“Look over there, you can see the Charles River.” He reached over her shoulder to point.
Sloane searched the horizon, seeing only buildings.
“No.” He gently turned her head. “Over there.”
It was the first time they’d touched all day. His fingertips pressed little coins of heat against her jaw. A slow curl of desire awoke inside of her.
“I see it,” she fibbed hastily. “What’s back behind us?” She turned her head.
It put both of them at risk. It brought his mouth much too near. Dangling from a ladder, eighty feet above the ground was no time for her palms to get damp, no time for the want to start flowing through her. She took a shuddering breath.
“Seen enough?” Nick asked.
Not trusting her voice, Sloane nodded.
“Okay, hold on. The ladder might jump a little bit when it starts down.” Nick made an arm motion and they headed back toward the ground. She felt a little twinge of disappointment as they dropped away from the view.
It was a bit like landing in a jetliner. At first the ground was unimaginably far away and exotic, then closer, then near enough to be mundane. Finally, the ladder stopped and they stepped down.
The crew broke out in applause and whistles. Sloane bowed to her audience from the top of the ladder truck, waving modestly. Behind them, a sedan pulled into the lot.
Laughing and breathless, she let herself be helped off the ladder truck. The men surrounded her, clapping her on the back, slapping the top of her helmet.
“Speech, speech,” hooted Knapp.
“How’d ya like it?” O’Hanlan asked.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous. I loved it.”
“Well, you make it worth my while, I’ll send you up again. I take brownies, ice cream sundaes or American Express,” he told her.
Sloane tucked her tongue in her cheek. “I think you’re an operator, O’Hanlan.”
“To know me is to love me.”
“Well, Sloane, you certainly seem to be diving into things,” said a voice behind them.
And Sloane turned to see Councilman Ayre and his entourage.
It was a coincidence, Nick had to believe that. He saw the shock and dismay chase across Sloane’s face. He wanted to believe she hadn’t concocted the ride along as part of a cheap publicity stunt for Ayre, but one hand washed the other and the timing was eerily perfect.
Ayre walked up to her as though he owned the place, Nick thought furiously. As though he owned her. “Well, I see you’ve wasted no time getting to work. Glad we’ve got a go-getter like you on the job.” Standing next to her, Ayre pasted on a toothy smile for the photographer who trailed him.
The photo op was everything, of course. It was the whole reason he was stopping by, to use them for a little campaign boost.
“I’m happy to see that you’re so involved in monitoring the testing,” he told Sloane, pumping her hand. “I’m even more impressed than I was before. We’re really behind this equipment. I’m very excited about it.”
“That’s great,” Nick heard himself saying. “Given the fact that you’ve voted for departmental budget cuts for each of the last seven years. Kind of hard to figure out how that’s going to help us buy this fancy new equipment you’re flogging.”
For an instant, Ayre looked absolutely furious. Then his expression relaxed into an affable smile. “And you are?”
“Trask. Nick Trask, registered voter.”
“Well, Firefighter Trask, I’m sure you realize developing a budget is a matter of compromise,” he said warmly, reaching out to clasp Nick’s hand and give it a brisk shake.
“Captain Trask,” Nick corrected. A flashbulb popped. Ayre held on. Another photo op, Nick realized in annoyance.
And when the camera was down, Ayre started to turn away.
“We’ll be looking for that funding boost,” Nick persisted.
Ayre swung back toward him, all of his caps showing. “I’m completely behind this project,” he answered. “I’ll be going to go to the mat for you guys, just like I always do.” A young, slick-looking guy in hair gel and a fancy suit stepped up to murmur in Ayre’s ear. The politician looked at his watch. “Well, looks like I’ve got to run to another appearance across town. It was a pleasure to meet you all,” he said smoothly. “Don’t forget to get out and vote tomorrow.” He walked toward the waiting sedan.
Sloane stood frozen, staring at the car as it drove away. Just then, a red truck drove up and parked in the lot. The first of the night shift, coming in early. “Was that who I thought it was?” a burly, mustachioed firefighter asked incredulously.
“Sure was,” O’Hanlan told him. “Nicky’s never going to wash his hand again, are you?”
“As quickly as possible,” Nick said shortly. “Todd, call us in as active again.” He turned and walked back into the firehouse.
Chapter Nine
Sloane slipped out of the turnouts and helmet and hustled after him. “Nick, wait.” She caught him on the stairs. “I wasn’t a part of that.”
He turned and flicked her a cynical glance. “Of course you’re part of it. We’re all part of it.”
Anger whisked through her. “I didn’t know they were coming.”
“Oh no? I did. It’s just that with everything else going on I kind of forgot.” He turned to go the rest of the way up the stairs. “That was the payoff for the whole project, Sloane. He pushes your system, you give him the pre-election photo op.”
“Did it ever occur to you that someone in the department might have tipped him off that I was here?” she demanded, on his heels. “They probably figured it was good for the department.”
“No, it’s good for Ayre. And it doesn’t matter who tipped him off, it’s the only reason you’re here.”
“I’m here to test the equipment and get it into the field.”
