Feel the Heat

by Kathryn Shay

  He shook his head and stepped away. “I won’t be seduced into this.”

  She stood still.

  “Like you seduce everybody else,” he added.

  She frowned.

  “Erin’s father can’t take his eyes off you—he kept finding excuses to touch you all evening. And Nicky told us you went out with his doctor Saturday night to the Rio.”

  Still, she remained maddeningly silent.

  “Saturday, after you’d been in bed with me till ten in the morning.”

  Diana shook her head. “I love you, Ben—I told you that. But I’m not waiting around until you come to your senses.” Her voice caught. “For ten years before I married Nathan I waited for you to come and get me, to tell me we could work things out somehow. It was the worst time of my life. I’m not going to do anything like that again.”

  He never knew she’d wanted him to come to her. He was leveled by the knowledge. By the indescribable sense of loss.

  Hesitating, she moved in on him, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then she padded softly out of the room.

  The baby started to fuss as soon as she left.

  Ben leaned over, picked up his grandson and sat on the rocker. The seat was still warm from his ex-wife’s body. He could detect the faint smell of her perfume in the air. As he rocked Ian, he was unable to banish the vision of Diana standing proudly before him, telling him she loved him. Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in the baby’s neck, having no idea how to contain the feelings that swirled inside him.

  oOo

  Alex whipped the Porsche into Francesca’s driveway and cut the engine. Neither of them had switched the radio on and silence had reigned all the way there.

  He turned toward her at the same time she faced him. Bathed in the dim light from the street lamps, she was so lovely he was silenced. But the sadness in her eyes—the discouragement—made his heart clench.

  “I watched your parents all night,” he finally said.

  She didn’t seem surprised. “Me, too. I wonder if they knew how transparent they were.”

  “I doubt it. No one wants witnesses to that kind of longing.” Reaching over, he slid his hand around to her nape and threaded his fingers in her hair. “Their situation is so sad. They obviously never got over each other.”

  Francesca expelled a heavy breath. “I don’t want that to be us, Alex.”

  “I don’t want that, either.”

  “We could stop this now, between us, without getting hurt.”

  Her words were a quick uppercut to his heart. He was stunned by the punch of her statement. After a moment, he managed to say hoarsely, “Is that what you want?

  Wordlessly she stared at him.

  He made a split-second decision, damned if he’d come this far to let her go without finishing the fight. “Because I don’t.”

  Still she said nothing.

  “And to set the record straight, it’s too late for me to get out of this, even now, without being hurt.” He couldn’t watch her tell him she didn’t feel the same, so he let go of her, angled in his seat, laid his head against the headrest.

  And waited for the final blow of her rejection.

  After a torturously long time, he felt her hand creep into his. She linked their fingers intimately. “For me, too. It’s too late for me, too.”

  The air whooshed from his lungs. He tilted the steering wheel and pushed the seat back. Francesca climbed awkwardly over the gearshift onto his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she breathed him in. “I don’t want to be fifty, Alex, and wonder if I could have changed things. Wished I’d done something different.”

  He gripped her waist, burying his face in her hair. “You won’t be. We’ll make this work.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid about everything. I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll call when I say I will. I know I worried you. I didn’t mean to.”

  “And I’ll try not to go off the deep end again. I’ll swallow my pride and call the station if I do. I’ll keep better control of my temper.”

  Hugging him tighter, she seemed to sink into him. After a very long time, she whispered, without teasing, without wit, “Take me inside, make love to me. Stay with me.”

  “Always,” he promised. “Always.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Furnace-hot air blasted Francey when she reached the front door of the duplex. A charged hose line, carried by Engine Sixteen firefighters, led the way. With Dylan ahead of her and Captain Knight behind her, they halted momentarily. Though they were covered with turnout gear, the extreme temperature assaulted them. Francey perspired beneath the hood and helmet, and her face beaded with sweat under the breathing mask and eye shield.

  The fire hid, playing cat and mouse. Had it crept over from the other side of the house? Was it waiting to ambush them? Peering into the front room was like looking through dark sheer curtains. The captain had the thermal imager, but smoke made things hazy and indistinct to the rest of them. They crouched because of the heat; the temperature was cooler down here. Francey followed Dylan, who was moving as fast as possible, to search for the trapped victims. A neighbor had told the incident commander that two children were inside. The bedrooms were in back, behind the kitchen. At two in the morning, the kids were most likely there. Nevertheless, another group scoured the front of the house, and Quint/Midi Twelve headed for the rear.

  Francey hit her knee on something and swore. They crept a few feet farther and her shoulder bumped what looked like the leg of a table. When a heavy metallic object hit her back, she yelped and was knocked forward into Dylan. He swung around. “You okay?” he asked, his voice tinny from the SCBA. She nodded, shaking off the ache. What the hell had fallen on her?

