Dallas Fire & Rescue_Stealing his Fire

by Jen Talty

  “You’re due for a cleaning and it was noted in the chart by a previous hygienist that you have a major aversion to dentists, something about a childhood trauma, but there’s no notation of what happened.”

  He lowered himself in the chair, avoiding her gentle gaze. “It’s kind of stupid, actually.”

  “I doubt that, considering you sneak out after your cleaning just to avoid your dentist, and the hygienist notes she doesn’t do as good a job as she could in fear you never returning again.” Heather rested her hands on the top of her desk. “Tell me what happen. Maybe I can help you get past it. Because, to level with you, if you don’t take care of that tooth, whether by me, or another dentist, you’re going to end up at an oral surgeon’s office having the tooth extracted. Or worse, in the hospital with an infection that could spread.”

  Rowen raised his hands to his temples and rubbed, hard. His childhood dentist had been pure evil. A rotten man in general. After the incident, his parents took him to a different dentist, but he still hated going, and went only when forced. As an adult, he learned to suffer through cleanings, but the idea of a dentist putting instruments that looked like the tools right out of a horror movie near his mouth gave him hives.

  “When I was eleven, my dentist numbed the left side of my mouth, where a cavity was, only he drilled on the right.” He rubbed his jaw, remembered every second of wiggling in the chair while they held him down, telling him to relax. When the doctor finally took the drill out, and Rowen screamed out they chiseled the wrong tooth, it was too late.

  “That would make anyone terrified of the dentist,” she said in that sexy, raspy voice of hers.

  He nodded. “They had to numb the other side and fill both teeth. But by then, the Novocain had started to wear off and I felt that sharp pain on the other side.”

  “That is a hellish experience,” Heather said as she rose with grace and waltzed around her desk.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes off her and when she stood in front of him, all he could think about was pulling her into his lap.

  “I can’t promise it won’t be uncomfortable, but I can give you something to help ease your anxiety, and if you have any pain at all, we can find ways to manage it.” She leaned over him, her breasts dangerously close to his mouth. “Let me take a look, okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispered. What the hell had he just agreed to?

  “Come on.” She took him by the hand and led him down the staircase and into the torture chamber. The white chair looked more like a piece of furniture from the future, and it certainly didn’t appear comfortable. A big light hung over it, ready to pounce on the person below. Next to the chair, a tray of long metal torture devices, lined neatly in a row, taunted him.

  “Nope.” He put his hand on the doorjamb, but Heather stood in his way.

  “I’m just going to look inside your mouth, okay? One step at a time. I promise I won’t do anything but look.” Her warm hands curled over his biceps. Her smile made him weak and distorted his ability to think straight.

  He swallowed as he eased back into the chair. She put a thing around his neck, then hit something with her foot, and the chair moved. Bringing the light closer to his face, she sat on a stool and took out one of those metal little mirror things.

  He stared at her, trying to focus on how turned on she made him, but that died the moment he got in the chair.

  Well, fuck. He’d been hoping... Thinking about her naked might help the situation, but talk about shrinkage?

  “Open your mouth.”

  He shook his head.

  She arched a brow.

  Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth. He flinched when the cold, metal object touched his the inside of his lip.

  “Just taking a look. I’m going to move this around a little, pushing the side of your mouth. No pain.” Her raspy voice glided over his body, but it didn’t help him relax.

  Only confused the crap out of him.

  The hot chick he wanted to date, who tortured people for a living, and he’d just become her next victim.

  It seemed like forever that she peered into his gaping mouth.

  “Okay,” she said softly, touching his leg with a gently pat. “You can open your eyes now.”

  He blinked a few times.

  She smiled at him and he figured anyone who sat in this chair could be mesmerized into allowing her to violate their mouth ten different ways.

  “We’ve got two things going on here. The root canal is inflamed, which could be the start of an infection, so we need to do a root canal and then I’ll put a crown on, that way we can save the tooth.”

  “Nope. Not happening.”

  “If we don’t, I’m sending you to an oral surgeon who will remove the tooth.”

  “Nope. Not happing,” he repeated.

  “One or the other. You chose.”

  “Is drilling required in either scenario?”

  She nodded. “We have a couple different ways we can deal with your anxiety and numbing the pain.”

  “You want to do this now?” He bolted up right.

  “I’m not joking when I say an infected tooth could kill you.” Her fingers curled around his wrist as she glanced at her watch. “I can get you good and relaxed and you won’t feel a thing. Have you ever had anesthesia?”

  “Never.”

  “Alright, I’m going to give you a pill that will help bring your heart rate down and make you groggy.”

  “I didn’t agree to this.” He watched her move about the room, opening and closing drawers. “I’m fine. No pain. People live with broken teeth all the time.”

  “If they do, they suffer.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a piece of chocolate. “Bit down on that where your broken tooth is. If you have no pain, you walk. If you even twitch, you take the pill and let me fix your tooth.”

  All he could think about was the onion bet.

  He stared at the sweet, mouth-watering piece of chocolate, knowing if he put that anywhere near his broken tooth, he’d been screaming bloody murder.

