“Yes, textures. Is that weird, that I notice textures? Well, I do. For instance, the skin on your inner thigh is softer than anywhere else on your body. Guaranteed. I’ve cross-checked your entire body. The inner thigh wins.” He nudged her legs open. They fell apart like sliced butter. “But it might be time for another inspection.”
Then suddenly her hands were free, his strong ones were under her ass, her legs were draped over his shoulders, and his mouth was on her sex. He burrowed into her soft privacy, opening the outer lips like petals on a flower.
That was it for talking. No more banter, no more soul-baring, nothing but moans and shrieks and pleas for mercy.
She didn’t really want mercy, of course. She wanted more. More of what she seemed to experience only with Fred. When the rolling wave lifted her up toward the blinding sky, when it tossed her into the air and spun her around until gravity no longer applied . . . when she shrieked and sobbed, her only anchor his warm mouth latched to her sex, a shocking thought came to her.
All her life she’d craved freedom. In bed with Fred, she felt freer than she’d ever dreamed. Free to say whatever she wanted. Free to feast herself on his strong, eager body, free to have one screaming orgasm after another, free to tease and fight and laugh.
Free to forget all about the evil man who might still be hunting her.
Chapter 19
“I need to take a couple hours off this afternoon,” Fred told Rachel one morning, after a few of the most deliriously sex-drenched days he’d ever experienced. Not that he was worn out; not at all. He’d be happy to continue indefinitely, but he’d gotten a phone call from the firehouse.
“What’s up?” They were about to start Greta’s training session in the park across the street. Rachel wore a grungy T-shirt with the words “Bite Me” emblazoned across the front, along with ratty sweatpants. God, she was adorable. He couldn’t look at her without counting the minutes until they could go back to bed.
“Got a call from the firehouse. One of our guys, Double D, needs some help. He and his wife are moving, and he dropped a microwave on his leg. Classic Double D. Fractured it in two places. He’s out of commission and they have to be out of their house by Friday. His wife is freaking out.”
“They can’t hire movers?”
Fred had to take a deep breath before he answered. Moments like this reminded him of the world Rachel inhabited, one in which money solved most problems.
Not all problems, he reminded himself, or she wouldn’t be living like a refugee in her own apartment.
“They don’t have that kind of money. Firefighting isn’t exactly a high-paying profession, and they’ve got two kids in college. The kids are in the middle of exams, or they’d fly back and help. That’s actually why Double D’s moving, so they can lower their mortgage payments.”
Rachel bent to let Greta sniff a piece of rawhide, letting her hair fall across her face. Through the dark tendrils of her curls, he saw a wave of crimson stain her skin. Damn, he hadn’t meant to embarrass her. She’d revealed enough about her history that he knew she hated the ways in which her father’s status isolated her. “Right. Of course. So you and your friends are going to help out?”
“We’re making a work party out of it. I’m supposed to bring some beer. And some muscles. My assignment is to help Patty pack up the bedroom.”
“Why you?”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “She says I’m the only one she trusts with her personal stuff.”
“Really?” They reached a quiet section of the park. After a careful check, Rachel unfastened Greta’s leash. “I should think she’d want another woman. Why not Sabina or One?”
“I can’t believe you remember their names.” He’d told her all about the various members of the firehouse crew, but he hadn’t expected her to pay such close attention.
“Of course I remember. In my head, they’re like characters in a movie. Especially Sabina, since she was actually in a movie. Why doesn’t Patty want Sabina to help her?”
Fred took the training toy from Rachel. His role was that of “victim.” He’d hide and Greta would have to find him. “Sabina intimidates her, and One’s on vacation. I wasn’t even going to go, since I’m on leave, but we always try to help each other out when stuff goes down. Especially when someone gets hurt, although usually injuries happen on the job, not from a kitchen appliance. Anyway, Double D called and begged me. He claimed he would have been on his knees if he weren’t on crutches. Then he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
She hung on his words, her eyes alive with merry laughter. He’d never seen anyone get so much entertainment from hearing about the firehouse. “I can’t wait to hear. What’s the offer?”
