Kiss of Fire (St. James Family)

by Parker, Lavender

  Toni felt affection for them well up in her. She didn't like to invade their privacy by going into their bedroom. But she couldn't resist. The shower in their master bathroom was the most amazing thing on the earth. Multiple, massaging shower heads kneaded her tight muscles like dough and the skylight above streamed in the bright morning light. The water was wonderfully hot, the steam rising up to caress her. The feeling was pure luxury. Pure heaven. When Toni finally bought her own place, the only thing she was going to ask from Christophe was for him to replicate the shower for her. That was it.

  Of course, after such an eventful morning, Toni was late to rehearsal. She should have known it was going to happen. There was no such thing as a quick shower at Nat and Christophe's. She regretted nothing. She had to take her pleasures where she could get them. The 1 train lurched to a stop at Columbus Circle and Toni was out the doors as soon as they opened. She checked the time on her phone as she squeezed through a group of commuters crowding the train platform.

  Very late.

  Shit.

  She'd refused to take a cab from her sister's brownstone on the Upper West Side, despite having left thirty minutes later than she should have. A cab would have gotten her to rehearsal in about ten minutes. But she still couldn't bring herself to hail one. Her wounds from the terrible car crash years before had healed, but she still felt a rising sense of panic at the thought of taking a cab. It was ridiculous, really, but it was what it was.

  Her life had been going nonstop since she was released from the hospital a little over two years ago. She'd gone through rehabilitation for a five long months before she could dance at full-strength again. She'd been working more than ever since then, trying hard to make up for lost time. She still skipped meals and lost hours of sleep in her quest to be the best dancer. But her career had rebounded in such a way that she could hardly believe she'd had a potentially career-destroying injury. She'd finally landed a role outside of the chorus―the Lilac Fairy had a significant solo in Sleeping Beauty. She was on her way to being named a principal, slowly but surely.

  Toni pushed her way through the turnstiles and hauled ass up the stairs, taking two at a time. Her stomach grumbled angrily, and she checked her phone again. Yup. Still late. She sighed. She'd skipped breakfast again that morning. She reached around for her bag and rooted through, looking for stray cash. She found a twenty and felt like she'd won the lottery. Grinning, she exited the subway station at Columbus Circle, and dodged through the crowds of tourists who flocked to Central Park.

  “I can take you where you want to go, pretty lady!” An African pedi-cab driver called out to her as she passed. His white smile flashed against his black skin. She tossed him a smile over her shoulder and continued on her way. She laughed to herself, her ego stroked a little. She may want a date, but she didn’t have time, even for sexy, fit, pedi-cab drivers with great smiles. She shook it off, continuing on her way, weaving her way through the throngs of tourists that crowded around a group of break-dancers doing their thing. Despite being late, it was a beautiful spring day in the city and she couldn’t help being in a good mood.

  The trees along the avenue had begun to bloom and blossom. A Belgian waffle food truck was parked on the cross street. The scent of coffee wafted from the coffee shop on the corner. She took a deep breath.The heavenly smells caused her stomach to rumble again painfully. The thought of buying something disgusting from the vending machine in the company hallway – well, that just made her not want to eat at all. And she was already late. With a sigh, she ducked into a corner bodega.

  “Hello, ma’am.” The man behind the counter said out in a sing-song voice as the doorbell signaled her entrance. “It is a wonderful morning, is it not?”

  “It is,” Toni murmured as side-stepped the junk food and surveyed the fresh fruit at the front of the store. She decided on some carrot sticks, hummus, and a bag of plump green grapes. Then, on second thought, she grabbed two granola bars and dropped them on the counter with the rest of her choices. “Do you have any hard-boiled eggs?” Toni asked, deciding she needed protein, also. The clerk tore his eyes away from the little wall-hung TV and shuffled over to the deli counter.

  “How many?”

  “Just one, please.” Toni dug around in her bag for the money. Her eyes drifted to the newspaper rack and her attention caught on a headline: “FIVE FIREFIGHTERS INJURED BATTLING BLAZE”. Inexplicably, her heart sped up in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat. And just like that, she was transported back, like no time had passed at all. The memory unfolded before her and suddenly she was shaking and sweaty, convinced she was still in the burning car. A flash of green eyes, a warm touch on her cheek. A pang of terror. It was all so real. Where was he?