  He shifted his gaze to Heather. She’d pushed out one hip and draped one arm over her middle while she held out the candy, giving him her best, ‘I double dog-dare you’.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about the bossy, confident, in-control doctor, except he liked her more than he should.

  Without saying a word, he eased back into the chair.

  He swallowed the pill she gave him without water. No point in inflicting pain on himself since the sexy doctor would be doing that shortly.

  This wasn’t one of those times where the saying, hurt so good , should be used.

  “If you feel any pain at all, raise your right hand and I’ll stop.”

  He raised his right hand. “Practicing.”

  “Do you have music on your cell? I can give some earphones. It might be a good distraction.”

  He nodded. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get those lids to rise above half-mast.

  “I’m going to numb your cheek with a topical before giving you the Novocain.”

  He tapped the right side of his face.

  She turned on the overhead light, adjusted her stool, and snapped on a set of latex gloves. He put the headphones on and cranked up some good old classic rock.

  When she told him to open his mouth so she could give him a shot and that it would pinch a little, he squeezed his eyes shut. He fisted his right hand, ready to shoot it straight up in the air, but it was barely a pinch.

  He kept his eyes closed while she kept his mouth pried opened. Throughout the entire procedure, his mouth vibrated, but all he felt was a slightest of pressure. His favorite tunes belted in his ears and he did his best to ignore everything else.

  Everything except her dainty, soft hands caressing his arm every once in a while, and the way she whispered in his ear how great he was doing.

  When it was all over, she told him he couldn’t drive, and when he tried to stand, he understood why. The room spun and his legs
felt like overcooked spaghetti. He grabbed her shoulders to steady himself.

  “Come on, big fella,” she said, wrapping her arm around his middle. “You can sleep this off in my office.”

  Ahhhhh, sleep.

  He managed the stairs without tumbling down them, though a few times he wobbled like those old wooden toys called weebles, where they wabble but don’t fall down. He fell back on the sofa staring at Heather as she put a blanket over him.

  Her lips moved, but he couldn’t quite make out the words.

  He blinked, trying to keep her focused, but the world went black…

  Chapter 7

  AT LEAST HE DIDN’T SNORE.

  What an odd thing to think while a patient was passed out on her sofa.

  She should be more concerned about how unprofessional it was to have a man sleeping on her office couch. Not to mention the fact that Rowen had been sleeping now for six hours. His cousin reminded her that he worked a twenty-four-hour shift and that he probably hadn’t slept at all. She hadn’t known many first responders, but she understood what the job entailed.

  Throughout the day, she’d carefully check his pulse. Twice, she even flashed a pen light in his eyes, checking his pupils. He stirred both times, swatting at her, calling her MeMe, and something about cleaning the garage later.

  Standing over him now, one arm stretched out over his head, the other folded across his stomach, and a foot dangling off the couch, she wondered how she could have thought a man like Rowen could be anything like Jeff.

  “Rowen,” she whispered, nudging his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  He rolled his head to the side and let out a long sigh as his eyes blinked open. “How long have I been asleep?” He rubbed the stubble on his face as he adjusted himself to a more upright position.

  Taking his wrist, she sat down on the sofa. She didn’t need to check his pulse, she just wanted to touch him.

  “About six hours.”

  “What!?” His eyes popped open-wide. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope. I just sent home the last of my staff and figured it was time to wake you up. Do you always sleep like this after a shift?”

  “If there were a lot of calls, yeah.” He rubbed the side of his mouth.

  “Are you sore?”

  “No, which I find weird, and even more strange, I barely remember any of it.”

  She let go of his wrist, realizing she hadn’t counted a single pulse.

  “Everything go okay?” he asked.

  “You have a temporary crown in place.”

  “Temporary as in I have to do that again?” His nose crinkled with his wide eyes.

  “No. The permanent crown will be here next week and it’s simply swapping them out. It shouldn’t hurt, though some patients do feel a quick sharp pain when I put in the new one, but I can numb you if you want. I will warn you, there is drilling.” She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “But only on the crown, not your tooth, just to adjust your bite so it’s not off.”

  Her gaze locked with his for a long, intense moment. His hand glided over hers, then up her arm, sending a warm tingle and igniting a fire deep in her gut.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, his hand palming her check as he lifted his strong torso off the sofa. “I’m still not a fan of your profession, but I am a fan of yours.”

  His lips brushed hers in a tender, slow dance.

  Her eyelids fluttered. His warm tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring, searching. She gripped his broad shoulders. His muscles flexed under her touch. Her body turned to putty, waiting for his gentle fingers to mold, kneed, and caress her into oblivion. A low moan escaped her lips as his hand cupped the underswell of her breast, his thumb braising her nipple.

  Drunk with desire and blind passion, she shifted her body, straddling his legs, wrapping her arms around him.

  His hands roamed her body, caressing gently one second, massaging deep the next.

  He pulled back, cupping her face. “Are you hungry?”

  “What?” she panted out, her body screaming to be taken, shared, devoured.

  “I’m starving. We can either go out or cook. You choose.”

  She cocked her head, staring into his deep eyes. “You’re thinking about food now?”

