by Loraine, Kim
Sully’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah. Little thing, blond? Dude, the girl is flex-i-ble.” He stretched the word out and added a leer for emphasis.
“I think D and I might go check out a class with you. When’s the next one?”
His hackles rose at the thought of Klipper checking out Valerie’s ass, or any other part of her.
“Saturday morning. Early.”
Klipper gave him a disparaging look. “How early?”
“Sunrise on the beach when the weather is good. Right now, it’ll be at the studio until it warms up outside.”
“I’m out. That’s too damn early for me.”
Sully trained his eyes on Donovan. “How ‘bout you, man?”
He opened his mouth to shoot him down, but was interrupted by the harsh ring of the alarm, setting them all into motion. Coffee mugs forgotten on the big table, they sprung to action, racing to waiting boots and bunker gear. Adrenaline pumped through Donovan’s veins as he grabbed his helmet and jumped up to his seat in the truck.
This was equally the best and worst part of his job. That moment between knowing what they were heading into and actually seeing it firsthand. It could be a kitten stuck in a pipe, or some crazy ass who thinks the smell of his own farts is a gas leak. It could also be a tragedy, a dangerous situation with potential loss of life.
Flashes of the warehouse fire invaded his memory as the sirens blared. John, pushing him to the ground, safely out of the way as the explosion began. A cold sweat broke out on his brow and trailed down his back as the unwelcome fingers of panic clutched at him.
“D, you good, man?” Klipper’s face, so jovial only moments before, was serious and focused.
He nodded and took a few steadying breaths. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Chapter 3
“Valerieeeee! Come on,” Lena Shirakawa called from the other side of the bathroom door.
Valerie finished her last swipe of mascara and spritzed herself with her favorite perfume for good measure before unlocking the door.
“Fine, keep your knickers on.”
Lena rolled her eyes and huffed. “You. Are. Not. British.” She checked out her reflection in the mirror and pouted slightly while she applied another layer of lip-gloss. “Living in the UK for a year does not mean you can talk like a Brit and get away with it.”
“I know. I just like pissing you off.” She tugged on Lena’s hair, causing her hand to slip and spread the sticky gloss across her cheek. “And I was there for eighteen months, love.”
“Gah! I’m gonna kill you!”
She made a run for it through their tiny beachside apartment. “Come on, we’re late.”
Lena threw her hands up in exasperation. “Yes. I know.”
They lived within walking distance of the Golden Beach Bar and Grill. It was a short walk—only a few blocks south. The Bar and Grill sat along the coast and she could see it from their apartment’s balcony. Not that she would want to. The structure was a well-known eyesore in the picture-perfect beach town.
People swarmed the bar tonight, filling it to maximum capacity without a seat or floor space to spare. Friday nights were usually busy, but when Angela’s band, Panic Station, was playing, the crowds got out of control.
As Valerie surveyed the dilapidated state of the building, she wondered why a place that managed to keep so busy was unable to update . . . well, anything. The floor was uneven, tilting where there’d been slap-together additions put on, chairs and old broken stools sat stacked three-high in the corner. Angela had told her once that the only reason it was a good place to play was proximity to the beach and the summertime stage outside.
People crowded around the bar, effectively swallowing her and eliminating all chance of her being seen. She threw a pleading glance at Lena, who at a respectable five-foot-eight, could actually be seen. Lena winked and pulled her V-neck shirt down just a smidgen too low for decency.
Lena was her oldest friend. They’d met when Valerie’s family first moved to Golden Beach. Ninth grade, the worst time to be a girl. Lena was the only thing she looked forward to that whole year. They’d been fast friends as they bonded over their love for The Beatles, scary movies, and Ryan Gosling.
Where Valerie was pocket-sized and boasted the fair skin and light hair of her Nordic ancestry, Lena was a striking Glamazon. She had all the benefits of her mother’s Japanese heritage—silky straight hair the color of espresso, almond shaped eyes, and high cheekbones. It was really unfair to combine that with her father’s Native American heritage, which gave her skin a light coppery glow and just a ridiculous amount of poise.
“Cosmo?” Lena shoved the drink in her face, grinning.
“Did you pay?” She raised one eyebrow.
“Never.”
“Good to see some things never change.” She raised her glass in a toast. “To your . . . assets.”
“To my tits and ass. Let’s call a spade a spade.”
Valerie’s lips rose in a smile as she brought the glass to her mouth, careful not to spill the pink liquid.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you going to do the depressed thing all night? God, you’ve been such a buzzkill since you came back from England.”
“What are you talking about? I’m fine.” She smiled a little too brightly. “See, totally fine.”
“Bullshit. Is it that jackass boss of yours again?”
She cringed at the mention of Ingram. In fact, she’d just had a run in with him hours earlier as her workday had come to a close. He’d commented on her cleavage, ass, and intellect all in one ill-worded, yet easily misinterpreted, sentence. She shivered.
