He scrutinized her. “You’re not even tired, are you?” Every day, as she worked to gain strength and agility, he was astounded by her fitness.
“Nope. Comes from years of rigorous training.”
He shook his head. “Well, you could just dry me off and roll me into bed.”
“Now there’s a tempting idea.”
He chuckled. Somewhere along the line, his tough-as-nails firefighter had become a vamp. “I’m at your disposal anytime, Francesca. Just say the word.”
“I’ll think about it.” They stared at the starless sky in contented silence. After a few moments he felt waves in the water. She stood, and he took the opportunity to observe the stunning curves of her body, outlined in a one-piece black racing suit she kept at his house now. He indulged himself watching those mile-long legs climb out of the bubbling water. “Where are you going?”
“You’ll see.” She disappeared into the changing room off the deck. She was gone a few minutes. When she returned, she was wrapped in a thick white terry robe. Late May had turned warm, but still, there was a breeze off the lake. She stopped by the bench that abutted the house. He saw she held a pile of towels. “Come out here, Alex.”
“Out? What are you offering?”
“To dry you off. Then I’ll put you to bed.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah, for now.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “You torture me, woman.”
“Come out, and I’ll show you what real torture is.”
Irresistible, that was what she was, standing there in a simple robe, her hair a little damp, her smile rivaling a harem girl promising her master ecstasy. The fantasy appealed to him, so he imagined her in a gossamer outfit. He hefted himself out of the hot Jacuzzi and crossed to her, sat on the bench. She draped his shoulders with a robe that matched hers.
“Ah, that feels good.” She must have stuck it in the dryer because the material was warm. Leaning against the wall of the house, he watched her pick up a towel. She spread his legs and knelt between them. The harem-girl fantasy turned Technicolor with that gesture. She raised her arms, which brought her breasts on par with his face, and dried his hair. He took the opportunity to nose the flap of her robe aside. Damn, she was naked underneath. He planted a kiss on her chest and reached for her waist.
“No touching,” she said, plopping his hands on the bench.
He moaned. She took her sweet time drying his chest, then gracefully sat on her haunches and ran the towel over the hem of his swim trunks, which he’d put on in deference to their agreement to take things slow. As she dried his leg, she dipped the towel inside the suit an inch.
“You’re playing with fire, Francesca,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.
“I’m a firefighter,” she said sexily as she bent her head and kissed the inside of his thigh. “I love getting close to the flame.” Her hair brushed his bare skin, and reflexively, he grabbed her shoulders. Damn her. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. So he forced himself to let her finish drying him, glide the towel up and down his legs, favor each toe with exquisite care. By the time she was done, her breathing was as ragged as his. As he tugged her onto his lap and closed his mouth over hers, he took great pleasure in her reaction.
oOo
The following Tuesday, she was still taunting him. They’d agreed to meet at his office after her last physical-therapy session. She curled up on the leather couch, perusing a magazine she’d taken from his secretary’s desk, while he finished with a contract that had to be express mailed. Without conscious thought, his eyes strayed to her. She wore plain navy walking shorts and a sleeveless white shirt. On her feet were blue canvas sneakers. Simple, unadorned beauty, he thought, basking in the vision of her. Soon all that beauty would be his. He was rocked by the thought. To dilute it, he asked, “What are you reading?”
Ignoring his question, she smiled. “Alex, what would you say were the color of your eyes? Green or hazel?”
“You know they’re green.”
She made a note in the magazine with a pencil. “And you’re six-one? Two hundred pounds?”
“I just dropped to one ninety. You were there when I weighed in at Chelsea’s last night.” In fact, he’d been preening like a peacock at his weight loss and muscle tone since he’d met her.
“And your jacket size is?”
Throwing down his pen, he scowled. “What kind of article is that?”
“A quiz.” She grinned. “It’s called, ‘What’s your type?’”
He snorted. “You don’t need to take that quiz, Francesca. You know I’m the man of your dreams.”
“And modest, too.”
His shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, he tried to focus on the contract.
“You are, though, Alex.” Her voice was so somber that his head snapped up. “The man of my dreams, I mean.”
He swallowed hard as she tossed the magazine onto the table, rose and crossed to the door. It was seven at night, and his employees were gone, but she turned the lock, anyway. Its snick was loud and meaningful. She pivoted and walked toward him. Her gaze fused with his, and she came around the desk. Swiveling his chair, she removed the pen and contract from his hands and straddled him. Her eyes were slumberous, like they’d be after making love.
