by Loraine, Kim
“I don’t know, Klip. She’s so confusing. First, she hates me, gets in my freaking head, then she wants to use me to sow her oats or some shit like that. Besides, she left her phone at my place and got a text from some other guy setting up a dinner date.”
“Oh, shit. You’re done for, man. I’ll alert the media. Donovan Miller is done.”
He rolled his eyes and chucked a towel at Klipper’s face. “Shut up.”
Before Klipper could goad him any further, a call rang the alarm, causing them both to drop the subject.
The call had been one of their regulars. A memory care home for people with Alzheimer’s and Dementia. Typically, the station responded to one call a week from the place. Patients routinely fell from their beds, chairs, or sometimes just while walking. There were also the calls for cardiac arrest and stroke. Donovan hated those.
As the engine and aid car pulled up in the circular driveway, a nurse met them outside. A grim look on his face said it was already over.
“She’s already gone, guys. Sorry.”
The paramedic crew headed inside to take care of transport while he and Klipper piled back into the truck.
“You gonna see her again?”
He shook his head. “Nah, man. I don’t know.”
“You should. All kidding aside, she’d be good for you. Anyway, you’ve got a good excuse. She’s gonna need her phone back.”
He chewed on his thumbnail as he considered Klipper’s words. There was so much good about her, he was worried just how good she would be for him.
Twenty-four-hour shifts made for an interesting sleep schedule. Historically, firefighters in this small town spent most of their shifts waiting for a fender-bender or a kid to pull the fire alarm at school. It was an unusual occurrence to have to fight large blazes or see eye-searing carnage. But in the three years since probie school, Donovan had been witness to more disturbing calls than most of the seasoned lifers in the house.
The jeep idled as he sat in the parking lot in front of his apartment building. Flashes of John, just before the explosion, kept him tossing and turning all through the night. He finally settled on an early morning swim before he faced the long day ahead. Maybe he’d see Valerie at the pool. Maybe she could drive away the memories of violent explosions and dead friends.
The smell of chlorine hit him before the humid air had time to settle on his skin. Still water sat like glass across the top of the pool. There’d be no one but him making waves at this early hour.
He dove into the cool water, bracing himself as his body worked to acclimate to the chill. The peace he found being underwater was the only solace he’d had as a child. He’d begun swimming at an early age as a way to hide from the violence in his home.
He remembered vividly the crack of his dad’s large hand across his mom’s thin cheek. Every fight ended in some physical action, whether it was a hand across the face or a chokehold until she passed out. The local YMCA had been his sanctuary. When the fights got too intense, he’d call his Aunt Vivian and she’d rush over, scoop him—and later his sisters—into her old Chevy Nova, and take them swimming.
Now, he used the water to clear his mind, to take away the stress of the horrific things he’d seen and would probably see again. As he adjusted to the rhythm of his strokes, the tightness in his chest eased and his mind sharpened, focusing on the tile pattern under the water. He kicked off the pool wall and worked into his favorite stroke, the butterfly. He’d spent most of his adolescence on the swim team and this was his best stroke. His arms powered through the water, bringing him up and back down over and over. He cleared a lap quickly and stood at the end of his lane breathing heavily.
“Looked good out there, hotshot.” It was Valerie’s gentle voice behind him. A shiver ran up his spine as he turned to face her.
“I do what I can, sweetheart.”
She sat on the side of the pool, feet dangling in the water of his lane. He had to fight the urge to run his hand up the smooth skin of her lightly tanned leg.
“Hey, I’m sorry about the other night and running out on you.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. Instead, she focused on the ripples of water her feet were causing.
“No, don’t be. I don’t really know what happened there. It was um . . . surprising.” He grinned, feeling sheepish. “Oh, you left your phone at my place. I was going to meet up with Angie today so she could give it to you.”
“Thanks. I can’t believe I left it.”
“You sure you didn’t just want another excuse to see me?”
She blushed and rolled her eyes at him, then held out her hand. “Friends?”
Friends?
He didn’t want to be friends.
He knew what he wanted.
Her.
He stared her straight in the eyes. “No, not friends.”
She dropped her gaze and her hand, the ghost of a frown forming on her brow.
“I can’t be friends with you, Valerie. Not if every time I see you I want to push you up against a wall and have my way with you.”
“I’m a little confused,” she said, her lips turning down in concentration as if she were trying to work out a riddle. “You want to ravish me, but can’t have a one-night-stand?”
“Exactly, sweetheart. I need to date you. When we finally do this, once won’t be enough.”
“Confident, aren’t you?” She slipped into the water beside him.
“Extremely.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve dated my share of over-confident guys. If we do this, it’s nothing exclusive.”
He grabbed her wrist under the water and pulled her to him. “You won’t want anyone else, sweetheart. I can promise you that. I don’t share.”
