Her Firefighter SEAL

by Anne Marsh

  “Muck,” he said cheerfully. “Milfoil. Pond weeds. Lots of mud, rotting stuff, and fish shit.”

  Now she wanted a shower.

  Of course, Kade being Kade, he had towels and more extra clothes in the back of his truck. The man apparently believed in being prepared for all eventualities, up to and including getting stuck in the woods overnight. He handed her new clothes, turned the heat on in the truck, and pointed toward the cab.

  “In you get. One super-deluxe changing cabana.”

  She eyed him. “Are you the pool boy in this scenario?”

  Because that worked for her.

  “I could be, but right now I’m the boat-retrieval service. When I come back, we can discuss expanding my job description.”

  He squeezed her shoulder, the rough pads of his fingers briefly tracing the hollow there, and loped back toward the lake. The overturned boat floated in a halo of their stuff. She’d made a first-class mess. He did stop to kick off his boots. She was amazed he hadn’t sunk under their weight, but maybe that was part of the secret SEAL training regime. She wondered if he would have stripped down to his skivvies if she hadn’t been there. Not that it mattered, because their unexpected swim in the lake had his jeans and T-shirt plastered to him.

  She’d kissed him.

  She thought about that while he dove into the lake and kicked hard for the boat, treating her to a perfectly executed combat sidestroke. He pulled himself through the water with his arms and kicked, moving quickly. Apparently his knee didn’t bother him nearly as much in the water. That was good.

  He’d kissed her back, which was more than good.

  So the question really was: If she was in charge, what did she want? Because no amount of wishing would bring Will back, and here she was and Kade was, and there were several things she could do about that. And just possibly, getting him out of those wet clothes topped her to-do list.

  ~*~

  Righting the boat hadn’t been particularly difficult. It had a thin aluminum shell and weighed less than three hundred pounds. He’d rocked it a couple of times and then flipped it. Most of their stuff had floated. The sandwiches were fish food, but the fish they’d caught had been in the cooler, so he’d been able to snag that. He could still execute the make dinner part of his master plan.

  He put the stuff in the boat, then pushed it to shore, Stan happily swimming alongside him. He’d deal with the waterlogged motor later, because right now he was trying desperately to not imagine Abbie getting naked in the front seat of his truck.

  Holy crap, she’d kissed him.

  There was no way he’d misunderstood that. Maybe it had been an impulse or a spur-of-the-moment thing. Maybe she wouldn’t want to do it again, but he definitely did. On the other hand, she’d flipped the boat in her enthusiasm. The lake was cold enough to mitigate the physical evidence of what that did for him, even if he couldn’t stop replaying the kiss in his mind.

  By the time he beached the boat and waded out, Abbie had a fire going in the fire pit, bless her. She’d spread her wet clothes out over the bushes in the sunshine. It was June. It was California. She actually had a decent chance of drip-drying in the next forty minutes or so. Her laundry skills weren’t the issue. No, the problem was his eyes, because they went straight to her panties. Her panties were teeny tiny, a see-through scrap of pink nylon and mesh.

  Pretty.

  Sexy.

  Hers. It wouldn’t have mattered if she wore granny panties. She’d been wearing them minutes ago. He was in so much trouble here, because his next thought was to wonder what she was wearing now. If he was a lucky man (and he was fairly certain he’d used up all his luck escaping his Afghani captors), she was naked beneath his sweatpants.

  “You have a french press.” She sighed happily, unaware of his panties dilemma.

  Yeah. He liked his coffee, and apparently she did too. He bit back a smile as she grabbed for the pot and his second cup.

  “I’m going to change,” he said, his voice sounding gruff even to his own ears.

  “Go for it,” she agreed, her eyes moving over him.

