Under Fire

by Jamie Denton

  She let out a weighty sigh, then sat on the edge of the guest chair. “It’s only a disaster if we keep seeing each other.”

  She couldn’t possibly be serious, could she?

  “At least, as long as I’m conducting my investigation,” she continued, “our involvement will remain strictly professional.”

  The firmness in her voice told him she was dead serious, disappointing him. Since leaving her apartment, he’d been hovering near obsession anticipating the next time they’d be together.

  He didn’t fault her for her dedication to her career. On that level, he did understand her hesitation to hand the case over to another investigator. Obviously, Ben wasn’t thinking with the head above his shoulders because he couldn’t understand the ease with which she ignored the attraction and chemistry that sizzled between them. Was the woman blind?

  He let out a harsh breath. He’d just have to make her see the problem. If she refused to reassign the case, then she left him with no choice but to show her the reality of her flawed reasoning. Stooping to drastic measures in order to clear her cloudy vision suddenly made perfect sense to him.

  He snagged her hand and urged her out of the chair and into his arms. “It’ll never work,” he said with renewed confidence.

  Wariness filled her gaze, but she didn’t resist him. “Yes, it will.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  Good.

  Her strictly professional argument crumbled like dust the instant he dipped his head to nuzzle her ear. She trembled, then gave a soft, gentle moan and a need-drenched whisper of his name.

  “Shhh.” He took her earlobe lightly between his teeth. “There’s nothing professional about the way you make me feel, Jana,” he whispered. “Or the way your body responds to mine.”

  Before she had the chance to argue with him, he slid his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply. She issued another sexy little moan and wrapped her arms around his neck. Victory never tasted sweeter.

  Her slender body brushed enticingly against his, sending a flaming ball of heat south, hardening him, filling him with gut-clawing need. He kissed his way back to nuzzle the side of her neck, breathing in more of her intoxicating, exotic scent. “Definitely not professional,” he whispered against her satiny skin.

  She clung to him and tipped her head to the side. He pressed his tongue against the rapid pulse beating at the side of her throat.

  She let out a sigh. “Couldn’t this be construed as sexual harassment?”

  He pulled back, encouraged by the desire darkening the color of her eyes. “Nope,” he answered with a slow shake of his head. “You kissed me back.”

  He sensed her reluctance as she moved out of his embrace. He wanted her close. He wanted her naked and beneath him, crying his name as wave after wave of passion rocked her world. Something he planned to remedy as soon as humanly possible.

  “I admit it. Working together won’t be easy,” she said. “But you have to understand that my job comes first.”

  Jana had a knack for saying the magic words, and just his luck, she reached past his arguments and grabbed hold of his professional jugular. The job always came first, no matter what. He had to respect that—to a point.

  “I won’t reassign the case,” she continued. “Business and pleasure can’t mix, that much is obvious. Once I file my report, we’ll see what happens. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” he said, not exactly truthful. He agreed that business and pleasure shouldn’t co-exist, especially in their case, but no way was he going to wait until she concluded the investigation to have her in his bed. In fact, he arrogantly believed once he proved his point—that business was nowhere near as gratifying as their mutual pleasure—she’d wing the case file off to another investigator pronto.

  His smile widened into a grin at the thought of all the tantalizing possibilities and pleasures ahead. “Yeah,” he said, slowly. “We will see what happens.”

  BY THE TIME Jana walked into her apartment at the end of the day, she was physically and emotionally exhausted. She put her briefcase and purse away in the coat closet as she did every night, then marched straight to the bathroom for a hot shower.

  She needed to relax, wash away the stress caused by a long, arduous day spent interviewing fire department personnel. Toss in the tension making her skin feel so tight and her body incredibly achy for a certain man’s touch, and she was ready to shriek in frustration. Ben had quashed her professional argument when he’d effortlessly stoked a simmering flame into a two-alarm blaze she’d been unable to douse, all with one little nibble on her ear.