He closed the distance between their lips, lust winning out over all else. Her lips were velvety soft just as he’d remembered. She gave a little sigh against his mouth and he had to work hard to remember they were in public. The door to the pool crashed open, bringing with it the sound of a rowdy group of teenagers.
They broke the kiss and separated, her cheeks brightly flushed with either embarrassment or lust. Maybe both?
“Swim team,” he muttered, annoyed at the timing.
She grinned and winked.
“Later, hotshot.”
She ducked under the water and pushed off, darting down the lane to start her laps.
He stood uncomfortably as he waited for the evidence of his arousal to die down before climbing out of the pool.
Chapter 7
The weather was terrible; torrential rain and wind whipped Valerie’s hair in a cyclone around her face as she made her way from work to her car. She needed to be at the hospital thirty minutes ago, but Ingram had kept her working late on yet another project. She’d tried to make herself as presentable as possible in the car, but with limited resources, all she could take care of was the mess of her hair.
The heels of her shoes clicked noisily on the tile floor as she approached her brother’s room. Soft singing and the sound of a guitar floated from the open door. She recognized Angela’s sweet voice, singing Asher one of his favorite songs, but a rich baritone she wasn’t familiar with joined in. As she turned the corner, she expected to see Garrett, Angela’s drummer and songwriting partner, sitting in the room. Instead, she halted at the sight of Donovan, guitar in hand.
He slowly took in her disheveled appearance. “What happened?” His sharp gaze pierced through her defensive layers, causing her to steel herself against him.
“Wind, rain, take your pick.” She focused on the clock hanging over his head, humiliated.
“Are you all right?”
“Yep, fine. What are you doing here?”
“I visit the kids a couple times a month. You know, sing some songs, give out stickers.
Cheer them up a bit.”
She smiled at her little brother, busy coloring a picture and oblivious to the world.
“Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Yep, sweetheart. Just wait and see.”
Angela sat on the side of Asher’s bed, a badly disguised smirk on her face. “You two want to take this out in the hall? You’re making me sick over here.”
“Shut up.” Heat flooded Valerie’s cheeks at her sister’s blatant insinuation.
“I mean, we’re only in our little brother’s hospital room. Go right ahead and flirt with the hot fireman. I’m sure you’re not scarring Asher for life or anything.”
Valerie turned away from her sister’s teasing and focused on said hot fireman. “I didn’t know you played guitar.”
Donovan’s cheeks turned pink. It was unfair how charming he was. Her heart squeezed at the vulnerable moment. “A little.”
Angela snorted. “A little? D, come on.”
He shrugged. “I enjoy playing for the kids. They like it and don’t tease me if I make a mistake.”
“I don’t tease you,” Angela muttered. “He’s being modest. Donovan is awesome. He was in my band for most of the time you were gone. He can sing, too.”
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Valerie, interest piqued, turned to face him. “Go on, show me what you’ve got, hotshot.”
Angela clapped her hands. “Do the one you wrote, Steal Me. I love that one.”
Valerie sat on the other side of Asher’s bed where he was still happily coloring.
Donovan took a shaky breath, rattled and obviously nervous. He closed his eyes and began to strum. His fingers moved fluidly across the strings and frets, weaving an intricate and beautiful opening. A smile spread across her lips as she listened. She watched his movements, so confident and sure, and felt her heart open just a little.
Then he started singing.
His voice covered her in a blanket of velvety smooth sound. Warm and soft with just a hint of grit to it, his voice took a sledgehammer to the walls she’d put up. Always a sucker for a musician, she sighed and embraced the inevitable.
He continued to sing, eyes closed tightly. The song was heart-rending and tragic. It told the story of a family, torn apart by abuse, and a little boy begging to be stolen away to a safe place. As he strummed the final chord, she choked back a sob and swiped a tear from her cheek, wondering how true to life the lyrics were.
His green eyes opened and focused on her. A soft smile spread his lips at her expression.
“That was beautiful,” she whispered.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He stood and laid his guitar gently in the case. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”
She threw a questioning glance in Angela’s direction.
“I’ll be here.”
The hall was empty and silent, the only sound the faint murmur of nurses chatting at the end of the corridor. He took her by the arm, gently turning her to face him.
“What’d you need to talk about?” she asked.
“Our first date.”
His gaze connected with hers, making her heart thud against her ribcage. “Oh, yeah? When’s that?”
“Tomorrow night?” His hopeful face melted the icy glare she’d prepared for him.
“Hmm, I can’t. I’ve got a work thing.”
“What kind of work thing?”
“It’s a black tie function for the Golden Beach Historical Society. Drinks, dancing, lots of old people donating their money so they don’t have to pay taxes.”