  Permission granted. Hiding his grin, he grabbed the last set of spare clothes from the truck bed and then changed on the other side of the truck. They were alone out here, and he didn’t mind if she snuck a peek. He did take advantage of the privacy to stretch his knee. The damned thing not only looked like a field where a meteor had cratered, jagged scars running up and down both side of the kneecap, but it ached. Swimming in cold water was not, apparently, on his knee’s list of acceptable activities. It was high maintenance and voting strongly in favor of its next swim taking place in a heated Jacuzzi or a tropical lagoon. His knee would have to suck it up and get with the program.

  He pulled on an ancient pair of jeans and a fire department T-shirt. Leaving the sweatshirt unzipped, he shoved his feet into an old pair of running shoes, added his clothes to the bush, grabbed the fish, and got started on the cleaning.

  Abbie wandered over and watched him work. “We’re eating now?”

  “Unless you prefer sushi, we’re eating in about twenty minutes.” He dropped the fish into a frying pan, added a little oil, and headed for the fire. She wasn’t out here with Emeril, so hopefully she liked fried fish.

  “I drowned the muffins.” She gazed wistfully at the center of the lake.

  Yeah. She had.

  “We could have dessert first,” he suggested. “I’m a Boy Scout and I brought two colors. You only drowned half the food.”

  She grinned at him. “You’d earn major bonus points with the pregnant woman.”

  See, that was the part he needed to remember. She was pregnant. And widowed. He looked at her though, and he saw Abbie. He’d brought s’more fixings with him, along with baked beans and a macaroni salad. Not a green vegetable in sight, but who wanted to barbecue fresh-caught fish and crunch leaves at the same time?

  He fished the fixings out and spread them on top of the cooler in order. When he turned around, she’d already found two sticks, so even if they weren’t on the same page kissing-wise, they agreed about the dessert first thing. Abbie stabbed her first marshmallow with a stick and shoved it into the flames, turning it into a black, blistering ball of goo. He winced.

  “That’s not how you roast a marshmallow.” His own was slowly turning an even shade of gold-brown. After thirty seconds on the southern side, he rotated it.

  She slapped her desecrated marshmallow onto a graham cracker, and eyed his. “If I happened to jostle your elbow and knock your marshmallow into the flames, would there be retaliation?”

  He nodded solemnly. “Marshmallows are serious business.”

  “Bummer.” She didn’t look entirely convinced, so he braced his elbow, just in case she decided to make a run for his marshmallow. He wasn’t eating charcoal.

  He passed her the open slab of Hershey’s and she was silent for another moment as she assembled a ridiculously disproportionate s’more. Recipes were obviously guidelines as far as Abbie was concerned. Then she took her first bite and he lost all interest in dessert unless it involved Abbie and marshmallow cream. She moaned as she chewed, a delighted, husky sound that made him think about sex. With her. Again. Unfortunately, it seemed like everything Abbie said and did made him think about sex, which was a problem. He was supposed to be dragging her back to the land of the living—and not off to bed.

  “You are a god among men.”

  “I’m a useful guy,” he agreed.

  For example, he definitely wanted to pull her over onto his lap and kiss her again. Or let her kiss him again. Either way worked for him. In fact, they could do it both ways and then compare notes. See which approach was best, and if she still made that cute humming noise when she was really, really into a kiss.

  Okay. He just wanted to kiss her as many times as she’d let him.

  “Marshmallow,” he said, pointing to the corner of his own mouth.

  She blinked at him.

  “You have marshmal
low on your mouth,” he clarified.

  She licked the corner of her mouth, her tongue sliding over her lips. Jesus. He should have made a cake. Brownies. Something, anything, that didn’t involve licking.

  She sighed and turned to him. “Can I use you?”

  Chapter Six

  Two cold water swims hadn’t been enough to take the edge off his attraction to Abbie. There were other emotions in the mix as well, but he focused on the desire. Sex was familiar ground.

  “You want to clarify that for me?”

  Please don’t let me have misunderstood. Because he almost thought she’d offered him sex, and that just didn’t go with the Abbie Donegan he knew. Sure, she’d climbed on top of him and kissed him in the boat, but he’d put that in the crazy temporary aberration column. Or possibly in the making my point in some incomprehensible female way column.