  She’d just have to be stronger next time. How to manage that exactly, escaped her.

  Thanks to the minor squabble she and Ben had had in the captain’s office, the squad knew for certain they were involved. To top it off, as she conducted her interviews, she realized that some of the members had even been at the Ivory Turtle on Friday night.

  In the name of self-preservation, she’d opted to skip Ben’s interview until tomorrow. Although she hadn’t seen much of him for the remainder of the day, thanks to that fantasy-inducing kiss and her body’s instant recognition of his, he’d never been far from her thoughts.

  She stripped down, folded her clothes and carefully sorted them into the appropriate laundry hampers, then removed her makeup and took down her hair while the water heated. She hadn’t actually expected the squad to openly share information with an outsider, and they’d hardly disappointed her. Obtaining specific details had been excruciating. The official reports contained more information than she’d been able to glean from the tight-knit group of Station 43.

  “The more tragic the occurrence, the tighter the lips,” she muttered to her reflection.

  With one exception, she thought, stepping beneath the hot, stinging spray of the shower. Arson Investigator Drew Perry, whom she recognized from that night at the Ivory Turtle. She’d been surprised to learn that he was actually Ben’s youngest brother. She’d even discovered another brother, Cale, worked out of Trinity Station as a paramedic, although he hadn’t been on duty today, or at the scene that had taken the life of FF2 Ivan Fitzpatrick.

  According to Drew’s report, two firefighters had entered the residence to save a young mother and her two small children. The family had been rescued and one firefighter had made it out, but Fitzpatrick had been overcome by smoke. By the time he’d radioed for help, the roof of the structure had collapsed and it’d been too late.

  The information Drew gave her hadn’t been much more than she’d read herself, or what other members of the squad had told her. However, there’d been one small exception—RIT, the Rapid Intervention Team of the specially trained firefighters sent into buildings to retrieve emergency personnel in trouble, hadn’t gone in for Fitzpatrick.

  RIT had been summoned, but by the time they’d arrived, scene safety had prevented the team from entering the residence. The prospect of determining why the team hadn’t been called sooner filled her with dread. The responsibility fell under the direction of the incident commander—Ben. A fact which lent strength to her argument of keeping their relationship strictly professional for the moment.

  She turned her back to the spray, but the steaming water was a useless tool against her apprehension. If she determined Ben was at fault, she seriously doubted their chance of a future relationship.

  No. She wouldn’t think about that. Her job was to assess and analyze the situation, determine if the cause of the fatality was an accident or human error, then provide the fire department with her recommendations in hopes of avoiding a similar tragedy in the future. Her feelings for Ben could not, would not, interfere. She would maintain her objectivity, provided she learned to ignore all those delicious cravings he kept stirring up inside her.

  After washing her hair, she left the shower and dried off before slipping into her fluffy chenille robe. She didn’t bother to dress since she planned nothing more taxing than a bowl of anything she could heat in the micro. Since she wouldn’t
be seeing Ben tonight, her evening entertainment would consist of the nightly news and whatever reality show happened to be scheduled, before she slipped into the warmth of her new set of flannel sheets.

  Alone, her conscience taunted.

  She picked up the remote control from the shelf where she always left it, and surfed to her favorite news channel. The soothing tones of the anchor’s voice filled her small apartment with talk of global unrest and the state of the economy. She considered slipping a romantic comedy into the DVD player, but the doom and gloom suited her mood at the moment.

  She wandered into the compact kitchen for something cold to drink. Tugging open the fridge, she leaned against the door and peered inside until she decided on a glass of juice.

  Tomorrow didn’t look as if it’d be any less stressful, either, she thought with a weighty sigh. Ben would be visiting the incident scene with her, which translated to her spending a good portion of her day in his company. Alone. An unnerving, yet exciting, prospect.

