Feel the Heat

by Kathryn Shay

“Of course. Don’t you love yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Including Diana?”

  Her shoulders stiffened, and she sat up straighter. Some of the light went out of her face. “I don’t know Diana well anymore.”

  “Do you wish you did?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Hey, that’s rule number one.”

  “Lately I’ve been wondering if I’ve been too harsh on her. Probably because I’m off work and have time to think about it.”

  “Want some friendly advice?” he asked, raising his arms to the rim of the tub and lounging back again.

  “Sure.”

  “When my father got sick, I regretted not having come back to Rockford sooner. But I was lucky—Dad recovered and I’ve been able to spend lots of time with him. Second chances aren’t always there when we’re ready for them.”

  “I’ll think about that.” Moved by his insight, Francey gazed at Alex and noticed the deep creases bracketing his mouth and lining his forehead. “You look tired.”

  “I’m exhausted. I worked out tonight and I can barely move.”

  “Really? I usually feel great after I work out.”

  “No surprise there. You can probably bench press more than me.”

  “Of course I can.”

  “I’m out of shape. Since I came back to Rockford, I let my exercise regimen slip. And I haven’t been eating well.”

  “Eating well is highly overrated.” Her tone was dry.

  “Maybe, but exercise isn’t.”

  “Why haven’t you kept up with a routine?”

  He rubbed his hands over his face wearily. “Because I’ve been working my ass off trying to learn the business, keep up sales and negotiate differences among the executive staff.”

  “I guess that’s why you haven’t dated much, either.”

  The searing look he gave her overheated her more than the hot tub. “That’s one reason.”

  She splashed some water at him. “Watch it, buddy, no flirting. Rule number two.”

  “You make me forget myself, Francesca.”

  “Why’d you get back to the exercising tonight?”

  “It had something to do with almost losing my life in a fire. And a woman who’s in better shape than I am.” He seemed thoughtful for a minute. “In some ways, it’s disconcerting to learn a woman is stronger and better conditioned than you.”

  “I know. Dennis, a lieutenant I worked under when I was subbing, told me once that women coming into the fire department made men question their masculinity—if a woman could do the job, what did that say about how manly they were.”

  “I can understand that. I had some of those feelings when you saved my life.”

  “Are you always this honest, Alex?”

  “I thought that was rule number one.”

  She chuckled. “Anyway, it’s a good idea to get back in shape. We could work out together, if you like.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re working out with a broken arm.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He shook his head, like a lieutenant explaining something simple to a rookie for the fourth time.

  “Actually, I’m working out more. The better shape I’m in, the less physical therapy I’ll need. And the doctor said I could start running as soon as I get a lighter cast.”

  Alex’s eyebrows formed a vee. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I have to. If I want to be back on the line in six more weeks, I’ve got to stay in shape.”

  “I think it’s foolish. What if you reinjure your arm?”

  She scowled. No one, not even her brothers, questioned her about her activities. And she was shocked how good it felt to have someone worry about her. “I won’t. I’m careful. Anyway, I’ve been doing most of my stuff at Chelsea’s gym, and she’s there a lot.”

  “Chelsea’s gym? I thought she was a firefighter.”

  “She is. She also owns The Weight Room over on University Avenue. Lots of firefighters have other jobs.”

  He sighed, relieved. “Then she can watch you there. Who will you run with?”

  “I hadn’t planned to run with anybody.”

  “What if you fall?”

  “Alex!”

  “Friends worry about each other. Humor me. Run with me for a while, just until I see you’re okay on the streets.”

  “I don’t know…I plan to run in the mornings.”

  “I can fit that in before work.”

  When she was silent, he gave her his killer grin. The one that had probably charmed the pants off scores of women. Literally. “Please,” he said in a seductive voice, an intentionally seductive voice she’d heard from on-screen movie stars. “I’m responsible for your injury, so let me do this. I’ll feel better about everything. And running will help me get back in shape. We’ll both benefit.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, trying to deny the appeal of having him worry about her, trying not to be thankful for having someone to spend time with. “I suppose your company wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Good girl.” He glanced his watch. “I haven’t eaten. I don’t suppose you’re hungry.”

