Then Mitch had been killed and it was as though everything had frozen up inside of her. She couldn’t let anybody in, not Candy, not Greg, not anyone—not that anyone else was left. As the months had worn on, Greg had been first understanding, then impatient, then frustrated.
Then gone.
Because she’d never been able to tell him the truth, the fear, the lesson she’d learned over and over since she’d been a child—that everybody she loved, she lost.
After that, men hadn’t mattered a whole lot. She’d been too preoccupied in grad school with building the Orienteer and finding a home for it. What physical needs she had, she could gratify herself. Then again, she’d never understood what physical needs really were until Nick Trask had come along.
With an impatient noise, Sloane got out of the car. All right, so five years of celibacy was enough to make any person a little itchy. There was nothing magical about Nick. He was just a man, she reminded herself, trying to ignore the little taunting voice in her head. The best thing to do was keep her distance.
The only problem was that she hadn’t a clue how.
Popping the trunk, she reached in for a small plastic bin. They were taking the tests live, which meant the end was in sight. It had helped that Nick had skipped the testing session the previous week, called away as an emergency substitution for an absent officer at another company. She’d have suffered torture before admitting she’d felt even the tiniest hint of disappointment.
All that was left to do now was drop off the units for the live tests, supervise the fire incidents and log the data. She’d found herself more than a little tempted to drop the gear off during the day, before Nick and the rest of his crew arrived for their scheduled night shift. It was precisely because she’d been tempted that she made herself wait until dusk. She wasn’t about to let the job suffer for her own personal qualms. All she had to do was stop in, drop off the gear and leave. Straightforward and quick, right?
Except Nick would be there and it wouldn’t be straightforward at all. With a growl of frustration, Sloane looped her satchel over her shoulder and picked up the bin. The best thing to do was get it over with.
On the apron in front of the firehouse sat the pumper, its high red sides gleaming. Behind it, the apparatus floor was dark, lit only by lightning-quick flashes that dazzled the eye. Sloane frowned. Craning her neck to see around the vehicle, she skirted it and crossed under the overhead door. Cobwebs dangling from the door traced over her cheek. Unable to repress a shudder, she wiped at her face with her free hand.
And looked ahead at a bizarre scene.
Everything looked strange, disjointed in the flickering light of the strobe. She caught a glimpse of a limp figure in white swinging ominously from the rafters. Across the way, a zombielike form materialized out of the rack of turnouts and helmets and shambled toward her, blood spilling down the front of its shirt. In the stop action of the strobe, it seemed to vault forward in fits and starts. Even as she stared, another form leapt at her from the side, arms and legs waving and what looked like an eyeball dangling down its cheek.
Sloane jumped back reflexively, bumping up against something solid and human behind her. Quick arms came around her. She gave a muffled cry of surprise.
The zombies broke into laughter. “Gotcha,” the one with the dangling eyeball said in O’Hanlan’s voice.
The arms released her and she turned to see Nick. “Happy Halloween.”
Adrenaline surged through her system. “Halloween,” she said blankly. “I forgot all about it.” Just another man? She’d been out of her mind even to think it.
“It’s not Halloween,” O’Hanlan said with a broad grin. “We had a rescue call, got a little messy.”
Knapp cackled. “O’Hanlan lost his grip on a bag of O-positive. I think it’s a good look for him. Whaddya think?”
Sloane grinned. “I think you’re a bunch of sick puppies is what I think.”
“We figured we’d reverse the trick or treat on the neighborhood kids, see if we can get them to give us candy for a peek inside.”
“Yeah. Did you bring us candy?” O’Hanlan asked, looking with interest at her bin.
“Actually, I brought something better—the gear. It’s time to go live. No more playing around.”
“Hear that, Trask? No more playing around.”
“Yeah,” Nick said slowly. “I did.”
Sloane cleared her throat. “If we could get away from the strobe light, I can hand this over and we’ll be all set.”
“Well, then, let’s take it upstairs.” He looked at the costumed firefighters. “All right guys, you know the rules. Only four kids at a time and Sorensen stays with them. Alarm comes, Red, what do you do?”
“Kids go out, I put on my turnouts in the truck,” Sorensen returned snappily.
Sloane smiled at the probie’s earnestness. “And what about the rest of you guys?” she asked the zombies.
“Hey, we take off the masks, close up our turnout coats, and who’s to know the difference?” O’Hanlan asked.
Sloane grinned. “Let’s just hope you don’t get a medical aid call for a heart attack victim. You show up with that eyeball hanging down your face and they may never recover.”
O’Hanlan batted at the plastic ball until it was swinging. “I kind of like it. I think—”
“Trick or treat,” chorused a group of small voices behind them.
Nick gave a brisk nod. “Okay, guys, go to it but remember the rules. Sloane and I need to talk about what comes next.” He took the bin from her. “My office?”
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Sure.”
“So.” Nick kicked the door shut with one foot to shut out the Halloween music from downstairs and set the bin on his desk. “Whatcha got?”
