Uniform Desire

by Layla Chase

  "Oh, crap!” Feet thudded on the carpet and stomped down the hall. “My pie!"

  He strode across the floor to grab his pants from the floor, dug out his phone, and stabbed the talk button. “Malloy here."

  Rikka dashed to the oven and opened the door, only to release billowing, black smoke. “Oh, no. It's ruined.” She waved her hands to move aside the cloud and coughed.

  Conor tried to focus on the information the dispatcher provided, but his attention was stolen by the swaying of Rikka's breasts and the sight of her sweet ass as she bent to retrieve something from a drawer. “Say again, Lennie."

  The doorbell rang, quickly followed by a loud knocking.

  Holy shit! Fist tightening on his pants, he swung around and stared, the phone pressed to his naked stomach. “Are you expecting anyone?"

  Rikka looked over her shoulder, eyes wide, her top teeth worrying the corner of her lip. “Maybe."

  "Hey, Rikka, I know you're home.” A female voice called out. “I'm standing here and looking right at your car."

  "Cindy.” Her shoulders sagged and then she dashed to grab her dress, yanking it up her legs. “Quick. If I don't answer, she'll just come around to the back door.” Her gaze ran up his body and she sighed. “And I know you don't want that.” She stepped close, brushed a hard kiss across his lips, and then turned her back to him. “Zip me up, and I'll stall her as long as I can."

  The problem-solving strategy of the woman stunned him. The smoke stung his eyes, and he cast a glance at the smoldering black lump. The mystery pie presented no further danger. He set down the phone on the table and pulled up her zipper.

  "Rikka!” The doorbell rang three times.

  "Captain, you've got less than two minutes to get dressed and hightail your tight butt out the back door.” She hurried across the floor and paused at the doorway. “Hey, stud, you owe me one."

  Only after Rikka had left the room did he hear the raucous laughter coming from his cell phone. Double shit!

  CHAPTER 3

  A week later, Rikka's body still hummed whenever she thought of Conor and the wild and crazy hour at her house. Rarely in her experience had a man looked as good without the uniform as that man had. The simple fact the others quickly lost their appeal caused the break up her past relationships.

  She sighed at the memory of their sudden interruption and how she'd had to pretend to Cindy the pie baking had made her skin so flushed. The fear of almost being caught in the act was probably the reason Conor hadn't called or sought her out. Her antics had scared him off.

  A sneeze interrupted her thoughts.

  Her gaze snapped to the child in the front row of her third-grade classroom at Crockett Elementary. Sheree Sims looked wide-eyed over the hand covering her mouth.

  "Gesundheit, sweetie. Do you need a tissue?"

  Sheree shrugged and shook her head.

  "Okay, class.” She stood from her desk and walked to the back table. “Close your reading books and come circle the table here. Time for our science lesson.” She displayed the items before the students and explained the basic principles behind fats, heat and oxidation—the process of burning calories. And how this experiment tested the fat content of snack chips. “No toes over the yellow tape on the floor.” Shuffling sounded as the students adjusted their positions. “Divide into your teams. Timekeepers, ready?"

  "Yes, Miss Brendan.” The students chimed together.

  Four aluminum pie tins sat on the low table, heaped with a different type of snack chip—Fritos®, Doritos®, Cheetos® and potato chips. “Don't click the stopwatch until I say so and remember, stay behind the line.” She flicked the butane lighter and held it at the base of the first pile, watching for the flame to catch.

  "Tiffany, start your watch.” The lighter moved to the next pile. “Now, Germaine, start.” When the flame lit the potato chips, smoke poofed and swirled around the stack.

  "Oh, no,” whimpered Gracie, her eyes rounding.

  The stack flamed higher than Rikka had anticipated. “That's a big one.” Arms outstretched, she motioned at the children. “Move back and you'll be fine."

  The four piles burned at varied rates, the orangish-red flames dancing upward into bluish points. White tendrils of smoke surrounded the group and a couple of kids swiped at it, then giggled as the smoke seemed to follow them. Soon all the kids were swinging their arms.

