With an effort, she closed her mouth and tried to look nonplussed, doubting very much if she succeeded. Still unable to speak coherently, she stared at him, wishing he would stop looking at her with his amusement evident, as a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. She stared at his lips, a sudden impulse to kiss them overwhelming her.
She tore her eyes away from him and glanced up and down the corridor. Nobody there. With one stride, she was in his office, and heard his door shut with a bang. Dropping her backpack on the floor, she flung her arms around him, holding him tightly to her.
“Hey, hey, steady. I’m wounded you know.” His one good arm wrapped around her and he pulled her close, lowering his head to her upturned face. His kiss was gentle at first, then hungry. She tried to hold back her tears, but they rolled out of her eyes and dribbled down her face. He pulled back, looking intently at her, then kissed her tears.
“Dave.” Her whisper, shaky and muffled, was all she could muster. He kissed her again, gently, as though she were a child.
“I’m OK, Cindy. Really.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Look, I need to see you—need to talk to you—soon. Can I see you tonight?”
“Yes.” Before she could say anymore, there was a brief knock on his office door, then it swung open. She and Dave sprung apart, but Sheldon was already in the room. He looked shocked and embarrassed as he stood there holding a plate bearing a cake with amateurishly applied frosting, emblazoned with ‘Welcome back Dave’.
“Um. Sorry for barging in like that. Didn’t realize you were, um, here already.” He looked at the ground. “Rosie made this for ya, Dave. Made me bring it in so we could all share it at coffee break.”
Dave reached over and clasped Sheldon’s shoulder. “Thanks buddy. Give Rosie a hug from me. I really appreciate it.”
Cindy saw her opportunity to go, so she picked up her bag and went to the door. “See you later, guys.” Feeling the flush of embarrassment creep rapidly up her neck and face, she exited without a backward glance. Hopefully Sheldon would keep what he’d seen to himself.
The day went slowly, the clock creeping sluggishly toward knock off time. At last she was able to get away, and drove home, excitement building as she pondered what the evening ahead would bring.
She showered and took care with her hair. Choosing a flattering dress and matching stilettos, she dressed slowly, checking herself in the mirror often. He always saw her in her work clothes—or in none at all. Tonight she wanted to look feminine, beautiful, for him. Not long after she finished applying her makeup, the buzzer sounded from the entrance to her apartment block. She jumped up and pressed the button.
“Hi. Come on up. Number 223.” Without waiting for his reply, she went to the refrigerator and put the bottle of Moët in a silver ice bucket, grabbing two tall flutes from the cupboard. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang, and she quickly opened it, a broad smile spread across her face.
She froze as she stared into brown eyes, a smirk on the face of the man standing before her.
“You should be more careful, you know. It could’ve been anybody at all you let in.”
Her breathing halted as she gaped at Pete Monaghan.
“Well, honey, aren’t you gonna let me in?” He pushed past her, entering her apartment, and looking around as if he was a potential buyer, inspecting everything in the room.
Eventually she found her voice. “What the fuck are you doing here, Pete?” Bubbles of anger started to build within her, her voice low and menacing. “Who told you I live here?”
He rounded on her, narrowing his eyes as he looked into hers, then traveling down her body, taking in the low-cut dress, her slender waist, then gliding over her tanned, smooth legs.
“Aw honey. Aren’t you glad to see me?” He stepped close and rubbed the back of his finger down her cheek. In a flash, she whipped his hand away with hers, and glared at him.
“Get out! Right this minute!”
He took another step closer and grabbed both her shoulders. “Now don’t be like that! What’s got your feathers ruffled, baby?”
She twisted out of his grasp, rounding on him, her eyes blazing and her face flushed. “You know damn well what’s got me pissed with you! Who took that photo, and who gave it to someone at Hillwood?”
For a fleeting second, he looked less sure of himself, then, recovering quickly, his plastic smile again graced his face. “No idea what you’re talking about, baby…”
“Cut the shit, Pete. And don’t call me baby.” Waves of anger and newfound confidence caused her voice to rise. “You think it’s OK to do that? You seriously think it’s funny?”
