AFTERSHOCK

by Jill Shalvis

  * * *

  Dax held Amber in his arms long afterward, listening to her soft, deep breathing, watching her relaxed face. Though he relished the sight of her sprawled against him, though he soaked in each and every lush curve and all the feminine roundness that so turned him on, he almost wished she'd put on some clothes, because even the feel of her creamy, soft skin against his made him want her again.

  He had the feeling he would always want her.

  The yearning for her spread within him and he pulled her even closer, needing to take what he could before she woke all the way up this time, and remembered she wasn't ready.

  It took every bit of restraint he had to keep from kissing her awake, to keep from trying to convince her that what they shared was so incredibly right.

  How could she not know?

  Or maybe that was it. She did know, and the reality was too frightening.

  Her body certainly hadn't had any such reservations. She'd given all of herself, holding nothing back. The way she'd held him, stroked him, the way she'd looked at him, had spoken clearly of her heart's desires.

  His own heart raced in remembered response.

  He'd never, in all his thirty-two years, been touched the way she'd touched him. She wasn't experienced, no one with that much wonder and awe in her eyes at the simplest of his kisses could be experienced, but she had a surprisingly sensuous, earthy streak and was such a quick study that he got hard just remembering.

  He enjoyed everything about her; the easy intelligence in her eyes, her sweet, warm laughter, the wonderful way she mothered Taylor.

  Leaving her would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but there was no choice. He was in love with her. Hopelessly, irrevocably in love. It was his first time, but he knew himself, knew that he'd do everything in his power to insure this went his way. He would seduce, cajole and convince her—whatever it took—that they belonged together.

  He would probably eventually succeed.

  But it would be no good unless Amber decided for herself that they belonged together. No good because he'd never know if it was the path she would have chosen for herself.

  In her sleep, she frowned and whimpered, and the sound went through him like a knife. "Shh," he whispered, soothing her with his hands and voice. "I've got you."

  Immediately she stilled. The frown faded. So did much of her tension. Her soft, warm breath tickled the skin of his neck. Her feet were snuggled against his, soaking up their warmth and her hands rested trustingly against his chest. Even their hearts beat in unison, he could feel the rhythm echoing through him.

  He missed her already, and though he needed to get some sleep, he didn't want to close his eyes, didn't want to miss a minute of this.

  God, it hurt, the letting go, but in the end, he could do little else.

  * * *

  Amber awoke to the sound of Taylor's cooing in the next room. It was a happy sound and she smiled. Until she realized she was in Dax's warm, welcoming bed. Alone. She stretched, looking for him, and at the sight of a note on his pillow, her heart stopped.

  Dear Amber,

  I had to get back to work.

  I'll be busy for several days, maybe more, before I can get another day off. Please, if you can, let my parents have my days with Taylor. They love her and will take care of her.

  You can trust them, Amber.

  Love, Dax

  You can trust them. He apparently thought she didn't know that, and had to be told.

  Her own fault, she admitted, closing her eyes. She'd done a good job of letting him think that she was incapable of trust, period.

  With a soft groan, she lay back and listened to Taylor's joyous babbling. It should have felt right to wake up in his bed, it would have felt right, if he'd been there.

  She'd let him think what they shared was purely physical, let him assume the problems between them were insurmountable. She'd hurt him, and that knowledge was an anguish she'd have to face. And somehow fix.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  She was a coward. Not an easy admission, but Amber wouldn't shy away from the truth.

  Somewhere along the road, she'd accepted that Dax really did love her. It was a miracle, and it still made her marvel, but she accepted it.

  She also accepted that she felt the same.

  But she hadn't told him, and that was inexcusable. The words had fairly screamed from her heart last night and she'd kept them to herself. Selfish and afraid, she'd held them near and dear, where they could do little good.

  He deserved to know.

  It wasn't exactly complimentary that it had taken her so long to really get it, but she could face that, too. She'd been hiding. She'd kept herself from living her life to its fullest because she was afraid.

  That was going to change.

  Last night had been a turning point for her, and if she was being honest, she also had to admit her transformation hadn't started last night. It had begun a year before in a dark, dirty basement where she'd faced her mortality.

  She'd changed.

  She'd learned love didn't have to hurt, that she could indeed trust someone other than herself. Dax needed to know that, too, and he needed to be thanked for teaching her that lesson, but before she could even begin to do that, she had to make him understand how much he meant to her.

  But he wasn't home, and if he was at work, he wasn't returning her calls. It might have taken her too long, but she'd found the depth of her true feelings for him and she wouldn't give up. She could do this, she could fight for what she wanted.

  And what she wanted was Dax McCall in her life, in her home, in her heart.

  Forever.

  * * *

  Since Dax had made himself so thoroughly scarce and unavailable, Amber was forced to start with something else. Something she'd been wanting to do for awhile.

  It required only a trip to the county recorder's office.

  She gave Taylor Dax's last name.

  They both deserved that, father and daughter, and she wanted Taylor to be a McCall. She thought Dax wanted that, too, and doing it felt right, very right.

