Smokin' Hot Firemen

by Delilah Devlin, Jo Davis

  “You’ve got a head injury, and last time I checked, dogs can’t use phones. I’ll stick around to check on you every couple of hours.”

  A kiss meets my temple, and I fall into a comforting sleep.

  I wake at two PM to energetic shouting coming from my small garden. I rise, going to the window.

  There’s Cooper chasing a ball. Nick claps his hands, bringing the black Lab back to his feet. He rubs Cooper’s head before extracting the ball from his jaw and tossing it toward the back fence.

  “You’ve made a friend.” I step out from the kitchen onto the small decked area.

  “You’re up. Feel better?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say. “Hey, Cooper.” He totally ignores me and heads for Nick. “Oh, that’s nice!”

  Nick tosses the ball again, laughing. “I made something to eat. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “You found something edible in my fridge?”

  “No, but your pantry was pretty decent.” Cooper barks, telling Nick he’s back with the ball. “Hey buddy, I’m going to take care of Aida now, okay?”

  The dog gets another pat, follows us in, and heads for the couch, where he jumps up, resting his head on his paws, to watch us in the kitchen.

  Nick reaches for plates and dishes up the pasta he’s made. Ten minutes and two delicious servings later, I’m full.

  Assured that I’m better, Nick leaves me with the pot of pasta. He softly kisses me goodbye at the door, and I watch, smiling, as his SUV disappears down the street.

  I retreat to bed, taking my cell with me. I have thirteen texts and a voicemail. I don’t even need to check it to know that it’s Drew asking for details. I also get a call from my sister. Somehow she has sensed that something happened. She’s two thousand miles away and I don’t want to worry her, but she gets the story out of me. Assuring her that I’m fine just does not work; she’s going to be on the next flight.

  I respond to everyone with a group message, thanking them for their get-well-soon wishes, and call Drew, but end up having to leave a voicemail. I tuck myself into bed, Cooper at my feet. My dog is clearly wondering where his new friend is, because the ball is sitting beside him.

  It’s eleven PM by the time Marianne arrives.

  She hugs me hard at the door and wheels in her small case, her bottle blonde hair rolled in a bun. She’s still in her work suit. “Thank God you’re okay!”

  Her big, brown eyes fill with even more tears as I tell her what happened and how Nick has taken care of me.

  We head back to my room to sleep after she heats some of the pasta for herself and we catch up. I wake at four AM, totally alert and oh! so stiff and sore!

  I find that I’ve got a nasty bruise the size of a dinner plate on my left hip and other small marks dotted around my body.

  I stretch carefully, groaning as I get out of bed and wander through the house to retrieve my cell from the kitchen counter. There’s a text from Nick.

  Lunch at Brand’s, say noon? I’m guessing you’re not going into work? I can pick you up? Or I can come to you and find something in that pantry?

  Smiling, I text him back. My boss urged me to take some time off to get better. I’d protested at first, but perhaps it’s a good thing now that Marianne is here—and Nick has arrived into my life, lifting the unease that I can’t help but feel.

  Lunch at Brand’s sounds great. My sister is here; she can drop me off. See you soon.

  “Why are you grinning like an idiot?”

  I turn around to find Marianne in her PJs, rubbing her eyes.

  “I have a date.” I hold up my cell.

  She smiles, “With pasta man? Thank God. I thought you were going to be single forever.”

  I get a sleepy hug before she heads back to bed.

  Marianne drops me off at Brand’s later that day. “You got everything?”

  I turn to face her. “You sound like Mom.”

  “Honey, I’m not talking about your lunch money. Protection, you got it?”

  “Marianne!”

  She wrinkles her nose. “We’re both grownups, and the way that tall piece of holy-God hotness is looking at you, you’re not going to be upright for very long.”

  Nick walks to my door, opens it, and extends his hand.

  I really hope he doesn’t notice my blush. “I’ll see you later,” I say to my sis without looking her way. I take his hand and ease out as Nick greets Marianne politely.