“Hey, I just wanted a little…souvenir.” She shifted her eyes from his face and took in his puny physique in the tight T-shirt and jeans. Being a tour guide obviously didn’t require him to workout, she thought. She glowered at him with loathing and repugnance.
“Who took the fucking photos?” Anger seethed within her, her voice raised now in fury, the disgust she felt for him overwhelming. He heart raced as she stared him down, her face close to his while she prodded him hard in the chest with her finger. Did she imagine it or did his eyes suddenly flick away? Hmm, she thought, he’s actually frightened of me.
With lightning speed, she reached up and grabbed the neck of his T-shirt, scrunching it up in her fist, and forcing his head up. “Answer me!”
“It was just one of the other recruits.”
“Who?” She tightened her grip on his shirt, twisting it. “Who was it, goddamn it?”
Pete made a grab for her, pulling her face even closer, his lips clamping hard on hers as he held her in a vice-like grip with one hand, the other diving up under her short skirt, trying to touch her pussy. She let fly with a left hook, connecting with his chin at the same time her knee jerked briskly and solidly up into his balls. He reeled from the shock and pain, eyes bulging. No noise escaped his open mouth, his face contorted in agony.
Loud footsteps thundered up the stairs and, shaking, she turned slightly to see Dave take one giant step into the room. Relief overcame her as she watched Dave pick Pete’s crumpled body up by the scruff of the neck, and propel him down the stairwell of the apartment building. Pete landed with a crash on the next landing. Dave went after him, his jaw set hard.
“No, no. I’ll go.” Pete sounded weak and cowardly. “Just a misunderstanding between…”
From her perch on the top step, she called out. “Hold on, Dave. Pete was just telling me something.”
“Is that so?” He grabbed Pete behind the neck with one giant hand, and raised him to his feet where he teetered on wobbly legs. Cindy watched as Dave, sliding his sore arm out of the sling, grabbed Pete and twisted his arm up behind his back. “Talk!” Dave roared in his ear.
Pete’s voice was barely a whisper, his face shiny with sweat. “Todd Warner. It was Todd Warner.”
Reefing Pete’s arm higher up behind his back, Dave spun him around and frog-marched him down to the ground floor. She heard the sliding doors open, then heard Pete yell out as he was thrown out onto the sidewalk.
Tremors shook her body. It had all happened so fast. Dave quickly climbed back up the stairs, his face grim, lips compressed into a tight line. As he approached her, his ice-cold eyes never wavered from hers. Reaching the landing where she stood, she saw his chest rise and fall with heavy breathing, but his face was a mask—cold and hard.
She stared back at him, her jaw clenched. The silence stretched out, until she eventually felt calm enough to speak. “Before you jump to conclusions, I did not know he was coming, nor did I let him in. He tricked me—I thought it was you…” Her eyes held his penetrating gaze, her heart pounding in her chest.
Letting out an agonized moan, his eyes suddenly melted like a lime sno-cone left in the sun, his face softening. He grabbed her in his arms and held her to his chest. She could feel his heart racing, pounding against hers. They moved back inside her apartment and she heard the door shut. He held her tight, face bu
ried in her neck. Eventually she felt herself calming down, the strength that had momentarily turned to water, returning.
“I could’ve handled him, y’know.”
He pulled his head back and looked into her face, his eyes searching hers. “I could see that. You didn’t need me at all.” His lips brushed hers gently. “But I’m so grateful you let me in on it.” A small, soft laugh bubbled from him. “I enjoy a good fist fight.” He kissed her again. “You look beautiful.”
