Finding Mr. Right Next Door (Firefighters of Station 1)

by Sarah Ballance

  “Are you crazy?” she hissed.

  His smile dripped with false innocence. “For what?”

  Disbelief bloomed wildly in her chest. “Do you really not know? Is this just who you are? Someone who stares people into orgasms?”

  He blinked, his smirk slipping into wonderment. “Do I what now?”

  “You know what I mean.” And because he probably didn’t, and she really didn’t want to explain, she added, “Never mind. This is not the place for this conversation.”

  “Conversation not desired. Noted.” He grinned, that playful, idiotic sexiness that would forever be a reminder of how pliable his mouth was. And then it was on her, soft and warm and teasing. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, mostly out of an urge to clobber him, but that resolve melted the moment he deepened the kiss, his mouth dipping lower, tongue teasing and dancing and sliding against hers, dizzying her to the point that she might have forgotten to kiss him back.

  Because Matt was kissing her. In her old bedroom. How many hours had they spent sprawled in there doing homework or watching movies or just talking? How many times had she glanced over, watched his mouth, wondered how it would feel against her skin? How many nights in that very bed thinking of his hands skating the length of her body, tracing the curves, teasing her core?

  She didn’t know the answer to any of that. She knew only that her imagination sucked, because it didn’t touch reality. And the reality was that he’d slid a hand under her shirt, his palm as rough as his caress was gentle, so lightly grazing her skin that she thought she’d explode. She whimpered against his mouth, then gasped when he managed to lift her against his waist, her legs spread around him, the hottest part of her centered against the hardest part of him. Every molecule of her body buzzed frantically and, as if he sensed that, he kept to a torturously slow pace. The harder she tried to grind against him, the slower and more deeply he moved. Her head spun to the point that she didn’t realize she was on her old bed until the shock of the cool bedding hit her back and Matt’s flattened hand slid against her upper thigh. She squirmed against him, so wound up that all she wanted was hard, fast relief, and yet there he was, turning slow and sensual into cruel and inhumane.

  She managed, despite his cargo shorts, to close her hand on his erection. He hissed, swore, and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, the two of them trading dizzying breaths, and in that moment Lexi heard her name being called from somewhere in the house.

  “Oh, no.” He didn’t protest when she pushed him off, rolling him to the side. She jumped up and made the mistake of looking back, seeing him lying on her old bed, erection straining against his zipper, his heated gaze feeding every orgasm she’d have for decades to come.

  “Lexi—”

  “Gotta get back down there,” she said in a rush. “You can…I’ll cover for you while you…fix that.”

  “I’d rather you fix it,” she heard him say, but she ignored him and fled downstairs. She had no idea if they’d ever be able to fix this mess.

  But the solution, if there was one, wouldn’t come from her staying in that room.

  …

  Matt lay there for a solid minute trying to figure out how to get some blood back to his head. As he did, he glanced around the room, surprised by how familiar it felt. He guessed the decade since he’d been a regular in there hadn’t changed much.

  Even if everything else had.

  He couldn’t believe Lexi had left him…not hanging, but then again, they were in her parents’ house, and at least one of the parents in question had noticed their absence. It clearly hadn’t been his brightest idea, but he hadn’t had an idea at all. He’d been fueled by desire, and not the kind that led to strangers groping in the back of a bar. It was something he’d lived with the last few days, yet it still managed to hit so fast and hard that he didn’t think he could take his next breath unless it quivered straight from her lips.

  At this rate of schmuckiness he’d soon find himself penning sonnets that would torture middle schoolers for centuries to come. They’d be forced in a literature class to offer some great insight, and the one kid who got it right—the one who figured out that Matt clearly just wanted to drag Lexi into his bed and bang her so hard that the headboard ended up in the yard—would probably get detention instead of the A he deserved.

  Some things were just destined to suck.

  Frustrated, maybe defeated, he stood and did his best to adjust himself so he wouldn’t inadvertently take out a doorframe on his way back downstairs.

  Lexi’s mom looked up when he let himself on the deck. “Oh, Matt, are you okay now, honey?” She walked over to him, her gaze snagging on his shirt. He glanced down just as she started to smooth the fabric where Lexi had fisted it nearly into a knot.

  He really hoped he wouldn’t have to explain that.

  “I’m fine,” he said, a bit perplexed.

  “Lexi just told us you weren’t feeling well.” She felt his head and he groaned inwardly. “I think you’re hot.”

  Deliriously, he thought. For your daughter. Wisely, he kept the thoughts to himself. Instead, he busied himself by stealing looks at Lexi whenever her parents more or less had their backs turned, then tolerated the hot tea with honey and lemon he was served with his steak because he wasn’t about to argue with the closest thing he had in memory to a mother.

  Lexi, meanwhile, had flipped a switch, having apparently decided that tormenting him would be far more entertaining than wallowing in whatever she thought about what had happened upstairs. The worst part was that her antics—lip biting, back arching, breast jutting—all slipped in when her parents weren’t looking were so un-Lexi-like that he couldn’t take her seriously, but it still sent every blood cell he could spare, and remain upright, rushing to his pants.

