by Kathryn Shay
Ben laughed. “Close to that.”
“Your son’s settled down. He’s in pain, and someone will have to play nurse for a few weeks, but he’s going to be as good as new. He’s doped up and still asking for his mother. Have you been able to reach her?”
“This is his mother.” Ben indicated Diana.
Poised, but looking as delicate as a flower in spring, Diana smiled at the burn specialist who’d treated Ben and doubtless many other RFD members for burns.
The doctor’s mouth fell open. “Really? I thought this was your daughter.”
Ben wasn’t all that surprised. Diana was something. “Thank you,” she said, then frowned. “My son’s going to be fine?”
“He is.”
“Can I see him?”
“Yes.” He glanced at Ben, who was frowning. “You can go in together this once.”
As they stood, Ben put a possessive hand on the small of Diana’s back. The way Dr. Smith was eyeing her spiked his blood pressure. Together they went down the hallway and entered the ICU. Nicky had been put in a private cubicle. He was stretched out flat, his palms up next to his body. His hands were heavily wrapped in gauze. As Ben and Diana got closer, Dr. Smith said, “One tube is a catheter. The other two are IVs.”
Ben winced at the tube going into Nicky’s groin. He knew only too well that hurt like hell.
Diana shivered. Instinctively Ben slid his arm around her and pulled her close. She went to him as naturally as she always had when they were husband and wife.
Dr. Smith gave a polite cough. “I’ll be in the wing if you need me.” Then he slipped out the door.
Ben rested his chin on Diana’s head and held her tight to his chest. “This looks worse than it is,” he whispered.
“Don’t lie to me. He must be in pain.”
“Yes, but he’s strong and in top shape. He’ll handle the pain, as well as recuperate, faster than the average person.”
She looked at him hopefully. “That’s good.”
Nicky stirred on the bed. “Mom?”
Tears sprang into Diana’s eyes, killing Ben like her crying always had. Both Nicky and Francey had stopped calling her mom when they no longer visited her in New York. When she got herself a new family. The thought made him step away. Diana crossed to the bed. “I’m here, Nicky.”
He tried to lift his hand and groaned.
“Shh, honey, lie still.” She reached out and touched his cheek.
Nicky turned his face into her palm. “Don’t go. Please. Don’t go away.”
Ben watched Diana shudder. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out that Nicky’s delirium had sent him back a few decades.
Sniffling, Diana said, “I’m not going anywhere, buddy.”
Ben was transported back a few of those decades, too.
Come here, buddy. Mommy loves you best. It was what she said to Nicky whenever, as the middle child, he acted out, thinking Tony got all the attention as the oldest or Francey because she was a girl.
When Diana leaned over and kissed her son’s head, then started to croon My Pal to him, Ben slipped out the door. The sight of mother and son and all they’d lost—all he had lost—released too many emotions.
Before he could get a grip, Francey approached him in the hallway. “Dad, is everything okay?”
His eyes narrowed, Ben stared over her shoulder at Alex Templeton, hovering behind his daughter like a wolf waiting to pounce. Okay? Is everything okay? No, everything was not okay. His whole damned world had turned upside down.
CHAPTER TEN
The day before Francey was to return to work, Alex followed her through the back door of the house where the O’Roarke family lived. Alex stayed near the entrance, as did she, while Dylan held court in the kitchen.
“All right, three easy ones.” Dylan’s grin was devilish. “What was the name of the specially designated group of firefighters who traveled around New York City to cut down on arson and stop the torching?”
A tall, dark-haired man, dressed in a loose-fitting linen shirt tucked into well-cut slacks, stood alone by the counter sipping a beer and answered, “The Red Caps.”
Next to him, a younger guy swayed on his feet and leaned against the counter as if he needed it for support. He had classic Italian good looks—dark eyes and hair, olive complexion. His jeans and shirt mirrored the dress of most of the others. “I don’t think Jake should play.” The man whined like a spoiled child.