  We head into Brand’s. I search for an empty table.

  “I thought we could get takeout and go eat outside.”

  We stroll slowly up the road, towards Amber Park, taking a bench facing the water. It’s a lovely sunny day. Nick’s given me his shades again.

  I eat the sandwich and sip the fresh lemonade, “Was today your day off?”

  “Yeah, in fact, I’ve got the weekend off.”

  I smile with anticipation, sipping through the straw.

  “I’ve got plans, though.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, disappointment impossible to keep from my expression.

  “With you,” he says.

  I fight my smile.

  “I know your sister is in town, but how about I look after you for the next couple of days?”

  I don’t get to answer his question as fat lashes of rain start to fall. We head back to the car, my body protesting as I try for a run, but end up walking.

  “If I asked you to pack a bag and come with me…” He’s driven me back home, thunder rumbling overhead. The shades are back in his vee. “Would you do it?”

  “Wow. You’re a really organized serial killer.” I’m damp from the rain…and from his words, as they snake through my pelvis and hit home.

  He laughs before fishing out his cell, flicking through his email. “To prove I’m not crazy.”

  I take the cell. There’s an email confirmation for a hotel booking.

  “If it’s too fast, then you…”

  “No, it’s just…” I exhale softly, “it’s…”

  “I want to make love to you…but if I do it in my apartment, everyone’s going to know what I’m doing and this town… It’s small.” His voice is soft, but charged. And oh God…now his lips are against my neck. “Say yes…”

  An hour later, I’ve got a bag packed and I’m waving to a bemused Marianne, who’s standing at the front door with a pissed-off Cooper. I recall the conversation she had with Nick.

  “I want a copy of that email, your cell number, full name, address, employer…”

  “Yes ma’am,” Nick says seriously, plucking out his cell. “I plan on taking very good care of your sister.”

  “You bloody well better.” She grabs her buzzing cell and reads the details. “Nicholas Henry Forbes.”

  “Never mess with a kick-ass lawyer,” I whisper to him as we walk down the path, but he just kisses the tip of my nose, whispering back that he doesn’t mind.

  The drive takes just under an hour. Nick wraps his free hand around my waist, escorting me inside the quaint bed-and-breakfast. We check in, but head back out into the parking lot with our key.

  “We’re not going to the room?”

  “We’re staying in one of those.” He points in the direction of the beach.

  I see numerous two-story detached cottages dotted along it. The surf crashes against the sand making me feel incredibly relaxed and well.

  “Like I said…we’re going to make some noise.” He kisses me. His lips are hard and full of need, and leave me shuddering inside.

  He dumps our bags inside the door before reaching for me, his finger under my chin, lifting it until we meet each other’s gazes. I hadn’t realized how tall he is. I’m five-nine, and I’ve got to really look up at him.

  Nick’s lips find mine, pressing softly. I open my mouth to welcome him in, awed by the sense of security I’m feeling emanating from him.

  Everything lights up within as he reaches under my shirt to flatten his palms against bare skin.

  I moan into his mou
th as his fingers accidently graze the bruise. I break away to recapture my breath.

  He kisses me delicately, once more on the lips, before we head up the stairs.

  The bedroom is gorgeous and faces the ocean. The bed is dressed in whites, with accents of stone grey and sand to bring the outside in.

  Nick removes his shirt first, making me catch my breath. His job depends on his strength. There’s nothing sexier than a man who cares not only for the people he saves, but for himself—his body is ripped like a pro footballer’s.

  I reach for his belt buckle, unclasping it and drawing it out from the loops.

  Nick reaches for my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders before sending my T-shirt to the pile of clothes we’re making at our feet.

  I pop all the buttons of his fly, putting my fingers into the waistband, pushing until the denims hit the floor. He steps out of them and his sneakers, looking like a model in his Calvin Kleins.

  I get out of my denims and flats, standing before him in my black bra and panties, aware of the decent-sized bulge in his white briefs.

