The Night Belongs to Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  “But I don’t even know if he’s . . . if that’s . . . what I want.”

  “Don’t pull that with us. You and the fireman were flirting with each other back when he was Random Cute Guy with Trophy at the City Lights Grill.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I had too much champagne and he kept getting me out of trouble. Besides, you guys made me steal that trophy. There was no flirting, that’s for sure. I’m not even sure I know how to flirt.”

  “This is the perfect moment to learn. Go forth and flirt with Bradford and make Fred jealous.” Ruthlessly, Liza gave her a little push toward Bradford, who was making his way across the room with two flutes of champagne. “Come on, make us proud.”

  The whole thing seemed like a horrible idea, but since Bradford was her date, she ought to at least be nice to him. They found Cindy and Bean and offered their congratulations.

  Cindy leaned in to whisper in Rachel’s ear. “You ready for this?” Then she tapped a champagne bottle with a fork. “Attention, wedding people!”

  Into the surprised silence, Bean spoke. “Thanks for coming, everyone. In case you never watch the news, the fact is that Cindy might not even be here today if it wasn’t for that man right over there.”

  He pointed at Fred, who had propped himself against a wall across the room. Looking startled, Fred jerked to attention.

  “That’s right.” Cindy spread her arms wide in an extravagant gesture. “Fred Breen, awesome San Gabriel firefighter, this is all thanks to you.”

  “We’re grateful, man. Really grateful. We have a special gift for you.”

  Bean reached behind him to grab something from the banquet table. With a triumphant gesture, he thrust it into the air.

  A trophy. Rachel gasped. The trophy. The one with the karate guy. It had been glued back together and a black plaque had been added to the base. Cindy must have gone back to the City Lights Grill and found it.

  “It says ‘First place in our thanks, Cindy and Bean Potter,’” Cindy said. “Let’s hear it for Fred, everybody!”

  Everyone cheered wildly as Fred made his way to collect the trophy. Even though his face was beet red, he was a good sport about it, bowing and hugging the pair, even doing a funny end-zone style dance. Why did he have to be so darn . . . endearing?

  After the excitement had died down, Rachel, feeling thoroughly disgruntled, joined Bradford at a small table, along with plates of crab cakes and baked brie with asparagus. Bradford launched into an account of the leveraged buyout he’d just orchestrated.

  As she’d feared, Rachel started to zone out. Fred took a table nearby. That was good, right? He would see her laughing and having fun with Bradford, and jealousy would ensue. Then he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss the breath out of her and . . .

  One of the platter-bearing servers, a young blond woman, stopped to offer him steamed dumplings. When he looked up with one of his friendly smiles, she lit up. They began chatting away like new best friends.

  Rachel ground her teeth. Who was supposed to be making who jealous? Or should there be a “whom” in that sentence? She pondered that grammatical question, then remembered that she had a job to do, and it didn’t involve staring at Fred while he flirted with someone else. She forced herself to turn back to Bradford. Remembering Liza’s orders, she offered Bradford her most dazzling smile.

  Annoyingly, he barely noticed, since nothing could be more fascinating to him than his investments. Keeping her smile fixed on her face, she rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, as if he was so riveting she couldn’t even hold up her own head.

  The drone of “debt to equity ratio” and “cash flow” made it impossible for her to overhear what Fred was saying to the waitress to make her laugh so much.

  Forget Fred, she ordered herself. Don’t be rude. Focus on the man in front of you.

  But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Her thoughts kept drifting to the handsome fireman at the table behind her.

  “I have to visit the ladies’ room,” she murmured as soon as Bradford paused for a breath.

  He nodded absently and took a sip of his Grey Goose martini. She wondered if he was calculating its cost-per-sip.

  Fred was still deep in conversation with the waitress. The poor forgotten steamed dumplings were about to slide off the tray. Rachel tried for a sexy swish as she passed Fred’s table, but it had no effect. He and the waitress seemed to be locked in some sort of instant love connection.