  “We’re friends now, right?”

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew a loaded question when he heard one. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, because he had to go with the truth. Plain and simple? He’d be whatever she needed.

  She took a deep breath and set her marshmallow stick down. “Can we be friends with benefits?”

  He’d lost his head in the lake or at least some critical brain cells because, kiss or no kiss, he definitely hadn’t seen this coming. “You want to define that for me?”

  She made a face, but her cheeks were pink. Yeah. He’d understood correctly. His heart—and other parts—gave a happy leap. “I want us to have sex.”

  “You broke up with me. You don’t even like me.” Way to go sabotaging his own sex life.

  “I do.” Was it wrong that the certainty in her voice made parts of him leap? Yeah, probably. “When you’re not pissing me off which, admit it, you do intentionally at least half the time.”

  He wasn’t admitting to that. “You want to have sex with me.”

  He was pretty sure her word choice meant something.

  She eyed the front of his pants pointedly. “I don’t think I’m the only one who feels that way.”

  He cleared his throat. Were they actually on the same page here? “So you’ve gone from being pissed off at me”—he raised a hand when she made a noise of protest—“most of the time, to wanting to strip naked and have your way with my body?”

  She blinked at him. “Are you protesting?”

  Not really. He just felt like he was missing something, and it wasn’t just a rocking sex life. “I’m all yours. Should I get naked right now?”

  She laughed, and the tension lightened. “We smell like lake water.”

  “And fish.” Not that he minded. She looked cute and sexy as hell in his old gym clothes.

  “I’m lonely,” she admitted, and then she turned to look at him. “And I think you are too. So why can’t we be less lonely together?”

  “Less lonely means more naked?”

  She grinned. “It was the first plan that came to mind, and we used to have awesome sex.”

  “It’s a perfect plan,” he said gruffly. “But there’s one thing we need to be agree on. I can’t be Will.”

  “All I need you to be is Kade.”

  He could do that much.

  “And—” She hesitated.

  “You just told me to take my clothes off,” he pointed out. “Whatever you’re thinking now, just say it.”

  She looked amused. “Surely I didn’t shock you?”

  He wasn’t stupid. Yes wasn’t crossing his lips. Ever. “I am pretty unshockable.”

  “Which is why you fell out of the boat when I kissed you.”

  That wasn’t exactly how it had happened, but she could tell herself whatever version of events she wanted if he got another kiss.

  “If we get naked—”

  “When,” he said, interrupting her. “You can’t order me to get naked and then take it back. I’m a weak man and you’ve made me promises.”

  “Good to know. When we get naked, I need to know that you’re doing it for me and not because Katie asked you to do something for me.”

  He raised a brow. “Are you accusing Katie of pimping me out?”

  She sighed. “You know what I mean. She’s worried about me. I get that. In another month, another year, I’ll even appreciate her concern. I just need you to tell me that whatever the two of us do, it has nothing to do with Katie.”

  “Katie has absolutely, positively nothing to do with us getting naked. She’s a friend, a good friend. I owe her one for everything she’s done for me.”

  Abbie didn’t look entirely convinced. “You always think you owe people.”

  Because he did.

  “Sweetheart, I have a balance sheet that’s operating in the red.”

  She was silent for a moment. “So what do other people owe you?”

  “Nothing,” he said, sliding fried fish onto a paper plate and handing it to her.

  “You served as a SEAL. I don’t think the correct answer is nothing.”

  He nudged her shoulder with his. “How did we get from when can we have sex to death and dying? Because I’d rather talk about sex.”

  Death—and not sex—had been a big part of his SEAL days, especially those last three months in Khost. He’d seen people die, he’d lost friends. And yeah, he’d pulled the trigger and killed people. No matter what label he slapped on those people—insurgent, dangerous, murdering bastards—he’d killed them. He was okay with that, but not everyone was.

  The smile Abbie gave him looked more fragile than he liked. “More sex, less death. I’m in full agreement with you there. Was it really bad in Khost?”

