by Zoe Chant
“Actually we do.” Rory’s voice was a deep, soft rumble. “Anything for Cal.”
The others nodded, murmuring agreement. Looking round the circle of tough, hardened firefighters, some of Diana’s tight-wound anxiety relaxed. It wasn’t just their obvious physical strength that made her feel safe. It was the unity and loyalty that they displayed. Without a single hesitation, they’d accepted her into their midst, embracing her as one of their own.
She’d been alone for so long, the sense of being protected brought a lump to her throat. Whatever Callum might be hiding, it couldn’t be too awful, if he had friends like these ready to drop everything to help him.
She swallowed, blinking back the sting of tears. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“I do,” Blaise said, in the bright tones of someone who had been waiting impatiently for a chance to crowbar the conversation onto a particular topic. “You can tell us how you and Cal met. Believe me, we’re all desperate to know.”
“Some of us more than others,” Joe muttered, his gaze flicking to Callum.
“Oh, well.” Diana could feel her face coloring. “That’s kind of embarrassing, actually. Callum, you tell them.”
“Can’t.” Callum stood up abruptly. “Beth’s restless.”
“She is?” Diana hadn’t heard the slightest peep out of her. “Here, give her to me. I’ll settle her.”
Callum put a hand out, pushing her gently back down as she started to rise. “No. You stay and finish your dinner. I’ll take her for a walk.”
A surge of anxiety swept away her previous relaxation. The chicken stew she’d eaten felt like rocks in her stomach. She couldn’t just let him walk off with Beth. She’d never been apart from her baby, not for a second, never—
Callum’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, as if he’d sensed her sudden tension. “I’ll just walk her round the room. I won’t go out of sight. Okay?”
No, no no! howled Gertrude. Grab her! Protect her! Run!
Diana made herself take a deep breath. She’d come this far already. If Beth was ever going to have a proper father, she had to take another small baby step toward trusting Callum.
She could only hope that he would trust her in return.
She exhaled her anxiety, letting go. “Okay.”
As if he knew what it had cost her to say that word, Callum’s green eyes softened. For the first time that day, he smiled properly. For a moment, he looked exactly as he had the night that they’d met.
“Tell them everything,” he said. “Please.”
He strode off, heading for the other side of the long room. True to his word, he didn’t leave her line of sight; just paced slowly back and forth along the far wall, rocking Beth. A few firefighters immediately left their places, trailing after him. They were too far away for Diana to make out what they were saying, but from the way Callum’s shoulders hunched, she guessed that they were begging for a glimpse of the baby.
Callum dispersed Beth’s would-be admirers with a few sharp words. As they slunk back to their tables, he caught her watching him. His head dipped in a solemn nod, as though to say: See? I’ll protect her.
Blaise rapped on the table, drawing her attention back. “Okay, now that he’s gone, spill the beans. We want to know every detail.” She flashed a wicked grin. “Especially the embarrassing bits. Especially especially the embarrassing bits Callum wouldn’t want us to know.”
A giggle escaped her. “I’m not sure anything can embarrass him, given how we met.”
Rory’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? How so?”
Oh, Lord. She was certain she must be bright red. But…he had told her to tell them everything.
“Well.” Diana cleared her throat. “I kind of bought him.”
Chapter 8
“A bachelor auction?” Diana balked at the sight of the lurid banner hung above the hotel entrance. “Sal, you know this isn’t my kind of thing.”
Her best friend tugged her onward mercilessly. “Which is exactly why we’re here. You need something which is completely different to your normal life. Something to make new, positive memories rather than stuff that reminds you of your dad.”
It had been six months since her dad had passed away, but the sharp stab of pain hadn’t dulled at all. Diana wasn’t sure she wanted it to ever dull. If she didn’t feel that moment of utter, hollow loss in her chest every time someone mentioned him, would it mean that she was forgetting him?
