Fearless

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “You’re soft on her because she’s a woman.” Oz found his feet, his eyes flashing cold and flat. “Say what you want about treating her equal. But in the same way you think I’m being too hard on her delicate sensibilities, you ain’t hard enough. Shit, Everett. She damn near cried for her mommy at that highway wreck, but did you light into her? ’Course not. You went easy on her. And from where I sit, that’s goddamn dangerous.”

  Cole’s hands turned to fists, his throat tightening enough to scrape his words. “I told you I’d train her the best I know how. That means I’m not giving her any special treatment, one way or the other, and she and I dealt with her response to that wreck after the fact. Look”—he paused, clinging hard to his last shred of calm despite his slamming pulse—“I get that you two aren’t best friends, but this is on its way to working out just like it’s supposed to. I want my spot on squad, she wants her spot on engine. I’m willing to give her a fair shake to make it happen. The only thing I’m asking is for you to do the same.”

  For a second, Oz looked ready to take his argument to the next level, and damn it, this was so not how Cole had intended the conversation to go.

  But then the lieutenant took a step back. “Guess if that’s the way you feel about it, I don’t really have a choice, now do I?”

  Cole released half of the breath he’d been gripping in his lungs. “I’m not saying she should have a double standard, Oz. But I do think she could be a damned good firefighter.”

  “You just keep tellin’ yourself that,” Oz said, keeping his icy stare fastened to Cole’s for a minute longer before turning to walk toward the locker room.

  “Awesome,” Cole muttered under his breath even though the engine bay was now empty. “Good talk, Lieutenant.”

  Jamming a hand through his hair, he set his sights on the door back into the house. Rachel and O’Keefe had agreed to run through some trauma responses with him and Savannah this morning, and he wasn’t about to let a craptastic morning make him pull up on work. They hadn’t been called to another nasty trauma since that car wreck that had rattled Savannah, and it was only a matter of time before statistics did their thing.

  You’re soft on her because she’s a woman . . .

  Cole stopped short. He and Savannah might’ve been a little rough out of the gate, and even now, she still had her feisty moments that drove him bat shit crazy. But he couldn’t deny finding her dedication admirable, or her determination appealing.

  Or wanting her now more than ever, despite knowing that desire was a bad idea of the worst sort.

  “You’re not soft on her,” he whispered, dismissing the notion outright. So he hadn’t yelled at her when she’d screwed up—big deal. He’d never hollered at Jonesey for past mistakes, either. Recruits got plenty of that at the academy, and while it was mostly for their own good, Cole just had a different approach when it came to laying out the tough stuff.

  And yelling didn’t always get the desired results, anyway. He was living proof of that.

  Cole snuffed out the feelings playing it fast and loose in his gut. He walked into the common room, where Rachel and Donovan and Savannah were all sitting around one of the tables, huddled over a pale blue piece of paper.

  Rachel looked up and sent a high-level frown in his direction, and crap, that was never a good sign. “Everett! I cannot believe you didn’t say one thing to Nelson about the Fireman’s Ball tomorrow night.”

  Oh look. More crap. Although they were few and far between, the department’s formal events always gave him the shakes. “To be fair, apparently neither did any of you guys. Hasn’t that flyer been posted for, like, a month?”

  “Really, it’s fine,” Savannah said at the exact same time Harrison chimed in with a snort.

  “That’s totally beside the point,” the paramedic said, dividing a stern look between the two of them. “We spend all year wearing these totally stodgy uniforms and eating whatever meals we can in between that all-call going off.”

  O’Keefe chimed in from his spot on the couch. “Oh, you’re just in a pissy mood because you got barfed on at our last call.”

  “That is exactly my point,” Rachel shot back, stabbing a finger into the air to punctuate her words. “The Fairview Hotel is one of the most upscale places in the entire city, and the FFD is going all out for this year’s ball. It’s our one night to get dressed up and have some serious fun together. And by the way, O’Keefe, you are taking our next three drunk and disorderlies. I’ve earned watching you get puked on for a change.”

