Hot for Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  “What the hell kind of place is this?” he exploded, without even saying hello.

  She tried to close the door in his face. He slammed out a hand to prop it open.

  “This isn’t safe. You have to find someplace else.” She spun around and escaped inside. He followed. “I can’t believe your family allows you to live here. What are they thinking?”

  She whirled around to face him, planting her bare feet on the hardwood floor as if ready for a throw down. “When exactly did I invite you here to insult my place, and what the hell makes you think my family has any say in where I live? Not to mention you!”

  “Mention me?” He saw now that she’d been crying. The skin around her eyes looked puffy. Katie, crying. The sight worked like a dagger to his heart. “What’s the matter?” He aimed for gentle but didn’t quite make it.

  “Oh no, don’t you dare go acting all nice now. I have a memory, you know. Two seconds ago you were yelling at me.”

  “Actually, I think two seconds ago it was you yelling at me. I finished at least ten seconds ago.”

  She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if asking for help from the acoustic tiles above. “So you’re finished yelling? I assume that means you can go now?”

  “Nope.” He folded his arms and looked around for a chair. He had to admit her apartment looked a lot nicer inside. The hardwood floors gave it a cheerful ambience. Bookshelves overflowed with an amazing number of books, which spilled onto piles on the floor. He spotted a cherry-red futon in the corner next to a bright yellow beanbag chair. It looked a bit like kindergarten.

  “Danielle would love your place,” he said.

  “Kids always do. In general, I get along with kids a lot better than adults.”

  “Which explains why you work at a bar.”

  “So now you’re going after my job too? What’s left? My clothes? Hair?”

  “I love your hair. I could do without the clothes.”

  Her eyes flew to his with a wounded look. Oh shit. That had come out all wrong.

  “You know, because I like you better naked,” he said quickly. Images of their time together in the truck flashed through his mind. His cock responded with a twitch. He reminded himself he’d come here to yell at her, damn it.

  “Stop changing the subject,” he told her sternly. “I have some things to get off my chest.”

  She bit her lip, but not in her usual worrying way. More in a trying-not-to-laugh kind of way. “Fine. Why don’t you sit down? Would you like anything to drink?”

  “No.”

  He wasn’t about to fall for that trick. Trying to soften him up. He lowered himself onto the beanbag chair. “Don’t think I’ve ever actually sat in one of these.”

  “Comfy, isn’t it?”

  More than comfy. Almost womblike. He felt like he’d reverted to preschool years. And when he tried to resume his planned tirade, it felt ridiculous. Like trying to yell at someone while carrying a balloon and licking a clown-shaped lollipop.

  “Brody could have gotten hurt,” he began.

  “You can skip the lecture. I already decided I’m going to call the whole thing off.” She sat on the edge of the futon. “I realize it was insanely stupid. If the bar goes under, it goes under. We’ll manage. Besides, I have another plan.”

  “What?”

  “Well . . .” She plucked at her skirt. The same skirt he’d pushed up her thighs not long ago. “I don’t want to say.”

  “You owe me.” Between the lulling coziness of the beanbag chair and the hypnotic movement of her fingers, he couldn’t drum up much conviction. Those bare legs of hers ought to be wrapped around his waist. Those fingers ought to be doing clever things to his cock.

  She didn’t seem to realize all that. “I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, it has nothing to do with fire. That was wrong and stupid. When I saw that cinder hit your leg . . .”

  She refused to meet his eyes, but he heard the catch in her voice.

  “Bet you felt horrible.”

  She nodded.

  “Bet you felt really sorry for me, like you wanted to take care of me and kiss me all over.”

  Now she met his eyes, dark sparks of indignation shooting his way. “Ryan! That’s what you’re thinking about, while I’m racked with guilt over my evil deed?”

  “It wasn’t evil. You had your reasons. It was . . . misguided.” He couldn’t stand it another moment. He had to touch her. “Come here.”

  She looked suspicious, but gamely stepped to his side. He took her hand and pulled her off balance so she toppled into his lap with a squeak. He shifted his body so she cuddled on top of him, her hips nicely cupping his growing erection. He saw desire flash in her eyes, but she kept her arms stiff so her chest didn’t touch his.