  Two Years Ago

  Where was she? Her eyes darted around, taking in the room. A hospital room, she realized. A bone-wracking shiver ran through her. She was cold. She was tired of being cold. She just wanted to go home. She scowled and tried to sit up but couldn’t. Her muscles seemed to have turned to mush. There was a tube sticking out of her arm, and there was a tube snaking around her face, hissing as it seeped oxygen. Her clothes had been replaced with a thin white gown. An annoying beeping machine monitored her heart-rate.

  Suddenly, she remembered her audition. Crap. What time was it? She needed to get sleep. Her audition was at 8:00 a.m. Thoughts rushed through her mind. She could just go straight from the hospital to the studio. She would worry about sleep later. She would wear her extra clothes that she kept in her locker. Everything would be fine. She would ace the audition no matter what. No matter what.

  Toni tried to sit up again. Where was the little button for the nurse? All hospital rooms had those, right? Not just the ones on TV? She tried to move a little too sharply and her body cried out in pain. A pain that almost took her breath away. She stilled, waiting for the aftershocks to subside. That was when she noticed her ankle was in a cast. The sounds of the room deadened to a dull roar in her ears as sheer terror gripped her.

  Her ankle was broken.

  Her first thought was for her dancing career, which could be over before it even really started. After all the work she'd done for years and years. After all the sacrificing and pushing her body to the limit, it could all be over, just like that. A cold drop of sweat ran between her shoulder-blades as she stared down at her foot, willing away the awfulness of her situation. But it was useless.

  Eventually, she forced herself to relax back on the bed. She crossed her hands over her nervous stomach and waited. Waited for the doctor to come and give her the bad news. Waited to go home and begin her long recovery. How long would she have to be off her feet? How long before she could dance again? The answerless questions kept coming. Toni's eyes swam with tears. Nat was in Hong Kong and she had no other family in the city. No one to comfort her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though she knew it wouldn't be. She felt cold dread resting upon her chest. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could barely breathe. Something hard was in her throat. Her hands grasped the sheets. She was choking!

  Just as she thought she was surely dying, a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. A man was standing in the door, his shoulders almost as wide as the frame. She opened her mouth, but only a hoarse croak escaped her lips. The man moved toward her. He quickly poured a cup of water from the pitcher on a tray next to her bed and brought the straw to her mouth. She sipped greedily. The cool water was heaven.

  "There, lovely." He set the cup back on the tray. "Don't worry yourself."

  She brought a shaking hand to her eyes and wiped the tears away. She knew that voice. She blinked. He was here. Standing at her bedside. The man who saved her. He wasn't as tall as she thought he'd be. His face was streaked with dark soot. He had a bandage on his right arm and dried blood on his neck. But he was as beautiful as she remembered. He had a strong jaw that bristled with the hint of a beard. His crooked nose'd been broken once, she could tell. Maybe as a child? There
was a smattering of freckles across the imperfect bridge of his nose. His black hair was closely shaved on the sides, and a bit longer on top. She wondered what it smelled like?

  His chest was broad, straining the stained and ripped blue T-shirt he wore. He had some sort of tattoo peeking from edge of his shirt sleeve. She had the urge to run her bandaged hand up that tanned arm, and see what other secrets he had hidden beneath his clothes... What was wrong with her? She knew she was traumatized, but damn. She dragged her gaze up to his face again, wanting something, but not sure what. His eyes were vivid green and trimmed with dark lashes, she noticed, and they had a bit of a nervous energy about them. She felt an inexplicable pull to him. The coolness in her throat faded, leaving a deep burning within her. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips. She had to know.

  "Who..." Toni tried to speak and coughed. But she was determined. In a whisper, she continued. "Who are you?”

  "Don't worry yourself." He held out the cup to her again and she wrapped her lips around the straw, taking a sip.