  There was something else she wanted to do, and while she waited to talk to Dax, she went for that as well. It was tough, and meant swallowing a lot of pride, but it was for Taylor.

  Her father answered the phone in his usual gruff, booming voice, and when he heard Amber, he became all the more gruff. "What do you want?" As she had all of her life, Amber went on the defensive, and strove to cover that with icy coolness. "You told Dax you wanted to see your granddaughter. Was that true?"

  "Yes." He cleared his throat, a sign of unease. But her father was never uneasy.

  Could he be as nervous as she?

  There was a time in Amber's life when she would have been agonizing over this, wishing he would show just the slightest interest, give her one little word of encouragement.

  Suddenly—or maybe not so suddenly at all—it didn't matter. She ached for his presence in her life, solely for Taylor's sake now.

  Yes, she still wanted a father who approved of her and what she'd done with her life. But she'd learned she was fine without that approval. Better than fine. "Have you changed your mind?"

  "Actually, it was more than that."

  "I don't understand," she said slowly.

  His voice was harsh. Gruff as ever. Irritated. "Can't a man see his only daughter, as well?"

  "Me?"

  "You hard of hearing, Amber?"

  There was no softening in his tough attitude. There came no words of apology or any request for forgiveness. She understood she'd never get that, but it didn't stop her sudden smile. "No, of course not." Amazement gave way to a tentative peace. "You can see us whenever it suits you."

  "Well, it suits me."

  It suited her, too, and after he'd hung up, Amber reflected on her life, where it was going, and she smiled again.

  * * *

  Dax kneeled in the destruction and a
sh of the burned-out apartment building, taking notes. His investigation was in full swing.

  But he was no closer to finding the arsonist now then he had been four days ago. Swearing to himself, he stared down at his pad, but he couldn't see a single word. He'd worked himself to near exhaustion.

  He'd had to.

  The arsonist, whoever he was, was now wanted for more than starting the fire. He would have to be accountable for all the destruction he'd caused, and for the waste of human life.

  Murder.

  Finding him or her would depend on Dax and how good his investigation was. But damn, it was hard to keep his head straight when his heart hurt. He truly hadn't expected to fall in love, it just hadn't been part of his grand plan. But it was done, there was nothing he could do about it, except go on with his life.

  He'd been at work so long his eyes were grainy. The fierce pounding in his head was probably due to lack of food; he couldn't remember when he'd last had a meal. But if he slowed down enough to eat, then his brain would kick in again and he'd be back to ground zero, mooning pathetically over a woman he couldn't have and missing the daughter he wanted to hug with all his heart.

  Disgusted with himself, he lurched to his feet. He was doing no good here. He drove to his office, where he intended to read and reread all the reports until he could figure out what he was missing. Then he'd go to his mom's and hold his daughter for awhile.

  His office looked like a disaster zone, which was defeating. The desk was piled high with files and other reports, many of which had fallen to the floor, next to a bag of diapers.

  For the first time in his career, he stood at the doorway, thinking about the job he loved with all his heart and felt … overwhelmed.

  And hungry, damn hungry.

  It wasn't a stretch to use that hunger as an excuse to make his way to the kitchen.

  There was always food in a fire station, wasn't there? It felt good to be able to count on something, he thought in a rare moment of self-pity. But while there was food in the refrigerator, none of it was prepared.

  He went into the connecting room, the "great room," the men called it because of its size. There was a big screen television on its last legs, several couches—all of which had seen better days—a scarred but functional dining room set, and their pride and joy—a pool table.

  "Hey!" he called out. "Who's cooking lunch?"

  The two on-duty men watching soap operas didn't budge.

  The two playing pool kept up their game. Through the open window he could plainly see two more men standing outside where they'd just finished washing their rigs.

  No one answered, or so much as glanced his way.

  Dax wasn't insulted, he knew all too well why he was being ignored. They had a tacit agreement. It wasn't necessarily a fair one, but it was simple.

  He who got hungry first, cooked.

  The last one to eat cleaned up.

  Most people thought firefighters ate so fast because they were always trying to keep one step ahead of the fire bell. Not true.

  They just didn't want to do dishes.

  "So nobody's hungry," he said dryly.

  Nobody moved.

  Of course not. If they answered in the affirmative, then they'd have to cook. If they said no, then they couldn't eat whatever he cooked.

  It was tricky, and if he'd been in a more generous mood, he'd have better appreciated the humor. But he had no humor left. "Damn," he muttered and turned back to the kitchen. The laughter that broke out behind him made him swear even more colorfully. But he cracked the refrigerator open again. He'd lost fair and square.

  A nap might have better suited him than preparing spaghetti sauce for the entire gang, but he was stubborn as well as hungry. Cranking up the radio on the counter, he chopped up a green pepper and tried to stay in the moment.

  Tried to stay out of his past.

  Tried to stay out of the part of his brain that hurt. The loud, hard, pulsing rock blaring from the radio helped. So did all the food he popped into his mouth instead of into the pot.

  But he kept coming back to one thing … Amber had asked him for more time, for some space. It was all she'd ever asked of him.