  Orders blasted from Captain Knight’s radio as they inched to the next room behind the hose. Two doors were visible on the far wall of the kitchen. She and Dylan sprang up; he darted to one doorway, she to the other. The inside of the bedroom was blacker, hotter. Her breathing accelerated. Her uniform stuck to her like a second skin. Again she dropped to her knees. Banging the floor in front of her with a halligan, she headed straight in—at least she thought she was going straight—until she came up against an object. Please let it be the bed. It was. She stood, placed two hands on the mattress and pushed down hard. The bounce indicated someone was there. She felt around, then grasped a limb—a leg, she thought. Little. Francey slid her hand up. A body—which was moving. Thank you, God. She grabbed the kid and hefted him up when he whimpered. “We’ll be all right, sweetie, I got you.” Hugging the child to her chest, she faced the doorway. Oh, God, was it the doorway? She’d lost her bearings.

  Don’t panic. Think. And move.

  She couldn’t crouch, so she stepped to a wall, determined to pick a direction and follow it out. Before she moved, she held her breath and listened hard. A noise filtered over to her. The captain’s radio barking. Relieved, she turned toward the sound and in seconds found the door. Visibility was better in the kitchen. Knight said something she couldn’t make out and motioned to her. She took two steps toward him—and the exit—when a cloud of flame burst in front of her. The fire drove her to her knees. Ed fell, too. Francey toppled with the child’s weight. Righting herself, she pried little arms from her face mask and clasped him to her chest again.

  The hose had opened on the blaze as soon as she fell and water closed the fire’s jaws. Francey and the captain raced through. She could see the front door and staggered toward the exit. One, two, three steps. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Finally she made it outside. She stumbled several yards before she sank to her knees. A firefighter lifted the child from her arms. Francey yanked off her helmet and mask, hung her head, braced her arms on her legs and breathed deeply.

  When she looked up, she saw Dylan handing a second child to two people who motioned frantically toward the duplex. Then Dylan exploded in movement. He flew to the truck, grabbed another air pack, threw it on and headed to the house. She glanced behind her to
see that the building had become fully involved and the other firefighters had mounted an exterior attack. She prayed they’d all gotten out. Dylan strode by her; she grasped his arm. “What are you doing?” she yelled at him.

  “The grandma’s still there. I’m going back in.”

  Francey gripped him tighter. “You can’t.”

  He shook off her hold and took a few steps before Captain Knight tackled him from behind. Another firefighter joined the fray and restrained Dylan.

  Beyond them, hungry flames feasted busily, gobbling up the roof, digesting the lifeblood of some poor family.

  Francey sank back and stared at the ahead.

  They’d lost someone.

  oOo

  Alex sipped his morning coffee as he studied the glassy surface of the lake. He’d worked out, showered and called his office for his voice mail. Not bad for only seven o’clock. His energy level was high these days—because he was happy. Last Friday night had been a turning point for him and Francesca. He smiled, thinking about the sweetness of their lovemaking after their fight, her murmuring, “I’m sorry. I care so much about you.”

  He cared about her, too.

  Too much.

  No, he wouldn’t think that way.

  The doorbell rang, startling him. Company at this hour? His parents were visiting relatives in Syracuse, Richard was on vacation for two weeks, and Francesca wouldn’t be off the night shift yet. He tightened the belt of his robe and crossed the kitchen to the foyer barefoot.

  Whipping open the door, he found Francesca leaning against a white post, staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

  “I must have been a good boy to deserve this surprise.”

  She smiled, but it appeared forced. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Wrapping her arms around her ribs, nicely encased in a yellow T-shirt tucked into denim shorts, she bit her lip. “I wanted to see you before you went to work.”

  He angled his head. “Something wrong?”

  “No, no.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s only seven. You don’t usually get off this early.”

  “We had a fire at two this morning. My relief heard the call on the radio and came in early.”

  A fire. He noticed the red blotch on her neck. Sometimes embers get under the hood, she’d once told him.

  No, he wouldn’t comment. She needed something from him, and he’d give her whatever he could. He seized her hand and kissed her quickly. “Come in.”

  She followed him through the foyer. “Nice rags,” she said with humor that, again, seemed feigned.

  “White terry turns you on?”

  “Anything you wear turns me on.”

  That earned her another kiss, deeper than the last, when they reached the kitchen. He poured her a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar while she dropped into a chair. He sat next to her.

  For the first time since he’d known her, Francesca did not look good. Her beautiful porcelain complexion was colorless. Her hair was damp and flat. Her eyes were bloodshot and heavily smudged beneath. The skin around them had a pinched look. He’d learned firefighters were plagued by carbon monoxide headaches for hours—even days—after a fire.

  “Did you take something for the headache?”

  Surprise flickered on her face. “Yes.”

  He waited a moment. “Want to talk about what happened?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I just wanted to see you.” She sipped her coffee. “I, um, didn’t want to go home.”

  Alone. She didn’t say the word, but he heard the message.

  “How about some breakfast? I’ve got the makings for French toast, scrambled eggs and ham.”

  “No, thanks.” She looked away from him, around the kitchen. Her eyes met his again.

  He held her gaze as she drew in a deep breath.

  “We lost someone.” Her voice was gravelly. “An old woman.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” He scraped his chair back and reached for her. She hesitated, then let him tug her onto his lap.