  His eyes travel down my body. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you say?” Nick drops to his knees…and suddenly his lips are pressing softly on my bruised hip bone.

  I sway where I stand, partially exploding inside from the sensations. I plant my hands on his shoulders.

  Then…oh God…he’s taking off my panties, and his tongue is soon pressing against my wet seam.

  I grip his shoulders harder, desperate to remain standing as nothing but euphoric gasps escape from my mouth.

  Soon, he’s guiding me to the bed. I watch as he rolls on a condom, and leaning over me, mindful of my hip, he drives himself slowly deep inside of me.

  He’s like no other lover I’ve ever had, and he’s confident about the welcome he’s going to receive from my body, because I’m parting my legs, ignoring the complaints of my flesh.

  He pushes in deeply, settling there until I’ve accepted his significant presence with a soft, mewing moan.

  Kisses rain down on my lips, and I taste myself. I give up on gripping the sheets and wrap my hands around his waist to pull him closer, unable to stop from panting his name.

  “I want to hear you.” He pulls out and thrusts back in, pushing me toward an orgasm that has me arching my back and moaning as the bruises tingle.

  I press my breasts into his chest as he slides his hands into my hair, my panting loud, loud…then louder.

  Carefully he holds my head in place, kissing me as my body blasts into a thrilling tempest of an orgasm. I can’t help but yell his name.

  “It was loud…but not loud enough.” He kisses me hard, smiling and out of breath. “Round two… You feel okay?”

  I nod as he maneuvers me carefully onto all fours, and I’m screaming his name in seconds.

  When I wake, he’s not beside me, and the bed is cold. Wrapping myself in a sheet, I follow my nose and head slowly downstairs. “You’re cooking?”

  He’s wearing just his sweatpants as he stands at the stove.

  “Did you bring the food?”

  “I did.”

  I peck him on the side of his shoulder in thanks before taking a bar stool. I lift a small bottle of mineral water from the welcome basket.

  “I got a text from your sister.”

  I spit out my water.

  “She spoke to my boss and got a reference confirming I was an upstanding citizen.” His smile is wry. His eyes dance.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, mumbling an apology, but Nick just kisses my hair as he comes around with plates of steak and salad.

  After we’ve eaten, we dress and take a stroll on the beach as dusk hits the horizon.

  Nick’s got his arm draped around my shoulder and I’ve got his jacket on again to ward off the chill.

  “I can’t believe this place is only an hour from town.” I sigh with contentment, the stiffness from the accident mingling with the aftereffects of energetic sex.

  “Easy to get to for other weekends.”

  “There are going to be other weekends?”

  “I hope so.” Nick kisses the top of my head. “I really hope so.”

  SOMETHING’S BURNING

  Cynthia D’Alba

  Beef fat oozed off the grill onto charcoal briquettes, exciting the flames to lick hungrily at the undersides of expensive sirloin patties.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Bree Hardy yelled as she grabbed for the garden hose coiled on the concrete patio. A pitiful stream of water dribbled out when she squeezed the nozzle handle. Whipping her gaze toward the water spigot, she watched as most of the water gushed from a large hole in the hose.

  “Damn it!” She sprinted to her kitchen for a pitcher of water then raced back to the grill. Standing a couple of feet from the flames, she tossed the water toward the fire. Too late to salvage her dinner. The chopped sirloin burgers were now disks of crusty black char.

  Sighing, she shoved sweaty hair off her forehead as she waited for her galloping heart to slow to a trot. Why couldn’t she get the hang of grilling? Men did it every day. She could do anything a man could do.

  The charred meat patties clanked as she shoveled them onto a glass plate. She left the plate on a redwood picnic table while she slowly slid the grill lid over the base holding the smoldering coals. Her heart and lungs worked overtime as she stepped backward away from the fire-breathing dragon. When would she get over this childish fear of fire?

  Did she need another pitcher of water from the kitchen to thoroughly drown the remaining embers? The fire was contained in a metal base designed to hold it. She was being ridiculous.

