Firefighter's Virgin

by Claire Adams

  I twiddled my fingers, growing increasingly impatient. The receptionist must have noticed because she came over and offered me coffee.

  A steaming mug appeared on the small table next to my couch seconds later. I heaped my sugar into it and breathed the heavenly smell deep into my lungs, already feeling calmer.

  Coffee did that to me. I loved the stuff. I consumed an unnatural amount of it. Although, given the hours I’d been keeping as a student, it probably wasn’t that unnatural. I let the warm liquid roll down my throat and immediately felt invigorated by it. Even if I was still feeling impatient.

  “Is he going to be long?” I asked the receptionist, who had taken to filing her long red nails into points. It was downright scary. I had noticed the trend, but I couldn’t say that I understood why anyone would follow it. Why would you want your fingers to look like claws?

  “Your appointment is at 8 a.m.,” she informed me briskly and sighed, as if it was obvious how long he would be. Then she snapped up a ringing phone.

  I glanced at my rose gold watch, a graduation present from myself to myself. 7:55 a.m.

  Seriously? He was going to make me wait until 8 on the dot? I rolled my eyes. I should’ve expected it. Anger and irritation rolled around in my stomach.

  The intercom on the reception desk buzzed precisely as the clock struck 8 a.m. “You can send her in, Olivia.”

  As if I hadn’t been able to hear him, Olivia dutifully fixed me with a smile and simpered, “You may see him now.”

  Oh gee, thanks. May I really see my own father now? I stomped past Olivia without a backward glance and threw open the door to my father’s office, trying my very best to push down the anger that bubbled inside me.

  “Gabrielle,” my father said as he rose from his desk. He pulled me in for a quick, cool hug. “How are you?”

  Richard Ralls was an imposing man. In his heyday, he had played for the NFL himself. He retired at the top of his game to take over the family business from my ailing grandfather. As I was sure he would remind me somewhere in the conversation we were about to have.

  His blond hair grayed at the temples, and the crow’s feet around his bright blue eyes had gotten deeper since I’d last seen him. He wasn’t a man who laughed often, but his wide grin had to come out and play whenever he was schmoozing. And that was something that he did very often.

  “I’m okay.” I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. A nervous habit that I’d been trying to kick since I’d seen Fifty Shades of Grey. I released it as soon as I realized I was doing it. “You seem busy, as always.”

  He motioned to one of the client’s chairs in front of his desk and lowered himself into his handmade leather monstrosity.

  Of course, that was what I always felt like when I went to his office. Just another client.

  “I am,” he said. “I just got in this morning, actually. I have a lot of work to catch up on.” There it was, the familiar implication that I was wasting his time. His eyes bored into mine as if challenging me to something.

  I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath to calm myself. I was this close to snapping at him, but that wouldn’t do either of us any good. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  He looked slightly surprised by my response; then his surprise turned to amusement. Amusement that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can you now, honey?”

  I gripped the armrest so hard my knuckles turned white. My fingertips numbed. The anger I’d felt minutes before turned quickly to rage. It threatened to rise as I absorbed his tone.

  “Yes, I can,” I managed to grit out.

  I must not cause a scene. I must not snap. I repeated the mantra to myself over and over again.

  If I wanted even a minuscule chance of him actually taking me seriously about not taking the bar, I had to keep a level head. Anything that could be construed as even slightly immature had to stay on lockdown.

  “I’m actually really busy myself, but I have something that I need to discuss with you. I thought it would be best to have this discussion in person.” There, I congratulated myself. That sounded perfect. Very levelheaded.

  My father didn’t seem to give a shit about my perfect delivery. “I hope that it’s studying for the bar exam that’s keeping you so busy and not the partying or the boys.”

  I groaned. He was never going to let that go. I got busted once while I was in high school. Once. Yet that was the yardstick by which I was always measured.

  It didn’t escape me that he hadn’t mentioned my graduating from law school once. Or that he was proud of me for graduating, with honors.

  “Well, actually, Dad, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  He cut me off. “Honestly, Gabrielle, it’s time for you to grow up and take some responsibility for your life.”

  I nearly gagged out loud. Responsibility? I was 24, I had graduated with honors from one of the top law schools in the country, and as far as he knew, I was about to take the damn bar exam. Something most people don’t do until 27. Yet, here he was, lecturing me about taking responsibility?

  He didn’t seem to notice that I was seconds away from going nuclear. He continued. “I mean, when I was your age, I was well into my career with the NFL. I was breaking records every season, and during the off season, I spent every spare second of my time with your grandfather being groomed to take over a multinational corporation.”

  I nearly laughed with derision, but I held on to the explosion brewing inside me so tightly, I couldn’t move a muscle.

  If I so much as tried to lift one side of my lips, I would lose control. If that happened, he would hold my “immature outburst” over me for the next decade or so, and he’d dictate my life movements for my lack of maturity to make my own decisions.

  The muscles in my jaw twitched, but still, he droned on. “I was only a year older than you are now when I had you. Then I had to take care of you on top of everything else.”

  I knew I should be used to this lecture, but it stung every time. It never failed to remind me of my mother. How she had always shut me out, thus leaving my father to take care of me. Or at least, the slew of nannies they hired to take care of me.

