Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel

by Jennifer Bernard

“No, you’re not all right?”

  “Define ‘all right.’ ”

  He answered with a slight smile and a silence that was somehow comforting. It lasted for a long moment, during which Sabina’s emotions churned. “I’ll do my best to keep this from affecting my job here. If you need me to speak to the fire chief, I can do that.”

  “Don’t worry about the fire chief. That’s my problem.”

  His air of calm, unworried authority made something break loose inside her. Besides, it wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark.

  “You deserve to know what’s going on. My mother wants me to do a You and Me reunion show,” she said, wincing at how ridiculous it sounded. “And she’s pulling out all the stops, Annabelle Hatfield–style.”

  “A You and Me reunion show?” Squinting, he leaned one hip on his desk. “I’m pretty sure Chief Renteria might have a problem with that one.”

  “No shit. I have a problem with it. But my mother’s got her heart set on it. And she’s a force of nature. She’s stubborn like you wouldn’t believe.” Sabina’s military posture flagged; her shoulders slumped. She tried to straighten them but it felt like lifting the weight of ten fire trucks. She stared down at the floor, willing herself to keep it together, then felt a firm hand squeeze her shoulder.

  “Sit down. I can’t have my firefighters all churned up.”

  He steered her toward a chair. She sat, vibrating from the effect of his touch, while he disappeared out the door. “Churned up.” That’s exactly how she felt when he was around. She took a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of the office mixed with the added freshness of Roman’s aftershave. It smelled delicious to her, sort of spicy and exciting, like cappuccino and Greek olives. She smiled at the image, as if Roman were some kind of exotic gourmet market.

  He returned with two mugs of coffee and a handful of sugar packets and kicked the door closed behind him.

  “I like mine black but extra sweet. How about you?” Balancing the coffee cups, he stepped carefully toward her. Something inside her melted at the sight of such a mighty specimen of manhood cradling the cups as if they were baby chicks.

  “Only when no one’s looking.”

  One marauding eyebrow quirked upward. “You have a secret sweet tooth?”

  “The guys would tease me if I poured too much sugar in my coffee. You know what my rookie nickname was?”

  “What?” He hoisted one hip onto the desk and blew on his coffee. He had nicely shaped lips. Firm, with a sensual curve. And they had felt so good when they’d closed over hers . . .

  Stop it.

  “Sweet’N Low. Annabelle never had sugar in the house. I grew up with the little pink Sweet’N Low packets. The guys thought that was hilarious. So when I came to this station I started drinking my coffee black.”

  “And then you became Two.”

  She made a face and poured three packets of sugar in her coffee, one after the other. Who the hell cared now? Besides, if that mountain of masculinity known as Chief Roman could put sugar in his coffee, so could she.

  “Just curious, why’d you give up acting?” He took a sip of steaming coffee. “Seems like you could have had quite a career if you’d stuck to show business.”

  She bristled. “What are you implying?”

  Another eyebrow raise. Those strong, sweeping eyebrows did something to her body temperature.

  “Absolutely nothing,” he said. “It was a simple question.”

  Suddenly weary, she lowered her cup and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Sorry. I’m getting paranoid. I just want everything back how it was.”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Waste of energy. No matter how much you wish it, things never go back to how they were.”

  Oh God. She was an idiot, complaining about her stupid problems when nothing she’d faced in her life compared to losing a wife on 9/11. She curled both hands around her coffee mug and wondered if she should offer sympathy or condolences. He never mentioned his wife at the station, but he must know it was common knowledge.

  Silence stretched between them, taut as a tightrope.

  “I hated acting,” she blurted. “But it was the only thing my mother ever wanted. If I complained about it, she’d yell at me about how lucky I was to be rich and famous and still have my whole life ahead of me. That really scared me—a whole life of makeup and cameras and directors pushing me around? When I was seventeen I filed for legal emancipation and quit the show.”

  Those simple words hid a lot of angst, a lot of legal maneuvering, yelling on Annabelle’s part, and white-knuckle fear.

