Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel (12 page)

“Then why didn’t you go along with them?”

“He didn’t really mean it.”

“So? You think the other firefighters invited me in at first? No way, kiddo.” Sabina put down her ice cream, the better to focus on her point. “I had to barge my way into their workouts and their ski trips and their barbecues. I fought hard for every last ounce of respect from those guys, and I earned it too. They didn’t like me at first, but damn it, I made them respect me. Sorry.”

Carly, having heard much worse since the age of two, didn’t even blink.

Sabina waved her pink plastic spoon. “I’m not about to let some bimbo TV reporter and some Machiavellian agent, not to mention my own mother, take that away from me. You know what, Carly?”

“What?” The girl had forgotten all about her ice cream, which dripped onto the table.

“Maybe it’s a good thing this happened. It’s a reminder of what I really want out of life. I want my job. My spot on the force. My right to put on that gear and throw myself into mortal danger. Is that too much to ask just because I was born to a mother who was obsessed with movies? No! It’s not. Right?”

“Damn, chica. What’s got into you?”

Carly’s dark eyes brimmed with laughter. She put a hand to her mouth to hold back the giggles.

“Sorry, I guess I just had to get that off my chest.” Sabina sank back in her chair. She glanced around, realizing she’d been ranting in a raised voice that had drawn glances from the neighboring tables. “Oops.”

“Um . . . weren’t you saying something about being anonymous?” Carly rolled her eyes to indicate someone approaching.

“Shit.”

“It’s a good thing Luke’s father isn’t here, you’d be in trouble with that language,” Carly chastised with glee.

“Excuse me.” A plump, pretty older woman stood next to their table, an eager look in her eyes, a pen and notebook in hand. “Aren’t you the one on the news? The Bachelorette Fireman?”

Sabina couldn’t bring herself to lie in front of her Little Sister. What kind of mentor would that make her? She forced her head into a reluctant nod.

“Well, I just think it’s so wonderful that you became a firefighter. What a great role model you are for young people. I never really liked your show much, to be honest.”

Sabina’s gaze slid to Carly, whose eyes went wide in an oh-no-she-didn’t kind of look.

“Could I get your autograph?” the woman asked.

On autopilot, Sabina took the pen and pad. She looked at the woman blankly. “I have no idea what to sign.” Taffy McGee? Sally Hatfield? Sabina Jones? Two? Her various identities swirled around her in a vortex of confusion.

“Can you sign it from the Bachelorette Fireman of San Gabriel?”

Sabina nearly choked. That was the one name she refused to claim. She wrote, “Best Wishes from San Gabriel Fire Station 1. Check your fire extinguishers! Firefighter Jones.”

When she handed it back, the delight on the woman’s face made her wonder if she was onto something. Maybe this attention could be used for a good purpose. Spread the word about fire safety. Encourage people to clear the brush from around their houses, keep their chimneys cleaned out, not leave burners unattended . . .

“Now,” said the woman, crouching next to the table with a girlish giggle. “What I really want to know is, what’s it like working with all those handsome, single Bachelor Firemen? And is that new one from New York as sexy in person as he is on TV?”

Chapter Fourteen

I
n the days before Roman, Sabina would have found the woman’s question about the Bachelor Firemen easy to answer. Working with all those sexy firemen was like hanging out with a gang of brothers. She loved feeling like one of the guys. But now that Chief Roman was around, everything had changed. Now she had a different answer, though she’d kept it to herself at the mall. Working with all those single firemen—and that sexy new guy from New York—was like riding a stomach-churning roller coaster that you never wanted to stop.

At six o’clock the next morning, she arrived at the station even before the early relief guys. Chief Roman was already working his magic at the coffeemaker, still yawning. The scent of Italian roast made her nostrils flare and her lower belly quiver. She would always associate that smell with Roman.

“Can I have a word, Chief Roman?”

He turned, his dark gaze encompassing her in one swift glance. She noticed a tiny nick on his jaw where he’d cut himself shaving. Raising one black eyebrow, he gestured for her to precede him into his office.

She spoke before he’d even made it to his desk. “I can’t apologize enough for exposing the station to another media blitz,” she announced, standing stiffly at attention and gazing somewhere over his left shoulder. His broad, powerful left shoulder.

“Duly noted,” he said gruffly. “Are you all right?”

“If you mean do I need sympathy or time off, the answer is no.”

“No, you’re not all right?”

“Define ‘all right.’ ”

He answered with a slight smile and a silence that was somehow comforting. It lasted for a long moment, during which Sabina’s emotions churned. “I’ll do my best to keep this from affecting my job here. If you need me to speak to the fire chief, I can do that.”

“Don’t worry about the fire chief. That’s my problem.”

His air of calm, unworried authority made something break loose inside her. Besides, it wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark.

“You deserve to know what’s going on. My mother wants me to do a
You and Me
reunion show,” she said, wincing at how ridiculous it sounded. “And she’s pulling out all the stops, Annabelle Hatfield–style.”

“A
You and Me
reunion show?” Squinting, he leaned one hip on his desk. “I’m pretty sure Chief Renteria might have a problem with that one.”

