Can't Take the Heat (14 page)

Well, shit. There was the truth, plain and simple.

People had accidents. People died. It was a fact of life. And the only way to avoid the pain of losing someone you loved was not to love her.

Too late for that
.

When he stopped shaking, he made another U-turn. This time, he paid close attention to the road all the way to his destination.

I could use a stiff drink, but since I’m not normally much of a drinker, there’s nothing alcoholic in the house. Since my car is still at the fire station, I couldn’t go out to liquor store to rectify the situation, but as luck would have it, there
was
a pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer. It may not be exactly what the doctor ordered, but it’ll do in a pinch.

Pint and tablespoon in hand, I sink onto the sofa, put my feet up on the ottoman, and dig in, the cold dessert soothing my aching throat.

I’ve done the right thing. It just doesn’t
feel
that way.

Oh, I could give up being a firefighter. As Wes pointed out three years ago, I don’t need a job. He could pay off the mortgage on this house and three or four others on the street without even breaking a piggy bank. Moreover, it’s definitely dangerous—this past week is proof if I didn’t know it before—and might not be the best job for someone who wants to have a family some day.

But the family is a some day thing, not a right now thing. In the meantime, my job gives me a sense of purpose and accomplishment like nothing else. My colleagues value and respect me. And I’ve helped save people’s lives. That means a lot to me.

More than Wes?
Yes, hard as it is to admit, I guess so.

But really, I just wish I didn’t have to choose.

Is there something wrong with me that I’m willing to put my career over the man I love? Or is it a sign that I don’t love him enough? Maybe if I loved him more, it would be easy for me to give up a job I never even planned on having. But I’m not sure how I could love him more than I do. Especially now that I remember what it was like living without him for the past three years.

Empty. Hollow. Lonely.

The doorbell rings, and I almost drop the half-eaten pint of softening ice cream into my lap. Setting the carton and spoon on the coffee table, I walk to the door and put my eye to the peephole.

It’s Wes.

What the ever-loving hell? I throw the bolt and yank the door inward. “What are you—?”

Before I can form a complete question, he’s through the screen door and pulling me into his arms. “What I am,” he says, pressing his lips to my hairline, “is a fucking idiot.”

I’m so surprised, I can’t breathe. Or think. “What?”

Framing my face with his hands, he tilts my head up until we’re staring each other in the eyes. His irises are ringed with bright gold fire, their green centers glowing with emotion. “All this time, I’ve been thinking how awful it would be to lose you, how I couldn’t bear it. So what was my clever solution? Making
sure
I lost you by pushing you out of my life. How stupid is that?”

I’m having trouble breathing. And also forming a coherent response. “Um, I’d rather not say.”

His laugh is deep and self-deprecating. “That’s okay. It was a rhetorical question.” He tilts his head down to kiss me, and it’s all I can do to sort my way through the meaning of what he’s saying because I’m going up in flames just like the incredible Ms. M.

When he breaks the kiss, I manage to gasp out my most critical question, “Does this mean we’re not breaking up?”

“If you’ll have me. Knowing, as you now do, that I’m a complete doofus.”

“You’re not a doofus.”

“Nice of you to say that, but really, there’s no other explanation.”

“Sure there is. You couldn’t live with the uncertainty.”

“And what I realized tonight is that life
is
uncertainty. I almost got taken out by a semi about five minutes ago. It could just as easily be you getting ‘the call’ as me.”

“I don’t think that’s quite true.” I don’t know why I want to argue the point, but I feel like I have to. This issue has stood between us for almost three years. Now, inside of ten minutes, he’s done a complete one-eighty on the subject. I’m not sure I’m buying it. “I’m pretty sure being a firefighter is statistically more dangerous than driving in Las Vegas.”

“I don’t know about that. Have you seen the way people drive?” he teases.

I give him my severest frown. “Be serious.”

His expression sobers, and his eyes glow with emotion and purpose. “You’re right. And I’ll be honest—I am not one bit over being afraid that something bad will happen to you. It’s just that us being apart won’t do a damn thing to prevent it. When I got that call, I didn’t think how glad I was that we weren’t together anymore, but that I was sorry we’d wasted almost three years.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “I don’t want to waste any more years. Or even any more minutes.”

My heart feels like it’s grown three sizes: tender and swollen with pure joy. There are still a thousand things we’ll have to work out—everything from the most mundane questions like where we’ll live to the most serious, like whether we’ll have kids and what we’ll do when that happens. But really, who has that all figured out from the beginning? No one. So I’m not going to sweat it. If we can get past this, we can get past anything.

“I don’t even want to waste another second.” I reach behind him to close and lock the door. Taking his hand in mine, I tug him in the direction of the hallway.

“Shouldn’t you put away the ice cream first?” he asks.

