The Fireman Who Loved Me (15 page)

Slowly, over hours, the City Hall fire burned itself out. The firefighters, with a heroic effort, managed to keep the nearby buildings from catching fire. The Channel Six news team stayed on the scene until after midnight. Then Ella signed off and the news crew packed up their equipment. Through an exhausted haze, Melissa heard her coworkers congratulate one another. “We beat the crap out of Channel Two . . . did you see that shot I got of that freaking explosion? . . . Ella, you rocked, babe!” And so on. Too tired to say a word, Melissa sank down onto the ground to put her head between her knees. She closed her eyes, feeling them sting in the welcome darkness.

“Melissa! Come on, let’s go.” She heard Greg, but made no move to respond. She heard another voice say something, then Greg said, “All right, man,” and then came the sound of car doors slamming. Dimly, she knew she ought to get up before everyone left without her.

A hand appeared in front of her face, and she grabbed on to it. Pulling herself up, she staggered, and strong arms caught her. She lifted her head and saw charcoal-gray eyes burning into hers. Though bloodshot and watery, their tender expression made her smile through her exhaustion.

“You’re coming with me,” Brody stated. She didn’t argue. A swarm of questions came to her. How was he? Had he suffered any injuries? Why was he now wearing his regular clothes? How had his truck gotten here? But she said nothing as he put his arm around her and led her to his truck. As if in a dream, she got in, and they drove away from the still-smoldering City Hall. They drove across town, through streets oddly calm and silvered with moonlight. The rest of San Gabriel, free of fire, seemed so fresh and innocent.

Brody parked next to his silver Airstream and led Melissa inside. He made her drink a huge glass of water. It felt like heaven on her raw throat. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were black with soot. When she touched a hand to her face, it came away covered with grime. She pulled a disgusted face, which made Brody chuckle. He beckoned to her, and she followed him into the Airstream’s tiny bathroom. It was barely big enough for the two of them. They pressed up against each other, two dirty, smoky, exhausted bodies.

For reasons having nothing to do with the smoke she’d inhaled, Melissa suddenly couldn’t breathe.

With an intent look, Brody pulled her shirt up over her arms. He tossed it aside, then unbuttoned her black jeans. She stood in front of him in her underwear. She couldn’t have spoken if a gun had been at her head. Frowning slightly, Brody unhooked her bra, then pulled down her panties. He lifted her arm, and showed her a long scratch down it.

“Oh!” she said, startled. Her voice sounded like a stranger’s.

“Save your voice,” Brody said in a croak.

He turned the shower on, tested the temperature, then guided her under the stream of warm water. She sobbed in gratitude as her tired, aching muscles reacted. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and let the water flow through her hair. She lost herself in a kind of primitive pleasure, intensified by the feeling of gentle hands massaging shampoo into her hair. Her groan of delight mingled with the sound of water hitting the shower walls. The lavender scent of the shampoo soothed her frayed nerves. Their mutual silence, after all the verbal sparring, felt like a blessing.

Opening her eyes a slit, through the steam she saw Brody standing naked outside the shower stall, leaning in so he could wash her hair. Maybe he didn’t want to crowd her. Maybe he needed an invitation. She reached out a hand and pulled him gently into the shower.

Now they stood skin to naked skin. She felt the hot press of his erection rise against her thigh and twitched her hip to get closer. His breath came faster, tickling her ear, and his touch turned more urgent. His hands left her head and smoothed the curve of her back down to her buttocks.

“Wait,” he whispered. One hand left her for a moment, then returned with a bar of soap. He slip-slided it over her body as she shivered with delight. Across her nipples, along the slope of her shoulders, the line of her throat. With one hand he held her hips steady while he rubbed the soap between her legs. She squirmed as the soap’s smooth hardness probed her inner folds, pressing against the growing core of her excitement. Her legs parted helplessly. Then he turned her around to smooth the soap along her inner thighs, down her calves. He lifted her feet, one by one, and carefully lathered them. She leaned against the shower wall, bracing herself with her hands, as the pleasure coursed through her.