  He kissed the side of her neck, nibbling a little. “I’ve been out cold for hours. I need something to eat, and honestly, if this is going to lead to where I think it is, I don’t want to do it here, on your sofa, in your office. I’d much prefer a bed.”

  “You shouldn’t start what you don’t intend on finishing,” she said, pushing against his chest, grateful he’d had more commonsense than she did, yet annoyed he’d put the brakes on. She wasn’t ready to have sex, no matter how attracted she was to Rowen.

  Or how much she liked him.

  He cupped the back of her head, pulling her body tight against his chest. “I intend on finishing, but maybe I’d like to romance my way there.” He kissed, gently parting her lips with his tongue. “Are we going out to eat? Or shall one of us cook?” he asked, staring at her with undeniable lust.

  She swallowed. “I’m a shitty cook. I was going to make a salad.”

  “You make a salad, and I’ll stop and get steaks and a bottle of red.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Sounds like a date.” He kissed her nose, then lifted her without effort, setting her feet on the ground. “I’ll see you back at your place. I’ll text you when you can fire up the grill.”

  Before she could respond, he’d raced out the door. She heard his foots clomp on the staircase. Her body jerked the second the front door slammed shut.

  She ran to the window and watched as Rowen jogged across the parking lot to his red pick-up. Damn, he had a nice ass.

  Everything about him drizzled with a combination of pure masculine sex and raw desire.

  Shit. She raced to her desk, shutting down her laptop. She wanted to get home, change into something a little sexier, get the salad ready, and then act like it was all casual.

  Yeah right.

  The entire ride back to her house, her body sizzled with anticipation. Ready or not, she wanted Rowen. As soon as she stepped foot into her house, her nerves flared up, causing her to tremble, and not in a good way.

  The last time Jeff had hit her, he’d pinned her to the ground and held her hands over her head while he sat on her. She’d never felt more vulnerable in her life. He could have really hurt her. Had it not been for the phone ringing, she didn’t know what Jeff could have done to her. She didn’t consider herself weak, not by any means, but she was a petite woman who understood her limitations.

  She tossed her keys and purse on the counter. Rowen was one of the good guys. Kind. Gentle.

  He would never hit anyone, much less a woman.

  Never.

  She gathered the ingredients for a salad, opting not to change her clothes. If he liked her…wanted her…then she could be wearing sweats, and he wouldn't care.

  Sweats!

  Okay, so it was too hot for actual sweats, but every time Rowen had seen her, she had full make-up on and either professional clothing or conservative summer wear. Jeff had always wanted her to dress to the nines, even at home. Once, he even suggested she tattoo her eyeliner on. She’d thought he was joking, but later that night, he pointed out a half dozen women at the club who had done it.

  She’d given fitting in at the club the good old college try, but at the end of the day, she preferred a neighborhood barbeque, pigs roasting and all, over a cocktail dress and martinis.

  She raced upstairs and found a pair of loose fitting jean shorts and a black tank top. Out of her bedroom window, she saw Rowen getting out of his truck with a couple of bags. Thankfully, he ducked into his house, giving her time to wash off her make-up and toss her hair in a ponytail.

  The idea that Jeff had wanted her to go work-out with her face all dolled up had been so ludicrous, she’d laughed the first time he mentioned it. When she refus
ed, he’d gotten pissed off. More angry than what she deemed normal. But the day she found herself standing in front of the mirror, in exercise clothing, dabbing on lipstick, was the day she knew she needed to get out of her marriage.

  Two weeks later, Jeff hit her for the very last time.

  A loud knock echoed through the hallway.

  “Come in,” she yelled. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst through her chest. She bolted through the house as fast as her legs could take her, until she got to the bottom of the stairs. Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  Rowen had his back to her as he set a bottle of wine on the counter. The fresh smell of a musky soap filled her lungs. He wore a pair of light blue shorts and a white t-shirt with some surf shop image on the back. Her fingers twitched, wanting to run her hands through his soft, wet hair.

  “Sorry I took so long, I needed a quick shower.” He turned, smiling. “Well, hello,” he said, closing the gap between them. His eyes smoldered with a flicker of flames.

  His arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her to his chest. His other hand palmed her cheek, and then he took her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “You’re one hell of a sexy woman, Dr. Holbrook.”

  Before she could respond, his tongue brushed against her lips with a hot sizzle. He tasted of fresh mint and smelled like a cool night around the campfire. He held tight, raising her up on tip-toes as he deepened the kiss. His touch sizzled across her skin as his hands slid under her t-shirt. Everything about the kiss felt like home.

  He backed up and stared at her for a long moment.

  “What was that for?” she asked in a breathless moan.

  “You dress up real nice, but damn, I like this look the best.”

  Heat filled her cheeks and tears threatened to sting the corner of her eyes. The fact he found her beautiful when she wasn’t even trying made her want to rip his clothes off right in the middle of her kitchen.

  Immediately after that thought, she shivered, remembering his size and strength. God, she loathed her ex-husband. Somehow she had to take her life back. All of it.

  “That’s ridiculous. I look like—”