No sentence could have infuriated her more. She’d spent her whole life being people’s “little sister.” “I wouldn’t phrase it that way, but Fred’s my brother, yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“You shouldn’t be flirting with the new probie, that’s what’s wrong. If Fred was here, he’d tell you.” He looked very sure of that fact—arrogant, even. She assessed the bump in his nose, the way his biceps bulged from the sleeves of his T-shirt, his air of absolute assurance. Another girl might be intimidated, but she’d grown up with four brothers who’d become soldiers and a firefighter. She’d outgrown intimidation by the age of six.
“Fred knows better than that. I’m a grown woman.” Since something about Mulligan made her wild and reckless, she added, “If I want to have sex with the new probie, I will.”
His face darkened. “The hell you will. We don’t even know him yet.”
“We? The only person whose opinion matters here is me. Besides, you’re almost as new as Ace is. He’s from the South and he’s sweet.”
“Sweet?” His eyebrows drew together. She noticed a white scar bisecting one of them. “That’s what you like? Sweet?”
“Who doesn’t?” Although right now rough around the edges was looking pretty good to her. Too good, the way her belly kept fluttering. She lifted her chin, determined to stand her ground. “Ace is also very polite and charming.”
“He’s trying to charm you into bed.”
“So what if he is? I’m twenty-four years old. I know what I’m doing.” Of course she had no intention of sleeping with Ace, but that wasn’t Mulligan’s business.
“So, you shouldn’t fall for his act.”
“Why are you so suspicious of Ace? He’s part of the brotherhood, isn’t he?”
“Not yet,” Mulligan said with decisive finality, as if everything had now been settled. “You stay here, and I’ll tell him to get lost.”
“You will not!” She grabbed his arm as he brushed past her. It felt like grabbing a log, that’s how thick and strong his forearm was. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business. Freddie’s my business. We’re tight.”
“If you were that tight, you’d know that his only involvement with my love life is feeding me ice cream after a breakup,” she snapped. “Stay out of it, Mulligan. You have some nerve, you really do. I’ve never even met you before, and you’re trying to tell me who to sleep with.”
He stopped dead. She kept her hand on his arm because it felt so good. His tendons tightened under her touch, and she saw his jaw flex.
A quick flick of his wrist, and suddenly she was pressed against him, chest to chest, thighs to thighs. Sensation poured through her; it felt like standing next to a volcano. “I’m not telling you who to sleep with. I’m telling you who not to sleep with.”
“Oh, really?” she snapped, furious. “Who should I not sleep with?”
“Anyone but me.”
Then he kissed her, ferocious and searing, as if his lips were a branding iron. For a moment she froze, but then her body took over, responding like fuel to a match. The kiss stole her breath, left her trembling, her heart just about jumping out of her chest. Even though the meeting of their lips was a physical act, it felt more than physical, as if he was pouring some kind of intense, wordless communication into the contact.
When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, they stared at each other in shock.
Then he set her aside and stalked back into the bar. They didn’t speak again for a month.
Chapter Four
WHEN MULLIGAN CAME to again, Dream Lizzie was gone. Feeling fuzzy-headed, he assessed his situation again, but nothing had changed. The Christmas tree lay diagonally on top of him. Even if he could roll out from under it, he was surrounded by other pieces of unidentifiable charred junk.
Flames still flickered at the edges of the room, but they’d lost energy and intensity. They’d burned through all the fuel in the room, except the tree on top of him. But there was a good hundred feet separating him from the dying flames, so he didn’t think they posed a threat, unless a sudden gust of wind entered the space.
His bottle must be nearly out of air. Maybe that’s why he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. While smoke still hung heavy in the room, gray and murky, he could see more clearly than when he’d first woken up in here. The smoke must be dissipating.
If only he could reach his radio. He needed to tell the others that he was alive. He knew they were out there, working their asses off to get him out. If they knew he wasn’t dead yet, it would give them more energy. It was a lot more satisfying to make a successful grab than to haul a dead body out of a fire. He strained toward the radio, willing his arm to reach just a bit further, his shoulder screaming in pain. An inch. Half an inch. No more.