  “You know, I’m not really sure my dress uniform counts as getting fancy,” Savannah started, but Rachel was dialed all the way up to her pit bull setting.

  “Lucky for you, the Fireman’s Ball is uniform free. Formal attire for all.”

  Savannah’s pretty face blanched. “I don’t even have a dress that would—”

  “I’ll loan you one,” Rachel said, refusing to be swayed. “Either that, or Zoe will. Right, Donovan?”

  “Dude, you got puked on before I’d had my morning coffee. I know better than to fuck with you,” Alex said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Sure.”

  Rachel swung her stare in Cole’s direction, and he resisted the urge to flinch. “You’re going, too, right?”

  “Um . . .” He could barely resist Savannah in her jeans and turnout gear. Put her in the right dress and his restraint would be hosed. “I don’t think—”

  “Fantastic,” Rachel finished, breaking into a smile that would make the Cheshire cat explode with jealousy.

  “Then we’ll all be one big, happy, dressed-up family.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Savannah straightened against the driver’s seat of her Escape, wishing the car’s moniker could morph into reality. Even after the forty-five minutes Rachel and Alex’s girlfriend Zoe had spent helping her choose a dress, then using half a roll of double-sided fashion tape to get the straps of the bra she barely needed anyway hidden in the halter-style top of said dress (who even knew there was such a thing!), Savannah still felt completely self-conscious. Hiding things like her bra straps was so not in her wheelhouse—not that full-length formal dresses fell in her comfort zone either. She didn’t even want to get started on the three-inch heels Rachel had told her went “perfectly” with the dark green gown Zoe had plucked from her closet as a loaner. Or the fact that Cole was going to see her in this getup and probably think she was the world’s worst imposter.

  God, she’d bet he looked incredible in a suit. Out of one? Even better.

  Her body pulsed to life beneath the swishy column of fabric draped from shoulder to ankle. Three weeks’ worth of work and training had done way more than prepare Savannah to be a firefighter. The adrenaline in her system had gone from a slow build to a steady demand, to the point where if she didn’t blow off at least some of this steam, she’d be in danger of spontaneous human combustion.

  And with each passing minute she spent in his presence, resisting the urge to combust with Cole Everett was becoming more and more difficult.

  Savannah blinked, forcing herself off Fantasy Island. All she had to do was fake her way through this party for one hour, and then she could reasonably slip back home for a double date with her sweatpants and a pint of good old Häagen-Dazs.

  And if the ice cream didn’t cool her off, she could always invite her vibrator and make it a threesome.

  “Oh my God, knock it off.” Savannah pressed her lips together, still unused to the feel of the shimmery bronze lipstick Zoe had put on her. She reached up to adjust her ponytail, her hands halting halfway when she remembered that Rachel had done some sort of updo-type thing that had required more patience and bobby pins than Savannah owned, and screw it. Even though a few strands had broken free to brush her shoulders in defiance, this was as good as it was going to get.

  Curling her toes in the shoes-slash-torture devices Rachel had insisted she wear, she took a deep breath and opened her car door. Her heels clacked awkwardly over t
he cement in the Fairview Hotel’s parking garage, but she managed to make it all the way to the bank of elevators without stumbling.

  Right up until she saw the brushed silver doors starting to glide shut from fifteen paces away.

  “Oh, wait! Hold the elevator,” she called out, both her feet and her equilibrium reminding her in no uncertain terms that running went with heels about as well as a brushfire went with kerosene.

  But then Savannah reached the door, and her world shifted on its axis for an entirely different reason.

  Cole stood to one side of the elevator, his finger still in place over the softly lit button to hold the door. His stylish dark gray suit was a flawless fit, outlining his lean muscles just enough to rattle her heart in her rib cage and make her imagination work triple-time. His normally tousled hair had been combed into submission, the strong line of his jaw smooth from a fresh shave, and he looked so ridiculously handsome that Savannah’s face flushed to scalding at the sight of him.