He said, “Show me. That I’m the man of your dreams.” With a fiery passion befitting her profession, she did.
oOo
Three days before she was to return to work, Francey stood at the refrigerator in her kitchen getting ice for the drinks to go with lunch she was fixing for Alex. She was singing a little off-key when she saw, in her peripheral vision, Alex enter the room. He’d shed his suit coat, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and loosened his tie. They’d been spending a lot of their time together. He was missing some work, but he told her he’d make up for it when she was back on the job. She was fearful about how that would affect their relationship. Scheduling and time conflicts were a hassle between many firefighters and their significant others.
He felt the worry, too, she knew. In the past few days, some of the teasing in their relationship had ebbed. And their contact had taken on an intense, heated quality, with passion simmering just below the surface.
When she moved to the sink, she sensed him come up behind her. “You were gone too long,” he said, his body a mere inch from hers. His nearness made her bones liquefy, as usual.
She leaned into him. �
�The ice is stuck.”
He cracked the tray open and the contents spilled into the sink. Letting it fall, he circled her waist with his hands. She had on light nylon shorts and a tank top, but she sweltered at his touch. “Mmm, that feels good.”
“A lot of things will.” There it was again, that just-after-sex timbre in his voice.
“Like what?”
He widened his stance, splayed a hand just below her waist and pressed her into him. She could feel him firm and full against her thin shorts. “Later, after the first time we make love, I’m going to take you from behind.”
Francey felt the air back up in her lungs. He palmed her belly in slow circular movements. “Have you ever made love like that, Francesca?”
She couldn’t speak. So she shook her head.
“Sometimes, though, that position’s not good for a woman. So I’ll have to touch you, here.” He fisted his hand and slid it an inch lower. His knuckles skimmed between her thighs and up again, singeing her through her clothes.
“Oh!”
“You’ll like that, won’t you, sweetheart?”
She nodded.
“Answer me.”
She couldn’t. “Francesca, answer me.”
She shook her head.
“What’s wrong? You aren’t getting stuffy on me, are you?”
His humor didn’t break the spell. Probably because he opened his hand and cupped her. Exerted more pressure. And more. Her head fell back, and her arms drooped to her sides. She was completely at his mercy. He kept up the gentle massage, then murmured in her ear, “I can make you fly. Right now. Right here. Let me.”
Not wanting to go alone, she turned to face him. Winding her arms around his neck, she opened her mouth to tell him…
Sirens shrilled from her phone on the table. It jolted her into him. His arms tightened around her. “What the hell is that?”
“Um…” She stepped back and ran a hand through her hair. “A distress signal of sorts. Our family uses it when there’s an emergency.”
She connected and heard, “Francey, this is Dad. Something’s happened.”
oOo
Diana stepped off one elevator at the same time Francesca and Alex Templeton exited another on the opposite wall. Tony held on to Diana’s arm, and she bit her lip to keep from crying.
Nicky had gotten hurt in a fire. Twice now, in six weeks, one of her children had been injured. God was really testing her mettle. And she’d be damned if she’d fail the second time.
Wordlessly she crossed to Francesca and embraced her. When they stepped apart, Tony squeezed his sister’s hand. “They told you he was all right, didn’t they?”
Francesca’s face was grim. “It’s his hands, though?”
“That’s what Dad said when he called. Nick’s in the intensive care unit, but he’s all right,” Tony repeated.
Diana realized her oldest child—who always played the Rock of Gibraltar—was trying to convince himself, as well as them. It gave her strength. “If your father said Nicky’s going to get through this, he is. Ben wouldn’t lie about something so important.”
Alex stepped forward and clasped Francesca’s shoulder. He’d only let go of her when mother and daughter had hugged. “Why don’t we try to find them?” Checking the signs, he said, “ICU is this way.”
They walked down a long corridor and entered the waiting area for the unit. Clustered around a table were Ben and four uniformed firefighters, probably men from Nicky’s station house. One thing Diana had always admired about the fire department was that they were like family. Taking a deep breath, she let go of Tony’s hand and crossed the room to Ben. Francesca and Tony followed. Her ex-husband stood and up close, he looked haggard. His hair was mussed, and worry deepened the grooves around his mouth. He wore his battalion chief uniform with a light tan jacket over the white shirt.
“How is he?” Diana asked without greeting. She hadn’t spoken to Ben earlier. He’d called Tony and asked him to go to the store, tell her what had happened and drive her to the hospital.
Ben watched her. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her mint green linen dress, struggling for calm. He’d always been able to read her emotions with a glance and used to tease her about being a cream puff.
“He’s gonna be fine, although he’s in a lot of pain now.” Studying her a moment, Ben asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m handling this, Ben.”
He transferred his gaze to Francesca. “Are you okay, honey?”
Their daughter nodded. Ben put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony told him, “I’m fine, Dad.”
“Can I see Nicky?” Diana asked.
Ben frowned.