Then the soap was gone. She felt as though she’d shed a layer of outer skin, of unnecessary shyness. Warm fingers cupped her sex. She heard herself gasp into the steamy air. Then another warm hand came around to her front, dancing up her body to gather her breasts, to pluck at her nipples. Such a hand—so strong, so knowing—and big enough to squeeze both breasts together, one long finger on one nipple, a thumb on the other. She twisted in pleasure, but she couldn’t move far because Brody’s hard, hot body was pressed into her. He pushed one finger inside her, then another, and she eagerly pressed her backside against his erection. “God, you’re incredible,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ve been wanting this for so long.”

Incapable of speech, she answered with a thrust of her hips that made him groan. She changed the angle of her body so his thumb could brush over her excited, begging clitoris. Her whole body jerked from the electric sensation. This was a bad idea, they shouldn’t do this, not yet . . . Another stroke of his thumb, and all her doubts vanished. It felt so good to be in his arms, surrounded by his strength.

He held her so tightly there was nowhere for her to go. With a long moan, she submitted to that relentless, stroking thumb. His other hand molded her breasts, pulling at her nipples until she screamed into the shower wall and her body gave in to a racking, ecstatic orgasm.

After, she could have melted to the floor. But instead she turned, and met Brody’s seeking lips with her own. Under the stream of water, they shared a luxuriously sensuous kiss. Melissa got hold of the soap, and now it was her turn to wash his body. This she did slowly, carefully, missing not one streak of grime or bloody scratch. His magnificent, powerful body had been through the wringer that night, and she couldn’t believe he could be sexually aroused after all that. But the evidence stared her in the face as she knelt to soap his legs. She cradled his iron erection between her neck and shoulder, then moved it from side to side so she could thoroughly soap him.

When she looked up, she saw him watching her with a look of such desire her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to take him in her mouth, but somehow she knew that wasn’t what he wanted at that moment. He wanted to be in her body, in her living heat, and that’s where she wanted him. Gently, caressingly, she rinsed him off, taking one moment to tenderly lick the purpling tip before turning off the water.

“Do you have a bed in this tin can?” she whispered. The desire in his eyes flamed into urgent lust, and he picked her up, carried her out of the bathroom, and tossed her on the bed. Eyes heavy with excitement, legs sprawled apart, she stared up at his naked, dripping form. He stood with legs apart, erection jutting forward, charcoal eyes eating up her body.

“I can’t go slow. I have to have you now,” he said in a peremptory tone.

“If you go slow, I’ll punch you in the stomach.”

With a bark of laughter, he quickly pulled on a condom. Then, his face lit with fierce lust, he dove on top of her. She met him with equal fervor, and they joined together in a sweaty, clutching, craving tangle of flesh. He drove inside her, hammering hard . . . pumping until she moaned . . . then they rolled so she was on top, his firm hands bouncing her up and down on his arousal . . . his thumb rubbing her until she felt the waves start to come. She screamed out loud as they washed over her with electrifying brightness. His guttural shout mingled with hers as he thrust into her one final time. They flew together, clutching each other tight, on a magic carpet ride through bursting stars and exploding volcanoes. When the last wave had passed, they held each other tight as though they’d just survived a perfect storm.

Chapter Fifteen

“H
oly mackerel,” Melissa said, when she could speak.

“Yep,” agreed Brody. They lay still, panting, for another moment, then Brody rolled off her and sat up. Melissa ate him up with her eyes. His body was bruised and battered, his eyes bloodshot. He looked sore and exhausted. And satisfied. The thought inspired a small, feminine smile. Satisfied, yes . . . so was she. She’d never felt like this in her life. That thought terrified her.

“I guess it’s true what they say about extreme circumstances,” she said, pulling the sheet up over her.

“How do you mean?”