  Maybe she should have done a test at home to know if this amount of smoke was normal.

  "Fire!” Gracie dashed out the door and down the outside corridor. Several other children gasped and moved to the other side of the classroom. From outside came the obnoxious clang of the fire alarm.

  Rikka glanced between the open door and the other students. What was the procedure for this situation? “Everyone sit exactly where you are. We're playing the freeze game.” When they obeyed, she ran through the door and the few steps down the hall to where Gracie stood shivering in fright. She pushed off the alarm and took the scared child by the hand. “Come back to class, sweetie."

  Doors along the corridor opened and teachers stuck out their heads. “Rikka, what's up?"

  Oh, great! More fuel for the stories about the mishaps in her classroom. She pasted on a smile and forced cheeriness into her voice. “False alarm. Go back to your classes."

  She walked back to the classroom, grabbed the intercom phone, and buzzed the secretary in the administration office. “Millie, Rikka here. A science experiment scared Gracie Lee and the alarm got pulled by mistake. I'm sorry."

  After hanging up the phone, she turned back to the class, surprised at the dense, smoky cloud drifting at the other end of the classroom. Grumbling, Rikka trudged to the back of the room and opened all the windows, encouraging the children to each grab a folder and return to the science table. “Okay, now we're going to pretend to be the wind. We'll send that nasty smoke into the outdoors."

  She grabbed a spiral notebook and waved it over her head. “See, stretch your arms up high like this. Now swing the book to the front and pull it back. Good job. Now swing from the sides."

  Checking that no one was being smacked in the process, she turned to watch the students wave away the smoke. When her arm lowered, she accidentally snagged the notebook in her curls. A tug didn't remove it. “Ouch.” Oh, great.

  She clamped the notebook between her cheek and shoulder and worked at the tangle within the coiled wires.

  * * * *

  Conor jogged along the concrete corridor toward Room 17, glancing into each room, confirming everyone inside seemed all right. In the school office to pick up his old football buddy Bill for lunch, he'd been as startled as the others at the sound of the alarm. When he'd heard the secretary mention Rikka's name, his concern ramped up. That woman had bad luck around flammable items.

  His sense of duty mandated he check out the situation for himself. Besides, this gave him a reason to see her again. Spending the better part of the past week at a training conference in San Antonio had given him plenty of time to think about their afternoon—an experience he'd wholeheartedly decided he wanted to repeat.

  He'd also had a chance to do a bit of investigating into Ms. Rikka Brendan. A few well-placed questions to Lennie and Marty provided insight into a woman seemingly fascinated by men in uniform. At the first opportunity, he intended to test that hypothesis.

  Just outside the open doorway of Room 17, he paused, letting his gaze first seek the source of the problem. Four smoldering plates on a low table must have been the science experiment gone awry.

  From where he stood, he watched Rikka interact with the students, keeping them calm and instructing them on how to help get rid of the smoke. Sunlight flowing through her gauzy dress allowed him to view the faint outline of her slender body. He remembered how her curves felt and his fingers flexed, wanting to glide over those very curves again.

  When he spotted her struggles with the notebook, he stepped into the room. “May I help?"

  She whirled, wide-eyed, and a
pink blush slowly tinted her cheeks. “Why are you here?” Her speculative gaze looked him up and down, and a grin grew across her lips. “Looking good, Captain."

  His first clue. Caught in the pull of her emerald eyes, he barely noticed the children had stopped to gawk. “Heard a distress call.” When he stood before her, he held the notebook with one hand and gently pried her hair loose with the other. As his fingers worked through her curls, his nose was tickled by a fruity scent. Raspberry, maybe. The image of her delicious, pink nipples flashed through his mind. He huffed out a breath and let a casual grin emerge. “And rescue is my game."

  At his side, he felt a tug on his pants leg and looked down into the guileless blue eyes of a blonde girl.

  "Are you a fireman, mister?"

  "I am."

