I followed him out into the hallway.
“My shift ends in two hours,” he said over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob.
Brute suddenly darted out from under the bench beside the door and dashed between Jackson’s legs. The sudden movement startled the man, and he stumbled forward, hitting the door.
“Are you ok?” I gasped, rushing forward, but my concern faded as Jackson’s deep laughter filled the apartment.
“That cat is a fire hazard!” he teased, grinning broadly, before pulling me forward for a kiss so deep I felt my heart rise up in my chest. Pulling back, he repeated his earlier suggestion. “See you in two hours?”
“You know where to find us,” I replied, grinning, as Brute wound around my ankles, purring.
THE FIREMAN’S RESCUE
Kalissa Wayne
Drew really didn’t need the extra stress at work. Being fire chief was stressful enough, but he’d been dealing with an aggravating new employee for the past three months.
True, the sheriff also had to deal with her, but his best friend Jonas Quinn seemed to get along fine with the new dispatcher, Heather Titsworth.
Drew snorted. Titsworth. What kind of name was that? If he’d been a woman with that last name, he’d have legally changed it as soon as he’d turned eighteen.
He stopped at the one red light in town and sighed as he looked around the intersection, noting how few windows were bright. The combination police station/firehouse/dispatch center was the only building in the downtown area still lit up.
Glancing at the time, he realized that Heather would be off work by now. The meeting had ended on time, but council members had wanted to talk to him about his hair. Again. He refused to cut his hair just because they thought it didn’t look professional. It was his one vanity and a last remnant of his heritage, a deep bluish-black that reached to his waist and had never been cut.
Drew smirked. It didn’t hurt that women loved his hair. Women had always fallen all over themselves vying for his attention. Until her. Drew glared at the station.
What was it about her that irritated him? Was it because she didn’t fawn over him? But why wouldn’t she? She wasn’t beautiful. “Just Call Me Heather” Titsworth was about five foot eight and chunky, wore glasses, and had plain brown hair pulled back into an even plainer ponytail. He couldn’t even remember if her eyes were green or blue. Unremarkable in every way.
Although just this morning, when he had walked in the door connecting the firehouse to the dispatch center, he’d gotten quite an eyeful as she stretched across her desk to hand one of the deputies some paperwork. Heather had been wearing her usual baggy jeans and overly large shirt, but when she reached out, her jeans had hugged her ass and her shirt had ridden up.
Three things had shocked Drew: those jeans were hugging a beautiful ass; she had a tattoo; and he’d wanted to lick it. Across the small of Heather’s back was a pair of Celtic angel wings. “Just Call Me Heather” had a tramp stamp, and he’d gotten as hard as a steel bat looking at it.
“You going to sit here all night blocking traffic, or do I need to give you a ticket?” Jonas pulled up next to him, chuckling. “Still stewing over the council’s hair phobia?” Jonas was also full-blooded Native American, his black hair every bit as long as Drew’s. Jonas also refused to cut his hair.
“Nah. They can go jump in the lake about my hair. I was just sitting here trying to figure out some problems. As for blocking traffic...” Drew looked around. The sheriff’s truck and his were the only two vehicles on the road. “I don’t think I’ll block traffic until about six-thirty in the morning.”
“Come on back to the station and I’ll buy you a cup of—” Jonas was interrupted when the radio crackled.
“Calling all officers. House fire reported at 902 New York Street. Possible trapped residents. Freddie, that’s the Gueterbergs’ house! Hey, calling all officers. House fire at the Gueterbergs’ .”
Both men flipped on their lights and sirens and headed toward the residence. Lights flicked on in the houses as they passed. The volunteers would be there shortly, and the one sleeping at the station that night would drive the truck there ASAP.
As they pulled up in front of the house, fire engulfed the roof. The elderly Mr. Gueterberg sat in the yard in his wheelchair. Mrs. Gueterberg stood beside him, holding his oxygen mask to his face.
Drew quickly suited up.