  In the ladies’ room, she finally let the smile drop from her face. Her cheeks ached from the effort of looking interested. She took a long time washing her hands, going after every little crevice that might hold a speck of dirt. This was a disaster. Liza’s stupid plan had completely backfired on her. She was swimming in jealousy, a horrible feeling, like wading through a swamp. Her friends were absolutely wrong. She’d never wish this feeling on anyone, not even her worst enemy. And Fred wasn’t close to her worst enemy. He was kind and sweet and brave, and he was probably going to fall in love with that waitress and in later years they’d laugh at how they met, when he was guarding that odd, freaky rich girl, the one who’d once been kidnapped.

  Ugh, she hated feeling sorry for herself. Self-pity was even worse than pity. Get over yourself. Go out there and dazzle someone. Anyone.

  She flung open the door and strode out, only to slam into a man’s hard chest. Fear shafted through her. In a sudden blind panic, she flinched backward, but the man grabbed her by the upper arms.

  “What happened? Rachel, is something wrong?”

  Her swimming vision cleared, and she realized the man was Fred. Handsome, wonderful Fred, holding her steady, worry in his dark eyes. She shook her head. “Sorry. You surprised me. What are you doing here?”

  “I looked up and you were gone. You’re supposed to tell me when you’re going somewhere. How can I protect you if you wander off on your own?”

  Now that was just the icing on the cake. “You were occupied. I didn’t want to ruin your moment.”

  “My moment?” A little crease appeared between his eyebrows. Her gaze drifted to his mouth. She hadn’t been this close to him since the kiss at the bowling alley the day before. Her lips tingled just remembering that kiss.

  But then jealousy lanced through her again. What if he was planning to kiss that waitress? Maybe they’d already made a date for later tonight. Or in a week, when he’d done his duty as her bodyguard.

  Stop being such a child, she thought fiercely. But she couldn’t help it. “You and the waitress were having a moment. I think she’s into you.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Really, is that what you think?”

  “It was obvious from the way you were looking at her,” she burst out. “As if you wanted to order her instead of the crab cakes.”

  He shook his head incredulously. “Are you jealous of Mindy?”

  Mindy. Of course she would be named Mindy. Cute blondes were always named Mindy. Fred and Mindy. Perfect. It sounded like a frickin’ sitcom. “Just because you look at her like you want to gobble her up, and you don’t even notice when I leave the room, of course not, why would that make me jealous? Don’t be ridiculous.” She tried to shake him off, but he clamped his hands tighter. The heat of his grip ignited something deep inside her, some ferocious, primal urge.

  She fought against it, her gaze clashing with his. He looked as fierce as the wild bear that had once found its way to the Refuge.

  “First of all, I went to high school with Mindy and she married a good friend of mine, who might complain if I gobbled her up. Second of all, aren’t you the one looking at that dude like he’s Brad Pitt and Bill Gates rolled into one? And if I didn’t notice when you left the room, why would I be here right now?”

  “You probably have to pee,” said Rachel stubbornly, too miserable to give an inch.

  He let out an incredulous snort. “Are you kidding me?”

  His scent was taunting her, that freshly laundered, healthy man smell. Would he
mind if she licked his neck? Because she really, really wanted to. She leaned in, just a hair, just so she could inhale a tiny bit of his essence.

  Slam. Suddenly she was smack against his chest again, sealed against him, thigh to collarbone. All the breath fled from her body, chased by violent shivers of need. His arms clamped around her.

  “Are you playing some kind of game with me?” he growled in her ear. “I knew you left the room because it felt empty. I knew because I couldn’t smell the rose garden anymore. Because everything went flat without you. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear how it’s torture watching you with some other guy?”

  She shuddered against his body, like a junkie who’d finally gotten a fix. Wrapping her arms around him, pulling him even closer, she stammered, stupidly. “R-rose garden?”

  “Rose garden and rain.” He nuzzled the tender spot below her ear. “Right here.”