“Fine. I’ll keep my trap shut, Joey.” Jake grinned. “It won’t help you, anyway. You should have listened to Sister Margaret when she told you to read more.”
Joey. As in Joe Santori? The guy Francesca had been engaged to? Great. Just what Alex needed.
“Next is a two-part question.” O’Roarke could barely conceal a superior grin. “What were the first SCBA masks called, and when did we start using the ones we have now?”
“SCBA?” Alex asked Francesca.
“Short for Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus.”
Ben Cordaro, who Alex noted had been in deep discussion with an older man across the room, looked up. “We started using the new ones in Boston in 1977. The masks available before that were from the Navy—but I can’t remember what they were called. They were bulky sons of bitches, and you couldn’t work in them.”
“Chemox masks.” Dylan supplied the answer cheerfully. “Okay, last one. If you have a heart attack at night and die in bed, and you worked at the firehouse during the day, is it called death in the line of duty?”
“Depends on who you’re in bed with.” This from Santori, who’d noticed Francesca had come in and was leering at her. Alex’s hand crept to the small of her back.
“No, you dumb ass,” a guy seated at the table said. “It is considered death in the line of duty. Because of the stress on your heart. I know somebody in Chicago that happened to.” As the firefighter told his story, Dylan broke away from the group and crossed to Alex and Francesca—where he scooped her into a bear hug. “Francey, baby, it’s about time you got to my celebration.”
“Congratulations, Lieutenant.” She pouted prettily as O’Roarke held her close. “But I hate the idea of you going to another station.”
“Me, too. I’ll miss seein’ your legs in the morning.”
Alex willed back his irritation. He was beginning to think it was a mistake to accompany Francesca to the party O’Roarke’s father was throwing for his son—who had, of course, scored the highest on the recent lieutenant’s exam. But Alex had seen little of her since Nick’s accident, and she was returning to work tomorrow. Truth be told, though he understood she’d been tied up with her family, he was miffed that she’d wanted to come here instead of spending her last evening alone with him.
Finally O’Roarke let her go. He faced Alex squarely, holding out his hand. He was a little shorter than Alex, but he had world-class muscles. “You must be Templeton. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” Alex said dryly, shaking the man’s hand.
“She been singin’ my praises again?” O’Roarke reached over and slipped an arm around Francesca’s waist. “Jeez, honey, you gotta treat guys better than that or you’re gonna end up an old maid.”
“At thirty-three, and no prospects of marriage in sight, you should talk, Boy Wonder.”
“Yeah, wait till you see my date tonight. A real beauty.”
“Another doll, huh?” Francesca had mentioned to Alex that Dylan liked statuesque blondes.
Alex fought the feeling of being excluded. He glanced around the room. There were about twenty men in the large kitchen. Everyone was gabbing except Santori, who threw dagger looks his way, and Ben Cordaro, who sipped a bottle of beer, leaned against the stove and shot Alex equally hostile vibes. Tonight was really starting off right.
“Alex, what can I get you to drink?” Dylan asked.
“Beer’s fine.”
Francesca waited until O’Roarke left and looked at him, her violet eyes spa
rkling with approval. “You don’t drink beer.”
“Hey, when in Rome…”
Impulsively Francesca reached up and kissed him on the cheek. Her full breasts brushed his chest. “Thanks.”
Well, maybe being here wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Alex was still holding up the wall by the door an hour later, watching Francesca, who’d been dragged over to sit at the table with the men. Occasionally, a couple of women came out of the other room and talked to the guys, got something to drink; a few of the men went into the living room. But there was definite segregation of the sexes at this party—except for Francesca, who was clearly one of the guys. The thought disturbed him, so he pushed it aside. He concentrated on the conversation, trying to ignore the unfriendly glances from Santori—the guy had drunk three beers and two shots of bourbon since they’d arrived. Instead, Alex stared at Francesca’s teal shirt straining across her breasts as she reached to get a second bowl of stew from Sean O’Roarke. The older man had been feeding her all night.
