by Liz Crowe
He chuckled. The sound made her shiver. “Nah, I’m all alone. Waitin’ for you.”
“Don’t try and charm me, Roberts. I’m here to work.”
He raised a light brown eyebrow at her, and the gesture was so innocent, so devoid of guile or flirtation, it made her fluttery all over. She set her jaw. “Go on,” she gestured for him to move away. “Get some clothes on, already.”
His grin widened as he passed a hand around the back of his neck. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He let the towel drop before he ambled down the long hall. The show-off. She bit her lip at the sight of that sweet, muscled ass but then looked away, determined to make this visit go the way she’d planned.
By the time he graced her with his fully clothed presence, she’d done a quick sweep of the combo living-dining room with its limestone hearth and mantle and had taken the measure of the fabulous kitchen. Sam had seen her fair share of over-the-top kitchens. It took a lot to impress her. But the Roberts kitchen was a work of art, a perfect combination of commercial-grade and luxury touches. The island alone probably cost twenty thousand, what with the solid hickory base cabinets and the vast expanse of stainless steel atop it.
“So, whaddaya think?”
She jumped, allowing a tiny tingle of satisfaction that, at this particular moment, she had the upper hand. Turning slowly, she fixed a neutral expression on her face. Wade leaned against the rare granite hightop eating bar, dressed in dark jeans and an unnecessarily form-fitting polo-style shirt with the Dallas Fire and Rescue emblem where the little horse and rider would normally be. His feet remained bare. His hair gleamed wet. His jaw was smoothly shaved. His arms, crossed over his chest, transfixed her for a second until she got a grip on herself.
“I need to see the rest of it,” she declared, mirroring him by crossing her arms. That raised eyebrow again—she tried to suppress the whole-body shudder, frowning instead, feigning impatience.
“Of course,” he said after an inordinate amount of time spent staring at her. “This way.” He held out one arm, indicating she should precede him out into the dark hardwood-floored hallway.
She squared her shoulders, gave him her best non-committal smile, and headed across the enormous kitchen in his general direction.
“You know,” he said as they passed within inches of each other, freezing her on the spot. “You do that a lot. It can’t be good for you.” He touched her arm, sending a shock all the way through her.
She blinked fast, willing her feet to move. They disobeyed her. “Do what, exactly?”
“This,” he said, his voice low and soft in an uncharacteristic way. His fingertip grazed her jaw. “I can see you clenching it from a mile away.”
Sam closed her eyes at his touch. “I . . . it’s . . . I don’t know.”
He exhaled and tightened his grip on her arm. They stood, her facing down the hall, him facing her, for more seconds than she could account for until he let her go, leaving her oddly bereft. She allowed herself a quick peek at him, regretting it the second she met his deep brown gaze. “Headaches,” he said. “You must get real whoppers.”
Her hand shook when she touched her temple, still slightly swollen from her klutz move the day before. He brushed past her and ambled down the hallway, opening doors as he went.
“Two smaller bedrooms,” he pointed out. “All set up with furniture that I also want to be sold.” He opened the third door. “A room for my, um, supplies,” he said. “Doubled, once upon a time, as an office.”
Sam made a point to enter each of the rooms, unable to stop admiring the classy furnishings and art. Each room looked staged, unused, and her brain spun at the cost put into the decorating choices. He lingered in the doorway as she perused the office, which was dominated by a gigantic partner’s desk and a mostly empty bookshelf. She frowned when she noted the storage chest. Almost as big as the massive desk, it was the old-fashioned kind, the sort that could contain a pirate’s treasure.
Wade cleared his throat. “It’s nothing,” he said. She glanced at him, noting the sudden high color in his cheeks. “I’ll get it out before you show it to anyone.”
She put her hand on the dome top for reasons she couldn’t express, other than to see how he’d react. He flinched and moved toward her, inserting himself between her and the thing as if shielding her from it.
“Got a body in there or something?”
