Where There's Smoke (Holiday Hearts #1)

by Kristin Hardy

  “I’ve got enough to…” she stopped. Nick had taken her order to relax seriously. He lay back on the couch, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. His lashes made dark, feathered crescents against his skin. Stripped of cares, he looked younger, almost vulnerable. Sloane shook her head.

  “Damn you, Nick Trask,” she said softly, looking down on him. “And damn the fire department, too.”

  Afternoon sun was slanting its way across the couch by the time Nick awoke to an empty room. He sat up stiffly, remembering too late not to touch his neck. He winced as he rose.

  “Hello? Sloane?”

  There was no answer in the silent flat. He was about to walk to the bathroom when he glanced down at the coffee table. Peroxide and gauze sat on top of a scribbled note. “There’s food in the refrigerator if you want. Let yourself out the back door and don’t forget to go to the doctor. I’ll be in touch.” No signature, just a capital S scribbled at the bottom.

  Nick shook his head ruefully. Of all the idiot timing, his had to take the cake. He picked up his shirt from the table, where it sat neatly folded. Falling asleep on a lady was definitely bad form. Falling asleep on a woman like Sloane was criminal. Still, she hadn’t booted him out on the street, however much she might have been tempted to. He’d have to categorize that as an improvement overall.

  Pulling the shirt over his head with care, Nick began to whistle.

  Yep, definitely an improvement.

  Chapter Seven

  “She’s going to what?” Nick stared at the telephone.

  “Sloane’s going to ride along with your shift for a while,” Bill Grant told him.

  “You can’t be serious.” Nick loosened his jaw and tried for patience. Just thinking of Sloane conjured a mix of desire and frustration. He’d tried repeatedly to reach her over the weekend, only to get her answering machine. Getting close to her was like tracking some wild animal—every time he thought he was getting near, she dashed away again.

  “Look,” Bill said, “when I talked with Sloane last Friday she was concerned about missing the fire the previous night. She understands why it happened but she’s got certain objectives to meet. To ensure she’s on site for all fire incidents, she’s asked to be there in the firehouse with your shift until the testing is concluded.”

  Perfect. Nick could just imagine working shift after shift, Sloane around every minute as he did his best to keep from thinking about the feel of her nearly naked body against him. “It’s going to cause an incredible disruption.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” Grant’s voice rose. “You’ve been working with the woman for nearly three weeks. Deal with it. You’ve never complained about ride alongs before,” he managed more reasonably. “What’s different now?”

  What was different? Most ride alongs hadn’t turned into a constant grinding in his belly, for one.

  “Nick, she’s mostly interested in being at the fire scenes. Otherwise, I’m sure she’ll stay out of the way,” Grant continued. “She shouldn’t interrupt your routines.”

  Interrupt his routines, hell, Nick thought. Be careful what you ask for, or you will surely get it. He’d wanted more time with her, more, period. He’d never in a million years wanted it to be at work. How was he supposed to concentrate on the job when all he wanted to do was tumble her into bed for about two weeks straight? He didn’t care for endless days of frustration. And he particularly didn’t care for having his decisions made for him. Nick scowled. “When’s this going to start?”

  “She should be there now. I told her your shift started at eight.”

  “Today?” Nick bit back a curse. “Why didn’t you call and let me know this earlier?” he asked finally.

  “I didn’t want to bother you during your time off.”

  Yeah, right. Nick hung up the phone and stalked out of his office. No wonder she’d laid low over the weekend. He strode purposefully down the hall, hearing the noise rise as he turned the corner to the kitchen.

  And stumbled into a mob scene.

  “Hey, Nick,” Knapp called out from the crowd around the kitchen table, “we got ourselves another rookie.”

  O’Hanlan thumped his coffee mug down on the painted wood. “Hell of a lot easier on the eyes than Red is, that’s for sure.”

  “She’s too smart to hang around with you truckies,” said Ken Giancoli, chauffeur for the engine crew. “She wants work with the nozzle men, that’s where the real excitement is. She should ride with us on the pumper.”

  “Nobody in their right mind wants to ride with you, Giancoli.” O’Hanlan grinned, taking a swig of coffee.

  Nick approached the table.

  “Hello, Nick.” Sloane looked up, surrounded by firefighters. “Looks like I’m on the crew for a while.”

  Every time he saw her again, he was surprised anew at the impact of those eyes, that mouth. That damned voice of hers. Maybe if he could stop her from talking the entire time, he’d be okay. Nick glanced down at the handful of department announcements he held. “Okay, let’s get to it,” he said curtly. “Night-shift guys, take up, you’re relieved. Let’s run through the announcements first and then the shift work.” He sat down and began. Most days, friendly insults and jokes flew, but today he was in no mood for interruptions. Speeded by caffeine, the update went quickly.

  When he’d finished, Nick looked at the crew. “Okay, work-detail assignments are on the bulletin board. Don’t forget to sign up for next shift. Questions?”

  Giancoli raised his hand. “Yeah. We gotta have O’Hanlan cooking today? He always uses too much garlic.”

  “I use just enough,” O’Hanlan countered. “You sure you weren’t fathered by the mailman, Giancoli?”