  "Oh, Mr. Malloy shouldn't be so modest.” Rikka swung her hands to encompass his whole body, as if demonstrating an appliance on a game show. “He is the fire captain of Arroyo. That means he's the boss of all the firefighters."

  Voices chattered with excitement, and the children circled the adults. “Did you drive a fire truck here?"

  "Can I ring the bell?"

  "Do you have a black-and-white dog?"

  He tossed a narrow-eyed look at Rikka before he held up his hands for quiet. “Whoa, give me a chance to answer."

  "Kids, let the captain have some space.” A deep voice sounded from the doorway.

  From the corner of his eye, Conor saw her body freeze and slowly turn toward his friend, the school principal.

  Rikka turned, her lips spread in a forced smile. “Mr. Redmond, I'm so sorry for the unfortunate ruckus. I never meant to disrupt the school like this."

  He waved a hand at her protestations. “I understand, Ms. Brendan. As usual, I can't fault your enthusiasm. And I'm hearing lots of student interest in firefighters.” He clapped a hand on Conor's shoulder. “Maybe a field trip to the fire station should be arranged? What do you say, Conor?"

  Conor turned until he could meet Rikka's gaze and grinned, eyebrow cocked. “I'd be happy to show the students around. You'll contact me about the arrangements, Ms. Brendan?"

  "Of course, sir.” She spoke through gritted teeth, green eyes flashing.

  The banked emotion in her eyes made him bite his cheek to keep from laughing or from grabbing her and enjoying some of that sass. He turned to his pal Bill. “Ready to head out for lunch? I noticed only two extinguishers in the corridor. Maybe we can schedule a courtesy inspection of the school at the same time."

  The men headed toward the doorway. At the last minute, Bill hesitated and pointed at Rikka. “I'll expect that field trip request form on my desk within the next week."

  Conor looked around his buddy and gave Rikka a snappy salute. If the heat in her eyes was any kind of gauge, she'd be visiting the firehouse tonight.

  * * * *

  Trying to resist the pull of seeing Conor again, Rikka forced herself to wait two days before visiting the firehouse. As a bribe, she baked a batch of her oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. At least, these hadn't turned into a burnt offering.

  Conor must think she was a total klutz. Every time he saw her, she was in some form of upheaval. If he'd asked any of guys on the fire crew ... She felt a moment's panic. Had they given him a blow-by-blow description of their callouts on her behalf?

  Blow-by-blow. At the words, she shivered, remembering the delicious texture of Conor's cock in her mouth. Not exactly the frame of mind for arranging a field trip for third graders. Standing on the sidewalk next to her car, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and walked toward the open doors. Relief passed through her at the sight of the empty station house. Everyone must be out on a call.

  When she saw no one in the truck bays, she walked to the foot of the stairway and called out, “Hello?” No answer came from the second floor. Maybe not seeing Conor again was for the best. This visit was the first step back into her routine of catching a man at his place of employment to enjoy him in his uniform.

  By leaving a note, she satisfied her obligation to her principal. Let Conor make the explanation to his buddy if the visit to the station never happened. With quick steps, she climbed the stairs, turned left, and set the tin of cookies on a long table in a small kitchen area. Past the kitchen, a couch and two armchairs were angled for television viewing. She moved along the kitchen counter, searching for blank paper to leave the note. Every piece she saw was some type of printed announcement or set of regulations.

  To the right of the stairs, the door to the captain's office was ajar. Curiosity burned. The lure of learning more about the intriguing Captain Malloy by seeing where he worked was too much. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, she shoved open the door with her shoe and moved inside.

  Neat desk, tidy bookcase, and only two framed photos on the wall. She stepped next to the desk for a closer look. The images showed Conor with another man, who was possibly a brother or a cousin. Both stood arm-in-arm in front of a brick fire station. She could read FDNY on their shirts, but couldn't make out the station number. The other was a photo she remembered from numerous newscasts—Ground Zero of the twin towers with firefighters standing on the rubble in the foreground.