Jake Scarlatta came to stand beside him. Earlier, Francesca had introduced them. She’d told him once Jake was like a third brother. “She’s glad to see everybody.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Jake sipped his beer. Alex wondered what was coming next. “She’s a special lady, you know.”
“I know.” Oh, God, Scarlatta was going to ask what his intentions were.
His odd, light gray eyes were sober. “She’s tough, really, but more sensitive on the inside than she likes to let on.”
“I know that, too.”
“Good. It would be hard for her if you didn’t get along here tonight.”
For some crazy reason, Alex liked the fact that Scarlatta was looking out for her. Of course, it helped that Alex knew he had no call to be jealous of the guy. “I’m having a great time, Jake.”
Jake nodded. They watched in silence as Francesca bantered with her buddies. At one point, she got up to get another beer. When she reached the refrigerator, Santori made his way across the kitchen. As Francesca grabbed a bottle and closed the door, Santori draped his arm around her shoulders. About her height, he was nose-to-nose with her. Alex stiffened, as did Francesca, when the younger man nuzzled her neck.
Jake laid a hand on Alex’s arm. “Don’t do anything yet. Let’s see if she can handle him.”
Alex scowled but stayed where he was.
“Joey’s never gotten over her. And he’s drinking too much tonight.”
Santori’s arm snaked around her waist; she tried to step back, but the refrigerator prevented her. When the jerk’s hand rose higher, almost touching her breast, Alex straightened. “He’s out of line right now.”
Setting down his beer, Jake straightened. “You’re right. But let me handle this. A fistfight won’t do anybody any good. Joey would like nothing better than to take you apart.”
The implication was, of course, that Santori could take him apart, and Alex simmered as Jake crossed to Ben, who hadn’t been watching Francesca. Jake murmured something to her father, and they both headed to the fridge. In minutes they’d escorted Santori out of the room. Francesca’s face was red when she turned toward the table.
“Come’re, Cordaro,” a big brute of a guy said. “We gotta tell you about Fist.” He was clearly trying to break the tension.
Another guy they called Duke pulled out a chair. “You shoulda seen how dirty he got last night.”
And so the firefighter family closed ranks around her. No one, not even Francesca, realized or seemed to care that Alex had been left on the sidelines.
On the drive to her house, Alex was silent. It had begun to rain, and he concentrated on maneuvering through the slick streets. The windshield kept fogging up, and he squinted to see the road. He was not a happy man. Worry over the fact that Francesca was going back to work plagued him, and he was trying to block out images of the danger she’d be walking into starting at five o’clock tomorrow night.
He was also annoyed at being ignored all evening. And right now, he wasn’t even keeping the sexual frustration at bay. He wanted her with a deep and slicing desire that was tearing at his insides. Not hard to figure out that one, either, he realized, disgusted with his jealousy and territorial feelings.
She reached for his hand. “You had a rotten time, didn’t you?”
“No, not rotten.” He wasn’t lying. Rotten didn’t come close to describing his night.
“Sorry, I should have gone alone.”
Oh, sure, that’s what he wanted to hear. She didn’t even consider that she could have spent the last of her free time alone with him. He was starting to get angry.
Oblivious to his mood, she chattered about the guys. How her dad looked tired, but it was probably from dealing with Nicky, who was a grouch being confined to the hospital for a few more days. How good Dylan looked—excited and happy at his progress in the fire department he loved so much. How dumb Joey Santori had acted. All this, and no mention of Alex’s feelings or thoughts.
God, Templeton, when did you get to be such a self-centered bastard? Did you think that once she said she felt something for you, her world would revolve around your relationship?
Well, maybe.
He was brooding over that little gem when they darted from the car and sprinted to her porch. He followed her inside and down the hall to the kitchen while she let the dog out. Finally she gave him her full attention. “Want something? A Scotch?”
“No.”
“You were a real trooper at Dylan’s, drinking beer and all.”