“First of all, Patty’s making her special lasagna. But the big thing is that he promised to sing to me. ‘Call Me Maybe.’ You’d never guess it, but he’s got a great voice. I would have made him dance too, but he’s on crutches.”
“Is he a good dancer?”
“Not at all.” He gave an evil grin. He missed the firehouse, missed the teasing and the comradeship. He even missed Double D, salty old coot that he was.
“Well.” Rachel cocked her head, tossing Greta’s leash from one hand to the other. Greta panted excitedly, eyes shining. She loved the training sessions; they involved retrieving things and winning treats, after all. “I think I should come too.”
“Excuse me?”
“It sounds like they need all the hands they can get. If I can be helpful, why not? Besides, I can meet the other firefighters. They won’t be characters in a movie anymore.”
“You sure you want that? You might enjoy them more from the safety of a movie theater.”
“Don’t be crazy. I’m sure I’ll love them. We’ll tell them I’m your cousin or something.”
He looked at her dubiously. “Well, we both have dark hair. I suppose we could pass for cousins.” When she offered him one of her wide, spectacular smiles, the ones that reached right into his gut and stirred him all up inside, he gave in to the constant urge and yanked her against him. “I’m pretty darn glad you’re not my cousin.” He nibbled her soft, sweet-smelling neck until she giggled and squirmed.
“None of that in front of the guys.”
“Hell no. You’d never have any privacy ever again.” He took a quick glance around, then snuck his hand under her T-shirt and stroked her silky skin until it warmed and her nipple rose against the worn fabric of her T-shirt. “I think something urgent has come up. Want to hide behind a tree and play ‘victim’ with me?”
“No, thank you,” she said, flushing as he fondled her responsive nipple. “But if you do really well in this training session, I’ll give you a treat.”
“Oh boy!” Fred released her and bounded across the grass in great, Greta-like leaps, the sound of Rachel’s merry laughter chasing him. Her laughter was all the reward he needed; throw in more between-the-sheets time, and he was a happy guy.
Double D lived in a sprawling Tudor-style house with a wide front lawn filled with packing boxes and brawny, attractive men. Rachel swallowed hard as they approached the intimidating group. She’d never seen so many flexing muscles and fine asses in one place. In her eyes, none of them compared to Fred, but she still couldn’t help noticing how amazingly good-looking they all were.
A couple holding hands stopped to say hi on their way out. Fred introduced them as Captain Brody and his wife, Melissa. Rachel stiffened; she’d seen Melissa’s news reports on TV, and even though they were always well done, she couldn’t help her automatic wariness around reporters.
“We only stopped by for moral support,” explained Melissa. “My dad is watching the baby, and my Lucian withdrawal kicks in at about half an hour.”
“It’s nice of you to come and help,” Brody said, shaking Rachel’s hand. “How do you know—”
“You can interrogate her some other time, Brody.” Melissa tugged his hand, and Brody gave in. Rachel decided she liked the green-eyed reporter—as m
uch as she could like any member of the media.
Fred introduced her next to his new captain, Vader Brown, who had a muscleman physique crammed into a ripped SGFD T-shirt, as if his pumping pectorals had burst right through the material. As soon as Fred said the word “cousin,” Vader launched into a coughing fit. Fred glared at him until he straightened up and offered his hand to Rachel.
“Captain Brown, great to meet you. Any cousin of Freddie’s is a cousin of . . . well, anyway, thanks for pitching in. Double D! Come meet Fred’s cousin.”
Rachel shot Fred a sidelong look of alarm from under her eyelashes. He shrugged. “Just ignore them and don’t tell them a damn thing. That’s how I do it.”
A man in a full leg brace swung over to them on his crutches, his big belly hanging over his belt. Okay, so not all the men here were magazine material. “Stud, you old sneak. You never told us you had a beauty in the family. Must be a distant cousin, is all I can say.” He gave Fred a caustic grin and stuck out his hand for Rachel to shake.
“Pretty distant,” Fred agreed.
Rachel shook Double D’s hand, then decided to get Fred back for all the times he’d teased her over the past few days. “Double D, do you mind if I ask why you all call him Stud? Did that start because of the fan club?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred stiffen.