  “And never looked back? So long, Hollywood?”

  “Well, it wasn’t quite that easy. I had no skills and a pretty sketchy education. I’d never been on my own before. I went a little wild and burned through my money. That’s why I did Zombie Nights—I needed the cash. And that’s when I decided to become a firefighter.”

  “Zombies inspired you to join the force? Now that’s a story I’d love to hear.”

  She laughed, feeling herself relax, and took a long drink from her extremely sweet coffee. “I told you a little bit of it. I was hanging out on the set waiting to shoot the scene after I’d been turned into a zombie. Full makeup and everything. I looked disgusting, as you’ll find out if you ever watch the movie. Which I beg you not to do, by the way. Anyway, the lead zombie, I can’t even remember his name, was all hopped up on something and kept blowing his lines. I’d been there about twelve hours and there was no end in sight.”

  From behind the shield of his coffee cup, Roman watched Sabina tell her story, trying to hide his fascination. She was such a puzzle. A celebrity kid who had turned her back on it all. A beauty who preferred to be one of the guys. He wanted to jump under her skin and figure her out. Or at least stroke that skin, especially right there along her throat where her pulse danced . . .

  He realized he was staring and snapped back to attention.

  “All of a sudden people started screaming from the parking lot where the trailers were. We all ran out there. Flames were pouring out of the star’s trailer. The security people called 911 and a fire engine zoomed onto the lot. They jumped out and had the fire out in about half a minute. They couldn’t have cared less that they were on the set of a Hollywood movie. They came in, did their job, worked together like a perfect machine, no egos, no temper tantrums, no arguments over who gets the bigger trailer or who gets more close-ups. I almost cried when they left. I wanted to go with them so badly. I wanted to be them. Do something that mattered in the world.”

  Roman forced a smile through the ache in his heart. He felt as if he were truly seeing Sabina for the first time. The passionate light in her eyes, the determination in her voice—and Renteria wanted her out. He’d just gotten another phone call from the angry chief. A cameraman had ambushed Renteria at headquarters looking for a sound bite about the Bachelorette. “Bite me” made for a damn good sound bite, if you were the evening news.

  Renteria wanted blood. But he hadn’t seen the light in Sabina’s eyes as she talked about the job.

  “So you decided right then and there to become a firefighter?”

  “More or less. On the way out, one of the firemen stopped and looked at me. Mind you, I was in full zombie mode. You know what he said?”

  “Can’t imagine.”

  “He said, ‘Suffer a sea change into something rich and strange.’ Shakespeare. He quoted Shakespeare at me. Turned out he taught drama as a second job. Right then, I was hooked.”

  Roman shook his head with a frown. “What does Shakespeare have to do with anything?” Either she wasn’t making much sense or he was too distracted by the way her vivid eyes lit up the bland office.

  “The sea change. It occurred to me that I could give myself a sea change. I didn’t have to be stuck doing zombie movies forever.” She rose gracefully to her feet, still clutching her mug. “Thanks for the coffee, Roman. And the distraction. I need to make a call before lineup. I have to get a
handle on this crap before it gets too out of control.”

  After she’d left, Roman spent a long time staring at the chair she’d abandoned, breathing the air that still carried a whiff of jasmine-scented shampoo. He felt woozy. Her words, her expressions, the way her fingers wrapped around her mug, the way her eyes lit up . . . her presence, her spirit . . .

  He was in very, very big trouble.

  “Max, you’re stooping to new lows here. What is this, blackmail by local news?”

  Max cackled. “Local’s just the beginning, munchkin. I got big plans.”

  Sabina paced around the backyard of the firehouse. The crew was starting to gather in the kitchen for lineup. “It doesn’t matter what you and Annabelle pull, I’m not going to do the show. Everything you try is only going to make me more determined never to get in front of a camera again.”

  “You’re being stubborn.”

  “Yes.” She could live with stubborn. Like mother, like daughter, after all.

  “Are you trying to make me play hardball?”

  She clenched her jaw. Don’t fall for his bait, don’t do it. “You don’t scare me. You’re running out of skeletons to pull out of my past.”