Nick reached the top of the stairs and turned to Sloane as she joined him. “Look, I don’t doubt your sincerity. I know this project means a lot to you, so it’s probably more unfair to you than it is to us, but if you think that Ayre has considered buying your equipment for one minute…”
“I’m not working with him. I’m working for you,” she returned hotly.
“Sloane, you’re dreaming. Ayre’s the one who controls the future of this thing. Why don’t you just accept that this equipment is not going to make it in Boston no matter how good it is?”
Stung, she glared at him. “Aren’t you sick of saying that, Nick? Because I’m sure as hell sick of hearing it. I’m going to get this equipment qualified, whether I’ve got your support or not.”
“My support doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen.”
“It has to,” she burst out passionately. “Firefighters can’t keep dying. It has to stop.”
A moment went by in silence. Nick looked at her. “Who was it, Sloane?” he asked softly. “Who did you lose?”
She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe for the knot in her throat. “My brother,” she whispered, fighting the urge to scream at the unbearable truth.
And downstairs, alarm bells began to ring.
The wind of the raw November night blew down Nick’s collar as he stood on Sloane’s front stoop and pressed the bell. He stepped back and squinted up at her windows. There was faint light there, but he couldn’t tell if anyone was home. He jammed his hands into his pockets. All he could do was hope.
The alarm—a medical aid call—had stopped their conversation cold. By the time they’d returned, the night shift had arrived. One minute, he’d been talking with the night captain, watching Sloane hang up her turnouts. The next time he’d glanced over, she’d been gone without a word. Intentionally, he was sure.
That didn’t mean he planned to let it end there. It was time to talk. He looked at the bell, considering giving it another push.
And then the door swung open and she was there, looking at him with wariness but no surprise. “Hello.”
“You disappeared,” he said, his breath
making puffs of white condensation in the chill air.
She was barefoot, in a baggy green sweater and jeans, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm. “I thought I’d get out of the way. You were busy and everything was finished.”
“Not everything. Not our conversation, for one.”
She shivered at little. “I thought we’d said everything that needed to be said.”
“Not by half, but it’s kind of cold to be going into it out here.” He could hear the tension in her voice, see the shadows in her eyes. And he knew, because he knew her now, that she’d fight like hell to try to keep the barriers up. It wasn’t going to happen this time, though. This time, she was going to let him in. “Do you want to go somewhere, get dinner or a drink?”
She hesitated and then let out a breath of acceptance and stepped back. “Why don’t you come in?”
Upstairs, the flat was as tidy as it had been the first time he’d seen it, and as bare. No photographs of family sat around on any of the walls or surfaces, he noticed now. It was as though she existed in her own universe.
And maybe now he understood a little more why.
She stood at the living-room door, watching as he hung his jacket on the coat rack. “I’m having a drink. Can I get you something?”
He looked at her glass. “If that’s bourbon, you can give me one of those, too.”
“No ice,” she told him. “Water? Straight up?”
“Straight up.”
He walked over to the windows and looked out at the night. So it had come down to this, the whole possibility of anything happening with them came down to this conversation and what she’d been through. If he could get her to open up, lance the wound, then maybe they had a chance together.
He heard her come back into the room and turned to take his glass from her. When he saw the smudges under her eyes, he felt the tug of responsibility.
“So.” She chose the isolation of the chair. “You wanted to talk?”
“Apologize, first, for getting you upset about Ayre.” He took a swallow of the bourbon and sat on the couch. “I know you’re not pandering to him. He just got to me. He always gets to me.”
She nodded. “I’m trying to do something good here, Nick.”
“I know. It’s just that I don’t believe you know what you’re up against.”
“And I don’t believe in worrying about that. You just put your head down and get the job done.”
“Kind of like the way you go through life?”
She gave him a sharp look. “You said apology, not five-minute analysis.”
“Tell me about your brother,” he said, his voice gentle.
She rose. “It’s private.”
He stood as well. “It’s there in the room every time we’re together. It’s here now.” He reached out and closed his hand over hers. Trusting to the contact, he pulled her toward the couch. “Tell me.”
She stared and moistened her lips. Finally, she sat in a corner of the sofa, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them. “He was a firefighter.” She swallowed. “In Hartford.”
And he knew. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “The packing-house fire.”
She nodded.
It was infamous, a hellish conflagration in an almost entirely windowless building full of thick walls and sealed rooms. Firefighters searching the structure had gotten lost in the maze and the blinding, toxic smoke. And their would-be rescuers had been lost as well, in a hideous chain of events that left five men dead.
Among them, apparently, Sloane’s brother.
“Mitch had always wanted to be a firefighter. When we were kids, he used to go down to the local station and hang around, wipe the truck, do whatever they’d let him. He was a lieutenant by the time of the fire, a veteran.
“They were in on the first alarm and the first pair of guys lost were from his company.” She moved her head in blind misery. “Mitch went after them. It would never have occurred to him not to. I don’t know if they ever even got close. The last thing they heard from him was over the radio, saying he was lost and running out of air.” Her voice shook with the unbearable, imagining him moving in blind circles in the choking black smoke, methodically searching for escape.