He lay back, panting, exhausted by his effort. The smell of smoke permeated everything, even the inside of his nostrils. With his limp and screaming right arm, he pulled one of the Christmas tree’s branches close to his nose. The needles pricked his skin. The scent of Douglas fir cut through the smoky smell like a faraway song, fresh and cool.
With the prickly handful of needles pressed against his nose, he breathed more freely, his lungs expanding to take in the extra oxygen. A Christmas tree was giving him mouth-to-mouth, he thought goofily. Thanks, Christmas tree. Sorry for all the bad things I said about your holiday. Nothing personal.
Okay, he was getting giddy again. Any minute now, Dream Lizzie would come back. Hope flared. “Come back, Dream Lizzie,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s lonely here without you.”
He waited, but heard no sign of her lively voice and saw no flash of hot-elf costume. Disappointment made him release the branch and close his eyes.
Strange that he’d dreamed about Lizzie so clearly. They’d broken up. He’d told her she should find someone else, that he wasn’t right for her. That she deserved better. That he didn’t want to let her down. That Fred would kick his ass if he hurt her.
But none of that meant that he didn’t want her. God, he wanted her. Had since the very beginning, even before he’d tagged her out in that softball game. After that, he’d spent a month avoiding her. Avoiding her in real life, but jerking off to the image of her every night. He couldn’t shake the memory of how she’d felt in his arms. Couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop coming alive at every offhand mention of her by Fred or the others.
Then had come the Southern California Firefighters Chili Cook-Off.
Mulligan smiled, his mouth watering from the vivid memory of the spicy beans created by Chief Roman.
“I think he’s having an orgasm,” said Fred. Mulligan opened his eyes, still blissed out from the incredible flavor of cayenne and cumin. Fred and Lizzie stood on the grassy slope of Los Feliz Park a few steps from him.
“They call that a chili-gasm, I believe.” Lizzie’s eyes danced with laughter. She wore tight pants with vertical black-and-white stripes and a Florence and the Machine shirt with the neckline torn out. She looked smoking hot. “Got a thing for chili, Mulligan?”
“That’s his fifth bowl,” Roman grumbled from behind his white table with a steaming slow cooker atop it. “If he eats it all, I won’t get enough votes to win.”
Mulligan swallowed the rest of his mouthful, then offered his bowl to Fred and Lizzie. “You should try it. Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Then, with a shadow of a wink, and a surreptitious look at Lizzie, “Maybe second best.”
Lizzie made a scolding face at him. Her hair was loose today. He’d never seen it loose before, since she usually wore a ponytail. It curled at the ends. He wanted it spread across his pillow, brushing against his chest, swaying with her movements as he thrust into her.
He shoved the hot thoughts aside. “Did you enter a chili recipe, Fred? I think there’s a category for ‘Chili Not Even the Firehouse Dog Would Eat.’ ”
“Ha. Ha.” Fred’s poor cooking was notorious; everyone teased him about it. “Pretty good challenge though, espec
ially if Stan was the judge. He’d eat anything. Even the pot the chili came in.”
“Lay off Stan. He’s not here to defend himself.”
Lizzie smiled at him, which made him feel like king of the world. “I’m glad someone stands up for Stan.” He smiled back, and the two of them stood for a moment locked in some kind of mutual bubble of appreciation.
Fred looked from one to the other. “Oh hell no.”
The spell broke. Lizzie poked her brother in the ribs. “Pipe down, big brother.”
“Not him.” Fred glared at Mulligan. “Why him?”
“What are you so worried about?” Lizzie cast Mulligan a teasing look. “We haven’t even done anything. I’ve been waiting and waiting but he still hasn’t asked me out.”
Mulligan opened and shut his mouth. He was rarely at a loss for words, having mastered the art of fast-talking for survival’s sake. “I . . . uh . . .”
Fred was shooting death rays at him again. “You’d be lucky to go out with my sister.”
“I know. Believe me, I feel the same way.”