“Such a sacrifice.” He tried to joke.
“Are you hungry? We could order out.”
Jamming his hands in his jeans pockets, he leaned against the counter. “No, thanks, but if you are…”
“Nah, I ate enough of Sean O’Roarke’s stew to feed a small country.” She stared at him for a minute, then closed the distance between him. “How about a kiss?”
He smiled, but didn’t feel it in his gut. “I’d never turn down a kiss from you, Francesca.”
On tiptoe, she brushed her mouth over his. His hands went to her waist and drew her close. The familiar feel of her settling against him made his heartbeat click into double time. He deepened the kiss, a storm of emotions sweeping through him.
When he pulled back, she stared at him. “Something’s wrong.”
He shook his head. He wanted her tonight. And he knew why. He wanted to possess her. Like none of the other guys at that party could possess her. The unflattering things they said about him rankled his pride. “Nothing’s wrong.”
She held his arms. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time.”
“It was fine.”
“Then what’s wrong? I know something is.” she asked.
Frustrated, he stepped around her and strode to the open kitchen window to stare out. Killer was peering out of his doghouse. A rain-filled, cool breeze drifted over Alex, and he took in several cleansing breaths. “This is my problem, Francesca, not yours. This whole thing is. I’ll deal with it.”
“This whole thing?”
Still not facing her, he said, “This whole unorthodox relationship.”
“Our relationship?”
He turned to face her. “Yes, Francesca, the one I’ve dragged you into, kicking and screaming all the way.”
“Isn’t that a slight exaggeration?”
Expelling a heavy breath, he shook his head. “I suppose. I haven’t seen anything clearly since I met you.”
“Exactly what happened tonight to bring this on?”
He didn’t answer. How could she not know?
“Hey, I thought rule number one was we’d always be honest.”
Since he wasn’t in the mood to joke, he thought about what she said. Honest? Could he be honest about this? Why not? Silent resentment wasn’t getting them anywhere. “You’ve got something special with them, Francesca. It was so tangible tonight.”
“And you felt left out?”
God, that sounded so immature. He stuck his hands into his pockets again. “No, envious is more appropriate.”
“We’ve got something special, too.”
“Do we?”
She frowned. “Of course we do.”
“Yes, well, your caution would indicate otherwise.”
“My caution? You mean physically?”
“Not just that.”
“Then what?”
“All right, that.”
“We agreed to take it slow.”
Exasperated, he ran a hand through his hair. “I know. It’s just that seeing you tonight with all of them made me want more. Oh, hell, I sound like I’m in high school.”
She studied him from across the room. “High school, huh? So, you want me to, um, like, prove how special you are to me?” She underscored her teenage-girl imitation with a toss of her head and a pout. If she’d been chewing gum, she’d be snapping it. Her hand crawled up her shirt and toyed with the first button of her top.
He watched her, then decided to play along. “Yeah. Like a football player not being sure how the head cheerleader feels about him.”
She popped one of the buttons on her shirt…then two…then three. “Hmm, I wonder what the head cheerleader would have to do to get rid of that insecurity.” She started toward him, releasing the rest of the buttons as she came closer. When she was halfway between the table and the window, he caught a glimpse of some black lacy thing beneath her shirt. His mouth went dry. “That’s a very good start.”
Her hands slid to her jeans. With agonizing slowness, she released the snap, then inched her zipper down. From inside peeked matching black lace panties. The sight sent his pulse pounding. She continued to cross the kitchen, her gaze locked on his. “I’m not against proving anything, big guy.” When she reached him, she glided her hands up his polo shirt. His heart hammered in his chest, and he began to breathe fast.
“So long as you give me your class ring and letter sweater tomorrow,” she whispered.
“I’ll give you anything you want, Francesca. Anything at all.”
Though she was teasing, he wasn’t. He would give her anything, and the thought scared the hell out of him. Ruthlessly, he pushed the notion to the back of his mind and crushed her to him.
