“Godspeed, kid.” He said it every time Braden headed into a job.
Holding the thought, Braden nodded, and they took off into a house that was probably built in the forties, but had been extensively remodeled. It was home to a family with at least one baby, he surmised as he passed a playpen in the living room. Right this minute, it could easily have a fire hidden in the walls or attic, especially if that remodeling job wasn’t entirely to code.
They disregarded the first floor after Declan did a cursory check, heading up the stairs. Declan led, the drywall hook like a javelin in one hand, his thermal-imaging camera in the other, aimed at walls as he looked for hot spots behind them.
They stopped at a small, square hallway, with open doors that led to two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom. Declan stepped into one, checking with the camera and looking for the attic door.
“Attic access is in here.” Braden pointed the tip of the hose toward a ceiling panel, his voice and breath echoing in his helmet and shield.
They both headed for it, the line growing too tight for Braden to rush. “More line!” he called down to Cal and Ray. “Found the attic access!”
Instantly, his line freed, and he got into position next to Dec, who used the hook to slide the attic door open.
A second later, gray smoke billowed down.
He heard Declan swear and swing around, looking for a way up. A dresser about three feet away would do the trick. Braden, knowing he couldn’t drop the nozzle for any reason in heaven or hell, yelled into his comm for a man.
Cal was in the room in seconds, and he and Declan dragged the dresser across the floor so Braden could climb up and hose the source of the smoke. As soon as he did, flames rushed at him. He jumped off the dresser, but kept the spray pointed into the attic as Dec and Cal hustled around, pulling ceiling down to give Braden more access to the fire.
Braden called for more line and focused every ounce of concentration and energy on managing the nozzle and fire. With practiced precision, he made steady slow circles at the flames, getting wet on red, the way he was trained.
As Dec busted the ceiling piece by piece, Braden stayed right with him, hosing the crap out of the flames that had already eaten away at the rafters and roof and some incredibly old and probably illegal I beams holding it all up.
If one of them burned through, everything would fall—on them. He had to get this fire out before that happened. But the blaze was alive, crawling, crackling, and rolling orange and hot toward the other bedroom.
Braden aimed and shot, the only sound his own respirator as he systematically battled the flames. He worked with Dec like they were in a choreographed dance, tearing and hosing, ripping and wetting, pulling and soaking in silent, furious concentration to stay one step ahead of the blaze.
In the hall, the fire brought a huge section of ceiling down, revealing another massive rafter engulfed in flames.
“It’s gonna fall,” Braden called out to Declan when he saw that I beam burning through.
“Put it out!” Declan ordered.
“I am.” He ground out the words so hard he felt his teeth grind. His boots braced, his legs locked, his arms tensed, and his whole body prepared for the fight.
“Go get the second line,” Dec ordered Cal. “We need another stretch up here.”
Cal shot back downstairs, but the moment he disappeared, the ceiling over the stairs dropped. Cal made it out, but with a noisy crack, the fat, fiery I beam fell from one end, swinging down in a shower of orange embers to smack Dec in the side and knock him over.
He swore hard as he fell, then the beam broke and pinned him to the ground.
Instantly, Braden dropped to his knees, holding the nozzle up on the flames. “Backup!” he called, fighting the line with one hand and trying to get the burning beam off Dec with the other. But the stairs were blocked, and he knew backup wasn’t coming for at least a minute. Maybe two.
“Declan is down! We need men up here.”
Above him, the blaze roared, cracking and popping as it found fresh oxygen in the hall.
“Put it out!” Dec managed to say, pushing at the beam himself.
Braden ignored the order, making a split-second decision to shut off the spray and use both hands to save his brother as flames licked over him and the beam weight damn near crushed him. He took one second to look up, in time to see a second beam on fire, certain to fall on both of them.
“I got this,” he assured his brother, placing his hands on the beam to push. “Can you get up if I free you?”
“Can you free me?”
Braden shot him a look and used what felt like superhuman strength, shoving the burning beam just high enough for Dec to roll out. Instantly, he hopped to his feet and grabbed the nozzle himself, spraying like hell. Cal and Ray made it up with the second line, which Braden took, flipping it on and taking it in the other direction where the fire had traveled.
Damn near blind from smoke and the adrenaline rush of freeing Dec, he attacked the flames with every ounce of strength, training, and power he had. As the fire died and lost the fight, Braden finally let himself relax and put out the hot spots.
As they backed out, he noticed Declan wincing in pain.
“You okay?” Braden asked his brother on the way down.
“I think I cracked a rib,” he admitted.
“Oh man,” Braden said. “Go see the medic.”
“I will.” He turned as they got to the bottom of the steps. “Thanks, bro,” Declan muttered. “Dad would have been proud.”
Braden just nodded and got his brother out the door.
Outside, there was more work, more orders, more backup positions to hold. It was hours until the all-clear was called. By then, Declan was wrapped up, his ribs bruised and possibly broken, so Chief sent Braden to Command on behalf of their engine.
Braden hung back, listening to the chatter of the other firefighters in the aftermath of a massive battle, the relief damn near palpable.