You’ll forget his face, her anxiety disorder whispered in her mind. You’re already forgetting how he used to hug you, exactly how he smelled, how safe he made you feel. You’ll never feel that safe again. You’ll be sad and alone and lost forever and ever and ever—
Sal gave her hand a brief squeeze. They’d known each other ever since they’d been toddlers tipping mud-pies over each other’s heads at daycare. Sal understood her silences, even better than her words.
Nonetheless, Sal continued to haul her up the steps in front of the hotel. “Come on. Pretend you’re someone else, just for one night. The sort of person who comes out to drink overpriced cocktails and ogle oiled-up men. It’ll be good for you.”
Diana had to laugh, despite the ache in her heart. “I don’t think that’s one of the official stages of grief.”
“Sure it is,” Sal said. “Denial, Arguing, Bargaining, Depression, Sexy Encounters With Ridiculously Hot Men, Acceptance. I’m sure I read that on the Internet.”
Diana looked at the banner above the door. The man sprawled across it was ridiculously hot. Unrealistically so. No one actually had hair that perfect autumnal red-gold, or abs that defined. He lounged, winking sexily at the camera, wearing nothing except a strategically-placed helmet.
“That’s never a real firefighter,” she said. “He’s got to be an underwear model. Are you sure this is legit?”
“Positive. I come every year with my sisters. It’s a great charity, they raise money for people who lost their houses to wildfires. They get the hottest firefighters from across the whole state.” Sal squinted up at the banner as they went through the door. “Though I’ll grant you, poster boy up there has been Photoshopped to within an inch of his life. But I promise, the real guys will be more than hot enough to take your mind off things.”
Sal was, much as Diana hated to admit it, absolutely right. The moment they stepped into the hotel lobby, they were confronted by a glistening wall of pecs. Even Diana’s ever-present worries flew out of her head. Mouth suddenly dry, she tracked the intricate spiraling tattoos upward.
The shirtless firefighter tipped his helmet at them with a saucy wink. “Ladies. Hope you have an unforgettable night. And if you’ve got a situation which is getting too hot, I’ll be happy to help. Just bid on Rocky. Lot number five.”
He sauntered off to greet the next new arrivals, revealing a back as impressively muscled as his front. Other firefighters were also working the room, flirting with groups of giggling women.
“Oh my.” Sal fanned herself with her free hand. “I’d certainly like to handle his hose. Unless you want to call dibs?”
With a guilty start, Diana wrenched her gaze away from the tattooed firefighter’s back. “Sal! I’m not buying a firefighter!”
“Why not? You can afford it. And it’s for a good cause.” Sal gave Diana a friendly shoulder-bump. “Your dad would have approved.”
He probably would have approved. Diana doubted her father had ever attended a charity bachelor auction, but the ridiculousness of it would have appealed to his wicked sense of humor. And he’d always given generously. No fundraiser who’d knocked on their door had ever gone away empty handed. Whether it was raising money for local schools or famine relief on the other side of the world, he’d always been ready to donate.
At least, he had been when he’d been well. Over the past three long, horrible years—when every oncologist had perpetually given him two months to live, only for him to beat the odds again and again—he’d slowed down his charitable giv
ing, more worried about investing in her future. Now, thanks to the small inheritance he’d left her, she was more financially secure than she’d ever been. But so far she’d barely been able to look at the bank statements, let alone think about spending any of it.
“Even if it’s for charity, I can’t touch my inheritance,” she said. “He wanted me to use that money to go back to school and finish my doctorate.”
Sal cast her a not-buying-your-bullshit look. “And how’s that going? Have you even contacted your old college yet?”
She hadn’t, of course. Yet another thing that she wasn’t ready to start thinking about. She’d dropped out in order to care for her dad when he’d gotten sick. She hadn’t so much as opened an academic journal for two years.