  And he hadn't given it.

  The selfishness of that, the pure greed of it, had him stopping in his tracks, a forgotten knife in one hand, a mushroom in the other.

  When had he become so rigid, so unyielding?

  Disgusted with himself, he chopped more vegetables with a vengeance, nearly slicing off a finger.

  He would give her what she wanted, and while it was all fresh in his mind, he yanked the telephone off its hook and dialed her number to tell her so.

  When he got her machine, he hung up, frustrated. Fine. She could have her damn time. But he wouldn't let her go. Couldn't let her go.

  His ears played a cruel trick on him then. He thought he could hear her voice. To block it out, he cranked up the volume on the radio.

  He could still hear her.

  Another vicious crank of the dial helped, barely. His ears rang. The floor vibrated with the beat. The windows rattled.

  In unison, he heard the guys bellow for him to lower the volume, but he ignored them and had to smile at the irony.

  He could still hear her.

  One last touch to the radio and he had the volume maxed out.

  Ahh, he thought … peace. Finally. Maybe now he could get some damn food into his gnawing gut.

  Satisfied, he grabbed a tomato and froze.

  She was standing there, or at least he was dreaming that she was. Rubbing his eyes ruthlessly, he blinked the gritty exhaustion away and looked again.

  She was still there in the doorway of the kitchen, hands braced on the jamb on either side of her as she looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

  His heart stopped, then kicked in again with a painfully slow thudding. The clothes she wore were unlike her, softer, more feminine, and incredibly, unwittingly sexy. He couldn't tear his gaze away. The long, flowing, flowery dress was tight in the bodice and flared gently at her hips before falling nearly to her ankles. There was a row of tiny, dainty buttons down the front, starting at the mouthwatering spot just between her full breasts.

  She'd never looked so lovely.

  God, he wished she was his.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^

  Dax told himself to cool it. She was probably here to go over something about Taylor, and he wondered how he would live through all the time he'd vowed to give her.

  She sent him a tentative smile and raised her eyebrows at the music.

  With a flick of his wrist, he turned off the radio. The silence was nearly as deafening as the music had been. "Taylor—?" he asked.

  "She's fine," Amber said quickly. "She's with your mom."

  He nodded, then said gruffly, "I miss her."

  She clasped her hands together, but other than that, remained perfectly stilt. "I know. I … wanted to talk to you."

  Great. How was he going to keep from grabbing her and holding on tight? He realized he still held the knife and a tomato, and he set them both down, wiping his hands on a towel because he had to keep them busy. "I'm making lunch."

  A smile flickered across her firm, unpainted mouth. Had he ever seen her without lipstick? Yes, he remembered with a violent reaction in his lower body. She'd been sleeping in his bed at the time, a satisfied, cat-in-cream smile on those naked lips.

  "I didn't realize you could cook," she said. "Or that you'd…" She trailed off, her voice steady enough, but he could see the telltale sign of a blush creeping up her cheeks.

  Interesting. She didn't seem so in control now. "Or that I'd what?"

  She lifted a shoulder. "Look so good doing it."

  Unfortunately, sweet as that admission was, it only made his ache more pronounced.

  The awkward silence settled again and Amber took a step toward him. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I haven't been able to reach you."

>   "Yeah. About that…"

  "Don't be sorry," she said quickly. "I know you've been busy."

  Which wasn't exactly the reason he hadn't called or gone by to see her. "Yes, I've been busy," he said carefully, stepping around the counter to face her. "But I've also been a jerk. I should have gotten back to you, but frankly, I was too busy being selfish."

  "Selfish?" She laughed at that. "You? I doubt that, Dax."

  "I promised not to push, I promised to be patient, and I couldn't do either. I can do better. I can give you your time and space."

  "Dax—"

  "But I can't let you go. You should know that up front."

  "It's okay—"

  "No, dammit, it's not."

  "Dax—"

  "Let me finish. For the first time in my life I broke a promise and I'm sorry for that, so sorry."

  "Oh, Dax." Misery crossed her face. "Don't apologize, that's not what I came here for. I wanted to tell you…" She looked at her feet for a long moment before lifting her head again. "I have come to a conclusion," she said in a businesslike tone.

  He swallowed. "That sounds bad."

  "No." The sophistication fled. "It's just so much harder to tell you than I imagined, and truthfully, I imagined it being pretty tough."

  His heart sank. "You can tell me anything, Amber. You know that."

  Clearly filled with pent-up energy, she slowly walked the room. "You've been in my head a long time now, Dax."

  "Uh … okay." That was good, right?

  Her back to him, she studied the wall, which was covered in pictures. The guys had been pinning up photos ever since the station first opened ten years before. There were families, girlfriends, boyfriends, kids … an entire ten years worth of living.

  What did she see? he wondered. What did she feel? He wished he knew.

  "I know it seems silly," she said to the wall. "To tell you that I can't stop thinking of you."

  "I understand perfectly."

  She turned to him then. "It's really quite maddening."

  He nodded. Definitely maddening.

  "You're different, you know. Different from anyone I've ever known."