“Nah, nothing that exciting. Come on, let’s finish the grand tour.”
He rushed her through the rest—the master suite with its heavy furniture and spa-worthy bathroom; the basement with his state-of-the-art weights, cross trainer, rowing machine and spinning bike, all facing a wall of windows that looked out onto the vast expanse of green lawn alongside the patio and pool; the media room with huge screen and sound system; and the fifth bedroom, complete with its own private bath.
As they made their way back upstairs, she let her hand trail along the heavy wood banister, as she lost herself in thought. “You put a lot of money into this,” she said. “You inherited it, right?”
He turned before opening the French doors to the patio. “How’d you know that?”
“Public record. It’s sort of my job to know who owns what.”
“Huh, well, yeah. I did. I’ve owned it for—”
“Twelve years,” she interrupted him, sensing his sudden discomfort. “All your renovation permits got pulled at once, including the exterior stuff—pool and all that—about nine years ago.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So . . . tell me what happened. This is hardly a bachelor pad.”
Wade’s eyes darkened. “I’m sure Skye and Jax filled you in already. Come on. I gotta get to work in a few, so let’s wrap this up. You bring papers for me to sign or what?”
She didn’t move. She had brought the entire listing packet, including the contract, but had left everything in the SUV. After spending the past twelve or so hours in a stew of anticipation, remorse, and anxiety, only to circle around back to eager, shivery anticipation, she’d made a decision about Wade Roberts.
She took a long breath. “I like you,” she declared, crossing her arms.
He seemed to relax at that, which gave her a modicum of encouragement.
“I mean, I’m not terribly proud of what I . . . what we did yesterday. But I want to be totally honest with you, Wade. I haven’t been with a man in nearly five years. Not since I finally got rid of the man who’d held me emotionally hostage for a solid four years in college.”
Wade stood up straighter. His eyes flashed, and his fists clenched at his sides.
“Spare me the caveman act, please. He did a serious number on my psyche, but he’s long gone.” She shrugged and leaned back against the island counter top, her pulse calming, which was the clue she needed to know she’d done the right thing coming here and telling him this. “It’s taken me right about this long to get over it, I think. You . . .” She made an awkward up-and-down gesture with one hand. His grin widened. “You came along at a good time for me. I was . . . ready, I guess.”
“Glad I have such great timing.” His low voice set fire smoldering in her belly. But she quelled it and held up her hand to keep him from moving any closer. She had another message for this man. An important one.
“I’ll list your place, Wade. I don’t need to see any more of it. It’s worth about two million, but the problem is that it’s a little overbuilt for the area and size. I mean, most buyers willing to shell out that kind of coin are looking for more than five acres, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know.” He slumped back against the French doors and swiped a hand across his lips. Sam saw how much that hand shook. “Honestly, I don’t care what you list it for. I want it gone. I don’t owe much on it, but . . .” He hesitated. “Well, I guess you know what I owe on it, huh?”
Sam nodded. Anything over two hundred grand would be pure profit for him, even after he paid out the commissions and closing fees.
“Here’s what I pro
pose,” she said, putting her hand on the cool countertop to steady herself. “You take me to dinner tomorrow night.” She smiled when his eyes narrowed, confusion apparent on his face. “Someplace nice, as in we have to dress all the way up for it. You choose the place. You can pick me up at seven o’clock. Here’s my address,” she said, putting her card on the counter, having already handwritten her condo’s location as part of her plan to initiate this craziness.
Her voice was steady, thank goodness, because she was shaking all over inside as she kept her gaze on the man across the room from her. “I want to know more about you, Wade,” she said, smoothing her already smooth skirt along her thighs. A nervous tick that drew his gaze up and down her body in a way that made her mentally put on the brakes to keep from launching herself across the room at him.
“But even though I really would love for you to pick me up and carry me into that over-the-top bedroom of yours, I won’t let you. Not until we get to know each other better.”