“You know, about sex under extreme circumstances. It’s the only explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” He sounded irritated. “Here, drink some more water if we’re going to talk.”

He handed her a glass. She drained it, appreciating the coolness on her throat.

“We don’t have to talk. It’s obvious what just happened. We got carried away. We already know we’re not compatible.” There. It had to be said. So why did her words sound so wrong?

Brody grunted and rolled out of the bed. He grabbed the glass and walked to the kitchenette. Riveted by the sight of the muscles in his naked rear, her throat went dry all over again.

At the sink, he drank for a long time, then refilled the glass and brought it back to Melissa. “Drink,” he told her.

Bossy man. Then again, she didn’t mind the way he took charge in bed. Color flooded her face. Time for a subject change.

“Brody, what happened in there? How’d you find Hoagie?”

He leaned against a dresser. “Stroke of luck. I was about to turn back when I heard someone yell. It was Hoagie, trying to get that janitor to wake up. Never did, far as I know.” Brody’s face darkened. “Did you hear how he’s doing?”

“Last I heard, he was still in critical condition. Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know. He looked pretty bad. A beam had fallen on his leg, and he couldn’t move. His clothes were on fire when we found him. He was already passed out from the smoke. Or plain terror.”

“My God.” She shivered. “I thought you weren’t coming out. You and Ryan. It seemed like you were in there forever.”

“If that poor man survives, it’s thanks to Ryan.”

“If Ryan survives, it’s thanks to you.”

Brody shrugged. “We were both extremely stupid.”

“Probably. But could you have lived with yourself if you didn’t go in after him?”

A long silence. “You can’t save everyone.”

Melissa finished her glass of water. Her throat already felt better. “The firemen say you’ve never lost anyone in a fire.”

“I haven’t.”

“How is that possible?”

“Maybe I’ve made a deal with the devil.”

She frowned at him skeptically. With that poker face of his, she couldn’t tell if he was teasing. “What’d you have to give up, your firstborn child?”

Brody’s face slammed shut, and he turned his back to her.

What had she said? “Brody . . . I . . . I’m sorry. It was a dumb joke.”

He didn’t seem to hear. He rummaged through a pile of clothes on the dresser. What the hell had she said wrong? He pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants. Melissa couldn’t help admiring the grace and power in every movement he made, even while he was ignoring her.

Was he never going to speak to her again?

As the awkward silence went on, she jumped up to fetch her own clothes from the bathroom. No way was she going to hang around naked while he gave her the silent treatment. She pulled them on as quickly as she could, trying to ignore how filthy and sooty they were.

B
rody heard her banging around in the bathroom, and cursed himself. She hadn’t meant anything by that silly crack. He’d overreacted, and he knew it. And now she was headed out the door.

Maybe it was best. She’d already said they weren’t compatible. Why not just let her go? It would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to explain himself. Running into a burning building looked like a breeze in comparison. And yet—

“Don’t go,” he said. Melissa paused in mid-exit. “You touched a sore spot.”

She turned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on.”

Brody took a deep breath. Into the burning building. “My wife, Rebecca, lost our baby. And it was my fault.”

The shock rippled across her face.

He continued. “I wanted a child, and before we got married, so did Rebecca. But then she decided she wasn’t ready for children. We argued . . . negotiated . . . and eventually, I won. She got pregnant. And she hated it.”

“Hated it? Why?”

“She worried about losing her figure, losing her freedom, losing sleep. I couldn’t understand why those things were important compared to what we were gaining. She got very depressed. She quit her job, and stayed home in bed.”

“Pregnancy depression is pretty common. We did a story about it. Therapy can help.” Melissa’s green eyes shone with concern, which unsettled him.

“I made an appointment with a therapist, but she refused to go,” he said. “She was so angry at me. Then she miscarried. Just under three months. No one even knew we were expecting a child.”

He fell silent. Melissa frowned. “But . . . how was it your fault?”