  “I thought you were mad at me.”

  He tried to remember all the things she’d done. She smelled so sweet, her own honeysuckle scent mixed with smoke. “You said the fire thing was history.”

  “It is.”

  “Then I’m good. Can we kiss now?”

  Her lips twitched. He traced them with his index finger. He loved the contrast between her two lips, the stubborn look of the upper one and the rounded, sensual look of the lower. Both were so sensitive. As he caressed the soft lines of her mouth, her breathing picked up, little puffs of air warming his finger.

  Then she dropped onto his chest and he gathered her against him. What bliss to have her back in his arms. So warm, so alive, so . . . real. She kissed his neck. “Ryan,” she whispered.

  “Hmmm.”

  “When you get your job back, please don’t ever get burned.”

  The distress in her voice reached inside him, deep inside to a place he wasn’t sure had ever been touched before. He shied away, adopting a flippant tone.

  “Me? Burned? Nah.”

  After that, he lost himself in the fine texture of her skin and the variations of her scent—different in the crook of her elbow than in the curve of her jaw. He shoved her clothes aside, piece by piece. The delicacy of her bones required his attention, as did the sweet, sweet flesh of her nipples. He gorged himself on her with tongue and hands and nose and mouth. He listened to her heart beating crazy rhythms in time with his caresses. He hummed along with her sighs and moans.

  And when she couldn’t bear it anymore, and lifted herself onto him, he felt like he was floating through pink sunset clouds along a river of gold.

  That was Katie. A heart of gold. The phrase didn’t leave his head as he moved inside her, feeling every nuance of her inner walls responding to him. God, she was tight, so tight and hot. She moved over him, completely naked now, her dark pink nipples taunting him, just out of reach of his mouth. He gathered them in his hands instead and watched her throw her head back in pleasure.

  He thrust up, hard, wrenching a hot moan from her. And then her body arched and twisted. He felt her orgasm all the way to the base of his spine. He delayed his so he could watch her face go pink with ecstasy.

  He’d never get tired of watching Katie come.

  And then he let himself go, let his orgasm rip through him. It felt like stepping off a tall, tall building and floating through the air. Katie caught him in her slim arms and they drifted through the new land of joy they’d discovered together.

  Holy crap.

  He lay blinking at his own flight of imagination. He never got all poetic after sex. Never. He looked at Katie to see if she was feeling it too.

  Oh yes, she felt it too, if her glazed eyes and parted lips were any indication. Ryan sighed happily. Sex in a yellow beanbag chair ought to be followed by sex on a red futon, and he hadn’t even seen the bedroom furniture yet. But those pleasant visions fled when Katie extricated herself from his lap with a suddenly businesslike look.

  “Did you . . . are you . . .” He didn’t even know what to ask, that’s how discombobulated he was.

  “I have to go see Carson Smith,” she said briskly. “About the fire.”

  He sat up too.
“I’ll come with you.”

  “What, don’t you trust me?”

  “I trust you, but that type of guy’s slippery like a snake. You can’t deal with them like normal people.”

  “I’m not going to deal with him. I’m just going to tell him the whole thing’s canceled.” She disappeared into a dark room that must be her bedroom. “I could call him, but I want to explain in person.”

  Ryan fought with his pants, which didn’t want to slide back onto a body in a beanbag chair. He rolled off the chair and landed on his side on the floor. He looked up to find Katie staring down at him. She’d switched from the skirt to black jeans and T-shirt. “I think I should go instead,” he told her from his awkward position. “It’s the kind of thing that’s better coming from another man.”

  He knew how ridiculous he must look, but she didn’t laugh. “I know you’re trying to help me. But I need to do this by myself. I started it. Actually, Doug kind of started the Carson Smith part, but it was my fault for letting him. From now on, the buck stops here. It’s my mess to clean up.”

  She started for the door, as Ryan struggled to get his jeans to cooperate. “The door locks automatically. Thanks for stopping by. It was a great”—tossing him a wicked look over her shoulder—“lecture.”