  “Fa Chrissakes, O’Hanlan, I had to do mouth-to-mouth the other night after you cooked, this little old gray-haired granny. I revived her and she turned around and passed out again from the garlic smell.”

  “We been meaning to talk to you, Giancoli,” Beaulieu said. “There’s this invention called a toothbrush you oughtta know about.”

  Nick raised a hand. “Okay, enough, time to get to it, guys. Maintenance first, then drills.”

  Reluctant to disperse, the firefighters milled about rinsing out coffee cups and joking.

  “You can come help me out, Sloane,” Knapp said, tucking her hand into his arm.

  “No way,” O’Hanlan argued. “You’re going to vacuum the dorm. I’m going to check the ladder truck. She’ll learn more with me.”

  “Ride alongs stay with me,” Nick reminded them. “Sloane, let’s go to my office.”

  As he led the way, all Nick was aware of was her scent. Okay, maybe he could concentrate if he could stop her from wearing it. He stood aside to let her walk into his office. The walk, though, the walk was still a problem. Maybe if he could stop her from moving. Or wrap her in a muumuu. Maybe if he could…ah hell, Nick thought as he closed the door. How the hell was he ever going to get anything done with her around?

  She sat in his client chair, looking up at him, so cool, so composed, as though they’d shared nothing more important than a handshake. All he wanted to do was clamp his mouth on hers and bring that wild hunger into her eyes again, just to prove to himself and to her that he could. Instead, he leaned back against the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve been busy, I hear.”

  There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, Sloane thought uneasily. Nick’s eyes smoldered at her, dark and dangerous. So maybe he felt as though he’d been blindsided. After all, she hadn’t warned him of her idea. Then again, she hadn’t thought of it until she’d been back at work, trying to put those hot, urgent minutes on the couch out of her mind.

  It all made her want to run, and yet she was slipping closer and closer to the point at which running away wasn’t possible. She was too honest with herself to pretend it wasn’t what she wanted anymore. That he wasn’t what she wanted. It didn’t make things simple, though. Before, things had at least been c
lear. Now, nothing was.

  So she focused on what was safe and all-important—qualifying the gear. “I assume you’ve talked to Bill Grant.”

  “About ten minutes ago. You, now,” he said conversationally, “I tried to talk with you over the weekend but you didn’t seem to be around.” An edge underlay his words.

  “I’m not very good about checking my home messages.” Of course, if she’d picked up the phone when she’d heard his voice coming out of the machine, she wouldn’t have had to. So close, she’d come so close, but she known where it would lead, and away from the heat of the moment, she just wasn’t sure she was ready. If she’d ever be ready. In the end, she’d turned away, heart thumping.

  “Grant says you called him Friday about missing the fire.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get you in hot water,” she said to forestall his anger. “I told him I understood why you didn’t call me and that I was okay with it. It just can’t happen again. This seems like a good solution.”

  “A good solution? More like a permanent problem in my firehouse.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Your firehouse?”

  “You saw how things went in the morning meeting,” he said, ignoring her.

  “It’s a new situation. Of course it gave everyone something to talk about. Give it a little while and they won’t notice me anymore.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” He gazed at her and her face warmed. “Okay, so I didn’t notify you of the fire the other night. It was a screw-up, I admit it. And I told you, it won’t happen again.”

  “How do you know?” she demanded. “You were right, Nick. I thought a lot about what you said after I went to work on Friday. You were taking care of business, saving lives, and there is no way I want to interfere with that. We can’t ignore the testing, though, because that can save lives, too. It’ll be easier if I’m just here all the time.”

  “Easier? For you, maybe. But as far as my men are concerned, you’re going to be a distraction.”

  “Really?” she tossed back at him. “Are you sure you’re not just worked up because I’m trespassing on your turf?”

  “I’m not worked up.” He pushed off the desk with studied deliberation and strolled slowly toward her. “Or at least I’m not the only one. For example, why the big surprise? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  “I didn’t think of it before. I decided on it once I got to the office.”

  “You could have called me.”

  “How, by calling my house?” she shot back. “Besides, I was hoping you wouldn’t be there.”

  “Was that why you walked away and left instead of waking me up? You’re getting your stories mixed, Sloane.”

  “Don’t start on me,” she snapped as her temper heated. “I’m not the one who fell asleep.” And her eyes flew open in horror. Given a knife at that moment she would have cheerfully cut out her tongue.

  The smile bloomed across Nick’s face. “I’m sorry about that, more than you’ll know. I usually have better manners.”

  “It didn’t matter,” she muttered, rising to walk past him.

  “It did to me.” He caught her arm and used it to pull her to him.

  She warned herself not to get in too deep even as he lowered his mouth to hers. For a moment, she held herself away from him but then her control dissolved. When he was giving her one of those mind-bending kisses that turned her bones into taffy, anything seemed possible. Being with him seemed like the only thing. For long, hazy seconds the firehouse receded.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Sloane broke contact and twisted away. “I don’t think this is the place…”

  “And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here.”

  She raised her chin. “We’re not sixteen, Nick. I think we’re both professional enough to deal with our hormones.”