  "What's your name?" she whispered, her fingers brushing his as she closed her hand around the cup. “I want to thank you.” He blinked as her hand swept across his.

  “Seeing you up and talking is all the thanks I need.”

  "I'm Antoinette," she rasped, after swallowing the last bit of water in the plastic cup. “Toni.” A wayward tear snaked its way down her cheek. Stepping closer, he wiped it away.

  "What the hell are you crying for?" he said. "You're alive tonight, aren't you?"

  "Because of you," she whispered. She slid a hand against his, pinning it to her cheek. She needed reassurance and comfort. She didn't care if she was being too forward. At that moment, she just wanted to touch him. And his warm skin felt good against hers. Another tear eased its way down her cheek. Smoke, she realized. He smelled like crisp smoke. Like a bonfire on a cool autumn night.

  "Shit,” he said, low, under his breath. After a moment's hesitation, he ran his free hand through her hair, which she knew must look a hot mess. “Stop crying, lovely. Everything's going to be okay."

  "But what if I never dance again?" she whispered, leaning into his touch. Her body's aches seemed to dull as she focused on the sensation of his fingers working through her hair.

  "You're a dancer?" he said, his hand stilling against her scalp. She nodded, swallowing hard.

  “Ballet,” she said.

  "You'll keep on living, whether you can dance or not." He pushed a lock of hair off of her forehead tenderly, the action dulling his harsh words. She snorted out a laugh. It was either laugh or cry. He was right, she would go on living. Thanks to him. But the life she had might be over. With effort, she pushed the thought from her mind.

  “Thank you for saving me,” she repeated.

  “I was just doing my job,” he said. She was suddenly keenly aware of his warmth seeping under her skin. Her heartbeat sped up. She wondered if he could feel the pounding of her pulse. This was the worse day of her life, thus far. But the presence of this man, this heroic stranger, was stirring foreign feelings inside of her. Maybe the events of the day had heightened her senses, or jumbled her brain. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to let him go. She wanted him to crawl into the bed beside her and hold her. She wanted to feel his breath on her neck, and feel his heartbeat.

  She slid her hand up his forearm, involuntarily. Her hand had a mind of its own. Her fingers lightly danced over his bandages. She found the edge of his T-shirt sleeve and poked her fingertips beneath it. She traced the line of the visible part of his tattoo. “What’s this?” She murmured. He rolled up his sleeve. The tattoo, done in black ink, depicted the twin towers on 9/11, with a placard beneath, etched “Never Forget”.

  “You’re a firefighter?” she whispered. Her eyes drank in his bicep, which rippled with muscle. She wondered what his chest looked like beneath that shirt. Then, vaguely, she wondered what was wrong with her. She didn’t know this man. But her hand still itched to touch him. Her fingers were exploring the fine dark hairs on his forearm. He cleared his throat.

  “163rd ladder,” he said hoarsely. Then he pulled away. Toni blinked. Her hand dropped to the bed. “I gotta get going.” He rolled his sleeve back down.

  “You're leaving?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. But he was already moving toward the door, leaving her there by herself. All alone with her thoughts. The cold dread was creeping back into her stomach. Desperation exploded inside of her. “Wait!”

  Present Day

  “That’ll be fourteen dollars, ma’am.”

  The cheerful voice snapped her out of her memory. The clerk was looking at her, expectantly. Toni took in a sharp breath and told herself to get it together. Weird. She hadn't thought about the fireman in awhile, she realized. But today, she'd thought of him twice. Was it a sign? She wondered where he was. Was he safe? Toni slid the money across the counter with a shaking hand. Chewing her lip, she couldn’t help herself from reaching across and snapping up the newspaper.

  “This, too.”

  Back out in the sunshine, her lateness forgotten, Toni flipped through the newspaper, skimming through the cover story, looking for the names of the injured firefighters. Jimmy O’Halloran. Tommy Robertson. And then a name that she knew. Sgt. Sebastian O’Donovan, of the 163rd Ladder. Her heart dropped. She stopped in her tracks in the middle of the busy sidewalk. She quickly scanned the rest of the article for any other information. The firefighters had been taken to Elmhurst Hospital in Queens. Two of the men were in critical condition; three were in stable condition. After re-reading the article twice, she closed the paper and folded it under her arm.