  As she reached into the overhead cabinet for a can of soup, the doorbell chimed. Her fingers tightened around the can. She might live in a secure building, but that didn’t necessarily mean a nonresident couldn’t be granted access. Something a man as determined as Ben could easily manage.

  Tiny pinpricks of excitement coated her skin. She was being ridiculous. It was not him. They’d agreed not to see each other. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man to go back on his word.

  The bell chimed a second time. With a sigh, she set the soup on the counter and glanced at the wall clock above the small dining table in the eating area. A few minutes before seven. Chloe and Lauren rarely popped over without calling first. Neither would Jana’s sisters, and especially not her mother. Her father’s secretary would’ve called to schedule an actual appointment.

  She tightened the sash of her robe on the way to the door. She was definitely being ridiculous, she thought. The downstairs neighbor probably wanted to borrow her blender again.

  A quick look through the peephole sent her stomach careening down to her toes like a roller coaster.

  She muttered a soft curse and yanked opened the door. The emotional roller coaster shot off to the left, leaving her momentarily stunned by the all-too-delicious sight of him. He’d changed out of his uniform into a pair of dark denim jeans and a white oxford shirt with pencil-thin, pale blue stripes she’d wager matched his eyes. His slightly damp thick, black hair curled at the ends. The half smile turning up one corner of his mouth made him look scrumptious, and impossible for her to resist.

  She planted one hand on the doorjamb and the other on the door in an intentionally unwelcome gesture and frowned. “Why are you here?”

  The scoundrel’s sexy smile widened. “We had a date, remember?”

  “We agreed not to see each other,” she reminded him.

  “There’s no harm in having dinner together.” He held a large brown paper bag in one arm.

  Her fingers tightened around the door frame. “We shouldn’t.” Not we can’t, or no, I won’t. Shouldn’t. Total wimp response.

  He inched closer, and she breathed in his rich scent. Male, a little spicy and a whole lot…Italian? Her tummy grumbled. The cad was bribing her with food.

  “We really shouldn’t.” Definitely a lack of the appropriate level of conviction to send him on his way.

  “What if we both promise not to mention the investigation?”

  She bit her bottom lip, completely tempted.

  “You need to eat,” he coaxed, using that deep, seductive tone she adored. And so very close to the one he used when they made love. “There’s nothing wrong with two people sharing a meal.”

  Or a bed?

  She didn’t say it, but the unspoken words still hung between them, part threat, part promise.

  Well, she was hungry. On both counts. Minestrone and grape juice hardly qualified as a decent meal. Snuggling with Ben between the sheets scarcely met the definition of professionalism, but he had brought food. Italian food, too. Her absolute favorite. A faltering willpower overruled any thoughts of objectivity.

  Quick! Shut the door and order a pizza before it’s too late!

  She shoved her better judgment out the door and hoped it tumbled down the stairs. “Just dinner.” She stepped back to motion him inside her apartment. “One word about the investigation,” she warned, “and you’re outta here.”

  One word about pleasure, and she’d be out of her mind with desire. An acute condition with no cure.

  Well, there was one cure. A pleasurable, addicting cure, twice as dangerous as the ailment.

  8

  BEN FOLLOWED Jana into the small efficiency kitchen, his gaze traveling from the curve of her waist to the enticing sway of her bottom beneath a thick, fuzzy robe. He had no idea what, if anything, she wore beneath, but he intended to enjoy fully every nanosecond of discovery. Later.

  “I wasn’t sure I could convince you.” He set the bag on the small counter space. “I’d hoped food in hand would do the trick.”

  “Smart man.” Her eyes brightened as she eagerly peered into the bag and inhaled deeply. “Oh God, that smells incredible.”

  Incredible summed up the view of her breasts as she leaned forward to breathe in the tempting aroma of stuffed shells with marinara sauce and fresh-baked crusty bread tucked inside the bag. A bottle of spumante and an antipasto salad completed the meal he’d ordered earlier in the day.