“Oh, thank God!” Mrs. Gueterberg cried as they rushed up. “You have to help her! She went back in to save Johnnie. She’s been in there a long time. She helped us get out, but when Günter told her Johnnie was still inside, she rushed back in. She doesn’t—”
Drew had heard enough; he ran up the steps into the house. Fire raged in the living room. He heard coughing from the back of the house and quickly ran that way. Through the smoke, he saw someone trying to open the door to a back room. Just as he yelled through his mask to tell the woman to get out, he heard the roof above him groan. Glancing upward, he saw flames licking across the stucco. A second later, a large beam crashed through. He leapt to the side, but caught a blow to the side of his head and crumpled to the floor.
Disoriented and coughing, Heather heard someone yelling right before a beam fell through the ceiling. Thank God. She’d been ready to give up searching because the fire was getting out of hand and she could barely breathe, even hunched close to the floor.
Blinking to clear the tears from her smoke-filled eyes, she saw a pair of feet lying beneath a pile of burning rubble next to a table. She edged around the burning beam that had landed partially on the table, and knelt beside the large pair of feet.
This had to be Johnnie. She grabbed his ankles and dragged him toward the back door. They had to get out now.
Flinging the back door wide open, she grabbed the ankles again and used all her strength to pull the big man out. He weighed a ton; between her eyes streaming from the smoke and coughing her head off, she was quickly losing steam.
She backed out onto the porch, but stumbled when she unexpectedly found the steps, twisting her ankle. Still holding onto the man, she screamed as she fell backward and dragged the poor man with her.
At the bottom, she wiped her eyes to clear them. The man—not Johnnie, because he wore a fireman’s gear—lay half on the porch and halfway down the stairs. She gazed up. The porch roof and supports were ablaze.
Struggling to rise, she grabbed a wrist and pulled, rolling him down the stairs and on top of her, knocking the breath out of her. With darkness enveloping her, the last thing she saw were three men rolling the fireman away and hands reaching down to pull her away from the porch as it collapsed.
A stinging pain at his left temple jerked Drew awake. Two pairs of hands held him down.
“Hey, relax, tiger. You’re still among the living. Just breathe.” An oxygen mask was forced over his nose and mouth as Jonas’s voice spoke to him.
Drew’s eyes were still blurry, so he couldn’t see who was who. In the background he heard the sounds of the fire crew working to put out the blaze. Blinking to regain focus, he realized Jonas was holding the mask while a volunteer EMT cleaned his face. He lay on the grass in the Gueterbergs’ front lawn. Just great.
Reaching up, he waved the EMT towards the fire.
Jonas pressed his hand to the mask. “Hold that.” Then he finished cleaning the side of Drew’s face. “You know, I almost had a heart attack when you ran in that house. Just after you disappeared, a big flame shot out the doorway and blocked the exit. Lucky for you, someone dragged your sorry ass out the back door.”
“Who…” Drew tried to ask, but started coughing.
“Don’t try to talk. Everyone got out fine. They’re taking the Gueterbergs to the hospital, just for observation. You appear to have gotten the worst of it. What did you hit your head on, anyway? You’ve been out almost a couple of minutes. Best get you to the hospital, too.”
Drew cleared his throat and coughed again. “Just take me to the statio
n. The night dispatcher...can keep an eye on me...if you feel I need to be watched.” Drew’s voice was gravelly, but at last the coughing subsided.
As Jonas pulled a bandage out and applied it to his head, he said, “Sounds like a plan. I know your hard head.” Jonas reached down and offered Drew a hand to sit up.
Drew knelt for a moment until his head stopped spinning, then pushed up to his feet to watch as his crew fought the blaze. The house would be a total loss. All his men could do was keep the fire contained until it burned itself out.
Glancing to the side, he noted two more EMTs stood near the back of a pickup parked at the curb, but he couldn’t see who they were talking to.