  He limped after her, one leg still out of his jeans, only to watch her hop into her Datsun and zoom off.

  No other woman had ever skedaddled that quickly after sex before. It was enough to make a guy worry. Not that Ryan Blake, the heartbreaker of Fire Station 1, ever worried about such things.

  Until now.

  This cannot keep happening, Katie lectured herself as she drove to the Sports Junction where Carson Smith was waiting. No more sex with Ryan. Your heart can’t take it. Might as well chop it up into little bits and throw it into a frying pan. Got it? Good.

  If only hearts did what they were told.

  He was so sweet, wanting to deal with Carson Smith for her. She wouldn’t have minded. She’d had enough of that man for one lifetime. But she couldn’t let Ryan come because she knew he wouldn’t go along with her plan to pay Smith off with her graduate school fund.

  But she didn’t have a choice. Carson Smith had made that clear on the phone. Sure, he’d back off. But she still owed him money for his time and trouble. If she didn’t fork over nine thousand dollars, he’d make an anonymous tip to the insurance company and the fire department.

  After she handed him her savings, the countdown to catastrophe would really begin. The Hair of the Dog’s insurance policy was due to lapse in one week unless she paid them ten thousand dollars. Which would be hard to do once she’d given all her money to Carson Smith.

  Ironic. In a week, instead of wishing for the bar to burn down, she’d be doing everything possible to prevent a fire since they had no insurance.

  At least Ryan would be proud of her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Channel Six’s Ella Joy stood in front of the Hair of the Dog, surrounded by a TV crew. A light shone on her hair, picking up bits of bronze among the caramel strands. Katie had seen her on TV over the years, but never in person. In person she was almost unnervingly perfect.

  “I’m here at one of San Gabriel’s most historic drinking establishments, the Hair of the Dog, although some are now saying it ought to be called the Hair of the Phoenix.” She paused to give everyone a chance to appreciate her cleverness. The small knot of onlookers exchanged puzzled frowns, perhaps trying to picture hair on a phoenix.

  “The Hair of the Dog has nearly burned down at least five times over the past two weeks, and yet, as you see behind me, it’s still standing, and still serving drinks to thirsty San Gabrielenos. With me is Katie Dane, who manages this family-run business.”

  Katie attempted a frozen smile that probably looked more like a Tourette’s syndrome twitch. She’d known this would be trouble as soon as Ella Joy had contacted her. But if it drew people to the bar, she’d do a headstand on live TV.

  “Katie, how do you account for the Hair of the Dog’s remarkable resilience?” The anchor held out the microphone for Katie.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “One thing is, we’re really close to the fire station.”

  Ella Joy waited, but Katie didn’t see much more to add to that. “You must be very grateful to the heroic men and women of Station 1. Aren’t you doing something special . . . ?” she prompted.

  “Oh. Right. In thanks to all the firemen and firewomen . . .” Uh oh, that didn’t sound right. “Firepeople.” That sounded worse, like something supernatural. She tried again. Time to dredge up some clichés. “In thanks to anyone who puts their lives on the line to protect our life, property, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness . . .”

  Where had that come from? God, she was totally babbling. She caught a smirk from the man behind the camera.

  She soldiered on. “We’re offering a special drink all this week. It’s called a Hair on Fire. You know, because we’re the Hair of the Dog and we’ve had a few fires. It’s got spiced rum . . .”

  Ella flicked the microphone back to herself. “We don’t need the details.” She gave the camera a stern look. “The Sunny Side of the News does not promote alcohol use. Always drink responsibly, and select a designated driver.”

  Katie gave the camera an embarrassed smile and leaned across Ella to speak into the microphone. “We also have something for any kids who’d like to stop by. It’s called Dogs on Fire. Grilled hot dogs. No actual dogs will be harmed.”

  “Well,” said Ella Joy brightly. “Hair on Fire, Dogs on Fire. It sounds like everything’s on fire at the Hair of the Dog. Except the bar itself, we hope. Thank you, Katie. And now, Jeff, back to you in the studio.”