I look at the carton I’ve left on the coffee table and shrug. “If it can’t take the heat, it should stay in the freezer.”

With a laugh, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bedroom. Fortunately, I
can
take the heat.

The End

Other Books by Jackie Barbosa

In the
Ever After
series (historical erotic romance)

Carnally Ever After

Behind the Red Door
 (novella anthology in digital and trade paperback)

The
Play Action
series (hot contemporary romance from Entangled Brazen)

Skin in the Game

The
Lords of Lancashire
series (historical romance)

The Lesson Plan

Hot Under the Collar

Harlequin Spice Briefs (historical erotic romance)

Grace Under Fire

Taking Liberties

The
Gospel of Love
series (contemporary erotic romance)

According to Luke

According to Matthew

According to Mark

Unconnected novellas and short stories:

The Reiver
(Scottish historical, free short story)

The Pleasure Club: The Priest
(contemporary erotica)

Comrades in Arms
(historical mmf ménage, short story)

Unwrap My Heart
(contemporary Christmas-themed novella)

An Excerpt from
Skin in The Game
A
Play Action
Novel
by Jackie Barbosa

Available Now from Entangled Brazen

Cade Reynolds sat in the back corner of Cafe du Coeur, Harper Falls’s answer to Starbucks, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee and watching the denizens of his home town come and go. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone he recognized, which he supposed shouldn’t surprise him. Harper Falls had changed a lot in the sixteen years he’d been gone, growing in that time from a sleepy farming community to a decent- sized suburb of the nearby Twin Cities.

What
did
surprise him was that no one had recognized
him
. Not the slightly sullen teenage girl behind the counter with the lip ring and bright orange hair. Not the elderly gentleman wearing the Minnesota Vikings jersey who’d been standing behind him in line. Not even the middle-aged woman who now sat at the table across from his. Although she stole a glance at him every few minutes over the top of the book she was reading, he had a pretty good idea it was because he bore a more-than-passing resemblance to the shirtless hunk on the cover of her romance novel and not because she’d realized she was sitting in a coffee shop in Harper Falls with its one and only bona fide homegrown hero, Cade Reynolds. He was the quarterback who’d won the Harper Falls Eagles their first—and as yet only—Minnesota State Championship in his senior year and had since gone on to a national title at USC, a Heisman trophy nomination, and three Pro Bowls. And then there were the print endorsements and television ad campaigns he’d done, not to mention his regular appearances in
Sports Illustrated
and on the covers of any number of tabloids. The only way he could have made himself more famous would be by dating a Kardashian.

But since he hadn’t taken a snap in the almost two years since the tackle that had shattered his collarbone and throwing shoulder, he’d been mostly out of sight, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that his face and name had faded from the public consciousness. In a way, it was nice not to have to duck the paparazzi for a moment of peace. Notwithstanding, one would think in Harper Falls, Minnesota, of all places, he’d be as instantly recognizable as Jesse Ventura, and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted.

He was turning this over in his mind when
she
walked in.

Every other thought drained from his brain along with about half his blood. All he could think was that she was the most gloriously sexy woman he’d ever seen in his life.

Shoulder-length blond hair caressed the nape of her neck as she strolled up to the counter on legs that, like the last two minutes of a close football game, seemed to go on forever. Cade guessed she must be five-ten or five-eleven in bare feet, but unlike most exceptionally tall women he knew, she didn’t try to disguise or underplay her impressive height by wearing flats. Instead, her feet were encased in a pair of sandals with a good two inches of heel and one of those straps that hooked around the ankle. In combination with her incredibly long, slender legs and the close-fitting calf-length pants she wore, the effect of that strap was so sexy, his comfortable jeans were getting decidedly
uncomfortable.
He imagined those trim ankles, encircled by that thread of leather, wrapped around his waist, and got more uncomfortable still.

When she reached the counter, the teenage barista’s dour expression brightened, and the girl spoke in animated tones. Straining to hear the conversation, Cade shifted in the unpadded wooden chair that, like certain parts of his anatomy, seemed to have grown harder.

“Oh, Miss Peterson, you won’t believe it,” the barista said, excitement making her breathless. “I got an A on my first college calculus test. I can’t thank you enough for the help.”

Miss
Peterson, eh? That was a definite plus.

Although calculus wasn’t exactly the first thing that crossed his mind when he looked at her. No, the kind of math she made him think about was a lot more basic—as in one and one makes two.

“Oh, Hannah, I’m so happy to hear that. But you did it all yourself, honestly. I just gave you a little push in the right direction.”

A wide, genuine smile spread across Miss Peterson’s features as she spoke, making her look less like a fashion model and more like the girl next door. A girl he’d like to get to know better. Too bad he was only going to be in town for a few weeks, or a month at the most.