  “I did my job,” he said. “Eat.”

  “You’re distracting me.” She stole a bite off his plate. “And I’m going to let you.”

  Thank God. Her eyes were warm and more than a little bit sad. “You don’t like to talk about death and dying either,” he pointed out.

  “It’s not the same thing,” she said.

  It really was. Like Abbie, he’d lost vital members of his team, people he cared about and worried about and fought for. Unlike Abbie, however, he hadn’t been part of a team of two, and he’d worn a uniform. He had a feeling the emotions were the same though, although he’d never wanted to have sex with any of his fellow SEALs. He grinned. That would have complicated the shit out of his missions.

  “I don’t do love and happily ever after,” she said eventually. “That’s not my thing anymore.”

  She was back to the “let’s have sex” idea again. He had a feeling she’d change her mind someday. She’d meet some nice guy—a nice guy who wasn’t him—and she’d realize that Will was part of her past and it was time to get on with her future. Kade was just a pit stop on this journey she was on.

  “I have flashbacks,” he admitted. “You’re not going to want to sleep with me at night. The nightmares make me restless and pissy.”

  She tossed her empty paper plate into the fire. “Do they make you violent?”

  “I would never hurt you or the baby.”

  She nodded. “I’m a bed hog. I’ll steal your pillow. And Baby will kick you. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said easily, wondering what she would do next.

  “So.” She looked at him. “We’re going to use each other. We’re going to be company for each other.”

  “Yeah,” he said, right as his pager went off. They both stared at the device vibrating on his hip. He’d left it in his truck while they went out to fish, so it had survived their unplanned swim. Maybe that had been a mistake.

  “You get reception out here?”

  “Guess so.” He checked the pager and discovered a message to report to the Strong firehouse. Ben Cortez was short an EMT and wanted to know if he was available. He got up and got busy putting their fire out. She got up and started collecting their clothing from the bush. Too bad the reason their clothing was strewn around the beach had nothing to do with sex.

  “Are you joining the firehouse permanently?”
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  He grabbed a bucket of water from the lake and drowned the fire while he considered the answer to her question. “Nope,” he said finally.

  “Why not?” Finished with her clothes, she moved on to his, and his brain took a temporary vacation. There were better ways for her to get her hands on his clothes, and he wanted to investigate those ways now.

  “Because the firehouse is a temporary gig.” Being grounded permanently wasn’t happening. He jumped. End of story. Since anything else was impossible, he started mixing the fire ash with dirt. Getting careless and setting the lake on fire wouldn’t set the right example.

  “Your knee’s okay?” She eyed his leg doubtfully, like his medical history was pinned to his kneecap. And because he was the king of wishful thinking, he lied through his teeth.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be approved to jump in a week or two, and then I’ll be back to jumping with Donovan Brothers.”

  He jabbed the remnants of their fire with a stick, looking for hidden hotspots. The new fire season would be a bad one. California seemed to live in one perpetual drought, and each summer seemed drier than the last. He’d fallen in love with smoke jumping when he’d volunteered during his annual leave days from the military. No way he sat out the fight. No way he was too broken to help.

  Chapter Seven

  Working as a volunteer firefighter and EMT helped fill up the hours. Or so Kade told himself. Never mind that it chafed, riding along at the back of the posse, hitting cleanup. And he absolutely understood the value of a cleanup crew—the military’s had done one hell of a job patching him up after the damage the Afghani insurgents had done to him—but he wanted to be in the thick of things. He didn’t watch.

  He damned certain didn’t wait.

  Today’s fire was ten miles outside of Strong. Some Farmer Fred wannabe had decided to burn a pile of trash, and the wind had kicked up, tossed a few sparks around, and voilà. Insta-fire. At least their civilian firebug had possessed the good sense to phone it in. When the fire truck had pulled up, the guy had been sprinkling the four-foot flames eating up his fence and garden shed with a puny stream of water from a bright green watering can. Dick jokes had ensued immediately, because that had been one tiny hose and none of the team could resist.