“I was the one who wanted the baby. I pushed her into getting pregnant.”

“You did nothing wrong. She could have said no.”

“Yes. If only . . .” Why was talking about things like this so damn difficult?

“If only what?”

“Things had been different. I hated seeing her like that. I felt so guilty.” He met Melissa’s soft eyes, and saw no judgment, no condemnation. Just sympathy.

“What happened afterward?”

“She didn’t leave her bed for a month. She was too upset to work. And eventually, she left.”

That was the short version. In the long version, Brody could never make Rebecca happy after that. He’d had gone along with her every whim. The new feng shui landscaping. Which then had to be redone to accommodate the above-ground hot tub. Which eventually was moved to make room for a trampoline. While Brody advanced up the fire department career ladder, Rebecca moved from making handcrafted string purses to designing sequined flip-flops.

Until one day he’d gotten an e-mail from a café in San Diego. She’d run off with Thorval, her surfer-dude flip-flop supplier.

“I was shocked when she asked for a divorce. She was my high school sweetheart, you know. I thought we’d be together forever. But I didn’t fight it. I gave her the house, which she sold.”

“I’m sorry. If I had known, I never would have made that stupid joke.”

Brody smiled ruefully. “Like I said, it’s a sore spot. Nothing to do with you. You know, you were right, I actually started to believe in that damn curse. I know I’m a good firefighter. A good captain. Husband and father? Not meant to be.”

“Oh.” She looked down, biting her lip.

“Melissa . . .”

When she met his eyes, he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. “Please stay. It’s too late to go home. Take those smoky, filthy clothes off and let’s watch the late news. I want to see how you guys covered the fire.”

“It’s three in the morning. The news was over hours ago.”

But she took the sweats he tossed her and pulled off her top. His groin twitched. God, was he ready to go all over again? Something about her sweetly curved body did something very primal to him. “Don’t you know your own schedule? You guys rebroadcast the
Eleven O’Clock News
at three.”

Melissa felt his eyes follow her as she pulled on the baggy San Gabriel sweatshirt. She couldn’t possibly look very sexy in it, but that didn’t seem to stop Brody from leering at her. Not that she minded. “Interesting. I thought you never watched the news.” She picked up his remote and turned on his TV. “CNN. You watch CNN?”

“A little CNN, a little C-SPAN. ESPN, when they show the monster truck rallies.” Another wink. Melissa noticed those endearing little winks made her stomach give a little jump.

“Are you ever going to forget about that?”

“Maybe, if you come over here and make me.” He pulled her down next to him on the couch and nestled her against his side. She relaxed against him with a little sigh. Why was it she felt so good with this man? It wasn’t love, or romance, or anything like that. They’d pretty much agreed about that.

“You told me you hated the news,” she said.

“It’s a love-hate kind of relationship.” He switched to Channel Six, and immediately tensed as the first aerial shots of the flaming City Hall filled the screen. “Jesus. You don’t always get the whole picture when you’re in the thick of it.”

“See how quickly we got our chopper up? That’s because I called from the firehouse,” Melissa pointed out proudly. “Of course, this means another debate about the
Eleven O’Clock News
using the chopper, but never mind that.”

“Look at you, Hollywood! Lookin’ good.”

Melissa cringed at the sight of herself holding the mic and staring intently into the camera. Her report seemed to make sense, and she barely stumbled at all. She counted two “ums,” but under the circumstances, who could blame her? Was she overdramatic? Too sensationalistic? Or too matter-of-fact? Her live shot ended, and the camera panned away from her, toward the flames. Brody hugged her to him and gave her a smacking kiss on the top of her head.

“Now that was a good news report. To the point, just the facts, no speculation, no drama. That’s the way it’s done! Way to go, Hollywood.”

Melissa flushed at the praise. “Wait’ll you see a real pro in action. I think Ella should be on next.”

“Oh, I’ve seen Ella in action.”