You’ve forgotten your own thesis, Gertrude murmured. You’ve lost all your work as well as everything else. How can you presume to understand the stories of your people when you’re so empty inside? You didn’t deserve to be accepted onto the post-grad program in the first place. You aren’t as good as all the other students—you’re too close to the material, you can’t be objective. They only let you in as affirmative action, because it looked good to have a Native student studying Native history. They’ll never take you back.
Ever since her dad had died, it had been harder to manage her anxiety disorder. With an effort, Diana pulled her attention back to the present, away from that nagging, whispering negativity.
“I’m not going to let you guilt me into buying a firefighter,” she said firmly. “I can’t believe that you’re trying to guilt me into buying a firefighter.”
“Hey, what are best friends for?” Sal bumped her shoulder against Diana’s again. “Which is why you should be egging me on to buy Mr. Tattoos over there.”
Diana smiled, grateful for her friend’s irrepressible enthusiasm. “You hardly need any encouragement.”
“True,” Sal conceded. She tapped a bright purple nail against her lower lip, scanning the room like a lioness surveying the savannah. “What do you think? I mean, that Rocky guy was smoking, but check out the butt on that blond guy over there.”
Diana wished she had her friend’s confidence. She couldn’t even look at all the swaggering beefcake on display, let alone openly check out a firefighter’s ass. She was probably as red as a tomato already.
“What would you even do with a firefighter?” she asked. “I mean, they’re not actually…you know. For sale. Are they?”
“Of course not. You’re just buying a bit of arm-candy at the party after the auction. The guy dances with you, brings you free drinks, and poses for selfies. All good clean fun.” Sal waggled her eyebrows meaningfully. “Though sometimes the fun can go on late into the night, if the guy is willing. And in my experience, the guys are very willing.”
“Sal!” Diana laughed despite her embarrassment. “That’s terrible!”
Sal shrugged unrepentantly. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of consensual, careful, casual sex. And you could do with some of that, if you ask me.”
Diana shook her head, amused. “Not my style.”
“Always good to mix up your style every now and then.” Sal checked her watch. “The auction’s starting soon. Let’s go check out the merchandise up close and personal while we can.”
“You go.” She couldn’t possibly go any closer to the shirtless, muscled hunks, let alone talk to one. If her face got any hotter, one of the firefighters would have to turn a hose on her. “I’ll…I’ll go get us some cocktails.”
She hurried off before Sal could object. Unfortunately, the bar didn’t turn out to be the peaceful refuge she had hoped. It was swarming with women, all looking effortlessly gorgeous and confident. The intimidating crowd brought out the worst of her social anxiety.
You don’t fit in. You’re not skinny and blonde and stylish. They’ll know you don’t belong here. They’ll all stare at you.
She shrank into the shadow of a large potted fern. She couldn’t go out there and elbow her way to the bar, she couldn’t—
“You look like you’re in need of rescue.”
She just about died. She whirled around, and found herself nose-to-nipple with an impossibly cut chest. Wearing firefighter suspenders.
The man quirked an eyebrow at her, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Lovely lady enters a room and dives behind the shrubbery, something’s got to be wrong. Thought I’d better check if there was any way I could help.”
It was him.
The firefighter from the poster.
And dear sweet heaven, it turned out he had not been Photoshopped at all.
In the flesh, he was even more ridiculously attractive than his photo. He winked at her, leaning back against the wall in a casual pose that showed off every single ridge of his abs. A bottle of whiskey dangled casually from one hand.
“You’re real,” she blurted out.
“Last time I checked.” Even his voice was devastatingly sexy—teasing, melodic, with a hint of Irish lilt. “Are you hiding from someone?”
“Um. Everyone.”
“Ah.” He looked at her more closely. “I see. Not your cup of tea, this sort of thing?”
“Not at all. A friend dragged me out here. I didn’t know where she was taking me until it was too late. Now I’m stuck.” Belatedly, it occurred to her that he might find this offensive. “I mean, not that this is a bad event! It’s great. Really great. Very, um, stimulating.”
Oh God. She wanted to sink through the floor.