“Fan club? Don’t get me started on that fan club. They’ve been stopping by the station nonstop since you been gone, Freddie. Wanting to know where you are, when you’re coming back, what color undies you wear. Ella Joy keeps coming by too.”
Oh crap. Over the past few days, she’d forgotten all about that news anchor who had shown up at Fred’s house.
“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Fred asked.
“’Course not. Unless you want me to. Want me to tell her you’re off to Borneo to count monkeys or somethin’?”
“We can handle Ella Joy,” Vader said. “The more important question on the table is how Fred got his nickname.” He shot Rachel a complicit grin. She decided she liked Vader, even if he did look as if he could pick up the moving van all by himself.
“Right,” said Double D. “Not much to that story. He got it on his first day as a 1, when he—”
Fred stepped in front of Double D to cut off the rest of that sentence. “One more word and I’ll be recording your performance of ‘Call Me Maybe’ and putting it on YouTube.”
Double D snapped his mouth shut. “You bargain like the devil, kid. You’d better get to packing. I told Patty if she’s not one hundred percent satisfied with your effort, I ain’t singin’ no song.”
“She’ll be satisfied,” said Fred smugly. “It’s a bedroom, isn’t it? And they call me Stud, don’t they?”
Rachel’s eyes widened. Fred had warned her about the raunchy humor of the firehouse. She’d sworn she could handle it. Right now she wasn’t so sure.
Laughing, Fred stepped aside as Double D tried to swing a crutch at him. “I won’t be much help injured.”
“Just get your ass in there and help my wife. And don’t forget she’s my wife, whether she likes it or not. Seems to go back and forth on that subject lately.”
A guy she recognized from the City Lights Grill, the tough-looking one with the broken nose, strolled up, eyeing Rachel with open interest. “Who’s this? You look familiar.”
Fred took Rachel’s arm in a territorial gesture. “This is my cousin, Mulligan. You don’t know her. Stay away from her.”
Mulligan ignored him and bent a charming smile on Rachel. “Cousin. That your first name?”
“Rachel,” she said, putting out her hand. Hopefully he didn’t recognize her without the wedding veil, and with her hair in a ponytail instead of all wild. Fred had told her not to worry about Mulligan, but to spend as little time as possible with him. “Rachel Allen.”
“Rachel Allen? The dog therapist?” A lovely turquoise-eyed woman shouldered Mulligan aside. Rachel bit her lip, realizing too late that she should have kept her last name to herself. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”
“You must be Sabina. You’re even prettier than I thought you’d be.”
Sabina shrugged that off. As gorgeous as she was, Fred said she didn’t care much about her looks; they didn’t matter on the job, after all. “Luke, my stepson, wants to get a dog. He’s been talking about it ever since he and my husband moved here. Do you have any advice on what breed to get? We need a dog who’s very patient. One who doesn’t bark. Smart. Maybe a dog who likes to field baseballs.”
Rachel loved her right away for saying “a dog who” instead of “a dog that,” which happened to be one of her pet peeves. In her eyes, dogs weren’t “things,” but living beings with feelings.
“We have some very sweet dogs at the San Gabriel Refuge for Injured Wildlife,” Rachel told her eagerly. “They’re looking for good homes. Why don’t you bring your son out sometime?”
Fred jostled her elbow. Oh crap. What had she been thinking? If Sabina came to the Refuge, she’d realize Fred was working for Rachel. Then she might wonder why. Then she might start putting things together. Rachel shot Fred a quick look of apology, then stammered, “Maybe in a few weeks. It’s a little busy at the moment.”
Looking disappointed, Sabina nodded. “Sounds good. How’d you guys figure out you were cousins?”
“Distant cousins,” said Vader.
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Mulligan intoned.
“Did I just hear an affirmation coming out of Mulligan’s mouth?” One of the most handsome men Rachel had ever laid eyes on stopped next to their little circle. He fixed eyes the color of a summer sky on Rachel, who felt her jaw fall open. This must be Ryan Blake, who’d recently gotten married and was madly in love with his young wife.