“Second one in five weeks,” he heard one of the volunteers say.
“This one was worse, though.”
Braden stepped forward and greeted the two men with a nod. “Second fire here in Simon’s Mill Run?” he asked. “I didn’t hear about the first one.”
“Dumpster,” one guy said. “We handled it with locals. Didn’t have an investigation on that, but we will on this.”
The other man snorted. “Better do it fast, before the next one. Someone hates the landlord.”
Braden just stared at him, heat and anger coiling through him.
“Bitter Bark Engine 75!”
At the call from Command, Braden stepped over to the center of the controlled chaos to sign some papers. There, the chief from Holly Hills FD was on the phone. “Then call Charlotte or Asheville or Boone, damn it. We need all possible resources on this investigation,” the man demanded. “Don’t give me budget shit. We need to stop this.”
Yes, they did. But could one lone investigator figure out the source? Without someone—some four-legged one—with eight hundred times the receptors in his snout?
Only if those receptors worked.
He signed his name, let out a sigh, and suddenly ached like hell to be home.
Chapter Twenty
When the word came in that everyone was safe and on their way home, Cassie, with Jazz faithfully by her side, left Bone Appetit and the gathering of women that had somehow managed to soothe a soul she hadn’t even known needed soothing.
She walked to her apartment, got a change of clothes and a toothbrush, stopped by Santorini’s and got some dinner, then drove to Braden’s house without one tiny shred of doubt of where she’d spend the night.
Sometime in the last few hours, she’d stopped thinking about Chicago, a job, and the threat that falling for Braden represented to that lifelong dream. Tonight, she had to be with him, no matter what the future held.
She fed Jazz, who never snarled or gave her the stink eye, not once. After that, she took a sh
ower, towel-dried her hair, and pulled on a pair of pj shorts. Snagging a navy Bitter Bark Fire Department T-shirt from a pile of folded laundry in a basket next to Braden’s bed, she climbed onto his bed to reread Braden’s last text—Home in 20 min, you better be there—sip a glass of wine, and work on her to-do list for the upcoming week.
When she heard his truck door, that list fell to the floor, and Jasmine jumped up to greet him. Cassie sat up, took a deep breath of anticipation, and stayed right where she was.
“Oh, it’s you.” Braden’s voice carried in from the front. “How’s it going, Superdog?”
Jazz barked a few times.
“Sure, I’ll follow you. There better be something good in there.” He stepped into the doorway of the dimly lit room, and Cassie sucked in a soft breath.
“Oh,” she whispered, letting her gaze slide over him.
“Oh is right. You’re clean and fresh and a sight for red eyes.”
“You’re…not.” His face was filthy, streaked, and his hair stuck out in four different directions. He had on what was probably a white T-shirt once, but looked gray and stuck to his skin. The blue firefighter uniform pants weren’t much better.
“I decided to shower here,” he said. “Hoping for company.”
She smiled. “Here I am.”
“Company in the shower.”
“I just took one,” she said, fluttering her still wet hair.
“Then…” He dropped a duffel bag on the floor and took a few steps closer to the bed. “Take another one.”
The command sent heat through her. “I’ll watch you.”
“Watch?” His lip hitched up on one side in a half smile. “My woman of action? If I know you, you’ll lather the soap and dispense the shampoo.”
“I’ll bring you dinner in bed.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not hungry.” Then he narrowed his eyes and let his gaze take a long, slow trip over her body, lingering on her bare legs, then returning to her face. “For dinner.”
She sank a little deeper into the bed, like need and desire were pressing her down.
Without another word, he tugged at the neck of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head, flipping it on the floor next to the clean laundry. She tried not to moan at the sight of his pecs and abs, the muscles glistening from sweat and bunched with tension—and a few bruises she hadn’t seen last time he’d had his shirt off.
He propped on the only chair in the room, bending over to take off his boots and socks, then stood, flipped the button of his pants, unzipped, and stared at her, and for the first time she saw something hurt and hollow in his blue eyes.
“How bad was it?” she asked.
He blew out a sigh of deep frustration. “It was arson, Cass.”
“Really?”
He notched his head in the direction of the bathroom. “See you in there.” It wasn’t a question.
She bunched the comforter in her fists as the familiar hum buzzed through her. She had to do something, to help him, to heal him. She slid her legs across the bed, fueled by her need to fix whatever was wrong.
She knew exactly how to take the sadness out of his eyes. Yes, there might be a price. A regret. A difficult decision yet to be made. But right that minute, the only thing she cared about was Braden.
On a slow breath, she walked toward the bathroom door, which was ajar with some steam rolling out. She inched the door all the way open, able to see the silhouette of his body behind a semi sheer white shower curtain.
He stood with his face up, letting water pour over him.
“I heard a beam fell on your brother,” she said.
“Yeah, but he’s okay.” After a second, he added, “How’d you hear that?”
“I was at Mahoney Central, also known as Bone Appetit.”
She saw his body go still in the act of pouring shampoo from a bottle. “Really.” It wasn’t a question, but the single word held plenty of surprise. “Why’d you go there?”