“Sounds fun.”
She checked his face for the slightest indication of insincerity. “You want to be my date?”
“Yep.”
“Do you have a tux? It’s black tie required.”
“I’m covered. Don’t worry.” He gave her a little wink. “What time should I pick you up?”
“Seven, please.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you at seven.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and turned away.
She inhaled, trying to savor his scent, and leaned against the wall.
Angela popped her head out of the doorway. “So much for staying away from him.”
Valerie sighed. “Yep.”
“You look like a drowned rat, by the way.”
“Thanks for that.” She headed back into Asher’s room, trying to wrap her head around the fact that she now had two dates in one week, with two very different men.
“I thought you didn’t want to date him,” Lena called over the roar of the hair dryer she wielded.
Valerie rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to go through this again. Angela had interrogated her over lunch the day before, weirdly protective of Donovan.
“I know, but I think it’s something I need to see through.”
Lena turned off the hair dryer and frowned at her through the mirror. “What do you mean, see through?”
“I . . . well, there’s just something between us. I don’t think it’ll last, but I can’t ignore it.” She twirled a piece of her hair around a finger. “You should’ve seen him with Asher. I think there’s a lot more to him than what people see.”
She nudged Lena away from the mirror so she could apply one final swoop of mascara.
“How do I look?” she asked, doing a little turn so Lena could take in the whole effect.
“Fantastic. It’s perfect.”
Valerie looked down her body at the dress she’d just slipped into. It was silky and hugged her figure with a mermaid cut at the bottom. The one-shoulder, sweetheart neckline flattered her swimmer’s build and she felt amazing. Typically, being petite meant nothing fit, but this dress was a dream.
“God, that color is something else. Who’d have thought looking like a peacock would be so good for you?”
The unique turquoise color and peacock feather embellishment on the bodice accented her aqua eyes and creamy skin. She twirled one last time, enjoying the fluid grace of the fabric as it moved with her.
The doorbell rang as she finished putting the last few items she was taking in her clutch. Lena busied herself in her room, while Valerie opened the door, revealing Donovan. Her heart caught in her throat at the sight of him; clean shaven, hair slicked back and combed. He wore a tux well. The lines of the jacket brought his broad shoulders into sharp relief, while the addition of a bow-tie gave him a surprisingly dashing and debonair appearance.
“What? Did I do my tie wrong?”
Embarrassed by the disappearance of her verbal skills, she shook her head and took his arm. “No, you look . . . different.”
“It’s okay, you can say it. I look hot.”
She laughed with a carefree abandon she’d missed over the last few years. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”
He leaned in and whispered, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His hand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him.
“First date. No kiss until after we see how it goes.”
His pout melted her resolve, but he released her and led the way to his jeep.
The music of a live jazz combo filled the banquet hall of the Princess Anne Hotel as they made their way to the table reserved for her company. Only a select few members of Bidwell AIA were presented with an invitation to this annual event. She was sure she’d only been invited this year in Grace’s absence. Her time in Braley had garnered her a modicum of clout with George Bidwell himself.
She gripped Donovan’s arm tightly at the sight of Ingram, a smirk on his sleazy face as she watched him take in her fitted gown. Suddenly, she felt exposed and uncomfortable, rather than confident and beautiful.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” Donovan quirked an eyebrow.
/> “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“That death grip you’ve got on my arm says otherwise. You all right?”
Ingram chose that moment to slink up to them.
“Valerie, who’s your friend?” He didn’t give her a chance to speak before thrusting his hand toward Donovan. “Tyler Ingram. I’m sure Valerie has told you about me.”
Donovan took the offered hand in a strong grip. “Not really. I’m Donovan Miller.”
“Right, the firefighter. I have to say, I admire what you do. To risk your life for so little in return, that’s something most people wouldn’t do. After all, cash is king these days.”
The dig didn’t go unnoticed, but she said a silent prayer of thanks that Donovan had the grace to let it go.
“Let’s get a drink,” she suggested as Ingram’s smile spread.
“Definitely.” Donovan put his hand on the small of her back, rubbing his thumb in small circles as they excused themselves.
At the bar, she gave him an apologetic look. “He’s an ass.”
“That’s an understatement. You have to work with that snake?”
Despair settled on her shoulders. “He’s my boss.”
“He looks at you like you’re a tasty piece of candy. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.” She shook her head. “He’s mostly harmless, just inappropriate and inconsiderate. Come on, let’s have a drink and then you’re gonna push me around the dance floor.”
“Deal.” He winked, sending tingles fluttering over her.
Glasses in hand, they walked the floor arm in arm, checking out the silent auction and the buffet. The music swirled and rose around them, the swells of a famous Etta James ballad distracting her from her worries.
“Let’s dance,” he whispered against her hair.