Lizzie lifted her eyes to the sky and shook her head. “Men,” she muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fred demanded.
“It means you just don’t get it. Because you’re a man and men never get it. Mulligan, can I have a word, please?”
Mulligan shot Fed an alarmed glance, but he got no help from that quarter. Clearly, Lizzie did things her own way. He followed her to the vendor area behind the stands, to a relatively private spot just past the generator truck. No one would be able to hear them over the rumble of the generator. He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from putting them on the tender flash of skin between the swell of her breasts. Why had she ripped out the neckline so low? Was she trying to torture him?
“What’s up, Lizzie?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t play innocent. Have you forgotten what happened at the Easy Out? One minute you’re telling me not to sleep with anyone else, the next minute you’re ignoring me for a month.”
“You didn’t sleep with anyone else, did you?” Of all the things he could have said, that was the worst. He knew it right away, even before her eyebrows drew together in fury.
“I’d say that’s definitely none of your business. If you want to make it your business, that’s another story. But you shouldn’t say something like that to a girl and then just . . . disappear.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
Finally, clueless idiot that he was, he realized what he’d done. “You’re hurt. I hurt you. Oh God, Lizzie, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wanted the opposite. To not hurt you. That’s why I haven’t . . .”
She shrugged and turned away from him, as if she didn’t want him to see her face. He was losing her. Fear struck out of nowhere. He couldn’t lose her. What had he been thinking since that kiss at the Easy Out? Why hadn’t he made a move?
“Come here.” He snagged her wrist and spun her into his arms. She settled against his body as if they’d never been apart, as if the past month hadn’t even happened. In the next breath, they plunged into a kiss that had the intensity of a whirlpool. All the lust he’d stored up for the past month boiled over, and suddenly he had to touch her sweet body.
He pulled her farther behind the generator truck and shielded her with his body, so if anyone spotted them, she’d be completely hidden.
He snuck his hand under that tantalizing T-shirt. Felt meltingly soft skin jump at his touch. Heard her gasp in his ear. Moved upward, across the firm ripple of her ribs, to the fabric of her bra. Her breast fit snugly in his hand, pert and perfect, except for the covering of cloth keeping him from her flesh.
He could barely hear over the roar in his ears and the constant purr of the generator, but he caught her moaning sigh. It warmed him like a shot of whiskey burning away all common sense. He dragged down the neckline of her shirt. She wore a purple bra that pushed her breasts together and raised them in a diabolical way clearly designed to leave a man begging on his knees. The sight of the plump little mounds cresting over the purple fabric made his cock clamor with need.
“Lizzie,” he breathed. “I want you so bad. But it’s not right. I’m no good for you. Every time I’m with you I lose my shit. You don’t even know me. If you were smart you’d have nothing to do with me.”
Helpless to stop himself, he traced the skin of her cleavage along the cups of her bra, dying to dip inside to touch her nipple.
Her eyes were dark, pupils dilated. “Touch me. Go on.”
So he did. He reached under the purple bra and stroked her nipple, using his thumb and forefinger to bring the tender point of flesh to a hard peak.
“Oh my God, Mulligan,” she gasped. Color came and went in the peachy skin of her chest. She was so lovely he wanted to drop to his knees and worship her.
“There’s one good way for me to get to know you,” she murmured, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed in dreamy pleasure.
“What’s that?”
“You could ask me out. We could go on a date.”
“A date.” He didn’t “date.” He hooked up. He had sex. He screwed. Always careful not to create false hope or put himself at risk. But . . . “date”? As in, take a girl out and talk about their lives? The last time he’d done that, the girl had turned into something of a stalker. She’d moved into his apartment, and they’d launched into the kind of trauma-drama relationship that gave him hives.
But instead of telling Lizzie what a crazy idea a date was, he found himself nodding. “Will you go out with me this Saturday night?”
She nodded, a wide smile lighting up her bright little face. “I’d love to.”
His heart seemed to swell until it felt nothing like the hard, shriveled organ he was used to.