Melissa gave him a mock punch on the arm and peered at the screen. “Is that Vader up on the aerial?” Braced with two legs far apart, like a captain steering a ship, he seemed to be yelling something.

“Yep, the cocky bastard.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Lord knows. He sings to the fire, sometimes he talks. We tune him out.” Now the shot changed, and they saw the woman Melissa had seen crawling out of the building. She was crying and pointing to the side entrance. The camera jogged that direction, and then swerved to suddenly include Ella. The beautiful anchor, breathless and disheveled, leaned into the camera to grab the audience’s attention.

“We’ve just learned that two firefighters are currently inside the building attempting the daring rescue of a maintenance worker. You just saw his sister, who told us what happened. She and her brother were both inside the building when they smelled smoke, but unfortunately they ran in the wrong direction and became trapped. Something fell on top of them and pinned the worker to the floor. His sister tried to pull him out but wasn’t strong enough. She managed to make her way out of the building and call for help. One brave fireman who was already inside went to help him, but then a partial collapse trapped him too. One of the captains here on the scene risked his own life to go after him. We are right now waiting for some sign that they are still alive. Please, send all your thoughts and prayers to Firefighter Ryan Blake and Captain Harry Brody as they battle the flames to save an innocent victim’s life.” A crystal-clear tear ran down her beautiful cheek. The shot stayed on her as she gazed soulfully into the camera.

“Oh my God,” moaned Brody. “How could she?”

Melissa stared at the television set in shock. “Oh hell.”

She’d screwed up. Badly. She hadn’t told Ella about Ryan and Brody, but of course Ella had found out anyway. It was news. It was part of the story. She should have told Ella. If she had, she could have made sure Ella treated the story in a professional way, instead of sensationalizing it. At the very least, she should have told Blaine, and they could have decided what to do with the information. Her first responsibility was to the station, and she hadn’t done her job.

On the other hand, she hated seeing Brody’s fate a matter of breathless will-he-live-or-die speculation. That’s why she’d kept the story to herself. It was the kind of TV news she hated, the kind Brody hated too.

“I am so screwed,” she said. “I should have reported it myself, as soon as I knew. I wouldn’t have included names, of course, the way she did. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get fired.”

“Fired? For having principles?”

“That’s not the way Loudon’s going to see it.”

“She should be fired. Look at that,” he said, disgusted. On the screen, Ella was holding hands with the janitor’s sister, their heads bent in prayer. Melissa winced.

“She’s expressing what—”

“She’s milking it. Me and Hoagie are in there fighting to stay alive, and she’s out here playing to the camera. Saint Friggin’ Ella Joy. I’m going to call up your news director and tell him he can forget ever getting an interview from me or my guys. And to get all that TV crap out of my station.”

“Too late,” said Melissa, pointing to the TV. Now the shot showed Ryan, surrounded by paramedics. He lifted up his oxygen mask, and Ella swooped in with the mic.

“Mr. Blake, we’ve all been praying you’d make it out of there alive, and our prayers were answered. Can you tell us what you were feeling inside that fiery inferno?”

“Fiery inferno?” Brody brandished a fist at the TV set.

But Ryan didn’t seem to mind the clichéd language. He gave Ella a watery smile. “Hi there, Ella. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? I just thank the Lord I was able to find the victim and get to him in time. I didn’t worry about myself, because I knew my captain would get me out, and that’s just what he did. He’s the man. Where’s the captain? Is Brody okay?” He sat up halfway to scan the area, then laughed, a coughing, wheezing sound, and pointed. The camera followed his hand. Brody was already back at work, directing the firefighters to another flank of the fire.

Melissa glanced over at the night’s hero. He lowered his head to his hands. “Another chapter in the legend of Captain Brody.”

“Exactly.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

He fell silent, and after a little while Melissa got to her feet.

“I’d better get back.”

He shook himself off and rose to stand next to her. Leaning in, his mouth hovering over hers, he asked, “Do you want to come by tomorrow?”