  “Who, me, hungry?”

  He chuckled.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Cottage cheese and salad?”

  “Oh, God, rabbit food. No thanks. But you go ahead.”

  “How about if I order you a pizza?”

  “With all available toppings?”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  She stood up. “All right, let’s go.”

  He stayed where he was.

  “Alex?”

  “Ah, Francesca, I think you’d better get out first. Go in and get changed.”

  She cocked her head. “Why?”

  He gave her a long, scorching stare, then the corners of his mouth curved up. “I didn’t expect you to come here tonight.”

  “I know that.”

  “And I, that is, when I don’t have company, I…”

  “Spit it out Alex.”

  “All right. I’m not wearing swim trunks, Francesca. I’m naked.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In Francey’s bedroom, jeans draped over the chair in the corner, blouses covered the queen-size bed and underwear piled on the floor. The mess was worse than when she was a teenager. Francey sat on the thick beige rug next to one of the stacks and sighed. Killer curled up at her sneakered feet, and she petted him absently. She was hopeless when it came to organizing her house. Probably because she didn’t care much about housework or furniture or clothes. Sometimes she wished she could go naked…

  I’m not wearing swim trunks, Francesca. I’m naked.

  The image came out of nowhere, and Francey felt the heat rush through her just as it had when Alex had announced his state to her. She’d been in the hot tub for a good half hour with a naked man. A sexy naked man right out of the pages of Play Girl. And she hadn’t even known that little fact. He’d gotten a big kick out of her faked indignation, and they’d both ended up laughing about the situation.

  Get back to work, she told herself. And get your mind off Alex Templeton’s soaking wet, naked body.

  The doorbell rang so she scrambled to her feet. Killer barked. Thankful for an excuse to postpone cleaning, Francey told the dog to stay and bounded out of the room; she reached the foyer after the second ring. Whipping the door open, she came face-to-face with Diana.

  “Hello, Francesca.” Her mother’s voice was hesitant.

  “Hi, Diana.” Francey’s voice was cool.

  Diana bit her lip, and her eyes clouded. The eyes that Francey had inherited.

  You have beautiful eyes, honey. Just like your mother’s. I always loved her eyes. Her father’s words came back to her, a fleeting moment from her childhood when Ben Cordaro had gotten nostalgic. The memory softened Francey’s attitude.

  “Come on in,” she said a little more warmly, and led Diana to the living room. As usual, her mother looked stunnin
g. She wore a dark green skirt that fell to her knees and a matching jacket that skimmed her hips. A mint green top peeked from underneath. A frothy looking scarf graced her neck. Next to her, Francey, in an ancient sweatshirt she’d stolen from Nicky and frayed jeans, felt like Raggedy Ann.

  Diana put down the shopping bag she carried and turned to her daughter. “How are you today?”

  “Bored to tears.” Francey glanced up the stairs to where old music blared from the radio. “I’m reduced to cleaning out closets and drawers.”

  When Diana smiled, Francey had a flash of other smiles, as her mother leaned over her bed or swabbed a scraped knee; other smiles that had always made her feel better. “You sound like cleaning is a prison sentence.”

  “It is.” Francey held up her arm. “This whole thing is.”

  A wrinkle marred Diana’s brow. “The arm should be healing by now.”

  “Yeah, this is the third week. After four, I can get a lighter cast.”

  “Speaking of casts, I brought you something.”

  Francey looked at the bag. “Something to eat?”

  “No.” Diana laughed. It was a girlish, musical sound, again one Francey also remembered from years ago.

  “Let’s sit.” Francey moved to the worn nubby-fabric couch.

  When they settled, Diana held out the package. Her hand trembled. “I should have done this right after you broke your arm, but I didn’t think of it. When some new things arrived at the store this morning, I realized…Well, just open the bag.”