  “Hey,” he said, his green eyes going wide as they took a slow trip down the length of her dress and back up again. “You look—”

  She lifted a hand to interrupt. “You don’t have to say anything just because we’re all dressed up. Really, I—”

  “Gorgeous,” Cole finished. “Savannah, you’re gorgeous.”

  “Oh.” The word collapsed past her lips on a whisper, and oh God, she wanted him so badly she could cry. “Well, you look, ah, nice, too.”

  He blinked, pulling his finger off the elevator button with a start. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he said over a tiny puff of laughter, his face coloring slightly. “That probably came out sounding really inappropriate.”

  But the flash in his eyes lingered, matching the heat she felt as he looked at her, and all at once, Savannah was done fighting the desire rushing through her veins.

  She turned toward the elevator’s control panel, hitting the button to stop the movement of the car. “Is that how you meant it?”

  “Savannah.” Cole split her name between a warning and a plea. “Are you sure you want me to answer that question?”

  One step had her close enough to touch him, although she stopped just shy of contact. She’d make her willingness clear, but if they were going to do this, the want had to be a two-way street.

  Savannah tilted her head, keeping her gaze steady. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t, but I think we both know the score here. You can say no, in which case we’ll go upstairs and walk into this party, business as usual.”

  He leaned forward, close enough to send the heat of his exhale over her skin. “Or?”

  “Or you can say yes, in which case, we’re never going to make it off this elevator.”

  Cole closed the slight space between them, brushing his mouth over hers in a hot, needful kiss. “Yes. Hell yes. You’re so beautiful,” he said, coaxing her lips apart just in time to capture her laugh.

  “I’m not,” Savannah said, darting her tongue out for a quick, impulsive taste. “It’s just the dress.”

  She angled her head to kiss him again, but to her surprise, Cole countered. Wrapping his fingers around the curve of her jaw, he held her steady, pulling back to meet her stare.

  “It’s not the dress, sweetheart. It’s you. Now shut up and let me prove you wrong.”

  He brought his mouth back to hers hard enough to make her lips ache, but Savannah’s bottled-up need refused to stand down. She took everything Cole gave only to return it with twice the intensity, sweeping, licking, and teasing until finally, she parted from him on a gasp.

  “Concede defeat?” he asked, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth. He worked the soft skin there, back and forth and back again, just hard enough for the sensation to sting.

  Savannah’s nipples peaked hard against the fabric of her dress, but two could play at that game.

  She nipped his lip hard enough to make him groan, and dark satisfaction trilled through her belly. “Nice try. But it’s going to take more than that to get me to cry uncle.”

  Cole’s mouth tipped into a grin. “Remember, you asked for it.”

  Before she could move, or answer, or hell—even think, he cupped her face with one hand. Slowly, he slid his index finger over the sensitive indent of her upper lip, pausing briefly to trace the outline of her mouth before delivering a punishing kiss.

  “Oh God.” Savannah molded her body to his from shoulders to chest, her heart tripping against her breastbone as she parted her lips to give him better access to her mouth. And Cole took it, testing every part of her with his lips and teeth and tongue before finally pulling back with a ragged breath.

  “We need to get out of here,” he grated. “Right now.”

  “Or”—her hands grasped the lapels on his jacket, the wool sliding under her fingers as she closed the space he’d created—“we could stay here.”

  For a second, Cole’s expression slid from dark and sexy to something a lot softer. “As much as I want you, right here, right now.” He paused to kiss her, the erection pressing against her belly acting as proof positive of his words. “There are no less than two hundred firefighters upstairs, all of whom can and will ‘rescue’ us from this elevator in about four minutes flat if they think it’s stuck. And since I plan to take all night with you . . .”

  He trailed off, the green-gold glint in his stare finishing the sentence without words, and okay, yeah, they needed to go now.

  “Excellent point,” Savannah said. Cole hit the button for the garage level before releasing the hold on the elevator, sending them back into motion with a bump. The descent took only a minute, the doors sliding open to reveal the stone-gray interior of the parking garage, but a familiar voice interrupted their hasty exit.