“Nope,” said Mulligan promptly. “Some simple words of wisdom from times of yore. Affirmations are for pu—”
“So are we going to do this packing thing or what?” Fred interrupted hastily.
“Go ahead, dude,” said Mulligan. “Patty’s waiting for you in the bedroom. And I’m not even going to mention what she’s wearing.”
Double D growled, lifting a crutch. “I’m about ready to get spikes installed in these things.”
Rachel let out an unexpected spurt of laughter. The sound was so awkward that she clapped her hand over her mouth. Everyone stopped talking and turned toward her. She felt her face slowly heat. She couldn’t explain how it felt for someone as sheltered as she was to be plopped into the middle of such a freewheeling, jokey conversation. It was better than the near-brawl at Beer Goggles; better than being taken for a skank at a bowling alley. It was real and fun and she loved it.
“Who offended you?” Double D demanded. “Tell me who, and I’ll rip them a new one.”
“Classy, D, real classy,” Vader chided.
“I’m not offended.” Rachel shook her head, dropping her hand so they could all see her wide smile. “You’re just all so . . . funny.”
“Yeah, funny-looking,” said Vader with a wink.
“Funny-smelling,” Sabina tossed over her shoulder as she strode away. “Are you guys here to shoot the shit or help out?”
Fred had to hand it to Rachel. She didn’t run for her safe zone after meeting the crew, but instead joined right in with the rest of them. Everyone got back to work filling boxes, loading them into a U-Haul, or doing whatever else Patty told them to do. As the slightest, least muscular person on the premises, Rachel volunteered to make sandwiches and hand out drinks. Every time Fred got a glimpse of her, she was chatting and laughing it up with some other firefighter.
Ace, the rookie, spent way too much time talking her ear off. Probably yammering about surfing or all the pranks the guys had pulled on him. Ace was a charmer. He had that Southern accent the girls went crazy over. Since Vader had gotten married, Ace had taken on the role of station player. At the last police versus firefighters softball game, he’d had
his own cheering section.
Rachel wouldn’t fall for all that, would she?
On his third trip to the yard to grab more empty boxes, Fred decided he’d had enough of Ace’s flirting. He headed toward Rachel and the rookie, intending to drag the kid away by force if necessary. Vader stepped in his path.
“Going a little overboard over your ‘cousin,’ don’t you think?” He put his hands on his hips, his massive biceps flexing. Fred tried to peer over Vader’s shoulder at Rachel and the rookie, but he couldn’t see past the mountain of man in front of him. “How much do we really know about Ace?”
“Are we talking about the same person? The blond one the girls call the Angel in Turnouts? The one who cries into his KFC chicken basket because it reminds him of home?”
“Looks can be deceiving,” said Fred darkly.
“No kidding. Look at you. Who figured you for a dog in the manger type?”
“I’m not her dog. I mean, I’m not in her manger.” Fred felt the blood rush to his head. “I mean, we’re not . . .”
“Save it, Stud. I see what’s going on here. Now that the girls are all over you, you’re getting greedy. Protecting your turf. You’re like the lion chasing off the other lions. Or maybe Acie’s a gazelle and you’re about to rip the hide off him. Pull out his guts with your bare teeth.”
“Vader, just get out of the way.” Fred’s vision swam red. Vader had a way of needling him that got under his skin every time.
“Peace, brother, peace.” Vader squeezed his shoulder, making him wince. That degree of muscle-power ought to require a weapon license. “I get it, bro. I know what you’re going through. Chicks will make you crazy if you let them. And you have to let them, because what choice do you have unless you want to be a sad and lonely lion who isn’t getting any gorgeous, fake-cousin pus—”
Fred lunged at him. Vader not only outweighed him by a lot, but he was a dedicated bodybuilder. Fred had seen guys back off at the mere flexing of one of Vader’s pecs. It wouldn’t take much for Vader to smash his face in. But at that moment, he didn’t care. He dove under Vader’s arm, yanked his shoulder forward, flipped him over so he spun in the air, then swiped his feet from under him. Vader landed with a thunderous thud on the lawn.
The Night Belongs to Fireman Page 19