Moving toward the truck and the EMTs, he felt a chill as he saw a bent head, the top of which looked very familiar. Anger and fear shot up his spine and his temper exploded. “What the hell were you doing in that house?” He shoved his way between his men, not caring that his voice was loud and hoarse. “Do you realize you could still be trapped in there, burning to death, putting others in danger, all because of a stupid cat?”
Heather lifted her head, and he got his first glimpse of her soot-smudged cheeks. Her tears had traced clean tracks down her cheeks. Her reddened eyes were glistening pools of turquoise. More tears welled. “I didn’t know…”
“Don’t think your tears are going to save you. I should fire you right now for this stupid little stunt.”
“Boss, don’t…”
“Drew, she didn’t…”
Both of the EMTs tried to interrupt Drew, but he glared them into silence. He turned back to see Heather hop off the tailgate of the truck.
“You can’t fire me for trying to help,” she said, raising her chin. “I did what anyone would have done. When I saw the fire, I called it in, then ran inside to check for residents. Mrs. Gueterberg wouldn’t leave her husband, so I got him into his wheelchair and she led the way out of the house. She went down the steps and I took him down the ramp. He was upset and told me Johnnie was still inside, so once I got them far enough from the house, I went back in. I didn’t know it was a damned cat, otherwise I would have lied and told them I saw it outside.” She shoved Drew hard in the chest, stormed around the truck, climbed in, and took off.
Drew stood speechless. He turned and saw all three men, Jonas and the two EMTs, standing with arms crossed over their chests and glaring at him. “What? She shouldn’t have been in there.”
The EMTs threw him disgusted looks and went to help with the hoses. Jonas continued to glare.
“What? You know she shouldn’t have been in there!”
Jonas shook his head. “You’ve had your ass in a knot ever since she came to town. Why? She’s a sweet lady who’d do anything for anyone and never ask for a thank you. Think about this: she was doing exactly what you would have done.” As Jonas turned to walk away, he added over his shoulder, “And on top of that, she saved your sorry ass.”
Drew threw his hands into the air and looked around for his second-in-command. Chester Short stood by the truck talking to a couple of the neighbors. Drew checked in with him, decided things were under control, and told him he was heading to the station to clean up.
An hour later, halfway through a shower, Drew was still fuming. He was angry Heather had walked away, angry she had even been in the house in the first place, and angry with himself for reasons he couldn’t explain. Her eyes haunted him.
Some emotion burned inside his chest; he didn’t want to admit what he’d been feeling ever since the day he’d walked into the office to help Jonas interview her. Whatever it was gave him a raging hard-on.
Nothing about her would attract a man at first glance, and yet he’d felt lust grip his balls the moment they’d been introduced. Every day since then, when he’d walked into the station to see her laughing and cutting up with the other men, something had twisted in his chest, making him grouchy for the rest of the day.
Right now his chest felt tight and ready to explode. He had to see her, had to know if she was all right, had to check her over himself. Drew braced an arm against the shower wall and fought to bring his emotions into some semblance of order. The hot water turned ice cold, but even that didn’t affect his out-of-control cock.
Drew sent it a disgusted look, turned off the water, and decided he needed to go check on “Just Call Me Heather.” Strictly a professional call. Strictly. Right.
“Oh hell. Who am I kidding?” Drew asked himself as he forced his stiff cock into a pair of jeans.
After ringing the doorbell to no avail, Drew hammered her front door. “Heather? Answer me, girl, or I’m going to break down the door.” Drew resumed his heavy pounding.
The door swung open. Drew paused mid-knock, his fist near his ear.
“Girl? Really?” Heather pulled the tie on her robe tight and gave him a hard look, as if he were insane.
Drew didn’t move a muscle. Where was the plain girl from work? Heather’s hair was out of its ponytail, falling just past her shoulders in waves, slightly mussed as if she’d been asleep. Her face was tinged pink, her eyes soft and drowsy.
The robe she wore was old and threadbare. His breath had stopped the minute she’d pulled the door open. The light from inside outlined her body through the thin material, and what he was seeing was downright awe-inspiring.