Sloane pulled off the lid. “Five Orienteers, all qualified and calibrated and ready to go.” She set the transmitters out one by one. “The guys already know how to attach the display modules to their masks. I updated the software yesterday and calibrated the hardware. You’re good to go. All you have to do is call me when you get to a fire so I can monitor.”
Nick leaned on the edge of his desk, looking at her until she shifted in discomfort. “Are you aware that yesterday was Sunday?” He watched the color drift into her cheeks and fought the urge to brush his fingertips across them.
“Yes. What of it? Lots of people work on Sunday.” She slapped the lid on the bin with unnecessary force.
“Nothing,” he shrugged, amused at the defensiveness in her tone. “I just thought you might have forgotten that it was the weekend. All work and no play…”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to get a life?”
“Well, work isn’t everything, you know.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
Now he grinned. “My mistake. I thought I remembered us having a civil conversation a few days ago. Or was that just a cease-fire?”
“Détente.” Today, she was in jeans and ankle boots, topped by a suede blazer the color of rust. In her throat, the pulse beat under her translucent redhead’s skin.
Her hair, as always, was twisted up in a chignon, but this time there were little strands hanging loose around her cheeks from where she’d rubbed away the phantom cobwebs as she came into the firehouse. It made him think about what she’d look like in the morning, soft and heavy eyed with sleep.
After they’d spent the night making love.
“What are you looking at?”
“I’m trying to imagine what you’d look like with your hair down. Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve had it pinned up. It’s long, though, isn’t it?”
“Why do you care?” she asked suspiciously.
Because she was beginning to be all he could think about?
He reached out to touch one of the tendrils that hung along her cheeks. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
Sloane stepped away from him and sat in the client chair. “Look, Nick, it was good of yo
u to take me to lunch the other day. I enjoyed it.”
“Are we going to have another one of these conversations?”
“If we need to.” She gave him a green-eyed stare, chin raised mutinously.
Walking away wasn’t an option. But perhaps there were others…. “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point about keeping personal and professional separate. I’d say this is a hardly an appropriate conversation for the station.”
“I’m glad you’ve—”
“I think we should have it somewhere else. Preferably somewhere quiet with good bourbon. Any suggestions?”
Her brows lowered. “If that’s a cute way of asking me out, the answer’s no.”
“Trust me, when I ask you out I’ll be a lot more direct. It’s simple. We’ve got an issue to resolve that I think you’ll agree has nothing to do with the work we’re both paid to do.”
“Yes but—”
“I’m just suggesting we take it elsewhere.”
“The issue doesn’t need any resolving. We’re colleagues, period. There is nothing else.”
He took a swift step toward her chair and pinned her in place with his hands on the arms before she could rise. “I could demonstrate, if you like.” Holding her gaze, he leaned in, close enough to smell her scent, close enough to hear her breath.
Close enough to see her eyes darken.
“Now do you think there’s nothing to talk about?”
Sloane stared at him, every atom of her being focusing on his mouth hovering just an inch away from hers. She knew it was outrageous, she knew it was a chance they had no business taking but God, she wanted him.
And she knew she couldn’t avoid what was between them anymore. “Fine,” she said in acceptance. When he moved away to his desk, she wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or disappointment. She rose. “You’re right, we need to clear the air. You’re off tomorrow, right?” He nodded. “Okay, then, tomorrow night at seven.”
“Where do you live?”
“We’re not meeting at my apartment,” she replied firmly.
Nick smiled a little. “I didn’t say we were. You picked the time, I get to pick the place. I want to make it convenient.”
“Harvard Square.”
“That’s easy, then. Kendall’s, on Brattle Street.”
Sloane frowned. “Never heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s about a block down from Algiers, on the right, below the dry cleaner’s. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Inside,” she corrected. “This is not a date, Trask.” She rose. “I don’t know what this is.”
Tucked away on a quiet corner blocks away from the university, Kendall’s was discreet to the point of being practically hidden, with only a small sign advertising its location. Sloane descended the short flight of stairs to the doorway, holding her coat tightly around her for warmth.
“Couldn’t find a parking place?”
She jumped to find Nick behind her.
“I thought I told you to meet me inside.”
“I’m not very good at taking directions,” he told her.
“Stubborn,” she muttered.
“So I’ve been told.” He opened the door and gestured her inside.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Considering it was the Harvard Square neighborhood, maybe an Irish pub, or a microbrewery, a student hangout of some kind. It was none of the above. Kendall’s was a neighborhood bar, no faux nostalgia décor, no trendy signs, just quiet, clean and comfortably shabby. There were no drunken undergraduates teetering on the stools, just enough regulars to make the place feel homey without being crowded. A neatly bearded bartender in a white apron lined up glasses behind the bar.
“How did you find this place?” Sloane asked, following Nick to a pair of stools at the far end of the bar, where the polished wood met the wall. “It’s got a good feel to it.”
He slid onto a leather-covered seat. “I was working a job near here for a couple months. The guys liked to stop in for a drink on the way home.”