  He was lost in his rant, though. “You, on the other hand, want to stride in here to chat about how busy you are? The only thing you need to do is go home and study for the bar exam.”

  “Are you done?” I asked, my teeth gritted and my tone flat. “I wanted to talk to you about the exam. That’s why I’m—”

  The door cracked open, effectively cutting me off. A really tall, really well-built guy with short black hair and the most sparkling hazel eyes stuck his head through the door.

  From the immediate change in my father’s demeanor, the guy was one of his players. An important one, judging by my father’s sudden genuine smile and welcoming expression.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry, Rich. I didn’t realize you were in a meeting. I didn’t check in with Olivia. I’ll come back later.” His voice was deep, low, and smooth. He could work for a phone sex line with a voice like that. I was pretty sure he could make a girl come just by talking to her. He’d make a killing.

  Oh wait, he probably already does. I mentally admonished myself for even taking notice of how good-looking he was or how sexy his voice was. Even if my father didn’t have his rule about my staying away from his players, I wanted nothing to do with the arrogant assholes anyway.

  I waited for my father to tell him that he should go back to Olivia and wait, just like I’d had to, but instead, he motioned the guy inside. I fumed at the gesture.

  “Nonsense, James. You know you don’t have to check in with her. You’re welcome anytime.” The edge in my father’s voice that he’d had while he lectured me disappeared into thin air.

  My head snapped back like he’d slapped me. This arrogant asshole football player didn’t have to check in with his receptionist, but I did? He was welcome anytime, but I had to make an appointment two days in advance?

  Fuck that.

  I
narrowed my eyes and looked straight at my father. “Yes, James,” I seethed. “Don’t bother waiting outside. We’ll be done here in just a second. I’m not taking the bar exam, that’s what I came here to tell you.”

  I grabbed my bag and was about to storm out when my father chuckled, actually fucking chuckled, and then spoke like I was a clueless teenager throwing a tantrum. “Of course you’re taking the bar, Gabrielle. You know the rules.”

  That was it. The rage had finally bubbled all the way up, and I lost the last bit of self-control that I’d been managing to hold on to.

  “Rules? How about this for rules?” I snapped and walked straight to the asshole football player and kissed the living daylights out of him.

  Chapter Five

  James

  Well, shit. That was the last thing I expected when I stuck my head into Richard’s office that morning. My lips still tingled from the force of the blonde’s kiss. As shocked as I was, I had to admit I was a little turned on, too, as she slammed the door shut behind her.

  I couldn’t help it. The chick was fucking hot. She had legs for miles, perfectly accentuated by a short denim skirt that hit mid-thigh, decently sized tits that formed just a hint of cleavage visible in her tank top, and blonde curls that actually looked natural and hung to just below those tits. Then there were her eyes.

  She had deep blue eyes, almost the color of the sliver of faraway ocean visible from my yard. I had no problem imagining them drunk with lust or hazy post-orgasm.

  People thought my expertise was football, but any woman I’d been with would agree that my real expertise was between the sheets. Or up against a wall. Anywhere, really. Making women scream my name as they came so hard they forgot their own.

  Richard cleared his throat. It dawned on me that I’d just made out with some girl in my boss’s office. Probably not the greatest idea. “I’m so sorry, Richard. I have never seen that girl before in my life. I have no idea who she is.”

  “That’s okay. I should be the one apologizing. That’s my daughter, Gabrielle.”

  My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. Shit.

  I hadn’t just made out with some girl in my boss’s office. I’d made out with his daughter in his office. Just before I wanted to ask him for more money.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  I raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to explain. He let out a deep breath and gripped his armrests. She must’ve really upset him. “She was trying to prove a point to me. I have this rule against her dating football players, so when I brought up the rules…” He trailed off.

  “I get it. You brought up the rules, and I was the fastest way to break one.”

  He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts before confirming my suspicions. “Exactly, you were collateral damage to our, uh, disagreement. I do apologize.”

  “No worries.” I dragged my hand through my spiky hair and shot him a grin. “Women, right?”

  He smirked. “Right. Raising them is one hell of a challenge. I’ll tell you that much. You’ll see. It doesn’t get better after the teenage years. Although, that was also a mountain of fun.”

  I blanched, realizing Harper was going to do shit like that to me. I had never really thought about it like that before. She had just turned 2. I was her hero. Everything I did was awesome. Mostly, anyway. As long as I did exactly what she wanted. “Good to know what I have to look forward to.”

  I’d fucking kill any asshole who laid a hand on my daughter, but Richard didn’t look like he was about to kill me. He looked resigned, if anything. “Yeah, I’m sure that neither you nor I were easy to raise, but girls. They’re something else entirely.”

  “I hear you,” I said, meaning it. I just had no desire to engage in any thoughts about my sweet little baby with football players. Or any other man, for that matter.

  My fists clenched into balls at my sides, but I forced myself to forget about it. I had years before I had to worry about that kind of shit. Maybe I could just lock her away forever.

  Richard’s voice pulled me from my dark thoughts. “So, speaking of daughters. How is your Harper doing?”