  Giving her mother a weak grin, Francey reached inside. Clothing fell onto her lap. In various colors were lightweight strappy tops, some lacy, some satiny, all very feminine. “Oh.”

  “You see,” Diana said, speaking fast, almost breathlessly, “since your arm is broken, I realized you couldn’t fasten a bra. So I thought maybe camisoles would work for a while.”

  Francey stared at the underwear. A rush of a memory blindsided her—needing her first bra, shyly informing her father, who valiantly told her not to be embarrassed, he’d take her to the store that day. Francey had been nine. “What a motherly thing to do,” she said, the bite in her tone intentional.

  Silence.

  When Francey looked up, Diana’s face had paled and the dark green color no longer flattered her. But she held her daughter’s gaze. “Yes, Francesca, it is. That’s why I brought these to you.” Francey stared at her. “I missed doing motherly things when you were growing up.” She reached over and squeezed Francey’s hand. “I…I’d hoped we could do some together now.”

  Francey swallowed hard, more touched by the gesture than she wanted to be. For a long moment she warred with herself. Then she recalled Alex’s comment. When my father got sick, I regretted not having come back to Rockford sooner. Second chances aren’t always there when we’re ready for them.

  The notion tipped the scales. “Sometimes,” Francey whispered, “I want that, too.”

  Diana’s eyes misted. Francey’s throat closed up. Neither woman moved for long seconds. Then Diana let out a heavy breath. “Maybe I could help up there, too.” She indicated the stairs.

  “Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” Francey stood, grasping the camisoles, and led Diana up the steps.

  When they reached her bedroom, a little white blur made a running leap for Francey but zigzagged to Diana when he saw the new person. Her mother bent down and scooped up the dog. “Who’s this?”

  “His name is Killer.”

  Diana’s laughter wafted through the room. “He’s beautiful.”

  Francey snorted and crossed to the bed. “Dad doesn’t think so. He says he’s a poor excuse for a dog.”

  “Your dad loves big dogs. When I first met him, he had this golden retriever named Copper. She used to sleep with us…” Diana’s voice trailed off, causing Francey to glance at her. Her mother shook her head, sending soft blond waves tumbling forward. “No matter.” She nuzzled Killer. “I like you, baby.”

  “He’s getting hair on you.”

  Diana shrugged, and even that motion was graceful. “All the clothes I design are wash-and-wear.” She set the dog down and surveyed the room. “What are we doing here?”

  “Trying to sort out my clothes. Nicky and Tony came by last night, moved all the furniture and helped me clean and dust. Today I’m tackling my closets. I’ve got stuff here from when I was eighteen. Some needs to be thrown out and everything else has to be reorganized.” She shook her head, feeling like a rookie at her first EMS call. “I can reposition a hose in its bed faster than anyone in the house and clean my turnout gear in record time, but I can’t seem to get this bedroom in order.”

  “Why don’t we start with the stuff on the bed?” Diana smiled indulgently, like a mother would at her little girl. “That way, if we don’t finish, at least you’ll have a place to sleep.”

  Three hours later, they’d sorted through Francey’s clothes, the ones on the bed and still in the closet, as well as the dresser drawers, deciding what to keep and what to bag for charity. They chatted companionably as they worked. Periodically Diana commented on the music and what she remembered happening in her life when the songs had been popular. Francey made small talk about the kind of music she liked and what they listened to at the firehouse. They stopped at four for some of the cookies and flavored coffee Alex had sent to her and at five only the lingerie was left to put in order.

  Diana had long since discarded her jacket and shoes. Standing with her hands on her hips by the two dressers, she scrutinized the drawer space. “Let’s put bras and camisoles in one, socks and stockings in another, panties in the third.” She reached out and ran her palm over the smooth oak surface of one of the bureaus. “These are lovely pieces. Where did you get them?”

  As she separated underwear on the bed according to Diana’s suggestions, Francey answered casually. “Dad made them for me.”

  “He’s still doing carpentry?”

