Fire at Dusk: The Firefighters of Darling Bay (12 page)

“Naked, I mean,” Hank clarified. “In case you didn’t think that’s what I meant.”

“Mmm. I…”

“You want to go there now?”

“To bed,” she hedged.

“My bed.”

“With you,” said Samantha.

“All six foot three of me. If you don’t mind a—” he paused for effect “—big guy.”

Samantha wondered if it was actually possible to faint from lust. “I’m not sure talking about it so…prosaically is exactly the way it usually goes.”

“What?” Hank said, hooking a leg around the chair next to her and pulling it toward him. He straddled it like a horse, looking long and easy in his body. “This kind of planning? I reckon that sometimes thinking about something you want is almost as fun as getting it. And I’ve got to tell you, I’ve sure spent some quality time thinking about the way you’re going look under me.”

“Oh!”

“I like thinking about the way you’ll feel against my body, when I’m moving against you. I like wondering how your breasts will fit in my hands.” Hank held out his fingers and looked at them, and Samantha noticed again how very large his hands were. “I like thinking about how soft you’ll feel and I like wondering how wet I can make you before you come.”

“Oh,” she said again. There weren’t any other words left in the world.

“I like thinking about that last moment, right before you climb to the top, when I’m inside you. Your hair is all over my pillow, and your eyes are closed and then you cry out and you look at me, and then I kiss you. Hard.”

Samantha touched her lips. She could almost feel it, could almost feel him holding himself over her.

“What do we do now?” she whispered.

He rocked forward on the chair so that they were only inches apart. “We go in my bedroom. I take off your clothes. You take off mine. Then we get in the bed.”

“Naked.”

“Extremely naked.”

She stood, unsure if her knees would hold her up.

“Don’t you worry,” he said. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HANK WOKE UP with Samantha in his arms. She was cradled perfectly against his chest, her cheek on his shoulder as if she’d slept there for years. She breathed steadily, a dark strand of hair fluttering in front of her mouth every time she exhaled. Samantha Rowe was not only the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, she was also the cutest.

His plan had failed spectacularly.

When he’d seen her standing on the other side of Maureen in his doorway, with that look on her face, the look she couldn’t hide from him even though she tried to be all business in front of his grandmother, he’d decided he’d go along with her.

He’d get her out of his system. He’d give just about anything not to feel this way about her.
In love.

Honestly, last night Hank had hoped that one good roll in the hay would clear his brain, for once and for all.

Instead, he woke up and realized that he still wasn’t over her. Maybe he never would be.

And that just sucked, because if he knew one thing about Samantha Rowe, it was that she wasn’t a good bet. Above anything else, Hank used to want safety. Now he wanted Samantha. How the hell was that safe?

And while maybe he should be upset about it, he wasn’t.

Instead, even though his plan had backfired, Hank realized he was in just about the best mood of his life. Right there, in that pile of sunlight and sheets, with Samantha lying on his shoulder.

She stirred, stretching her legs and giving a slight, low groan in the back of her throat. Hank felt himself get hard again.

Nuzzling herself under his chin, Samantha pressed her nose against the stubble of his jaw and made another throaty noise.

Then he felt her jerk backward. She gasped.

In an instant, she was sitting upright, the sheet pulled up to her chin. “Oh,
man
.” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I was just having this dream, and…”

He filled in the blank. “And then it wasn’t a dream.”

“Something like that.”

“I’m going to make you some coffee. Don’t leave.”

She made a high-pitched noise and pulled the sheet over her head.

Hank laughed his way into the kitchen.

#

She had to get out of there. As fast as possible.

She’d done the worst thing she could have.

The worst thing
ever
.

And it wasn’t sleeping with Hank Coffee.

That was the thing—sleeping with Hank had been wonderful. Okay, there had been precious little sleeping involved, mostly there had been his fingers and his tongue and his glorious body…

He’d fit her like no man ever had. She’d felt beautiful in his arms, like a sexy tramp. Like a goddess.