“No shit.
I
have a problem with it. But my mother’s got her heart set on it. And she’s a force of nature. She’s stubborn like you wouldn’t believe.” Sabina’s military posture flagged; her shoulders slumped. She tried to straighten them but it felt like lifting the weight of ten fire trucks. She stared down at the floor, willing herself to keep it together, then felt a firm hand squeeze her shoulder.

“Sit down. I can’t have my firefighters all churned up.”

He steered her toward a chair. She sat, vibrating from the effect of his touch, while he disappeared out the door. “Churned up.” That’s exactly how she felt when he was around. She took a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of the office mixed with the added freshness of Roman’s aftershave. It smelled delicious to her, sort of spicy and exciting, like cappuccino and Greek olives. She smiled at the image, as if Roman were some kind of exotic gourmet market.

He returned with two mugs of coffee and a handful of sugar packets and kicked the door closed behind him.

“I like mine black but extra sweet. How about you?” Balancing the coffee cups, he stepped carefully toward her. Something inside her melted at the sight of such a mighty specimen of manhood cradling the cups as if they were baby chicks.

“Only when no one’s looking.”

One marauding eyebrow quirked upward. “You have a secret sweet tooth?”

“The guys would tease me if I poured too much sugar in my coffee. You know what my rookie nickname was?”

“What?” He hoisted one hip onto the desk and blew on his coffee. He had nicely shaped lips. Firm, with a sensual curve. And they had felt so good when they’d closed over hers . . .

Stop it.

“Sweet’N Low. Annabelle never had sugar in the house. I grew up with the little pink Sweet’N Low packets. The guys thought that was hilarious. So when I came to this station I started drinking my coffee black.”

“And then you became Two.”

She made a face and poured three packets of sugar in her coffee, one after the other. Who the hell cared now? Besides, if that mountain of masculinity known as Chief Roman could put sugar in his coffee, so could she.

“Just curious, why’d you give up acting?” He took a sip of steaming coffee. “Seems like you could have had quite a career if you’d stuck to show business.”

She bristled. “What are you implying?”

Another eyebrow raise. Those strong, sweeping eyebrows did something to her body temperature.

“Absolutely nothing,” he said. “It was a simple question.”

Suddenly weary, she lowered her cup and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Sorry. I’m getting paranoid. I just want everything back how it was.”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Waste of energy. No matter how much you wish it, things never go back to how they were.”

Oh God
. She was an idiot, complaining about her stupid problems when nothing she’d faced in her life compared to losing a wife on 9/11. She curled both hands around her coffee mug and wondered if she should offer sympathy or condolences. He never mentioned his wife at the station, but he must know it was common knowledge.

Silence stretched between them, taut as a tightrope.

“I hated acting,” she blurted. “But it was the only thing my mother ever wanted. If I complained about it, she’d yell at me about how lucky I was to be rich and famous and still have my whole life ahead of me. That really scared me—a whole life of makeup and cameras and directors pushing me around? When I was seventeen I filed for legal emancipation and quit the show.”

Those simple words hid a lot of angst, a lot of legal maneuvering, yelling on Annabelle’s part, and white-knuckle fear.

“And never looked back? So long, Hollywood?”

“Well, it wasn’t quite that easy. I had no skills and a pretty sketchy education. I’d never been on my own before. I went a little wild and burned through my money. That’s why I did
Zombie Nights
—I needed the cash. And that’s when I decided to become a firefighter.”

“Zombies inspired you to join the force? Now that’s a story I’d love to hear.”

She laughed, feeling herself relax, and took a long drink from her extremely sweet coffee. “I told you a little bit of it. I was hanging out on the set waiting to shoot the scene after I’d been turned into a zombie. Full makeup and everything. I looked disgusting, as you’ll find out if you ever watch the movie. Which I beg you not to do, by the way. Anyway, the lead zombie, I can’t even remember his name, was all hopped up on something and kept blowing his lines. I’d been there about twelve hours and there was no end in sight.”

From behind the
shield of his coffee cup, Roman watched Sabina tell her story, trying to hide his fascination. She was such a puzzle. A celebrity kid who had turned her back on it all. A beauty who preferred to be one of the guys. He wanted to jump under her skin and figure her out. Or at least stroke that skin, especially right there along her throat where her pulse danced . . .

He realized he was staring and snapped back to attention.

“All of a sudden people started screaming from the parking lot where the trailers were. We all ran out there. Flames were pouring out of the star’s trailer. The security people called 911 and a fire engine zoomed onto the lot. They jumped out and had the fire out in about half a minute. They couldn’t have cared less that they were on the set of a Hollywood movie. They came in, did their job, worked together like a perfect machine, no egos, no temper tantrums, no arguments over who gets the bigger trailer or who gets more close-ups. I almost cried when they left. I wanted to go with them so badly. I wanted to
be
them. Do something that mattered in the world.”

Roman forced a smile through the ache in his heart. He felt as if he were truly seeing Sabina for the first time. The passionate light in her eyes, the determination in her voice—and Renteria wanted her out. He’d just gotten another phone call from the angry chief. A cameraman had ambushed Renteria at headquarters looking for a sound bite about the Bachelorette. “Bite me” made for a damn good sound bite, if you were the evening news.