  “Yeah, more so, now that he’s off the line.”

  Diana fell silent. Francey looked at her and saw that her face had gone somber again, her hand slowly, almost lovingly, rubbing the surface of the furniture. “Diana?”

  Giving her head a quick shake, her mother turned. “Sorry. That just reminded me of something. Here, let me help you with that.”

  The dressers reminded her of Dad, Francey thought. Diana didn’t mention him, but Francey was sure she was right. The reaction made her think of Alex, of how she knew why her mother had succumbed to her father despite knowing that she shouldn’t.

  Diana crossed to the bed and sat. She picked up a pair of red lace panties. “You have some pretty things.”

  “Those are mostly gifts from Chelsea.”

  “Chelsea?”

  “A girlfriend of mine who thinks wearing white cotton is a crime.”

  Diana’s brows arched. “Isn’t it?”

  Francey giggled.

  “I’d like to meet your friend sometime.” Diana held up the lavender teddy Francey had gotten for her birthday.

  “Having a slumber party?”

  Both women startled at the sound of a booming male voice. Ben Cordaro filled the bedroom doorway, his big frame spanning its width.

  “Dad? What are you doing here?”

  His eyes riveted on her mother. Diana had frozen, clutching the purple silk to her chest. Finally Francey’s father glanced at his watch. “It’s six o’clock.”

  Francey looked at him blankly, then slapped her forehead with her hand. “I forgot. I was going to softball practice with you to watch the teams. Jeez, I’m becoming an airhead.” She turned to Diana to explain. But the expression on her mother’s face halted her words.

  Diana told herself to stop staring. But the vision of her ex-husband dressed like he was twenty again mesmerized her. He wore tight-fitting faded blue jeans, battered Nikes and a navy fire department T-shirt. A Buffalo Bills cap rested on his head.

  Ben held Diana’s gaze for a moment, his dark eyes glowering. “What
’s going on here?”

  “Diana was helping me clean out my clothes.”

  “So I see.” Ben’s gaze hardened. “I knocked but no one answered. I tried the door, came in and heard the music.” He scowled at the basket he’d set at his feet. “This was delivered when I was on the front porch.”

  “What is it?” Francey asked.

  “Another Templeton bribe, probably.”

  “Bribe?” Diana asked.

  “Seems like hotshot Templeton is flooding my little girl with gifts.” He threw his daughter a warning look; Diana remembered those looks stopping even toddlers in their tracks. “I don’t like this stuff with him, France.”

  Crossing the room, Francey kissed him on the cheek. “I know, Dad. Let me see what it is.”

  She picked up the basket, returned to the bed and sat, then untied the pink ribbon at the top of the gift and tugged off the crinkly purple cellophane. Scents of baked pastry and cinnamon and nutmeg wafted to her from several small loaves of tightly wrapped bread, muffins and Danishes. A card from Stavastano’s bakery read, “For breakfast tomorrow. Maybe I can join you? Alex.”

  Diana said, “At least the man has good taste.”

  Francey laughed. “Yeah, he does.”

  Diana looked up, feeling Ben’s gaze on her. His hands were fisted at his side.

  “I should be going.” She focused on Francey. “Since you’ve got plans with your father.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Francey’s smile was genuine. “Hey, thanks for helping me with this.” She waved her hand to encompass the room.

  For a moment, Diana allowed herself to bask in the warmth of her daughter’s gratitude. She reached over and smoothed Francey’s hair. It was the exact texture of Ben’s. “I loved every minute of it.” Diana donned her shoes and jacket, picked up her purse and walked to the door.

  Ben didn’t move out of the way immediately. She drew up close enough to him to smell his aftershave. The scent was different from the one he used to wear—a little spicy, citrusy. She was forced to angle her head at him. He stared down, his arm braced against the jamb. Finally he stepped aside, and as she went by, her shoulder brushed his bicep. As always, his body was rock hard, and she remembered those arms, braced on either side of her, as he drove into her.