  Her throat tightened. Had Conor been involved with that tragedy? Her thoughts went back to his answer when she'd asked how long he'd been a fire captain. Suddenly, guilt weighed in her chest. She'd snooped into something intensely private and stepped back into the main room, leaving the door like she'd found it. On the counter was a roll of paper towels, and she tore off a sheet to scribble on. As she wrote, she realized her hand was shaking.

  "Well, I can't think of a more welcoming sight than this."

  At the familiar voice, she straightened and whirled. There stood Conor, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, navy jacket slung over a shoulder. His cap still sat on his head, although tipped back a bit. The sight pumped her blood faster, and her body hummed with awareness. “Hey."

  "I looked for you to stop by yesterday.” He paused and then grinned. “Bill sounded serious about that field trip."

  So, he's keeping the conversation casual. She leaned a hip against the counter. “Old friends, are you?"

  "Played three years of football together for MacArthur High."

  That she would have liked to see. A younger, more carefree Conor with all the spirit and vigor inherent in playing football in west Texas. “The girls probably all hoped to catch the eye of the big gridiron heroes."

  "Nah, that honor usually goes to the quarterback. My brother Sean was the big star.” His eyes clouded and he looked away, then cleared his throat. “What brings you here?"

  He'd just let a clue slip about his background, but obviously didn't want to discuss the topic further. “I brought cookies, along with the field trip form.” She picked up the tin and pried off the lid. “Pure bribery. Since both times you've seen me, I've been in crisis mode, I prepared for a more normal impression.” She walked forward about three feet and extended the tin. “These are proof that I really can cook."

  He grabbed out a couple and took a big bite. For a second, his eyes closed and a grin appeared. “Mmmm."

  When he chewed, a muscle jerked in his jaw. A movement that fascinated her. The man had no idea what his handsome body in that crisp shirt and pressed trousers did to her senses. Exactly what the colored stripes and brass pins on his jacket represented she didn't know—except to authenticate his air of authority.

  And that made her hot.

  "These are great, but you didn't need to bring proof. I have first-hand knowledge you can cook.” He leaned forward and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

  For an instant, she swayed close, enjoying the casual intimacy. “You call a charred apple pie cooking?"

  "Your house, in the kitchen.” His brows scrunched into a frown. “You can't have forgotten."

  A blush heated her cheeks. “Ah, yes, that.” The conversation had just jumped from casual to oh-so-personal.
>
  "An investigation that I'll never forget.” He tossed his jacket on the nearby table and slid his hands around her waist. “Reminds me, I never did question you about the grassfire or the incident at the school."

  "That's right, Captain.” The simple utterance of his title swirled desire low in her belly. She smoothed her hands up his hard chest and toyed with his collar, running a fingernail along his neck. “You didn't. Does that make you derelict in your duty?” After an exaggerated glance at her watch, she met his gaze. “I've got no commitments for the next ... twelve or thirteen hours. How about you?"

  "Can't think of one.” With a wide grin, Conor released her and swept an arm to one side. “Step into my office, and we'll take care of that report."

  The grin must mean he was up to something, and she just hoped they were thinking along the same lines. Because she was certainly looking for more to be taken care of than the report. She pushed open the door and made a show of looking around, as if for the first time. “Very neat and clean."

  "I haven't been here long enough to accumulate a lot of stuff.” He stepped behind her and cupped her right elbow. “Please sit here."

  Her skin tingled where his fingers clasped, and Rikka fought back a shiver. She slipped her purse strap off her shoulder and hung it over the chair back, then sat. If he wanted to be officious, great. Her lust could simmer a while longer.

  Conor grabbed a notepad from a wire rack on his desk and clicked a pen. “Okay, this incident was two days ago at Crockett Elementary. And the alarm was pulled because...” He paused, an eyebrow lifted.

  "Gracie Lee panicked at the flames and smoke and pulled it."

  His pen scratched on the paper. “Flames and smoke from the experiment that burned out of control?"

  The condemnation in his voice both set off her temper and spiked her desire. “Not out of control! Why does everyone exaggerate?” Trying for a more reasonable attitude, she leaned an elbow on his desk. “The chips burned hotter than I thought."