  “This one’s not in the past. It’s right there in your firehouse.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His voice hardened. “A little birdie tells me you were spotted behind a fire engine setting off some major sparks with the new guy from New York. I checked your department regulations. He’s several levels above you and that’s strictly a no-no. Grounds for disciplinary action.”

  Sabina’s mind raced. Behind the fire engine. She and Roman had talked. Intimately, sure, but nothing had happened. Except . . . that hug. He’d embraced her, to comfort her. It had lasted what, a few, admittedly blissful, seconds? But it didn’t matter—if people started talking, she’d be toast. So would Roman. She couldn’t do that to him.

  The only answer was to go on the attack.

  “You complete, utter jackass, it wasn’t Chief Roman. It was Vader. Everyone knows Vader and I are into each other. It’s the hot gossip around here, surprised you haven’t heard about it since you’re suddenly so interested in Fire Station 1.”

  “Vader?” The uncertainty in his voice gave her a savage glee.

  “Yeah, Vader. Big, ripped guy. Works out a lot. Could snap you in two with one hand behind his back. And since we’re both the same rank, perfectly within regulations.”

  Max, for once, didn’t have a comeback.

  “And I was wrong, Uncle Max. Now you’ve hit a new low. The absolute bottom of the barrel.”

  She hung up and raced across the lawn toward the kitchen, where everyone was assembling for lineup. Had it really come to this? After all these years protecting her reputation, now she was actually spreading false rumors about herself. Suddenly it felt as if she were in a bad dream, the kind in which no matter how fast she ran, she kept slipping farther behind. The men gathered inside the kitchen belonged here at this firehouse. Did she? Did she really? Or had she been living a lie for the past ten years?

  For Sabina’s sake, Roman was almost happy when the next call came in. He knew nothing would improve her state of mind as much as a structure fire. The dispatcher had barely finished talking when she was into her turnout and onboard Engine 1.

  Quiet descended on the station after the engine and the truck roared out of the apparatus bay. Perfect time to focus on the reports Roman needed to deliver to Chief Renteria. He had a feeling his job was a precarious thing right about now. The chief wasn’t happy with him, and the crew hadn’t exactly warmed up to him. Nor had Stan, although he occasionally condescended to eat a doggy treat.

  Roman grabbed another cup of coffee, tossed a sausage-flavored, bone-shaped biscuit Stan’s way, and settled down to work.

  “Why, Chief Roman, you look so sad and lonely sitting by yourself like that,” said a throaty voice.

  Roman looked up sharply to find Annabelle Hatfield posed in the doorway. Black sunglasses held glorious red waves of hair away from her face. In cream-colored linen slacks and jacket, she brought a whiff of winter glamour into the office.

  “Ms. Hatfield.” He found himself rising to his feet. Such was her power. “What can I do for you?”

  “I sure do like the way you put that. And my, you’re tall.” She winked. All his hackles rose. Whatever had brought her here, along with a slight Southern accent that was definitely new, it was bound to mean trouble.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sounds delightful.” She waited, with an expectant smile.

  “It’s right outside. Help yourself.”

  The smile evaporated. Now she wore that look that meant little Taffy McGee was in trouble. Yes, this was a formidable woman. Then again, he’d expect nothing less from the woman who’d given birth to Sabina Jones.

  “Or you can just tell me why you’re here.”

  “Fine,” she said, advancing into the room, bringing a strong, exotic fragrance with her—papaya or mango, something vaguely tropical. She glowed with a kind of sparkling energy that made it hard to look away.

  “I was hoping to see Captain Kelly.”

  “He’s out on a call. Fighting a fire,” he added, when she didn’t seem to know what that meant. “But I’m the section commander, also filling in for the battalion chief.”

  “I suppose you’ll do, then. I’m worried about my daughter.” Although he hadn’t invited her to do so, she lowered herself into the same chair Sabina had occupied and crossed her legs.

  “I can understand that. It must be tough to see her so upset about her privacy being violated.”