But what had broken her, really, what had made it clear to her that this wasn’t normal, none of it was, was when he’d kissed her at dawn. It had been a different kiss than all the others.

It was a kiss with a promise of the future.

Samantha didn’t do the future. One day at a time wasn’t a slogan to her, it wasn’t just a motto. It was her life. Tomorrow, she might be gone. She could only bank on today. The only time she thought about the future was when she was planning her training class. When it came to the women she was responsible for, yes, she’d look into the future. But apart from that? She’d made sure to sign a month-to-month lease on her apartment, so she could leave at a moment’s notice. She always bought a pint of half-and-half for her coffee, never a quart. Just in case.

Coffee
. Hank Coffee was making her coffee.

And heaven help her, she was wishing he’d do that every day for the rest of her life.

Why did the word
love
keep sounding in her head like a bell she couldn’t stop hearing? It was a quiet bell, as if she was hearing it from far away, but it was insistent and clear and beautiful.

Samantha groaned and covered her head with the pillow next to her. That only made it worse, though. It was
his
pillow and smelled deliciously of him—wood chips and pine and soap. She threw it to the foot of the bed and sat straight up, keeping the sheet over her naked breasts in case Hank walked in.

And what if he did? He’d pretty much seen all there was to see last night.

“Here you go, trouble.” Hank was only wearing red checked boxers. His chest was so broad, so well-defined, the muscles that she’d traced last night with her lips disappearing into the top of his shorts…

It was light with cream, just the way she liked it. How did he know that about her?

He must have read her quizzical look. “You liked cream in college. I thought maybe you still did.”

She nodded quickly and took a too-hot sip of the coffee. “Thanks. I’ve always liked it hot.”

In response, he quirked an eyebrow.

Hot Coffee.

She laughed. “Oh, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, thank you.”

In response, he dropped a kiss on her collarbone and moved to sit with his back against the headboard. “Anytime.”

“You don’t have to work today?” Part of her—okay, a big part—had been hoping he’d slide out of bed and go to work and she could start piecing together this new life, the one she couldn’t make heads or tails of yet.

“Nope.”

“I can’t keep track of your schedule.”

“Two days on, four days off.”

“That’s a lot of time off,” she said weakly.

“More time with you.”

Samantha’s sip of coffee choked her as it went down the wrong way.

“Need help?”

She shook her head.

“Am I scaring you? With this together talk?”

“Are you always this blunt?” Like last night, when he hadn’t so much talked her into bed as talked her straight at it.

“Only when I really want something.”

Her. He wanted
her
.

Samantha didn’t get it.

Hank was the total package, from his sexy surfer-boy hair to the fact that he
literally
helped little old ladies across the street (she’d seen him do it once after a training session). His job was saving
lives
. He ran into burning buildings instead of away.

Samantha didn’t drink anymore. That was her claim to any kind of success. That and Daring Darling, which, yes, was her baby, and she prayed it grew into something really fine, something to be proud of.

But Hank was
Hank
. The boy she’d let go, the man she knew she’d never deserve, and instead, he was sitting on the bed with her, watching her as if he wanted more than just to kiss her. Watching her with such…generous, inviting warmth.

Maybe she
had
found something too terrifying. Maybe he was the cliff she wouldn’t be brave enough to leap from.

Maybe safety was the thing she was most scared of.

“I should go,” she said, splashing coffee on the bedding as she moved too quickly.

“What’s the hurry?” He glanced at the clock. “You’re not working at the bagel shop today or you would have been there two hours ago.”

Good grief. She didn’t work today, but that was only luck. When she’d fallen asleep in Hank’s arms, she hadn’t given a single thought to the next day. “I just have some things I have to do…”

“Okay. Wanna get breakfast first?”

She did. Oh, how she did. She wanted to borrow a fire department sweatshirt from him and go to Mabel’s Cafe. She wanted to slide into a red booth across from him. She wanted to sneak bacon off his plate and laugh as regulars came up and talked to him just because he was Hank Coffee and everyone in town loved him.

If only she could do it. If only the security he offered didn’t scare the hell out of her.