  Shivers skittered from her frazzled nerve endings in a direct line to her nipples. She pushed her breasts against him, needing the hard pressure of his chest. In a daze, she caught his deep groan rising through his rib cage, through his sweater. “I want you,” she said in a ragged voice. She wasn’t even sure what it meant, since she’d never felt this way before. But no other words seemed to express the turmoil raging inside her.

  “Fuck,” he said with equal rawness. “I want you so much I can’t see straight.” With a strangled groan, he thrust her away from him. “But we shouldn’t. I’m working for you.”

  She gave a helpless little whimper, which made his eyes darken. He caught her to him again. “Just tell me one thing. Do you like that guy?”

  “No, I just wanted to make you jealous,” she burst out. “And it didn’t even work. All it did was make me crazy.”

  “Oh, it worked all right,” he said grimly. “Too fucking well.” And he claimed her mouth in a savage kiss.

  Chapter 16

  Yes, yes . . . this was what she’d wanted. Glorious hardness against her, raw passion firing her from the inside. They crashed against the wall of the little restroom alcove, feeding on each other like wild beasts. A potted ficus on a side table wobbled, about to topple to the floor. Fred snaked out his arm to rescue it, while Rachel clutched madly at his back, where the slide and flex of his solid musculature nearly made her swoon. Losing her head . . . The phrase swam into her dazed brain. It had never made sense to her before, but that’s exactly what she was doing. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste when she finally allowed herself to slide her tongue along his neck.

  “I have to say something,” she gasped. But then she couldn’t remember what it was. The utter, overwhelming sweetness of Fred’s hands on her drove everything else from her mind.

  “Can it wait?” His mouth was buried somewhere in her hair so he could deliver maddening nibbles along the whorls of her ear. “Because I don’t think I can stop.”

  His callused palms stroked heat along her exposed shoulder blades, then traced the dip of her sweetheart neckline, setting the sensitive skin of her chest ablaze. “You’ve been driving me crazy with this dress. I don’t know how Bradford kept his hands off you.”

  The mention of Bradford finally brought her back to her senses. She pulled away, panting, then clutched at his shoulders to stabilize herself. The wallpapered alcove spun around her like a kaleidoscope of cream and gold. “Oh God. Bradford.”

  He yanked his hands off her and buried them in his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

  “Don’t be.” She shook her head fiercely as she adjusted her dress. “This was all my fault. Anyway, Bradford doesn’t care about me. If my last name was Spurkel he wouldn’t say boo to me.”

  “Spurkel?” Fred scratched at his head. His hair stood up in all directions. He was so adorable her knees shook.

  “Generic silly last name.”

  Fred took a long step backward and shoved his hands in his pockets as if to keep them safely stowed away. A huge bulge protruded from the front of his pants. She covered her mouth as a little laugh escaped her.

  “Laugh it up, Kessler,” he said with mock grimness. “Enjoy yourself while I suffer.”

  Behind them, someone cleared his throat. Fred spun around, while Rachel peered over his shoulder, sure it was Bradford. Luckily, it was a stranger in a business suit, who muttered, “Get a room,” before pushing his way into the men’s room.

  Fred turned back to Rachel, offering his hand. “You’d better get back to your date.”

  “It’s not a date,” she told him, suddenly horrified at the idea that she’d kissed one man while out with another. “I’d call it more of a business conference. All he wants to do is talk about his investments.”

  “Rich guy, huh?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure he’d show you his portfolio if you asked.”

  A shadow came over Fred’s open, square-jawed face. “Come on. He must be wondering where you are.”

  Rachel managed to avoid both Fred and Bradford for the rest of the reception. She wasn’t sure why Fred had changed gears, going from passionate kisser to blank-faced bodyguard. But it made her heart ache. Those few hot moments had made her long for him with an intensity she’d never experienced before. It felt as if they’d become neurologically connected in some mysterious way. Even when she was chatting with Cindy’s parents, she knew exactly where he was. She knew when he was watching her, knew when he turned his attention elsewhere.

  At the same time, she didn’t think she could bear another car ride with Bradford. As soon as it seemed polite to leave the reception, she pulled him aside.