He blinked fast, processing this, she assumed. She sucked in a breath. “I want to see you dressed all the way up,” she reminded him, crossing her arms again and giving him an obvious once-over. “And I want to share a good bottle of wine and a great steak with you. Then we can talk about . . .” She gave a flick of her fingers. “The listing plan.”
He chuckled. She smiled and resisted the urge to clench her jaw, still feeling the cool tips of his fingers from earlier, calming and soothing her the way no one ever had. “Deal?”
He frowned, scratched his chin, looked up, then down, then back at her. “I get to pick the place, right?”
She nodded, losing her ability to control herself so much her knees were about to be useless in the holding-her-up department.
“Deal,” he said, moving away from her and heading for the front door. She waited a beat, gathering her wits about her before following him. He stood, holding one of the large dark wooden doors ajar. “Better go now, Sam,” he said, caressing the one syllable of her name in a way that made her shiver. “I make no promises about my ability to control myself around you. So, if the lady wants to be wined and dined, then that is what the lady will get.” He bowed low and made a grand, sweeping motion with his arm, indicating she should leave.
She walked out, heart pounding in her ears. When she reached her SUV door, she sensed him behind her. Determined to make her exit and not give in to what every cell and molecule in her body were screaming for right then—to make him take her back inside and not emerge for days—she swallowed and turned to face him. Wade was close, too close for anything but a personal moment. But she let him do it. She wanted him close.
He smiled and traced the line of her jaw once more with his rough finger. “You sure you want to know all my secrets?” he asked in a whisper, his lips hovering, teasing and tempting her.
She nodded, biting her lower lip in yet another nervous tick. He made a sound deep down in his throat—a sound she remembered, a sound that made her entire lower body feel like it was dissolving—then slid his hand alongside her face and sucked her lower lip into his mouth, giving it a little nip before letting her go and stepping away. She stumbled forward, having already been leaning into him, ready and willing to toss off the whole ‘take me out on a date’ thing right then and there.
Wade grabbed her elbow to keep her from face-planting, then let her go. “See you tomorrow night, Sam,” he said, then turned on his bare heel and headed back inside, leaving her breathless and fairly thrumming with lust.
Chapter Eight
“Hey, Chief?”
Wade blinked fast as he realized someone was calling for him, and probably had been for more than a minute, given the raised, frustrated sound of the voice. He cleared his throat, shook his head and attempted to focus on his job—not the looming date that evening.
“Yeah,” he barked out, trying to act like he’d just been contemplating next month’s scheduling dilemma and not mooning around like a love-struck pre-teen girl.
Cal Morrison stood there, studying him a little too closely for Wade’s taste. “Whaddaya want, probie?”
As Cal was about to open his mouth to respond, the alarm clanged at the exact moment Wade’s phone buzzed and the scanner beeped with an incoming call. Wade sighed in relief. He was not up to dealing with Cal at that moment, mainly because the kid had been the procuring cause of Sam’s drunkenness at that fateful barbecue.
The main firehouse where his EMT division was housed had gone from the dead stop of a hot mid-morning Wednesday to full on action. Wade caught sight of Jax and Dane, Skye’s brother, running full tilt toward the big ladder rig. One glance at his phone screen confirmed they had a messy interstate pile-up on their hands. Although legitimately worried about the souls that may have been injured or killed, Wade’s relief ramped up along with his adrenaline level at the thought of the distraction.
“Come on, junior,” he yelled to Cal. “I’ll ride along and watch you work.”
Cal nodded, cool as a cucumber as he slammed the back of the EMT rig shut and headed around to the passenger’s side. After he had jumped behind the wheel, Wade waved one of his crew over to the open window.
“You goin’ out on this one, Chief? I thought you were on desk duty today.”
“I got bored. And I need to see our new young stud at work. Hold it down for me.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said, backing away as Wade flipped on the lights and sound and tore out behind the line of firetrucks making their screaming way towards the accident.