“I don’t understand why you put up with him.” Lena’s face pulled into a frown.
“I need my job. He’s harmless.”
“Whatever. What you really need is to clear the cobwebs and get yourself some action.” Lena’s eyes scanned the room.
She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it quickly when Lena gave her a level look and said, “Come on, when was the last time you had an orgasm you didn’t give yourself?”
Her words were crass, but insightful. It’d been almost a year since she’d had sex, and that hadn’t been pleasant.
She shrugged and downed her drink, trying to find a way to distract Lena from her manhunt. “Would you brave the bar again?”
Lena snatched Valerie’s glass after downing her own. “I’ll see if I can find you a man while I’m at it.”
“Don’t do me any favors, Lena.”
While she waited for her drink, Valerie scanned the crowd, hoping she might catch a glimpse of Donovan. He might be the kind of man she wanted to stay away from, but he was definitely easy on the eyes, and truth be told, she enjoyed their exchanges. Memories of him teasing her and her firing back one-liners brought a soft smile to her lips.
“I can’t believe it. Valerie Peters, you look amazing,” a velvety smooth voice purred in her ear.
She turned her gaze from Lena’s departing form to see a ghost from her past standing right in front of her. Blake Monroe, the golden boy of Virginia Tech and former love of her life.
“Blake?” A jolt ran through her, mixed with the icy cold tendrils of apprehension. “I thought you moved to Chicago.”
“I did, I went to med school there. I just started my residency at Golden Beach General. I’m working in pediatrics.”
Her eyebrows rose. He’d been her only serious boyfriend in college. She’d dropped everything to be with him every time he called, but after he graduated and headed to medical school, she’d never heard from him again.
“Hmm. Interesting.” She scanned the room for Lena, wishing she had a drink to occupy her hands. “Well, good to see you, Blake.”
“Hey, hey, now. Don’t go running off. We need to catch up.” He t
ook her arm and ran his thumb gently over her skin. She suppressed a shiver of pleasure at his touch. Their problem had never been a physical connection.
“I’m around, Blake. I’m sure I’ll see you.”
“You will. You can count on it.”
She caught sight of Lena in the crowd and pushed her way through the shoulders and torsos above her.
“Was that Blake Monroe?” Lena asked with a curious glance back in his direction.
“Yes.” Valerie knocked back her second drink and grimaced at the burn of too much alcohol in one swallow.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“I’ll go get you another drink.”
“No, let’s go find a good spot. I want to be able to see.”
They stood off to the side, right in front where Valerie’s view wouldn’t be of backs and shoulders. Panic Station took the stage to a room full of cheers and her chest swelled with pride as she watched her little sister rock out.
Angela was the lead singer. Her voice and stage presence mesmerized the audience. Valerie envied her little sister’s confidence and assertive nature. Angela did what she wanted. She let her passion drive her.
Anxiety blossomed in the center of her chest when Valerie thought about her own job and her life. Her creepy boss made her nervous, but she was stuck. She wanted to go back to school and get a teaching certificate. Unfortunately, no program worked with her schedule and no job meant no money. Crippling student loans weren’t on her list of life goals.
“They’re so good. Does Angie write the songs?” Lena shouted over the music.
“No, I think Garrett does all that.”
“The drummer, right? Hmm, introduce us after?” Lena had that troubling twinkle in her eye. The one that meant Valerie should sleep with her earplugs in.
“Lena, you’ve met him.”
“Well, clearly I need to meet him again.”
Three songs later, the band was rocking out. People pushed and shoved to get closer to the stage, and a look around the bar made her nervous. There were too many people in here. Shoulders and heads surrounded her with no possibility of escape. The scent of smoke tickled her nostrils, bringing her attention to the kitchen. Smoke billowed from under the door—a lot of smoke, and not of the cigarette variety.
“Lena, something’s burning,” she shouted at her friend.
“What?”
“There’s a fire!”
Valerie pushed frantically at the people around her, but to no avail. She searched the ceiling for signs of a sprinkler system, smoke detectors, anything, and found nothing. Her heart pounding in her ears, she steeled herself and climbed up on the stage mid-song. Angela shot her a look of pure incredulity as Valerie ripped the microphone from her hands. Her eyes connected with Angela’s and her sister motioned for the band to stop. She mouthed fire and Angela’s eyes widened as she whipped her phone out of her pocket and dialed, presumably 9-1-1.
“Please, everyone, there’s a fire in the kitchen. Walk calmly to the exit.”
The room erupted in chaos. Screams filled the space while people pushed and shoved toward the exit, creating a bottleneck. She looked around the room and saw the emergency exit blocked by stacked chairs.
“Garrett! Go move those chairs and open that door,” she directed to the drummer.
“There’s another exit here. Come on people, line up and get out!”
Soon, the wails of the fire engine bled through the screams and cries of the terrified concert-goers. Her knees wobbled as she made her way to the exit. Panicked bodies pushed her back and away from the cool, clean air of the outdoors. She coughed and faltered in the smoke-filled room. Remembering her school days, she dropped to the floor and crawled below the smoke to the exit.