  His dry tone made her narrow her eyes. “If you want my opinion, she shouldn’t be here. She doesn’t belong on a fire engine. She doesn’t belong with a sweaty, steroid-bloated gym rat called Vader.”

  At the mention of Vader, he tightened his fist around his pen. Had he missed something? Had Sabina changed her “policy” about dating firemen? “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, as her mother, I can’t simply stand by and let her ruin her life like this.”

  “She’s a grown woman, Ms. Hatfield. She can make her own decisions. From what I understand, she’s been doing that since the age of seventeen.”

  Annabelle tossed a shank of red hair out of her face. He sensed she was trying to hide the fact that he’d hit a sore spot. If so, she recovered quickly. “But, Chief Roman, you have responsibilities of your own. Are you going to stand by and let her ruin the station?” She zeroed her gaze on him, so he felt the force of her furiously strong will. “I know the media. I know how to play the media. They won’t let go if something is juicy enough.”

  Dio, this was the woman Sabina had grown up with? No wonder she was stubborn. “Or if someone keeps feeding them.”

  “Exactly. But I have a solution that will stop the madness.”

  A solution. As if she weren’t the cause of the entire problem.

  “I also know my daughter, Chief Roman. And she won’t give in. She’s far too stubborn for her own good. She’ll tear this station down before she considers stepping aside. For your sake, for her sake, cut it off before it’s too late.”

  He fiddled with his pen, uneasy at the direction she appeared to be taking. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  “Suspend her. Just for a couple months.”

  “You want me to suspend your daughter?” he repeated in disbelief. He wasn’t Sabina’s captain, but Annabelle didn’t need to know that.

  “She’s bad for morale, I should think. She deceived her fellow firefighters about her true identity. She’s apparently dating a fellow fireman. No wonder I’m worried about her. She needs a couple of months to think about things.”

  And to shoot a TV show. Disgusted, Roman decided he’d endured enough of this absurd conversation.

  “Sorry, Ms. Hatfield. Firefighter Jones has done nothing to merit a suspension. She’s needed here on the job. Have a good day.” He gave he
r a brisk, dismissive nod and turned back to his paperwork.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth fall open. Maybe she was hoping to get in the last word. He decided to beat her to it, and lifted his head again.

  “Piece of advice from a blue-collar guy who’s never set foot on a red carpet and doesn’t care if he ever does. You could try being proud of your daughter. She’s a helluva firefighter.”

  The last he heard of Annabelle Hatfield was the swish of her linen slacks against the doorjamb as she stalked out of his office.

  Something told him he’d be seeing more of her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over the next couple of days, Roman realized he should have kept his mouth shut. Upping the ante, Annabelle Hatfield went on a pre-Christmas blitz of national media appearances. On CNN she talked about her grief over the rift with her daughter.

  “We were always so close. I never thought it would come to this.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Even though we worked together almost every day on the show, we rarely fought. It was just the two of us against the world.” She raised beautiful green eyes, fogged with tears, toward the camera and delivered the kicker.

  “If only she knew how proud I am of her.”

  Fanculo! He’d handed her a weapon and she’d snatched it up and run with it. Roman cursed again and picked up the remote control someone had left on the couch. The Engine 1 crew was out on a call—grease fire at a fast-food joint at the edge of town. The Truck 1 crew was in the apparatus bay, cleaning the remaining rigs and planning a Christmas skiing trip. He was the only one in the training room. He switched the channel to another station, where Annabelle was chatting with a reporter in an intimate living-room setting.

  “My daughter chooses to risk her life every day to save others, how can I not be proud of her? Any mother would be. But it also terrifies me. She’s my only child, and as a single mother, our bond was especially strong. Every time I hear sirens my heart races. That could be my baby in that fire engine, riding to some poor family’s rescue. It’s so very hard. I’m sure everyone with a loved one who’s a police officer, firefighter, or a member of the armed forces shares my feelings. I’m here to tell you, I feel your pain. I understand your fears. Let’s keep on praying and hoping and believing in our sons and daughters.”