  “I’m exhausted, Bradford,” she said, hiding a yawn behind a discreet hand. “Would you mind if I drove home with Fred? It’ll save you the trip.”

  “In what? That truck’s one step removed from a mechanical bull. Surely you’d rather ride home in the Porsche.” He took her arm possessively. She slid it out his grasp, trying to hide her instinctive revulsion. She wanted only one man touching her, and it wasn’t Bradford.

  “No, thanks. Thank you for accompanying me, Bradford. I’m glad we got a chance to catch up. I’ll send your best to my father.” She stuck out her hand, leaving him no choice but to take it. His blue eyes, pale as dawn, flickered between her and Fred, who’d just joined them.

  “What’s up with this guy?” Bradford asked nastily.

  Rachel stiffened. Was it so obvious that she turned into a human torch the instant Fred got close? “I told you Fred’s my temporary bodyguard. We’re driving to the same place, I’m exhausted, and I’d rather just catch a ride with him.”

  Bradford toyed with the Bluetooth practically implanted in his ear. “I don’t like what’s going on here.”

  Fred, who’d been silent until now, stepped in. “Whether you like it or not, Rachel said she’s tired and would prefer the evening to end here.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Bradford directed his attention to Fred. The two men faced off with each other, Bradford’s cool, moneyed sophistication versus Fred’s forthright sturdiness. A little thrill went through her as she realized there was no contest, not really. Maybe it was Fred’s experience with fires and rescues and other life-threatening situations, but he didn’t back down one bit under Bradford’s narrowed, condescending stare. The exact opposite, in fact. His solid strength made Bradford seem almost inconsequential.

  Maybe Bradford realized it, because his lips tightened. “I hope you don’t think anything’s going to come of this,” he told Fred, his lip curling in disdain. “I think I can speak for Kessler when I say—”

  “Bradford,” Rachel hissed, balling her hands into fists. “You don’t speak for my father, and he doesn’t speak for me. How dare you? We’re leaving now. And don’t call me again, unless it’s on board business.”

  The color came and went along his bladelike cheekbones, then he whirled around and stalked from the restaurant. Rachel, so furious she was shaking, clutched at Fred’s arm. Without a word, he guided her along a path through the linen-d
raped tables. The low clinking of champagne glasses rang in her ears with a bell-like din, adding to the drumbeat of furious thoughts. Why did everyone think they had a say in her love life? Did Bradford really think she was so obedient to her father that she couldn’t make her own choices?

  Halfway home, she realized she was saying these things out loud. The restaurant sounds had been replaced by the rumble of Fred’s truck. He was driving, focused on the road ahead, listening with a frown.

  “Well?” she demanded. “Don’t you think he was completely out of line?”

  His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t like the guy, but he probably has a point.”

  “A point? A point? What point?”

  “Rachel Kessler and Fred Breen. Does that make sense to you? Wealthy heiress and ordinary fireman. Come on.”

  She turned on him in a passion. “Don’t do that. Just don’t, or I swear I’ll . . . I’ll . . . throw myself out of the truck.”

  He took a turn so tightly the tires squealed. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “Why should someone who saves people’s lives be less important than anyone else?”

  “It’s not about importance . . .”

  “What, then? Money? Sure, Bradford knows a lot about money. I thought he cared about animals too, but he doesn’t. All he cares about is his portfolio. I bet the Refuge is nothing more than a tax write-off to him!” That, to her, was the worst sin of all. “My father might be rich, but he cares about things besides money. He loves computers and he wants everyone else to love them too. He’d probably be designing new systems for free. I should have known Bradford wasn’t like that.”

  Fred drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “So Bradford isn’t your favorite person.”

  “No. Or the fifty other men just like him who’ve asked me out.”

  “Fifty?”

  “Fifty, a hundred, what does it matter? I’m not interested in men from my dad’s world. And they’re not really interested in me. They have no idea what my life is really like. I know what they want from me. The Kessler billions.” That came out more bitter that she’d intended.