“You worked for the Cambridge fire department?”
“Construction. Side job,” he elaborated. “I frame houses, build decks, hang drywall. Firefighting’s a great job but it doesn’t pay. You do it for love, not wealth.”
The bartender set a couple of napkins and a dish of peanuts on the bar in front of them. “What can I get you?”
Sloane considered. “Maker’s Mark on the rocks, water back.”
Nick looked at the bartender. “Two of those, please.” He turned a little on his stool to look at Sloane. “Looks like we have something in common.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
He gave a quick smile. “Oh, I don’t think that’s all we have in common.”
With quick competence, the bartender delivered their drinks and retreated. Nick raised his glass. “To polite conversation.” He touched his glass to hers.
Sloane tasted the bite of the bourbon and felt it spread tendrils of warmth through her veins.
“See now, isn’t this better?” Nick asked.
“Than what?”
“Bickering, for one.” He leaned against the wall, watching her over the top of his glass. “We’re always fighting over something and I can’t figure out why.”
Sloane stared at the bottles on the back wall. “Bad chemistry?”
“You know better.”
“Yes.” She moved her glass in little circles on the polished wood of the bar. “I do.” Her eyes were steady on his. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Why do you have to do something about it?”
“Because, when I’m not around you, I can think of all sorts of good reasons why we shouldn’t be involved.” When he reached out to tangle his fingers with hers, heat zoomed up her arm. Sloane looked at him helplessly. “And then I get around you and you do something like that.”
“It’s supposed to be a good thing. I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me. Normally, that’s all people need to get together.”
She felt as if she were standing on a sandbar that was slowly eroding out from under her. Sloane swallowed. “I don’t get together.”
“Ever?”
“Not often.”
His eyes were very dark in the subdued light of the bar. “Then why are you here with me now?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that bothers you,” he said quietly.
What bothered her was that he’d gotten under her skin with his persuasive voice and addictive mouth and relentless eyes. She didn’t want to want him. She wanted her life to go back to being safe and normal and solitary.
The problem was, she wasn’t sure that was possible.
Sloane cleared her throat. “Look, Nick, this project is really important to me. I’ve been working on it a long time. I can’t lose track of it here at the end.”
“You think I’d do anything to endanger that?”
“Not intentionally. Then again, you don’t believe in it much.”
“Uh-uh, you’re talking about work again. This is about us.”
“Work is part of it, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t. Can’t it just be as simple as you and me trying this out to see what happens? You know, the kinds of things normal people do, dinner, maybe, or a concert. We could have fun.”
“Why are you so hung up on this?” Sloane demanded. “There have to be plenty of other women out there you could see.”
“I don’t want other women. I want you.”
It snatched the breath from her lungs. The bar around them receded from her consciousness. All she saw, all she was aware of was the dark gaze holding her as though he wanted to delve into her soul.
“I’m stubborn, as you’ve already pointed out,” he said. “And I’m not going away. You might as well start getting used to the idea.”
“I can’t do this yet, Nick,” she said desperately. The shifting sand underfoot was gone and she was in over her head, struggling
to stay afloat.
Nick gave her a long look. “Then I guess we’ll have to wait a little while until you can.”
Chapter Six
The bedroom smelled of musk and seduction, the sheets soft and tangled against their naked bodies. Nick’s mouth moved over her neck and his hands, oh those broad, warm hands possessed her. She’d forgotten how exquisite the feel of skin on skin could be. It would almost be enough to have just this, the feel of his hard, sinewy body against hers, the freedom to run her greedy hands over his shoulders, the corrugated lines of his abs.
But there was more, she knew in giddy delight.
He stroked her breasts and she sighed, searching for his mouth with hers. “Take a chance, Sloane.” His words were a tease, his lips a hairbreadth away, holding out the promise of a kiss to her like candy to a child.
Her answer was a moan.
His hands curved over her hips, tracing the tops of her thighs, lingering until she gasped. Like a gourmet, he sampled the flavor of her earlobe, her cheek. Sloane moved to capture his mouth, but he evaded her, continuing his slow, exquisite torture. “Take a chance,” he whispered.
The bells of an alarm box interrupted his words and she realized that they were in the firehouse dormitory. The room erupted in motion, the crew racing for the fire pole. “Everybody goes,” a voice crackled above the ear-bursting alarm. “Everybody goes.” The cacophony merged into the shrilling of her clock radio as Sloane came fighting up out of sleep.
Groping blindly, she finally managed to shut it off and opened her eyes to the morning sun slanting across her bed. For a moment she just blinked at the light, waiting for the disorientation to fade. It had been too vivid. She was almost surprised not to see a dip in the pillow next to hers. Her body still buzzed a little with sensation. Even the sheets against her skin felt delicious, every movement an invitation. She was half-tempted to close her eyes and see if she could slip back into the dream, and it was that thought, finally, that got her out of bed.
Where There's Smoke (Holiday Hearts #1) Page 8