  Her body was impossibly taut. Brave warrior that she was, she resisted his comforting. But after a moment, she curled into him. Smoothing a hand down her hair, he spoke softly to her. “You can let it out with me, you know.”

  She shook her head fiercely.

  “You can. You don’t have to, but you can.”

  She fisted her hands in the lapels of his robe. “It’s just that every time I close my eyes, I see her. Burn victims are…”

  He waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he urged, “Tell me.”

  In halting words she related the grisly details. “Their skin is so tight, like charred leather. It pulls back from the bone structure. This woman…her mouth was open, like she was screaming.” Francesca burrowed into him. “I can almost hear her yell out for us.”

  Alex promised himself he’d never let her know how much her words terrified him. Francesca had been in that building, too. That body could have been hers.

  She drew back. “We missed the victim. Dylan and me. She was in one of the other rooms.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “We each found a kid and brought them out.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “Mine was a four-year-old boy. A runt. Scared as hell. I thought he was gonna pull my face mask off.”

  “You and Dylan saved two children, Francesca.”

  “I know.”

  “But I’m sorry about the woman.”

  “She was their grandmother.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, and Alex wondered for a moment how firefighters lived with the horrors they saw. “Dylan’s beside himself. Just after we got them out, the building became fully involved. He tried to go back in, but the cap stopped him before he got to the porch.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Captain Knight will have his ass for that.”

  “How was Dylan afterward?”

  “I don’t know. He tore out of the firehouse as soon as his relief arrived. The other guys were going to have breakfast together. We do that when something bad happens.”

  But Francesca had come here. To him.

  Did she have any idea what a gift she’d given him? Keeping her against his chest, he picked up the cell phone that sat on the table and punched out his work number.

  After two rings he heard a voice say, “Templeton Industries.”

  “Sally, Alex here. I’m surprised you’re at your desk already. I was going to leave a message.”

  “I’m quitting early, remember? What’s up?”

  “I’m not coming in today. I’ll be working at home.”

  Francey tried to draw back, but he held her to him with a firm grip. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. Into the cell, he said, “Cancel all my appointments.”

  Pulling away, she whispered, “You don’t have to do that.”

  He pressed the phone to his chest. “Francesca, shut up.” Back on the line, he finished his directions. “I’ll need a courier to bring over—”

  Suddenly, there was a change in her body. Soft shudders. Shaking shoulders. Insuppressible sobs. “Sally, I’ll call you back.”

  He clicked off and banded his arms around her.

  After a moment she looked at up him. Tears filled those gorgeous violet eyes, making them sparkle like jewels caught by the sun. “You’d do this? For me? Not go to work because I need you?”

  Gently he wiped the moisture on her cheeks with his fingertips. “You’d be surprised how much I’d do for you, love.”

  She wept again at the endearment. He held her close, murmuring softly, “Let it out, you’ll feel better,” and made circles on her back.

  When at last she’d cried enough, she sat up and shook her head. “Oh, God, I never do this. The guys would die.”

  Alex kissed her nose. “I won’t tell.”

  She gave him a watery grin, then slid her hands around his neck. “So, um, you’re gonna stay here all day?
”

  “Yes. Even while you sleep.” He smoothed her hair off her face. “You’re exhausted.”

  “I’m wired. I probably won’t sleep.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Not unless you help me.”

  His brows arched. “Is that what you want?”

  “It’s what I need, Alex.”

  He nodded. He knew the psychology of affirming life in the midst of death. “I can handle that,” he said, reaching for the hem of her T-shirt. Pulling the top over her head, he inched his hands into the waistband of her cutoffs. She gasped. “What is it?”

  “I’m probably a little black-and-blue.”

  He drew in a breath. Keep your cool, Templeton, she’s at her worst. “Let’s take a look.” He set her away from him; she stood, unzipped her shorts and turned. “Oh, Lord.”

  Her entire waistline was bruised. Horribly bruised. Alex swallowed hard. “Did a doctor see this?”

  “No, they’re just bruises. Part of a ceiling fan fell on me.

  “You’ve got other marks on your legs and arms.” In truth, she was a patchwork of purple and blue.

  She stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Firefighting’s a nasty business.”

  Firefighting’s crazy, he thought. But he didn’t say the words aloud. Instead, he stood and grasped her hand. “Come on.”

  “Where?”

  “To the hot tub.”

  “Oh, God, that sounds like heaven.”

  He led her outdoors, uncovered the hot tub and took great pleasure, despite the bruises, in watching her strip and get in. He also took pleasure in joining her.

  Twenty minutes later he held her arm as she climbed out. Handling her like rare crystal, he wrapped her in a warm robe and led her to the bedroom off the deck.

  Inside his huge, admittedly sybaritic bedroom, he laid her on the cashmere bedspread, closed the blinds, sat down beside her and kissed her. She clung to him. Slowly he unfolded her from the robe. He started at her ear, knowing how she reacted to the slide of his tongue there. He licked between her breasts, then suckled her nipples. When she moved restlessly, he slid his hand below her taut abdomen and nestled it in the soft curls there. He kissed his way down her body, avoiding bruises, ignoring the terror they instilled in him, until later, when he could address her condition alone.