  He was a man with a plan, armed with ammunition. After a night of intense seduction to show her what she’d be missing if she didn’t reassign the investigation, he was confident OSHA would be sending a new rep to the firehouse in her place—provided Ben kept his control tightly in check. Considering how much he wanted her already, his plan had every chance of backfiring.

  The warmth of her smile made him feel just a tad guilty. Based on her reaction to their lovemaking Friday night, she just might do him physical harm if he left her in a state of physical arousal.

  “You,” she said, her voice infused with laughter, “do not play fair.”

  The urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her stupid shook him. With monumental effort, he tamped the need—for the time being. “What’s so unfair about dinner?” To keep from hauling her against him, he transferred the food and wine from the bag to the counter.

  She went to the cabinet for dishes. “Care to explain this uncanny knack you seem to have for knowing what I need, exactly when I need it?”

  Ideas about what she needed, and just how he hoped to deliver, tempted him beyond his wildest fantasies. Not yet, he reminded himself. In about forty minutes sounded good to him. Provided he lasted that long. “You needed Italian food?”

  She handed him a pair of salad tongs and two bowls. “Not exactly, but the wine is welcome.”

  He concentrated on tossing the salad. “Rough day?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. From his conversations throughout the day with the crew, they hadn’t exactly been cooperative. Ben’s influence over his men was limited, and while he understood OSHA needing to start their investigation quickly, most OSHA reps failed to recognize how raw the emotions were or how deep the unhealed wounds still ran. It’d take time for the guys to be able to talk openly about the incident. Unloading during the stress debriefings the department scheduled did help them learn to cope, but those meetings were a safe haven, a place for the guys to vent and come to terms with the horrors they experienced on the job. They saw OSHA as the enemy, where a misspoken word could easily be misinterpreted. Accepting the loss of a fallen member of the team was in a different league from opening up to someone looking to assign blame.

  She let out a sigh. “Let’s just say I could stand to relax a little. Changing the subject would help, too.”

  A glass or two of wine ran a sorry second to the relaxation method he preferred. He let out a rough sigh, reining in the lascivious images.

  With her arms laden with plates, silverware and linen napkins with matching place
mats, she handed him a can of soup on her way to the table.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” he asked, holding up the can.

  “Right there.” She pointed to the overhead cabinet in front of him.

  He opened the cabinet and stared. Canned fruit and vegetables lined the bottom shelf, spaced evenly apart, fruit on the right, veggies on the left. Above on the second shelf sat perfectly arranged and stacked rows of soup cans. The top shelf housed all the odd-shaped cans, placed in order by size. He turned his attention to Jana. She set the table, carefully adjusting the silverware a precise distance from the plates, making sure the bottom edges were in exact alignment.

  She must’ve sensed his gaze, because she glanced over her shoulder. She frowned, her expression quizzical. “Just put it on top of the other can of minestrone,” she said. “Between the hearty chicken and New England clam chowder.”

  He placed the can where she’d instructed, then closed the cabinet door. “You’re anal,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from of his voice.

  She rolled her eyes and went back to straightening the already perfectly set table. “Organization is not a crime.”

  “You alphabetize your canned goods.” His laughter erupted. “That’s not organized, babe, that’s obsessive.”

  She shrugged her slim shoulders, but still wouldn’t look at him. A tentative smile curved the mouth he couldn’t wait to taste again. The slight blush coloring her cheeks made her look so adorable he doubted his ability to remain in hands-off mode for much longer.

  While she finished with the table, he popped open the spumante. “Glasses?” he asked.

  She pulled out a chair and sat, then unfolded a napkin to set in her lap. “Top cabinet, left of the sink.”

  Unlike his own mismatched dishes of unknown origin, plastic convenience-store tumblers and some old coffee mugs, her dishes and glassware were perfectly coordinated and impeccably stored by size and function, in evenly spaced rows and columns. He’d never dreamed a die-hard perfectionist lurked inside such a wild, uninhibited lover.