She blinked back the quick sting of tears. “It haunts me, you know? You read about those pilots in falling airplanes who try all the different drills, right down to the point of impact. That was Mitch. He was a by-the-book guy. He’d have kept looking and when he found himself lost, he’d have kept trying to work his way out.” Hoping for a miracle and trying to ignore the rising bubble of horror. “They said his voice at the end was perfectly calm,” she whispered.
“So you built the Orienteer.”
She swiped at her cheek. “I built the Orienteer because no one, no one should be in that spot ever again. No one’s brother, no one’s wife, no one’s father or sister. And if I have to make nice with Ayre for that to happen, then I do it. It doesn’t matter a hell of a lot to me, do you understand?” She gave him a searching gaze. “All I care about is the gear.” She glanced down. “Anyway, now you know why I can’t be involved with you.”
“Because of your brother?”
“I can’t do it, Nick.”
He shook his head. “But Sloane, we are involved. You can’t make it go away by pretending it’s not there.” And he had no intention of letting her.
Her eyes were hot and angry. “Don’t push me into a corner.”
“I’m not. I’m just sick of chasing after you.”
“Then stop. It’s easy enough.”
He took her hand. “No, it’s not, and you know that. Stop running, Sloane. You’re too gutsy for it.”
“I’m not running,” she flared.
“Oh yeah? What would you call it?”
Self-preservation, but it was too late for that and she knew it. Rising, Sloane crossed to the windows and looked out at the bending trees in the street below as the wind stripped them of their leaves. “I don’t know what to do about you, Nick,” she said finally. She turned to find him behind her.
He smiled faintly. “I haven’t known what to do about you from the beginning.”
“Then why pursue it?”
“Because you don’t turn away from things just because they’re hard.”
“You just don’t know…”
“Yes I do. Take a chance with me, Sloane,” he urged softly. “Take a chance and see where we go.” And he slid her into his arms.
At first, all she felt was measureless comfort. For a moment, she curled against him, feeling his warmth, his solidity. And for that moment, he was a shield against all of her fears, that calm, quiet voice reassuring her that everything would be all right.
Nick pressed a kiss on her hair. Her breath eased out in a sigh as he lowered his mouth to hers. It was a gentle touch, so soft it was barely there. Intended to sooth rather than arouse, the exploration lulled her into trust, into comfort. He smoothed his hands down her back, over the curve of her hips.
And the slow pulse of the blood in her veins began to speed.
This time when her mouth met his, her lips parted to taste, to touch, to feel the tempting stroke of his tongue. For once, he wasn’t dragging her into an embrace. She went willingly, eagerly, and the power of it shocked them both. Tomorrow, she would deal with the aftermath; tonight was for savoring, tonight was for taking chances.
It was like bringing a match to gasoline, comfort flaming into urgency. For too long he’d held back, for too long they’d waited. Now it was all released at once.
His hands raced over her, sliding down her hips, curving over her breasts, seeking the long, lean lines of her body under the bulky sweater. Impatient, he slipped his hands under the cotton weave to feel her, only her, springy and taut and fevered. Her skin was silky smooth and when he moved his hand up to feel the curve of her breast under his palm, Sloane gasped against him.
It wasn’t enough, he thought as he tugged the sweater off
over her head. It still wasn’t enough. He wanted her, opening up to him physically as she’d opened up to him emotionally. He pulled off her sweater even as she tugged at his shirt with eager hands. Pulse hammering, he pulled her to him, body to body, skin to skin. And the feel of her half-naked against his chest dragged him into a hot arousal where nothing was certain except desire, silk and flesh in his hands.
Sloane couldn’t hold back a moan, even with Nick’s mouth covering hers. It was as though every nerve in her body were on edge, every fiber of her focused on the heat and pressure of his bare chest against hers. She felt his breath, his heartbeat. But she wanted to feel even more. And with eager hands, she tore at the waistband of his jeans.
Making a noise of impatience, he lifted her in his arms and walked to the doorway of the living room.
“Bedroom?” he rasped.
“Across the hall,” she murmured, her lips against his throat.
Nick nudged the door open with his shoulder, stepping into her bedroom with a sort of exhilarated anticipation. The room was as spare as the rest of her home, the sole notes of femininity and indulgence injected by the pile of pillows at the head of the bed and the vivid turquoise of the silk robe hanging on the open closet door. The weak light cast by the lamp on the bureau made her skin gleam.
He laid her down on the bed, pressing her against the pillows. Seeing her breasts, pale and luminous, only made him want to see her fully naked, to feel her fully naked. She’d dropped the barriers earlier that night; he wanted the final barrier of clothing gone.
Sloane stared at him, watched his eyes darken to jet. Giddy expectation surged through her. She felt him unbutton her jeans. The air was cool on her skin as he slipped the denim down. She raised her hips to help him and felt the helpless surge of arousal at the motion. Molten desire burst through her. Then she was naked before him but for the scrap of silk and lace at her hips.
With a quick, impatient movement he stripped off his shoes and jeans. His body in the dim light was all lean lines and hard rises of muscle. She caught her breath as he stepped to the side of the bed, reached for him but he pressed her back against the pillows.
Where There's Smoke (Holiday Hearts #1) Page 12