  She waited until the red light went off, then fluffed her hair. “Whew. I think that went well. Did you like my phoenix reference?”

  “Well . . . um . . .”

  “Slow day at the Sunny Side of the News?” The sound of Ryan’s teasing voice made them both turn.

  “Ryan Blake, City Hall hero, interview ruiner.” Ella Joy pouted her cotton candy–colored lips at him. “I still haven’t forgiven you.”

  He bent to kiss her cheek. “Should I beg?”

  “Begging never hurts.”

  “I’ll consider it. Nice job, Katie. I’m glad you slipped the word ‘rum’ in there. It’s the only hard liquor we have left.”

  Katie glanced from Ella Joy to Ryan. She sensed history. “You two know each other?”

  Ella sniffed. “I know a lot of people. Better people than him.” She held his glance. Katie suddenly felt like a party crasher.

  “I’ll let you two catch up then.” She backed away. Was there anyone in this town who didn’t “know” Ryan Blake? Oh God, had he slept with Ella Joy?

  But Ryan quickly said good-bye to Ella and caught up with Katie. “In case you’re wondering, yes, we had a thing; no, it meant nothing. City Hall caught on fire just in time. I saw her true colors.”

  “What makes you think I was wondering?”

  He opened the front door of the Hair of the Dog. The smoky smell still lingered, but in a pleasant, barbecue kind of way instead of a disaster zone way. Katie’s entire family had spent all night scrubbing and reconstructing. Even her brothers had flown in. Todd was on the disabled list with tendonitis in his elbow, and Jake, with that eerie twin timing, had gotten suspended for several games. The Dane family planned to make the most of their whirlwind visit, with a combined “Welcome Home-Goodbye” party after the cleanup.

  Ryan took her elbow. “Katie, I got a call from my father. He remembered who Carson Smith is. His real name is John Springer and he’s got a long criminal record and several fraud convictions. He used to be a plain old anarchist like Zeke, then he got greedy.”

  Katie didn’t want to hear anything more about Carson Smith, no matter what his real name was. “It’s already dealt with. I saw him yesterday and it’s over.”

  “What did you tell him? You didn’t give him any mone
y, did you?”

  Katie shook him off and hurried to the bar. If her TV appearance on the Sunny Side of the News noon show had any effect at all, she had to be ready. “I don’t want to talk about it. Ever again.” She slipped under the hinged pass-through on the counter.

  “Katie.”

  “Look.” She turned to face him, steeling herself for the impact of his blue eyes. “I really appreciate you not turning me in to Captain Brody. In return, I vow never to try to burn anything down, ever again. Which means that this place has to start making money. Lots of money. Right away. Why else would I go on TV? I hate TV. Now I want to get to work. If you still work here, I could use some help.”

  Ryan’s spidey sense told him something was wrong. Or maybe it was his Katie sense. He knew his Katie. Knew how she hated lying, or fudging the truth in any way. From the tension in the slim lines of her body and the way she attacked the counter with a rag, he knew something was bugging her.

  He blamed John Springer.

  The day passed quickly, their busiest day yet at the Hair of the Dog. They served massive numbers of Hair on Fire drinks. And not only to girls. Men came in too, and not just elderly men. Businessmen, college students, firefighters. Many, many firefighters. Word spread fast from firehouse to firehouse.

  Katie’s brothers, Todd and Jake, pitched in, twin laughing-eyed baseball players who kept picking Katie up and hugging her like a pet panda. Every time, she spluttered and kicked.

  “Big party coming up,” one brother told Ryan. “The Dane Family Posedown. You gotta come.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Katie sounded mortified.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Ryan promptly.

  “I might have to kill myself first,” Katie hissed at him as she emptied a bottle of rum.

  “And ruin the Posedown? What is it, anyway?”

  “You really don’t want to know.” She winged the glass down the bar to a fireman from LA County.

  “Are you busy later?”

  Her face turned pink. He loved that. “Maybe.”

  “Well, come by if you want. I’ll set your hair on fire.” He waggled an eyebrow suggestively, then stopped when one of the twins gave him a Katie-style glare.