“You look pretty good yourself.” Their lips met hungrily, kissing each other with passion, their tongues caressing each other. Letting out a loud moan, he let her go and ripped his shirt over his head, then undid the belt of his black slacks, kicking them off. He reached down and removed his shoes and socks. His magnificent body, the tan of his torso, his six-pack stomach, and the white, untanned skin where his bathing suit blocked the sun’s rays, looked so much better than his pinup spread in the calendar. Biceps bulged effortlessly as he reached forward, and her breath caught in her throat as she delighted in the view.
He gently spun her around and undid the zip in the back of her dress, letting it slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor. He turned her around to face him again. She relished the look on his face as he surveyed her fit, tanned, and strong body. Glancing down, she saw his erection beckoning, and felt intense quivering deep inside her. He lifted his hand and gently touched her cheek, her hair, then her neck. He bent forward and kissed her lips, then the small hollow at the base of her throat. Reaching behind her, he unclasped her bra, revealing her breasts.
He licked each areola delicately with his warm tongue, causing goose bumps all over her body. His moist lips surrounded them, his mouth covering first one, then the other, as he sucked them, caressing the nipples with his tongue. An explosion of wetness escaped her, drenching her thong. She ached for him to touch her there, to kiss her and love her. His gentle hands traveled all over her back, down to her buttocks, finding the thin strap of her thong and sliding it slowly down. His fingers probed her, gently, tantalizing her and sending waves of longing through her whole body.
“Mmm, you’re so wet,” he crooned as he moved his lips down her flat, muscular tummy to the little strip of hair. She reached behind her and, finding the couch, rested her hands on it, bending backwards and opening her legs as he buried his face in her dripping pussy.
She let out a low moan, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hold on a moment longer. He ran his hands down her shins and took hold of the bright red stilettos she was still wearing.
“You’re so hot. So sexy.” His words, breathy and low, were barely able to be understood, his mouth still working its magic on her pussy. With one hand, he reached out to his trousers, lying in an untidy pile on the floor. As he reached into a pocket, she moved further back onto the couch. He quickly opened the packet and rolled the protection on his shaft, then climbed on to her.
She gasped as his cock slid into her, deeply, forcefully, then moved around, exciting her. She grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close to her, wanting to feel him inside her as he began pumping her hard. Her whole body desired him—needed him—impatient for the moments of fulfillment, yet wanting it to go on forever. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he drove into her in an ever-increasing rhythm. Her nails dug into his back, her breath came in sharp gasps.
Dave let out a bellow as he exploded within her, his whole body shuddering as he lay above her, cock throbbing inside her. Suddenly she spasmed as her orgasm shot through her, clamping around him. It was some minutes before either moved, laying together as their breathing dropped to normal. They clung to each other, perspiration covering their bodies. He moved from her and lay down with her on the couch, their bodies close. He kissed her softly, his eyes gentle as he stared into hers.
Suddenly, his face crinkled up. “Ow! My arm.” He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. “I forgot about my arm.”
She helped him into the shower, and afterwards, helped him dress and put his injured arm back in the sling. Handing him a glass filled with bourbon and ice, she sat down next to him on the settee as they each sipped on the fiery liquid.
“Better?”
He winked at her and nodded. “This is helping.” He raised his glass to her. “I should’ve left him to you.” His smile melted her heart, but a shadow crossed her face as she remembered the unsavory events of the evening.
“Dave, Pete’s lying about Warner being at the academy. It can’t have been him.”
“It wasn’t. Todd Warner is John Warner’s son, I believe.” Her eyes widened. “I heard he had a son who dropped out of the academy. Seems his girlfriend got him onto drugs. It really affected Warner at the time, even broke up his marriage. Despite his behavior toward you, he’s really a very proud—and decorated—firefighter.”
She sipped her drink as she took in this information. It certainly didn’t excuse what he had done to her, especially planting the picture in her locker. A shudder ran down her spine as she remembered the grotesque picture, wondering how Warner could have done such a thing.
“He apologized to me. After the fire. I accepted it, but it still doesn’t make up for his rudeness.”
“It doesn’t. Look, now that we know for sure it was him who planted the picture, I’ll need to speak to him in my official capacity.” He turned to look at her. “You have to leave it to me now, Cindy.”