He laughed, as though her awkwardness was charming rather than humiliating. “It’s all right. It’s not my cup of tea either. Not that I don’t love a good party. Just not when I’m the main course.”
Despite her embarrassment, she found herself smiling back at him. His easy, genuine humor was infectious. For all his male model good looks, he wasn’t at all intimidating. He felt oddly like a friend. “But aren’t you literally the poster boy for this thing?”
He grimaced, scrunching up his movie-star face in a boyish, unselfconscious way that only enhanced his appeal. “Alas. Let’s just say that I’m regretting several life decisions at the moment.”
He took a drink from his bottle again, watching her over the rim the whole time. When he lowered the bottle again, only an inch of amber fluid still sloshed at the bottom. He either had to have a cast-iron constitution, or he was a lot drunker than he appeared.
His head cocked to one side. A crease appeared in his brow, as if he was trying to work something out.
“You know, you seem oddly familiar,” he said slowly.
“I was thinking the same thing about you, actually.” She never found it easy to talk to strangers, but somehow he felt like she’d known him all her life. “If you actually are an underwear model, then maybe I’ve seen your abs on the side of a bus or something.”
He flashed a grin. “Not a model, underwear or otherwise. Thanks for the compliment, though.” He took another drink, still studying her with that unnerving interest. “Huh. Do you believe in fate?”
“What?”
He shook his head, like he hadn’t really meant to say that. “Never mind. So, anyone take your fancy tonight?”
“No!” she yelped. Way to go, Diana, now he’ll think that you find him and his buddies repulsive. “I, I mean, all the men here are very, um, very nice. And I think you’re very attractive.”
He grinned again. “But not attractive enough to spend your money on?”
Kill me now. “I, uh, I’ve never done anything like this. And…”
She hesitated. Normally, she would have kept her grief private. But something about this total stranger made her feel like she could trust him.
“My father passed away recently,” she said. “Well, six months ago, but it still feels recent to me. I’m not exactly in the mood for partying. I know that I should be picking myself up and moving on, but--”
“There’s nothing you should be doing,” he said gently. “Except what feels right to you. Listen, if
you want to get out of here, I can call you a cab.”
“No,” she said, surprising herself. “Thank you, but I couldn’t just abandon my friend. And I’m actually starting to enjoy myself.”
It was true. Sure, part of her still wanted to run home and hide under the covers, but she found she had an even stronger urge to stay. It was probably just hormones—the firefighter was ridiculously, panty-meltingly hot, after all.
But maybe Sal had been right. Maybe getting out and trying something new was good for her.
“Hmm.” He pursed his perfect lips. “In that case, would you do me a favor?”
Diana couldn’t imagine what on earth this walking sex god could possibly need from her. She had no doubt that every single woman in the room would throw herself at his feet if he so much as twitched an eyebrow. “You need my help?”
“If you don’t mind.” He tossed the now-empty bottle into the fern’s pot, and dug in his pocket. “Would you bid on me?”
She stared at him. “I don’t think you need to be worried that no one will bid on you.”
“No.” He pulled a wallet out of his pocket, counting out bills. “But I’d like you to win me.”
“Me?” she said stupidly, as he thrust the money into her hand. “Why me?”
“Because I like you, and I think you could do with an evening of laughter and silliness.” His smile turned a bit wistful. “And this might sound crazy, but…because something inside me thinks that this is meant to be.”
Before she could question him further, a chime rang out. From the way all the women at the bar started to eagerly hurry in the direction of the ballroom, Diana guessed that the auction was about to start.
The firefighter blanched, looking like a man about to be thrown into a pit of wolverines. Given what Diana had seen of the thirsty crowd, she couldn’t blame him. “I’ve got to go. Listen, you can keep the change. Just make sure you win the auction, okay? I’m counting on you.”
With a final wink, he hurried off. Diana stared after his retreating back, then down at the roll of money he’d given her. They were hundred dollar bills. There had to be at least a couple of thousand dollars there.