  Her parents asked about Lexi’s kitchen fire, and Matt couldn’t manage to take a single jab. Maybe he was sick. He half listened as her dad talked about contractors and paperwork and how maybe he should check things out, the conversation not entirely grabbing Matt’s attention until he heard Lexi assure them that Matt was on top of absolutely everything. He could only assume—or at least assume they assumed—she meant the work on her kitchen, but he knew better, and he knew she knew better, so he sat there thinking about actually being on top of her. It was a disaster, with only a clear-topped patio table between him and raging embarrassment.

  He declined dessert, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about Lexi wearing it. And she made sure of that, turning her spoon every which way after each bite to lick off the smallest specks of chocolate mousse and whipped cream, only to dip the spoon back in and start all over again.

  He’d never in his life been so happy to leave that house.

  At least until he remembered he wouldn’t be leaving alone. He’d offered to leave his Jeep with Lexi’s dad for a couple of days so he could transport bags of mulch across their heavily landscaped property. It made a good excuse to drive separately—something far better than sorry, but Lexi and I are having an awkward moment after some awesome sex—but he hadn’t exactly thought it through, because now they stood on the driveway, Lexi giving him some wicked side-eye about getting into her car.

  She pointed. “Passenger seat.”

  Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have pushed his luck by trying to drive, but he wasn’t the best shotgun in the world. He wasn’t sure anyone could be with Lexi in the driver’s seat, but that was another opinion he wisely kept to himself. Most of the time.

  “Lexi, I can drive.”

  “You’re sick, remember? I don’t want you breathing on my steering wheel.”

  He glanced toward the house, where her parents stood like they were in one of those auto insurance commercials where the kid drove off to college, with her dad’s hands resting on her mom’s shoulders and her mom giving a little wave, and he groaned. “Fine.”

  He climbed in th
e passenger seat, moved it as far back as it would go, and made very sure his seat belt was fastened. The vigor at which he tackled that last part earned him a glare.

  He waited until they were out of sight of the house to speak. “Was that really necessary?”

  She sent an innocent glance his way. “Which part? You groping me in my bedroom?”

  “No. You telling your mother I was about to keel over.” And licking the spoon like it had a Tootsie Roll center, but he left out that part.

  Her hands tensed on the wheel. “From where I stood, I’d say that was accurate. Besides, that serves you right for kissing me.”

  He didn’t answer. They fell into a stiff silence that ended ten minutes later when she asked how his date had gone.

  “Which one?” he asked. He stared past her, at the landscape whipping by at highway speeds. Nothing about the view had changed.

  But everything had.

  “Too many to count?” she asked.

  “No,” he said evenly. “I just need you to pick one.” When was the last time he’d even thought about another woman? He’d kind of forgotten they existed.

  “Okay,” she retorted in the same measured tone. “What about that nurse, Camille? Weren’t you supposed to go to a concert or something?”

  “It wasn’t a date. And besides, I canceled.”

  That earned him a long look that he sorely wished had been directed at the highway in front of them. “Why?”

  “She’s not the one for me.” It hadn’t been a date to begin with. He’d been given the tickets but hadn’t particularly wanted to attend. She’d mentioned loving the band. He offered them to her. Case closed. But he’d said something terribly wrong, because Lexi had turned almost as pale as the white line she was dangerously close to straddling.

  “Do you want me to drive?” he asked, grabbing the overhead handle and hanging on for dear life.

  “Since when are you looking for the one?” Lexi asked, her voice shaky. She straightened the car in the lane, but otherwise chose to ignore his question. “I thought you were more of a love ’em and leave ’em type.”

  He looked away, less in the mood for the conversation than when she’d started it, and that was saying something. “Yeah, well, things change,” he mumbled, half hoping she hadn’t heard. He didn’t think he could field any questions about what he was looking for. The truth was, he wasn’t looking. He’d found her.

  The problem was, he couldn’t keep her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lexi had the pleasure of going in to work early the next morning, since Matt was on shift and her dad still had his Jeep. She didn’t argue when he took the keys and helped himself to the driver seat. She was too distracted by his words from the previous day. Things change. He hadn’t so much addressed her as he’d grumbled to himself, and she’d alternated ever since between wondering if he knew he’d spoken aloud and whether he meant the words at all. She didn’t see much room for interpretation, but she didn’t believe that anything could have changed that fast. Not when it came to something so monumental. You got only one rest of your life.

  Increasingly, she wondered if she’d spend hers alone.

  The ride to the station was short, and they managed it without speaking a single word. So they were weird and tense, and now she got to walk into a den of firemen who spent enough time with Matt to either realize he had his mind on something or know he was only pretending not to.

  She desperately wished Caitlin wasn’t in Las Vegas.

  Either that, or that she’d had the good sense to hop on the plane when invited. The timing would have been impeccable, if only she’d realized months ago when Caitlin had booked her tickets that Lexi was going to burn down her own house and blow up things with Matt.