Firefighters met her at the door and she cringed at the sight of Donovan. Expecting a sleazy attempt to flirt with her, she gritted her teeth.
His deep, green eyes locked on hers. “Is there anyone still in there?”
She coughed and shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know about the kitchen, though.”
Her eyes burned and her vision blurred.
“Oliver! Get her to the aid car. She’s gonna need some O2.”
Michael Oliver ushered her to the waiting ambulance as Donovan and another firefighter moved into the smoke-filled building. She could see the kitchen staff standing around the ambulance while one of the cooks was being loaded in, his arm bandaged. Michael set her up with some oxygen and handed her off to a friendly paramedic.
Lena rushed over, along with Angela, worry marring both of their faces. “Oh, my God, Val. Are you okay? I thought you were right behind me.” Lena’s voice trembled.
“I got pushed back by the crowd. I’m fine. I think everyone got out.”
“I can’t believe you did that. Jumping up on the stage! You saved everyone.” Angela’s expression was filled with pride.
She shrugged. “I was just the first one to notice.”
“Except for the jackwagons in the kitchen,” Lena said pointedly as she glared in the direction of said jack-wagons.
“Valerie, are you okay?” Blake ran to her, his beautiful blue eyes filled with concern. She stood to warn him off, but he wrapped her in a tight embrace.
His hands caressed her back and she’d be a complete liar if she told herself it didn’t feel good. But she pushed him back anyway, remembering all too well the rocky points in their relationship.
“I’m fine, Blake. Thanks.”
He ran a hand over her cheek in yet another gesture of familiarity.
The paramedic shot him a dirty look. “Sir, we need to get the lady looked over.”
“I’m a doctor, I can take it from here.” He shoved the paramedic aside.
Valerie waved him away, annoyed with his heavy-handed attitude. “Blake, let the guy do his job.”
“Fine, fine.” He moved on, winking before he left.
Her breaths came easier after a few minutes with the oxygen, but the scent of smoke still tickled her nose. Her heart gave an unwelcome leap at the sight of Donovan walking toward her. His face streaked with sweat and ash, eyes burning brightly and focused on her. She knew she smelled like a campfire and wondered what she must look like. Mascara streaming down her face. Smudges of ash on her cheeks. Then she looked back at the cook, bandaged and hurting in the ambulance. Was she really that shallow?
“So, you’re the hero of the day, huh?” He stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, face stern.
“She was so brave! I can’t believe it,” Angela gushed, but Valerie had the distinct feeling she was being scolded.
“Why would you do that? Risk your life like that? You should have gotten out right away and called it in. Instead, you stayed back in that death trap and were the last one out?”
Anger boiled as he berated her.
“That was dangerous, Valerie. You shouldn’t take chances like that.”
She removed the oxygen mask and looked at him squarely. The muscles in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. “I did what I thought was right. How dare you scold me like a child. People could have died. You should be mad at the kitchen staff, or the owner of the bar for not having working smoke detectors.”
Donovan’s eyes softened at her words, and she was pretty sure the tremor in her voice helped, too. He moved to sit next to her on the back of the ambulance.
“Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. I just . . . the idea of you getting hurt . . .” He swiped a hand through his dark hair.
“Yeah well, I’m fine.” She found a grin had spread across her face at his words and struggled to look stern.
“That’s right, you are.” He waggled his eyebrows and stood.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“Maybe we should schedule your next dramatic rescue?”
“Go away.” Her lips rose in another traitorous grin.
“I’ll see you again soon . . . sweetheart.” He jogged off before she could find something suitable to throw.
“Goddammit!”
She could see his shoulders shaking with laughter as he started loading up the fire engine.
Chapter 4
“The freaking asscrack of dawn. Who in their right mind does yoga this early?” Donovan muttered as he approached the yoga studio on the rainy Saturday morning.
Sully had canceled on him last minute via text message.
The pussy.
He opened the door, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at the serene jingle announcing his presence. The yoga teacher smiled at him from his position at the front of the room.
“Welcome. A firefighter, huh? You must be Sully’s friend. Do you have a mat?” The man gave him the once over and frowned.
Donovan looked down at his shorts, GBFD shirt, and empty hands. “Um, no.”
“We’ve got loaners in the back. Grab one and a block and strap. We’re just about to get started.”
While he laid out his mat in the back, he searched the class for Valerie. Fifteen people were spaced out in front of him and not one of them was her. Disappointment and embarrassment crept in until the door opened one last time, revealing a sleep-tousled and sexy Valerie. She whispered a quick apology and quietly padded back to the spot next to him, unrolling her mat and setting down her water bottle on a corner.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, grinning like an idiot.
Her shoulders stiffened. “Donovan? You do yoga?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” he lied through his teeth. The guys at the station had all done an intense workout program together, but he’d avoided the yoga days like the plague.