Chapter Seven
April arrived amid a flurry of activity at Hillwood Station. It wasn’t until one evening when she was cuddling poor, neglected Joey, after days of just giving him food and water on the run, that she glanced at the calendar on the wall. With a small chuckle, she realized she’d been too busy to even notice it still showed the March guy. She bent over and gently let the cat down on the floor, then took the calendar off the hook, flipping it over to April. There he was. A surge of affection seeped through her, taking her by surprise, as she regarded his picture. She wondered idly if Dave had thought to reveal the month of April on the calendar in his office. Probably too busy, she thought, just like she was.
It took several days for the routines at Hillwood Station to get back to normal after the hectic few weeks leading up to the fire that nearly claimed the lives of some of the crew. The visiting teams from Brownsville, having generously helped out, went back to their own jurisdiction. It was all hands on deck at Hillwood, cleaning and maintaining all the trucks and equipment, ensuring it was in perfect working order. The training schedules resumed, with extra sessions on lessons learnt from the rash of major fires, motor vehicle crashes, and call-outs they’d just been through.
Cindy hardly saw Dave at all; he never seemed to be around on her shift. Instead, Sheldon oversaw the routines of the job. He instigated extra training on various fire fighting techniques, medical knowledge and skills, hazardous materials safety, and specialized rescue. Although no one said so, Cindy knew that had the hydrant seal not broken when she was looking after the hose connections during the big factory fire, Dave wouldn’t have been injured. Guilt gnawed at her, knowing that her inability to fix the hydrant had put the lives of all four men in grave danger. She threw herself into the training with gusto, keeping her head down and avoiding the discussions about what had happened the day of the fire.
Sheldon called her over to his desk one afternoon after she’d volunteered for some punishing training routines aloft the tower ladder. Time and again she’d climbed up, hoisted up the thick hoses, and practiced training the jet onto specific targets. Exhausted, she stood in front of his desk and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing on his computer.
“Sit down, Cindy.” Still he kept typing. “Be with ya in a second.”
Gratefully, she sat down. Lifting a grubby hand, she wiped some stray strands of hair out of her face, feeling her hair stiff and sticky, plastered to her head with perspiration and grime. While she waited, she looked out the window at the rest of the crew doing calisthenics on the training ground. Warner, his red hea
d standing several inches above the rest of the men, was energetically bouncing and bobbing, then down on the ground doing pushups. She heard his voice calling out to the others: “C’mon guys! You can do better than that!” He hardly seemed like the same man who greeted her with leering looks and sly eyes on her very first morning at Hillwood.
“Right.” Sheldon’s voice brought her back to the present. He stood up and came around to the front of his desk, parking himself on the edge with one leg swinging. He cleared his throat, then continued.
“I’ve been writing up the incident report for the fires and call-outs. In particular, the big fire at the factory last week. I need to be very specific on the actions of each one of the team who were involved that day.” He crossed his arms and gazed out the window. “When I read your report of the incident, it sounds almost as though you blame yourself. The report is supposed to be a factual, objective, and impassive document stating exactly what happened.”
“But Sheldon…”
He held up a hand to silence her. “I’m not finished yet.” He crossed his arms across his chest and looked directly at her. “I’ve had the hose links and the hydrant checked out. The gasket broke, causing the leak. It broke because the hose had been incorrectly connected in the first place, stripping the thread.” He stood up, went around his desk, and sat down in front of the computer. “The reason you couldn’t undo the connection to fix it, was because the thread was locked—not because you didn’t have the strength in your hands.”
He looked at the computer screen. “So, my report will state exactly that.” He began to type on the keyboard. “The hydrant was old, and the company whose building burnt down had not carried out regular maintenance on it. When Warner connected the hose in the first place, he wasn’t to know that. By law, the company should have performed routine checks.” He stopped typing and looked up at her.
All Fired Up Page 6