  He put the car in park, and she was all about throwing open her door and making an escape, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “Lexi—”

  She looked at him, not because it felt like a good idea, but because the electricity was alive and well. It wasn’t fair, really, that he could touch her in the most innocent of ways and leave her dizzy like this. Maybe she needed to see a doctor.

  Definitely not an EMT.

  She regarded the way he’d touched the tips of her hair that fell loosely forward, and she was so tempted to take his hand, lace his fingers one by one with hers, and ask him what they were doing. But she wasn’t sure she’d like the answer. Matt wasn’t one to shy away from asking for what he wanted.

  He couldn’t have wanted her—at least not beyond the sex, though maybe he didn’t find that as phenomenal as she did—or he’d have said so.

  Which left her…nowhere.

  Except the absolute focus of his attention was somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth, the realization of which made flames lick dangerously low in her belly.

  She pulled away and threw open the door. “I, um, I’m going to be late.”

  “You don’t have to be here for two more hours,” he called after her, but she ignored him. Seconds later she heard a low curse, followed by the opening and slamming of his door.

  They walked into the station together, her making every defensive move in her playbook to keep from meeting his eyes. The guys from the previous shift were just clearing out, and she was grateful for the chaos, however temporary the reprieve.

  Because not ten minutes later, Shane was calling her in for breakfast. She took her sweet time going into the kitchen, only to find that she’d either need to sit next to Matt or on someone’s lap. The latter option wouldn’t keep the questions from flying, so she dropped into the chair and helped herself to five of the approximately eighty pancakes stacked in the center of the table.

  Three bites in, she realized that Matt’s leg rested almost entirely along hers. She shot him a sideways look only to find him ignoring her a bit too neatly for her to believe the contact wasn’t intentional. Instead, he was laughing at something Jack had said, like that very leg hadn’t been clenched around his back while he…how could he not feel this?

  And why hadn’t she waited in the car to hear what he had to say?

  She tried to nudge his leg away, but he didn’t move.

  Huffing out a breath, she grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate and popped it into her mouth—not that he noticed with how steadily he was ignoring her. Seriously, what was with him? Was he trying to get under her skin?

  Scowling, she reached under the table and poked him in the leg.

  No response.

  Her blood heated. The way she saw it, Lexi had two options: make a scene in front of the guys, or teach him a lesson.

  Really. Was there even a choice?

  When she was sure no one was paying attention, she rested her hand on Matt’s thigh. He tensed at the initial contact but still didn’t spare her a glance.

  She pursed her lips. Hmm. A more aggressive approach, maybe.

  Stealthily, she trailed her fingers down to his knee, then took her sweet time working her way back up, curling her fingertips slightly, turning the rhetorical jab into a caress. Halfway between his knee and his hip, when she grazed a known tickle spot on his inner thigh, he stopped chewing.

  She smothered a laugh. Digging in right there was tempting, but there were better ways to get under his skin.

  Like a shift north.

  She moved slowly, trying not to draw attention, but she really needn’t have worried. The conversation continued without either of them. Matt’s jaw was clamped shut, the muscle ticking, signaling his frustration.

  You started it.

  He shifted in his seat, she supposed, to ease his discomfort…and played right into her hand. Literally.

  She palmed him through his pants and had to fight laughter when he swallowed, hard. He was tense, every muscle as hard as a rock. She couldn’t believe no one had noticed, but they hadn’t, so she incr
eased her grip, stroking him slowly, lightly squeezing the tip.

  He smacked the table with both hands at once, causing everyone else to jump. “Jesus Christ, Lexi!”

  His voice was so sharp and short that Diego froze mid-snicker.

  “I sense some…tension,” Jack ventured after a long silence.

  “Everything is fine,” Matt said tersely.

  “Well, that’s good,” Shane said, “because if you two ever decide you’re calling it quits on that, what, twenty-five-year-old marriage of yours, things would get pretty weird around here.”

  “One of you would have to switch stations,” Jack said.

  “Dibs,” Matt said immediately, a scowl twisting his face, and Lexi wasn’t sure he was kidding.

  “Just kiss and make up and get it over with,” Shane said. He stood, grabbed the plate of bacon off the stove, and dropped it with a—pointed, Lexi suspected—clatter on the table. “No one needs to deal with this kind of energy on shift.”

  If Matt had glanced her way Shane mentioned kissing, Lexi probably would have dissolved in her seat. Instead, he seemed to actively avoid looking at her, and she wondered if his intent was to make her crazy or keep himself sane.

  Either way, she didn’t need to sit next to him for it.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She pushed back from the table. “Thanks for breakfast, guys. I’m going to get to work.”

  “Aren’t you off the clock for another hour?” Diego asked.

  “At least. See you.” She pushed in her chair, gave the plate a quick rinse, and put it to the side for the next run of the dishwasher. Then she headed to the garage. Her job entailed checking all the turnout gear to ensure it was clean and in good repair and following up on any reports of damage or needed upgrades. Today, she had a list.

  She had opened the first cabinet and taken a step back before she realized Matt had followed her. “We need to talk,” he said.