  Toni started walking again towards Lincoln Center, more by memory than by paying attention. She felt like her mind had fogged over. His name kept repeating over and over in her brain. He hadn't even told her his name, she remembered. Christophe had found it out for her later, after the fact. That night in the hospital, he'd been in such a rush to leave her that he'd left without telling her even that much. Logically, she knew that he probably saved people all the time. She was probably just another victim to him. He'd probably forgotten all about her. He probably didn't think about her like she thought about him.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. She wished she could continue on with her day and not think about Sgt. Sebastian O'Donovan. She wished she could send a little prayer his way and then forget him. But she couldn't. A plan was forming. Her rehearsal was important, true. She couldn’t miss it. But it wouldn’t hurt to leave a little early… just this once.

  Chapter 3

  This is bullshit, he thought. Total bullshit.

  O'Donovan jammed the buttons on the remote control, flipping through the channels on the tiny TV secured to the wall across from his hospital bed. He had been burned before, had had smoke inhalation before. Yeah, his back was a little banged up. Big deal. He was tired of sitting in a bed, rotting. Some of the other guys had been really injured. He knew Tommy had gotten it worse, had a broken leg and a punctured lung. When the building collapsed, Tommy had been close to the door, and had been hit by the heaviest debris. Tommy would be laid up for a month or more. But O'Donovan was fine. He needed to be back out on the streets, doing his job.

  He knew that Tommy and O'Halloran had come into the building after him. It didn't make him feel good to know he'd been the reason that two of his friends were injured. He wasn't usually so reckless. But he had just run in, not thinking. He'd been on auto-pilot. He was sure he was going to hear it from Captain O'Reilly when he returned. So maybe being stuck in the hospital was a blessing in disguise, he thought, with a shrug. He remembered his injury too late, and gritted his teeth as the pain punched him in the gut.

  Shit. That was a bitch.

  He dropped his head back on the stiff pillow. He knew why he'd been acting like such a dumb-ass lately. Ever since Gwen had left him eight months, two weeks, and three days ago, his head hadn't been right. He ran around like an idiot, working overt
ime, drinking too much, and not sleeping because he didn’t want time to sit around and think about why his marriage had failed. Not that he didn’t know the reason. They never should have gotten married in the first place.

  She was an uptown girl from Westchester; he was from working class Queens. She was never satisfied with their life. She always wanted more. Their complete lack of common interests had become blindingly obvious by the sixth month of their marriage. The only thing that bound them together was the sex. Their sexual chemistry was dynamic, and when that waned, they were lost. But he'd been in it for the long haul. Gwen was his wife and he had sworn to make it work. And he tried. They'd been together so long and he felt like he'd put in so much mileage that he wanted to keep going. Besides, he hated to fail.

  So he went to the ballet, and the opera, and the expensive restaurants. Shit, he'd even had a fancy suit tailored for him. Cost him two whole paychecks. He bought her new furniture, new curtains, and whatever-the-fuck-else she wanted for their overpriced piece-of-shit Manhattan apartment. He spent too much damn time with her social-climbing friends. His own friendships had suffered. He'd rarely seen his father before he moved back to Ireland, for Christ's sake.

  But when it came to reciprocating, Gwen was less than willing. She didn’t have time for ball games or pubs or fishing, and she hated going to Queens for the Firemen’s Picnic. She refused to move out of the tiny two-bedroom on the Upper West Side and into something more spacious in an outer borough. Neither of them had wanted to compromise. And in the end, it cost them both.

  O'Donovan gripped the remote control and then gritted his teeth as a pain shot through his injured back yet again. This time, pain set off a domino effect, as the burns on his thigh and abdomen starting aching as well. Gritting his teeth, he waited for the wave of pain to subside. A light knock on the door caused him to jump. He turned his head on the pillow, ready to remind Flo, his no-nonsense nurse, that he was more than ready to be discharged. But Flo wasn’t standing there.