  But the last thing she wanted was a house fire. Carefully, she rolled the charcoal grill off the patio as far from her back door as physically possible. At this safety move, she sighed with relief.

  The hamburger platter jiggled in her shaking hands when she picked it up and headed for her townhouse. Her three-year-old border collie Gracie—the recipient of all her failed grilling exercises—nipped happily at Bree’s toes as though to say “Hurry up and feed it to me.”

  The French door rattled when she slammed it in disgust—at her foolish fear, her inept cooking, and, most importantly, her failure to go grocery shopping. Setting the charred burgers on the counter, Bree glanced toward the dog quivering in anticipation. “Well, at least one of us gets hamburger tonight.” She tossed Gracie a chunk of charred meat before mixing more with a healthy dose of kibble.

  She leaned against the counter and allowed herself a full minute of self-pity. Her lack of cooking skills was ridiculous. Damn it, she was a doctor. She knew every muscle and blood vessel in the human body, understood disease symptoms and cures. She was smart—and she’d be damned if she’d let something like using a simple grill get the best of her.

  But that would have to wait for another night. The hour was getting late. Her day had started at seven with hospital rounds and ended at seven with another set. She was tired and hungry and grumpy.

  Bree grabbed the telephone receiver and pushed the speed dial.

  “Wong’s,” the voice on the phone answered.

  “Hi. It’s Bree Hardy. I need to place an order for delivery.”

  “You want the usual, Dr. Hardy?”

  “Sure. But this time, extra sweet and sour sauce.”

  “Be there in thirty.”

  Her wait began for her Chinese dinner of sweet and sour chicken with an egg roll side order.

  She wrapped the charred burgers in foil and put them in the refrigerator for Gracie’s dinners later in the week. The acidic smell of smoke nauseated her. Each breath brought a new whiff. It’d be at least twenty more minutes until her dinner arrived. Plenty of time to shower and get the smell out of her hair.

  Holding a glass of Pinot Grigio, she headed up the stairs. Gracie bounded up right behind her and sat on the shower mat. Bree turned on the water to get the hot going while she stripped out of her shorts and T-shirt. While she scrubbed, Bree lament
ed the sad state of her love life. No dates with anyone interesting. She feared she would jump the first good-looking man who asked her out.

  As she pictured the male hunk one yard over, she shivered. If she could get his attention…oh, yummy. So far he’d nodded a couple of times as they passed, but that was the extent of his display of interest. Not promising.

  With a twist of the ring, she changed the shower massager from needle spray to alternating pounding jets. Hot water hammered down on her shoulders. Placing both hands on the shower wall, she stretched and twisted her back and neck in a vain attempt to convince her knotted muscles to give up their tension. Her head sagged. Long, sopping hair slapped the wet flesh of her breasts and belly.

  The muscle tension held on. Maybe if the water were hotter. Or maybe the strike of the pulsing water against her flesh needed to be stronger or closer or something. She twisted the dial until the water was hot enough to dilate the blood vessels in any area it touched.

  Lifting the handheld shower head from its holder, she brought the power of the jets closer to her neck. The shower head moved side to side, and the stiffness in her shoulders gave way to the soothing water massage.

  A sharp stream of water shot over her shoulder, striking her nipple, bringing it to full erection. A streak of painful pleasure shot down to her clit. She moaned in delight and brought the showerhead directly to her breasts, forcing the hard jets of water to strike each nipple sharply. Her body tensed in response, sexual tension racing from her head to her toes.

  She lowered the pulsing stream to her abdomen, the hot water not calming but inciting her muscles to quiver in response. She spread her legs wider. Hot streams of water shot through the curly hair at the apex of her thighs and dripped off the swollen lips of her vulva. When a second low moan escaped her throat, she gritted her teeth.

  Moving the showerhead between her legs, she let the pulsing streams pound at the throb inside her. Her thigh muscles quivered and shook as she moved the pulsating jets back and forth, from her clitoris between the lips covering her vagina to her anus and back to the rigid nub of her sex.