  He stared at her maddeningly. “Is that what you think it is?”

  “I don’t…” she fumbled. “I don’t think this is the time to get into this,” she finished, her voice stronger.

  “But we will.”

  Slowly, unwillingly, she nodded. “I know.”

  Hot triumph filled his eyes. He brushed his lips over hers. “I still think you should have called me.”

  “Would you have agreed?” Even just the quick contact had her head swimming.

  He considered it. “No, probably not.”

  “Right. And I’d have gone to Bill and the same thing would have happened. This is important, Nick. I’ve got to get the gear qualified. I can’t trust anyone else’s opinion on this. I need to see with my own eyes.”

  Nick crossed back to sit behind his desk again. “Why does this mean so much to you?”

  “It’s important to me.”

  “Important.” He tapped his fingers on his faux wood-grain desktop. “You’re not always going to be able to shut me out like this, Sloane.”

  “Leave it, Nick.” She stared at him and for once the snap and fire was replaced by a kind of pleading.

  He let it pass, but the days when she could close herself off from him were waning. He needed more than that from her, he was discovering, much more. But now was not the time. “All right,” he said abruptly. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”

  They stood on the apparatus floor by the racks of helmets and turnouts. O’Hanlan rummaged under the open hood of the ladder truck.

  Nick plunked a helmet on her head. “See if this one fits.” It slipped forward and the rest of the garage disappeared as it covered her eyes. “Oops. Okay, I guess you wear a different size.”

  Sloane pushed back the black leather brim until she could see again. “You think?”

  The next wasn’t any better, nor the next. One after another, they tried the spares without luck.

  “Last chance,” Nick told her.

  This time, the helmet stayed in place reasonably well. Once Nick adjusted the inside, it held even when she shook her head. “Good,” he said in satisfaction. “You’ll probably never need it, but I’ll feel better if you’ve got one on at a fire scene. Now let’s get you some turnouts.”

  It was a longer, more difficult process. The coat wasn’t a problem but the bunker pants were. Granted, Sloane was taller than a lot of guys. She was also more slender. Even the smallest of the spares hung from her shoulders by the suspenders, the waistband hovering at her waist like a clown suit at the circus. Nick’s lips twitched as he looked at her. “I guess this’ll have to do,” he said finally.

  “I’m not going in a fire. I don’t see why I need them at all.”

  “During the day, you don’t. When we get a call in the middle of the night, though—and we will, believe me—you’ll see. You sleep in sweats and a T-shirt. All you have to do is step into the boots, pull the pants up and throw the suspenders over your shoulders and go. It’s the fastest way. Now we just need to fit you for a vest and we’re all set.”

  “A vest?”

  “Body armor.”

  Sloane gaped at him. “You’re joking.”

  “No. This isn’t the best area in town, in case you haven’t noticed. There’s an area by the projects where someone’s been taking potshots.” He gave a humorless smile. “I guess they don’t like the noise. One of the guys on A shift got grazed by one, so now we wear the vests any time we have a call in that area. Sloane—”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt. Why won’t you give this up?”

  Her shoulders squared. “I’d be at the same risk if I were driving to meet you at a fire.” When he only looked at her in silence, she nodded slowly. “Unless you didn’t call me. Nick, you can’t block me. You take risks all the time. It doesn’t stop you.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Right now, it’s my job, too.”

  They stared at each other, neither backing down, bound by that same swirling awareness. “All right,” Nick said finally. “Come on.”

  The bulletproof vests were near the foot of the stairs
. “The police department loaned us a dozen last week. Here.” He selected one by eye. “Try this one.”

  Sloane slipped it on over her head, the fabric of her shirt tightening across her breasts as she tugged it down over her torso. “It needs adjusting, I think,” she muttered, reaching awkwardly around her sides. “Damned things…why do they make them so you can’t reach the…”

  “I’ve got it,” Nick said brusquely, pushing her hands out of the way. Sloane blinked at his tone of voice. His touch was impersonal, almost rough. His head bent toward hers as he concentrated on what he was doing, close enough that she could touch him and if he looked up, close enough to kiss.

  She let out a breath. He was probably right, it was a bad idea to be there. She wasn’t finding it any easier to be around him than he was to be around her. She thought of the feel of his mouth on her bare breast and her stomach did a lazy flip-flop.

  “There.” He pulled the bottom of the vest down, keeping his hands scrupulously away from her hips. “That should fit all right.”

  Though she wasn’t sure exactly what fit entailed for a bulletproof vest, Sloane nodded. She needed to get away from him, somewhere she could get her equilibrium. The day seemed to stretch out unbearably. She’d take it, though. She had to. Stripping off the vest, she looked at Nick. “Where do I put this?”

  “Over here.” He led her to the ladder truck, where the boots and turnouts and hats were piled in careful, distinct stacks. Her jacket, he hung on the side of the ladder truck. “It goes back there in the same place every time the truck backs into quarters.”

  “Hey, cap?”

  Nick glanced over his shoulder.

  It was Sorensen, the probie, with a question about his house watchman duties. It was also a chance to escape, Sloane thought as she wandered over to where O’Hanlan was crouched down by the tire of the ladder truck.