Renteria wanted blood. But he hadn’t seen the light in Sabina’s eyes as she talked about the job.

“So you decided right then and there to become a firefighter?”

“More or less. On the way out, one of the firemen stopped and looked at me. Mind you, I was in full zombie mode. You know what he said?”

“Can’t imagine.”

“He said, ‘Suffer a sea change into something rich and strange.’
Shakespeare
. He quoted Shakespeare at me. Turned out he taught drama as a second job. Right then, I was hooked.”

Roman shook his head with a frown. “What does Shakespeare have to do with anything?” Either she wasn’t making much sense or he was too distracted by the way her vivid eyes lit up the bland office.

“The sea change. It occurred to me that I could give myself a sea change. I didn’t have to be stuck doing zombie movies forever.” She rose gracefully to her feet, still clutching her mug. “Thanks for the coffee, Roman. And the distraction. I need to make a call before lineup. I have to get a handle on this crap before it gets too out of control.”

After she’d left, Roman spent a long time staring at the chair she’d abandoned, breathing the air that still carried a whiff of jasmine-scented shampoo. He felt woozy. Her words, her expressions, the way her fingers wrapped around her mug, the way her eyes lit up . . . her presence, her spirit . . .

He was in very, very big trouble.

“Max, you’re stooping
to new lows here. What is this, blackmail by local news?”

Max cackled. “Local’s just the beginning, munchkin. I got big plans.”

Sabina paced around the backyard of the firehouse. The crew was starting to gather in the kitchen for lineup. “It doesn’t matter what you and Annabelle pull, I’m not going to do the show. Everything you try is only going to make me more determined never to get in front of a camera again.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“Yes.” She could live with stubborn. Like mother, like daughter, after all.

“Are you trying to make me play hardball?”

She clenched her jaw.
Don’t fall for his bait, don’t do it
. “You don’t scare me. You’re running out of skeletons to pull out of my past.”

“This one’s not in the past. It’s right there in your firehouse.”

“Excuse me?”

His voice hardened. “A little birdie tells me you were spotted behind a fire engine setting off some major sparks with the new guy from New York. I checked your department regulations. He’s several levels above you and that’s strictly a no-no. Grounds for disciplinary action.”

Sabina’s mind raced. Behind the fire engine. She and Roman had talked. Intimately, sure, but nothing had happened. Except . . . that hug. He’d embraced her, to comfort her. It had lasted what, a few, admittedly blissful, seconds? But it didn’t matter—if people started talking, she’d be toast. So would Roman. She couldn’t do that to him.

The only answer was to go on the attack.

“You complete, utter jackass, it wasn’t Chief Roman. It was Vader. Everyone knows Vader and I are into each other. It’s the hot gossip around here, surprised you haven’t heard about it since you’re suddenly so interested in Fire Station 1.”

“Vader?” The uncertainty in his voice gave her a savage glee.

“Yeah, Vader. Big, ripped guy. Works out a lot. Could snap you in two with one hand behind his back. And since we’re both the same rank, perfectly within regulations.”

Max, for once, didn’t have a comeback.

“And I was wrong,
Uncle Max
. Now you’ve hit a new low. The absolute bottom of the barrel.”

She hung up and raced across the lawn toward the kitchen, where everyone was assembling for lineup. Had it really come to this? After all these years protecting her reputation, now she was actually spreading false rumors about herself. Suddenly it felt as if she were in a bad dream, the kind in which no matter how fast she ran, she kept slipping farther behind. The men gathered inside the kitchen belonged here at this firehouse. Did she? Did she really? Or had she been living a lie for the past ten years?

For Sabina’s sake,
Roman was almost happy when the next call came in. He knew nothing would improve her state of mind as much as a structure fire. The dispatcher had barely finished talking when she was into her turnout and onboard Engine 1.

Quiet descended on the station after the engine and the truck roared out of the apparatus bay. Perfect time to focus on the reports Roman needed to deliver to Chief Renteria. He had a feeling his job was a precarious thing right about now. The chief wasn’t happy with him, and the crew hadn’t exactly warmed up to him. Nor had Stan, although he occasionally condescended to eat a doggy treat.

Roman grabbed another cup of coffee, tossed a sausage-flavored, bone-shaped biscuit Stan’s way, and settled down to work.

“Why, Chief Roman, you look so sad and lonely sitting by yourself like that,” said a throaty voice.

Roman looked up sharply to find Annabelle Hatfield posed in the doorway. Black sunglasses held glorious red waves of hair away from her face. In cream-colored linen slacks and jacket, she brought a whiff of winter glamour into the office.

“Ms. Hatfield.” He found himself rising to his feet. Such was her power. “What can I do for you?”

“I sure do like the way you put that. And my, you’re tall.” She winked. All his hackles rose. Whatever had brought her here, along with a slight Southern accent that was definitely new, it was bound to mean trouble.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Sounds delightful.” She waited, with an expectant smile.