“I’ve got eggs at home. I’ve got to work on a fiscal report thing for the bank—they’re just about ready to put the loan into my name…” Samantha caught her breath. Once her business was in her name and not her sister’s, it made it real.

It meant she would stay. That she’d have no option of running. Not that she wanted to—she didn’t. But she couldn’t know she wouldn’t want to someday. That wasn’t fair to anyone, not to Grace, not to the man looking at her with such sweet intensity.

“Anyway,” she went on lamely. “Thanks for the… I’ll see you at the…”

“Samantha. I’m in love with you.”

“Whoa, buddy. Back that truck up.” She held up her hand as she clutched the sheet to her chest more tightly. “Um.”

He laughed, and the world tilted on its axis. The only thing she wanted was to crawl into his lap and stay there forever. Instead, she scanned the room for her clothing. There, over the low chest of drawers, was her bra. Her shirt was on the floor by the closet, and who knew where her jeans had landed?

Hank leaned forward and cupped her face with one hand. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SAMANTHA STUTTERED AS she spoke. “N-no, you’re just… You’re just feeling something from the past. You never recovered from the girl I was, and I’m sorry about that…”

“I never recovered from
you
. The woman you were and the woman you are, Sam. I’m in love with you and I figure I’ll just keep telling you that. It’s okay if you don’t believe me today. But it’s the truth. I think it’s always been true. I just didn’t know it until now.” He whispered a kiss against her ear, sending chills down Samantha's back.

No, no. She couldn’t do this to him. She scooted to the edge of the bed, taking the sheet with her. Swinging her legs to the floor, she said, “It won’t last. I’m not a good bet.” Man, that hurt to say out loud.

“I know you’re not. But even so, I find myself wanting to risk it all on the dice.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t date gamblers.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping I’m the lucky type.”

Samantha couldn’t help smiling. “Well, someone’s glib this morning. Are you always this silver-tongued when you wake up?”

“Only when my tongue’s been recently limbered up.”

Samantha felt herself blush.

Then she pressed the flat of her palm onto his chest. His skin was warm, the muscles taut. Oh, how she wanted to move her hand against him more, to feel… “Hank. Keep your heart safe for someone who deserves it.”

He caught her hand and pressed it against his skin. “What about your heart?”

“It’s good. Not broken.”
Yet
. “Look, I’m just trying to keep us both safe.”

He laughed and she felt the sound beat inside him. “That’s my job.”

“No.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hank leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against her lips, surprising in its sweetness. How did he taste like that? Like everything Samantha had never known she wanted?

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe. That’s what I
want
to do.”

The sadness felt like ice water. “But I don’t need you to.”

“You do,” he said. “You’ve been hurt in the past. You deserve someone to take care of you.”

“Sure, my heart’s been broken—but I lived through it.” Nothing she’d ever gone through would hurt like walking out Hank’s door this morning was going to.

“But…” Hank paused and threaded his fingers with hers. “The rape. I know you don’t…”

Samantha didn’t talk about that. “Oh, no.”

“I get it. I want you to know I’m here for you.” It seemed like his chest broadened as he said the words, as if he thought he could physically shield her from everything that could hurt her.

But he did
not
get to bring that topic up to use it for his own gain. “I told the women that. Not you.”

“You should have told me, though.”

Samantha felt her heart speed up, pumping with sudden anger. She jerked her hand back. “No. I didn’t have to do a thing. That’s
my
history. Not yours.”

“I want it to be ours.” His voice softened. “You should have told me. I wish you had. I wish I could have been there for you, instead of hearing about it for the first time in front of strangers.”

“But you couldn’t help me.” The rape had been one of the most terrible things that Samantha had ever experienced. It had also been
her
thing. She’d gotten through it. Maybe she hadn’t handled it in the most healthy way possible, but that was because she hadn’t known then what she knew now—that things didn’t stay buried. That it was better to deal with things head-on before they roiled out of control. That alcohol and pills didn’t help. That men who loved her, as earnest as they were, didn’t help, either.