“I won’t let you keep me from him, Ben.”
“It’s not that. Actually, he’s asked for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, for his mother. I’ve seen this happen before—burly firefighters calling for their mothers when they’re hurt.”
Surprised at his sincerity, Diana took advantage of it. “Then I’ll go to him.”
“You can, but not yet. They’re still working on him.”
“Working on him?”
“Come on.” He took her arm. “I’ll explain it to you.”
For a minute Diana leaned into him. He nodded to his children. “All of you.”
Francesca pivoted and scanned the room. Alex had lagged behind her, out of deference to family privacy. He nodded, telling her to go ahead.
They took seats at one of the tables in the corner and Ben addressed them all. “Nicky has third-degree burns on both his hands and partway up his arms. Right now, he’s in the scrub room.”
“What’s a scrub room?” Diana asked. It didn’t sound good.
“They have to get the burned skin off. Then they’ll rub cream on him and bandage him, mummy like. He’ll have a catheter and IV in when you see him.”
“Have you seen him?” Diana asked.
“No, his lieutenant, Jack Carson, called me at work as soon as they knew he was hurt, but the ambulance got here before I did. Jack said he was in pain and in and out of consciousness.”
Francey clasped her hands. “Not exactly a blessing in this case. It would be better if he was out for the count.”
Tony gave her a puzzled look.
“His skin’s got to hurt like hell,” she explained.
Ben said, “The process is torture. But the important thing is he’s all right. This is not life-threatening.”
Her son reached for Diana’s hand, which was shaking. “Mom, he’s all right.”
“I heard that.” Tony smiled at her, and she returned it with the phoniest smile she’d ever given anyone.
“How did it happen?” Francesca asked.
“There was a fire over on Glide Street.” Ben voice turned professional. “Nicky’s company was first in. Quint Six was right behind them. The blaze wasn’t rolling yet, but a victim was trapped inside. One of the probies, Jimmy Arnold, was with his officer doing search and rescue when they found the victim. The lieutenant dragged the old lady out, but Jimmy got lost. The kid called for help on his radio. Nicky had just gotten outside to change his air pack and heard the Mayday so he went back in. A beam came down and knocked Jimmy unconscious. Nicky got hit on the head and was woozy, but he managed to get the rookie out, as well as himself.”
Diana frowned. “How did he get burned?”
“He had to move a beam blocking their way. The wood was so hot it ate right through his gloves.”
“Oh, my God.” Diana felt her stomach heave and clasped a hand to her mouth.
Reflexively Ben grasped her other hand. “Dee?”
Praying she wouldn’t get ill, wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of Ben, she shook her head.
“Mom, it’s okay to be yourself with us. Hell, I feel like bawling like a baby.” This from Tony.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Jeez,” Tony said. “I wish he hadn’t gone back in.”
Diana und
erstood the look Francesca and Ben exchanged. “Tony, a firefighter would never let one of his own die without trying to rescue him. It’s part of the code.”
Ben stiffened. “Are you making fun of us?”
“No,” she said softly, “just an observation. I think that action is a brave and heroic thing to do, even if it does endanger the people I love.” She reached out and squeezed Francesca’s hand.
Her daughter squeezed back, then stood. “I’m going to go tell Alex what’s going on.”
Tony rose, as well. “I’ll get us coffee. And I want to call Erin.”
As Francesca went to Alex, Ben frowned. The look turned into a glower as he watched Alex hug her tightly, lock a hand around her neck and draw her out of sight. “Damn it.”
Diana looked at him. “Could we put our differences aside, at least for today?”
His eyes were full of emotion when he faced her. “Yeah, we should be able to do that.”
“Where are Grace and Gus?”
“Went to visit Dad’s brother in Hidden Cove. I thought I’d call them there after I’d seen Nicky.” His voice dropped a notch. “Are you sure you’re all right, Dee? You look as green as you used to that second month of pregnancy.” He smiled weakly.
Though Diana wanted to throw herself into his arms—much like she’d done at his office that day—she lifted her chin. “I’ve changed, Ben. I’m stronger now.”
He reached for her hand. She was surprised by the gesture.
“Chief Cordaro?” Diana tore her eyes away from the warmth of Ben’s and looked into the face of a doctor standing by their table. “Nice to see you again, although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“Me, too, Dr. Smith. How’s Nick?”
The doctor smiled. “Swore his head off, just like you did that first time they brought you in here burned. What was that, fifteen years ago?”
That first time they brought you in here burned. Diana’s stomach clenched. Ben had been hurt in the time she’d been away. How often had she wondered about his safety? Even after she’d left him, she’d driven herself crazy thinking about the danger he was in. She’d had nightmares for years about his being injured or killed.