Four hours later, Wade had to admit his new knucklehead Cal Morrison was a class-A paramedic. His cucumber coolness went a long way towards calming the various screaming, terrified people dragged away from the tangle of metal and fire in the median at one of Dallas’ most dangerous, multi-lane junctions.
The guy moved with a swift efficiency that matched his demeanor. He and Wade had stabilized two teenaged girls and sent them off to the hospital in one of the many ambulances that had shown up at the crash. Then they had to tend to an utterly hysterical young woman who’d been able to crawl out of her open, driver’s side window but had to be pulled away from the car as it was rapidly engulfed in flames.
“My baby!” she’d screamed and clutched at Wade’s arms. “Please . . . don’t leave him.”
He’d motioned for Jax, who’d come running with the jaws of life. Between them, they’d pried the kid out of the slowly melting backseat, car seat and all, and managed to singe their eyebrows in the process. But thankfully, the little boy was fine after a bit of oxygen once he’d been reunited with his mother.
It’d been a real shit show of an accident, though, with four DOAs, and four others, who’d been trapped so long in some kind of a minibus thing before they could be reached, Wade wasn’t sure they’d last the trip to the hospital. He and Cal managed the minor injuries once they’d triaged all the serious stuff out to various hospitals. Finally, Wade stood, swiping at his grimy face and watching the firemen continue pouring water on one part of the stubborn fire, and some chemicals on a tanker that they were all very, very lucky had not gotten its outer shell pierced.
“Not bad, probie,” he said as they were cleaning up and piling all the stuff back into their vehicle. “A little wobbly on that first IV, though.”
Cal shot him an arched look. Wade shrugged. Cal hadn’t been wobbly on a single treatment, but he had to criticize something. They drove back to the station in silence, both men filthy and reeking of smoke. Cal’s shirt was smeared with blood from one of the teenaged girls’ ripped scalp. When he noted the time—almost four-thirty—he closed his eyes, marveling at his own level of anxiety over a simple date. Something about taking Sam out tonight had him nervous beyond all reasoning. He had to get a grip. As he parked the rig, Cal turned to him.
“I’m sorry, Chief,” the young man said.
Wade frowned. “For what? You’re better than half the assholes on my crew.”
“I didn’t realize she, Sam, was your, uh . . .
”
Wade sighed. “She wasn’t. But if I have anything to do or say about it tonight, she will be.” He lowered his brow and gave Cal his best, alpha-dog glare. “Got that?”
Cal grinned, his face so boyishly relieved it made Wade want to laugh. “Got it.”
“You did good today, kid,” Wade said before he climbed out and dropped wearily to the concrete floor of the main garage. He made his way toward the locker room, figuring he’d shower the worst of the stink and dirt off here, then head home once he’d filled out his accident reports.
When he emerged from the shower, feeling ever so slightly revived, he threw on a fresh uniform and made his way to the desk at the corner of the main garage floor. Cal sat there, tapping away on the main computer. Wade leaned on the cubicle divider, amused in spite of himself.
“Can I help you?” he asked, making Cal jump and turn around, his face reddening under the scrim of soot and whatever else on his face. “I mean, I hate to interrupt . . .”
“Oh, sorry, Chief . . . I thought I’d just get going on the reports for you, I mean, so you can, um, get going. You know, on your date.” Cal ran a hand around the back of his neck.
Wade stayed silent, unsure whether to berate or thank him. Cal grinned.
A hand smacked Wade’s shoulder. “Better get going, Chief,” one of his crew said. “Hot date tonight.”
Wade frowned. “Is anything in this fucking place ever a secret?” he asked, honestly curious. “You got this?” He pointed to the computer screen. “Something tells me you do.”
“Yeah,” Cal admitted. “I do.”
“Fine, I’m out. All you dickheads can keep your noses the hell out of my business.”
Jax passed by him, reeking of smoke and chemicals, his face barely recognizable through the filth. “Got your condoms all packed, Wade-y?”
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Wade muttered, his face heating up at the concept of condoms and why he’d need them.