“YOU REALLY MADE me work for that date,” Dream Lizzie commented from her perch on the pile of smoldering concrete, where she sat tailor-style. “I couldn’t understand what was taking you so long.”
Happiness bloomed in his chest, and suddenly he barely felt the weight of the tree. “You’re back.”
“You know me. At your beck and call.” Her naughty wink made him smile.
“Yeah, right. I think you’ve been calling the shots all along.”
Her smile disappeared. “If that was true, we wouldn’t be broken up. You called that shot.”
“I’m sorry.” God, was he sorry. It seemed so stupid now. “Breaking up with you was probably the biggest mistake of my life.”
“It took you long enough to see it,” she said with a saucy smile. “And you’re supposed to be so smart.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing for you. I love you, Lizzie. I think I loved you from the very first second I saw you. You skipped through the firehouse and that was it, boom. I never even thought about another girl after that, not seriously.”
He thought that confession would make her happy, but instead it infuriated her. “Why did you never tell me? Why?”
“Because . . . you deserve . . .”
She jumped off the counter, a blur of red velvet, and stomped her foot. “Don’t say it.”
“Better.”
“Oh, Mulligan. You still don’t get it.” She gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. If I have to do this all night, I will. It took Clarence a few tries too.”
Alarm coursed through him. He couldn’t take another trip down memory lane. “Oh no. Not another flashback, Lizzie. Please—”
But she snapped her fingers and Under the Mistletoe disappeared.
“MULLIGAN.” CALEB HART nodded at him as he slid onto the adjacent bar stool in an open-air tiki bar in some unremembered city in Texas, where they’d both just finished the last game of the Double A baseball season. “What’s up?”
“You mean besides my batting average?” Mulligan winked.
“Shut up.”
Caleb Hart was a brilliant young fastballer who’d gotten a huge signing bonus and was now working his way up through the ranks. No
one expected him to be in Double A for long. He was a hot prospect, someone to build a team around, unlike Mulligan, who fought and scrambled for every edge. Not only that, but he had the loose-limbed, rangy, blue-eyed cowboy good looks that made the girls crazy. At every game, he had a cheering section of bikini-clad girls.
He would have been easy to hate, except he kept his head down and worked hard, and no one had anything bad to say about him.
Caleb might be a superstar-in-the-making, but Mulligan had just touched him up for two doubles and a home run. There was a very good reason for that. Not only was Caleb a bit wild, but he had a tell. Mulligan, with his obsessive attention to details, had noticed that every time Hart set up for a curveball, he jerked his chin to the left. As soon as he’d figured that out, he connected every single time.
Caleb downed a shot of whiskey and signaled to the bartender for another. “What’re you drinking? Most everyone here’s getting one of those flaming tiki drinks in a skull, but I just didn’t have the heart for it. I’m doing straight shots, hold the lighter fluid. End of the season. Might as well go down in style.”
“You buying?” Mulligan asked, surprised.
“Why not? You killed me out there. To the victor go the shpoils. Spoils.”
Mulligan shook his head at the slurred words. The guy had already had a few, but hell, that wasn’t his problem. “I’ll take a beer.”
The bartender set them up with their drinks, and, surrounded by flaming tiki torches and waitresses in fake grass skirts, Mulligan and Caleb proceeded to get drunk. Well, Caleb was already halfway there, but Mulligan didn’t take long to catch up. He soon realized that he’d really messed with the young pitcher’s head, nailing him for three hits in one game.
“I’m fucking this up,” Caleb kept saying. “I don’t belong here. I got lit up like a Cuban cigar today. And I have all these people counting on me to come through. I got twin brothers and a sister, and they’re all depending on me.”
“Really? I gotta say, I had you pegged all wrong. Thought you were a golden boy.”
“Fuck that.” He dropped his head onto his folded arms, looking like death warmed over. “I’m going nowhere, brother. I’m on a slow ride to Fuckup-ville. I already see them putting me in the debit column marked Big Ol’ Waste of Money. I ought to just give it back. ‘Here you go, sorry for all the trouble.’ ”
It's a Wonderful Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novella (The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel) Page 5