She thought about it, not entirely sure of the answer. “It seemed natural to be with…family.”
“They’re not your family, cuz. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be allowed in here.”
Laughing softly, she leaned against the small vanity, her gaze locked on the shower curtain. Even in shadow form, he was sexy. His backside round, his thighs thick, his…whoa.
Those shoulders just dropped to second place.
Her hands shook a little as she flicked at the bottom of the T-shirt she wore, inching it up. “I brought Jasmine, too.”
“Yeah.” He huffed out a breath and turned to let water sluice down his back. “Jasmine.”
“Don’t hate her, Braden. She’s a good dog.”
“I don’t hate her.” He sounded resigned. “Far from it.”
“So you’re not mad she’s here and Jelly Bean isn’t?”
“I’m mad you’re out there and not in here.”
She smiled and ducked out of the T-shirt, letting it drop silently on the floor. She stood in nothing but pj shorts, taking deep, deliberate breaths to steady her heart. But that didn’t work. Nothing was steady on her. Everything was vibrating with the need to take…
Oh, who was she kidding? The need was for Braden. Not action. Just him. Now.
She slithered her shorts down her legs, holding the counter since she was light-headed and off-kilter. Then she took a step toward the shower, pausing for a moment at the curtain, closing her eyes as if she’d have to be mentally prepared for what she’d see. And what she’d do. And all the many things she was about to feel and risk and enjoy.
Then she opened the curtain wide enough to step in.
He faced the other way, giving her a plain view of his entire back engulfed in puffs of steam.
“You like the water hot,” she whispered, watching every muscle tense as he heard her behind him.
His shoulders rose and fell with the same sigh she’d just let out, the same undercurrent of anticipation.
She closed the space between them, slid her hands around his waist, and stepped into the heat of scalding water and rock-hard man. “Hey, Einstein.”
“Hey, cuz.”
She spread her fingers on his soaking-wet chest, pressing against the muscles to feel the wild beat of his heart. “I want to make you feel better.”
“This is a good start.” He turned in her arms, his eyes that gas-flame blue of intensity that always took her breath away. “Is that why you’re in here? To help me?”
She shook her head very slowly, bowing her back to press her chest against his and dropping her head so water splashed her face and ran down her neck. “I’m here because there is nowhere on this earth I’d rather be.”
His hands opened, and he coasted them up her back, around and over her breasts, then into her hair for a long, wet, intentional kiss. She rose on her toes to get more, grabbing hold of the slick granite of his body, leaning in so he could hold her upright since her weak knees might not do it.
“Nowhere I’d rather have you,” he murmured into her mouth. “You and me. It’s good, Cassie. It’s right.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Instead, she let her hands and mouth explore every inch of skin and muscle, taking the soap from his hand to wash him while he kissed her and touched her and pulled her under the spray to melt them both together.
* * *
He knew why she’d come to him. He knew exactly why. And he didn’t care.
If her will to heal his heart with sex was all he ever got of Cassie Santorini, Braden would take it and relish every blissful, mind-blowing moment of making love to her.
Which wasn’t going to be a quickie in the shower. Not the first time. Not if it might be the only time.
“Let’s get out,” Braden whispered, reaching back to flip the water off.
Cassie inched away, black hair flattened to her head, water streaming off her long lashes and over her face. “We’re just getting started.”
“Do you know how often EMTs are called for shower-sex
accidents?” He opened the curtain, and steam billowed out. “It would be hilarious if half of them didn’t end up in the ER. Bed’s safer.”
She scanned his face, blinking water. “Nothing’s safe about this, Braden.”
No kidding. Like how easy it would be to say things he knew he’d regret, to make promises she’d never let him keep. Totally unsafe to make love and not mention…love.
“I have what we need to make it safe, I promise.” He stepped out and reached for her. “I put them in the nightstand drawer the day you agreed to be my girlfriend. My real girlfriend who I am right now taking to bed.”
“Well, that’ll be…real.”
“Yep.” He turned and grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapping her in it and helping her out of the tub. “And it could take all night and most of tomorrow morning, so…yes?”
“I’m naked, soaked, and begging, Einstein. I’d say that qualifies as a yes. You?”
He gave her a get real look and glanced at the space between them, watching as her gaze dropped down his torso, lower, then stopped. “Does that look like a yes?”
“That looks…” She bit her lip. “Better than my fantasies.”
“You’ve had fantasies, huh?” Using the towel around her, he tugged her out of the bathroom. “Tell me one.”
He expected a joke, a typical Cassie wisecrack, but her face was utterly serious. “This. You.” She swallowed and reached up to kiss him, locking her hands around his neck and pressing against him. “Us.”
He dragged the towel up her back and used it to squeeze some water out of her hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be at a loss for words.”
“Color me speechless.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as he dried her hair, then he pressed the towel on her shoulders, her back, her breasts. Everything was so…dear. Feminine. Soft. Perfect.
Cassie was perfect.
He knelt down to dry her stomach and hips and thighs, admiring every inch of her and planting kisses in the wake of the towel, pulling delicious whimpers of pleasure when he hit a particularly sweet spot.
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