  “She’s great. She made a new friend yesterday, not of the male variety.” I joked, hoping that it wasn’t too soon. Richard lightened up immediately and laughed. Clearly, the chat with his daughter had stressed him out, but he thawed a bit as we talked.

  Richard had been surprisingly cool and supportive about the whole Harper situation. He’d actually been a big help. It was one of the things that strengthened the bond between us. I always sensed there was a story there he hadn’t told me about.

  I had been able to put together bits and pieces from some of the stuff he’d told me over the years, but I didn’t know everything. Or how it all fit together.

  Strangely, when he mentioned his daughter, I had imagined a preteen or a middle-schooler from the way he spoke about her. I definitely hadn’t thought he referred to a smoking hot 20-something.

  “So, what did you want to talk about, James? I assume that you didn’t want to see me to commiserate about the joys of raising girls.” His sharp blue eyes studied me, looking like he was bracing for a blow.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t. I always appreciate your interest and advice, though. I actually wanted to talk to you about next season.”

  Richard tensed. “Okay, go ahead. What about it?” His jaw was tight.

  “This season was bad, Richard. That last game was a disaster. I’ve been getting other offers, as you know.” I was always open with Richard. I hadn’t hidden any of the interest in me from him, especially not after his support with Harper. “The thing is. I want a ring, man, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen here.”

  Richard leaned forward on his desk, placing his elbows at the edge and lacing his fingers together. “So, are you here to tell me that you’ve accepted one of the other offers?”

  “No, but I’m thinking about it, if I’m being honest. I thought I’d come talk to you about making a counteroffer.” There it was. My cards were on the table. The ball was in his court.

  Richard visibly relaxed. “So you’re asking for more money, but you’re staying with the team?”

  “That’s about it the size of it, yeah. If you can make it worth my while, I would be willing to stay.” The truth was that I didn’t want to leave. Miami was my home, and it was Harper’s home, but if getting a ring and more money meant leaving, then at the very least, I had to consider it.

  Two years ago, I would have been in here in a fucking heartbeat to throw my new team in Richard’s face before putting the Dolphins and Miami in my rearview mirror. I would probably have convinced Ryder to be sitting right there next to me, too.

  Things had changed, though. God, how much things had changed. Harper’s well-being had to come first. I had made many sacrifices for her since she came into my life, and I would continue doing so until my dying day.

  First, I had traded in my brand new Italian sports car for the Rover on the day that I decided that I wasn’t giving her up for adoption. Then, I had called up my realtor and bade farewell to my dream bachelor pad, buying a house in the fucking suburbs the very next week.

  That was without even touching on the drastic and radical changes to my lifestyle. Mrs. W. helped out a lot, so I could still party and do my thing, but I never brought a girl home. And I never went on the rager trips to Vegas or out on the cruise ships.

  Okay, maybe not never, but it didn’t happen that often anymore. When I’d stepped up, I thought I knew what I was signing up for. Any parent out there could have told me I had no fucking idea what it would really be like. No one ever knew until they experienced it for themselves.

  So, I was winging it, and I wasn’t doing it badly. Not in my opinion, anyway. In my mind, it all boiled down to one thing. Whatever was best for Harper came first. Always. I hadn’t promised her that the first time I’d held her, as most fathers did, but I made that promise somewhere along the line.

  To be fair, the first
time I held her was about 10 minutes after I found out she existed. I was still in shock. I’d had to wrestle a crying infant from her car seat. I was a complete stranger to her. I didn’t have one single baby product in my home or any idea of what might comfort her. Hell, I didn’t even know where to locate that shit at the time.

  Richard had been one of the people who’d helped me with that particular problem. It was one of the many reasons why I was sitting here talking to him about it.

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, James. I still have to look over the numbers, but I’m positive we can work something out.”

  “Thanks, Richard. I appreciate it. So does Harper, even though she doesn’t know it yet.”

  He nodded. “No problem, son. Let me crunch some numbers, and I’ll get back to you.” Richard’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall behind me. It was time I got going.

  We said our goodbyes, and I was nearly out the door when Richard’s voice called out to me. “James, I know that it wasn’t your fault, but never kiss my daughter again. Okay?” There was a gleam in his eyes that I had never seen before.

  I nodded. “Sure, man.”

  His office door clicked shut behind me, and I released a deep breath. The conversation had gone well, especially considering that it started with Richard’s daughter making out with me.

  Speak of the devil. She was fuming into her phone, gesturing wildly as she leaned her tight ass on the hood of a cherry red hybrid. Her eyes widened as she saw me jogging towards her.

  “I have to go, Heather. I’ll talk to you soon.” She clicked off her call and braced her arms on the hood.

  “That was quite a scene in there,” I said by way of greeting, and extended my hand to her. “I’m James, by the way. I thought you deserved my name after a kiss that hot.”

  Her face remained set in stone. Usually, girls went crazy for the smirk I’d just given her. Yet, she seemed unaffected. Her grip was surprisingly firm as she took my hand, holding my gaze without faltering. “Good for you, James. And don’t flatter yourself. That had nothing to do with you.”