He slowly lowered his hand and walked forward, crowding her back into the cabin. Once inside, he pulled the door out of her hand, closed it, and flipped the deadbolt, never once breaking eye contact.
“Drew? What’s wrong?” she asked in a sleep-husky voice.
But he just kept crowding her, and she shuffled backwards, limping, until her hips hit the sofa arm.
Drew grabbed her arms to steady her. “Heather, are you all right? Did you get hurt earlier? I need to be sure.” His voice was still a touch gravelly, but whether it was from the smoke or something else, he didn’t know.
“I’m fine. Um, nothing a couple more ibuprofen and sleep won’t cure,” Heather said, distractedly. Her gaze was focused on his chest.
Drew ran his hands up her arms, then slid them behind her shoulders and knees and picked her up.
For a second, she held still, then bucked in his arms. “What the hell are you doing? Put me down!”
Turning, he walked around the fireplace wall and sat her on the edge of her brass bed. Kneeling at her feet, he parted the robe and lifted first her right foot, then her left. Muttering curses under his breath, he gently held her injured left foot and probed the swollen area.
At her hiss, he looked up and apologized. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t mean to cause you pain. Is there anywhere else you’re hurt?” He propped her foot on his thigh as he ran his hands slowly up her calves to her knees, pushing the robe open as he went.
Trying to keep the robe closed against his marauding hands, Heather said “Drew, I’m fine. I told you I only have some minor injuries. They’ve already been looked at by the EMTs.”
Drew’s eyes were on her knees. He leaned down and kissed the faint bruise on her left knee, closing his eyes as he ran his tongue gently around its edges.
Her breath caught, but he ignored the sound and let his hands travel up her silky thighs, pushing the robe further open. Heather tried to keep her modesty intact by grabbing the material over her mound and holding it closed, but he was more insistent. A faint trail of bruises flowed from her knee to her upper thigh and disappeared under the robe.
Drew lowered his head and continued trailing kisses and licks up her thigh until he reached the material. Then, forcing her knees apart, he knelt between them, laid his head in her lap, and wrapped his arms around her.
“Drew? Are you okay?” Heather tentatively placed a hand on his hair and stroked his head, running her fingers through his loose hair.
He shook his head, but tightened his arms around her. “I could have lost you today,” he blurted. “My stubborn pride wouldn’t listen to my heart. I almost lost you before I coul
d tell you.” He paused, took a deep breath, and squeezed her tighter, not looking up. He felt foolish enough after everything he’d done—bawling her out at the fire and pounding on her door like a lunatic—but he was desperate to tell her everything and didn’t want her to stop him before he was done. “I… I have feelings for you, Heather,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ve fought them since the day you walked into the station, but I can’t ignore them anymore. I can’t take the chance I’ll lose you before we explore what this could be.” Lifting his head, he met her wide gaze. “Question is, what do you feel?”
Eyes blue as turquoise were wide and round. She swallowed hard. “Oh, Drew. I’ve had…mixed emotions about you since day one. Sometimes I lo…like you, sometimes I could kick your ass. And I was upset I almost got us both killed over a cat.” Her lips twitched at the corners. “But you did piss me off when you threatened to fire me.”
“Sorry about that. I was just so shaken up about you being in the middle of the danger. I never would have fired you.” Drew turned his head down and nuzzled into the crevice between Heather’s thighs. Reaching a hand around, he untied the robe’s belt and flipped the robe open. Drawing in a deep breath, he growled, “You smell so damn good. I could feast here all night.” With those words, he gripped the sides of her bikini panties and ripped them off her.
“Drew! What are you…ahhh!”
Heather stopped mid-sentence as Drew’s mouth made contact with her slit. His hands pushed her thighs wider, then one slid up her stomach to push her down on the bed. Wrapping his arms under her thighs, he propped her legs over his shoulders and pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed, leaving her open and vulnerable to his invading mouth. His tongue ran laps up and down her drenched folds, circling her clit and her opening before his thumb brushed her clit and she jerked.
Smokin' Hot Firemen Page 15