  “Hey, you guys!” O’Keefe grinned, jerking a thumb toward the elevator bay behind them. “Pretty sure you’re going the wrong way.”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shitty shit! “Um . . .” Savannah sputtered, but Cole stepped in, smooth as butter on warm bread.

  “Yeah, Nelson’s not feeling well. I’m going to help her get home.”

  O’Keefe looked at her, the concern on his face obvious. “You want me to take a look? I can do a quick assessment . . .”

  “Oh, that’s nice of you, but no thanks.” Savannah manufactured a weak smile, pressing a palm to her belly in an effort to play along. “I ate sushi for lunch, and you know how my stomach is.”

  Bingo. O’Keefe took a giant step backward. “Copy that. I’ll tell everyone you’re not feeling well. But if you can’t keep anything down for more than twelve hours or you start running a fever, go to urgent care, all right?”

  “You got it,” she said, waiting until O’Keefe was out of earshot to add, “Well. That just solidified my reputation as a puker.”

  At least Cole had the good grace to put an apologetic edge to his smile. “Sorry. It was all I could think of on the fly.”

  “Ah, it’s worth it.” She pulled her keys from her tiny purse, engaging the mechanism to unlock the car doors before tossing them to Cole. “Do me a favor, would you? Drive fast.”

  Bless his heart, he did. Ten minutes and some extremely loose interpretation of the speed limit had them at the front door to his condo, their feet barely over the threshold before Savannah grabbed him to pull him close. Their mouths crashed together, lips parting without pleasantries, tongues tangling with hot need. The kiss sent sparks all the way to her core, and she dug her hands into Cole’s hair, guiding him out of his suit jacket as she hungrily explored his mouth.

  A groan slipped past his lips. “Come with me.” Cupping her bare shoulders, he swung her around, but after only three paces into the shadowy foyer, he stopped.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  Cole used his grip on her shoulders to turn her halfway around. Moonlight and an ambient glow from the street lamps outside spilled in through the wall of windows in the adjacent living space, illuminating the spot where they stood just enough for Savannah to see the large, wood-
framed mirror in front of her.

  “I’m showing you how beautiful you are,” Cole said, the hard plane of his chest pressing against her back. His gaze met hers in the reflection of the glass, and the dark, seductive promise she found there made her swallow hard.

  “Cole, I—”

  “Shhh.” He hooked an arm around her rib cage from behind her, lifting his hand to dust the pad of one finger over her mouth. Not to be outdone—but not wanting him to let go—Savannah opened her lips, sucking his fingertip into her mouth with a swirl of her tongue.

  He tensed, his breath hot on her neck. Leaving his arm in place around her, he reached down low with his other hand, gathering the green material of her dress until her thighs were exposed.

  Her heart pounded. For a second, she thought to say something—surely she’d made another embarrassing error with her choice of undergarments. But Cole lifted the fabric over her hips, and the look on his face clapped her words to a stop in her throat.

  “Savannah,” he grated. “You’re not wearing anything under here.”

  She closed her eyes. “Rachel said wear a thong, but . . .” Oh fuck it. Her cover was clearly blown. “I’m not girly, okay? I’ve never owned a thong in my life, so I figured this was the next best thing. I didn’t think—”

  Cole’s finger was back in place over her lips in an instant. “It’s sexy as hell.”

  “I . . . what?”

  “You really do need a lesson, don’t you?” His fingers turned to a fist over the pool of fabric in his grasp, and he pulled it all the way up, exposing her bare skin from hips to ankles. Dropping the arm around her torso, he skimmed his hand down the flat of her belly, stopping just shy of her core.

  “Look,” he said. But the word came out reverent, far from a bossy demand, and looking away became impossible. “Look how beautiful you are.”

  He splayed his fingers over her sex to part her thighs. She opened readily, watching as his eyes flicked from her gaze in the reflection to a spot on the wall directly beside the mirror.