“You must be very good at it. Who could resist you?” said Brody gallantly.
“Oh you!” Ella hit him lightly on the arm in a gesture straight out of Gone with the Wind. “I’m so fascinated to find out what firemen eat for dinner.” She took his arm, pressing it against her breast. “I had no idea you boys cooked for yourselves.”
“It’s either that or starve,” said Brody, escorting Ella to the table as the other firefighters trailed in their wake. “Most firefighters get to be good cooks, out of sheer necessity.”
“We’d make One and Two cook, but they’d kick our asses,” said Fred.
“Fred is referring to our two female firefighters. They’re on different shifts, but they take their turn, just like everyone,” said Brody. He could tell from the way Ella’s eyes glazed over that she had no interest in the station’s female firefighters. She was exquisitely, provocatively beautiful, but already he felt impatient to end his conversation with her.
He stole a glance at Melissa. The glow in her jewel-green eyes had faded. She gave him a cool look. Maybe she was still mad about the other night. He sat down at his usual place at the head of the table. Stan curled up at his feet with his chin on Brody’s shoes. Fred pulled over a chair so Ella could sit next to Brody. He couldn’t think of a polite way to decline. The rest of the crew, jostling for position, settled in.
“We got some fine chefs here at the firehouse,” said Double D. “Hoagie ain’t half bad, if you don’t count the hot dog lasagna he made up.”
Everyone groaned at the memory.
“Stan liked it,” said Ryan.
“Stan likes anything. I caught him chewing on sheetrock the other day,” said Brody.
Melissa finally spoke. “Who is this Stan everyone keeps talking about?”
“Firehouse dog. Named after—” Brody shot Double D a warning look. The last thing he wanted was more of that talk. “ ’Course, we’re always happy when someone else cooks for us,” said Double D, quickly changing the subject.
Ella’s eyes slid over Double D, then back to Brody. Apparently she had no interest in the older, chubbier variety of fireman either. Suddenly she grabbed his shoulder, so tightly he winced. “I just had the most amazing idea. If you all knock my socks off with this dinner of yours, maybe we’ll make a competition out of it! Melissa, what do you think? Melissa?” She leaned forward to call down the table to Melissa, who had turned back to Ryan.
Of course. Ella Joy wanted Ryan’s attention on her. Brody wondered if he could get Ella and Melissa to trade seats. What were she and Ryan whispering about down there? She sure wasn’t yelling at him about football and country music.
Then again, Ryan wasn’t yelling at her about BMWs. God, he’d screwed things up. He had no business being around a beautiful, smart woman like Melissa. But sitting here watching Ryan put the moves on her—that qualified as torture.
Melissa heard Ella call her name. Did she really have to look in that direction again? She already knew what she’d see. Ella snuggled next to Brody as though she owned him. Brody in his captain’s uniform, looking unapproachable and adorable at the same time. She heaved a sigh. Short of hiding under the table, there was no way to avoid the cozy pair.
She gritted her teeth and reluctantly turned to face them. Brody’s dark gray eyes met hers with an unreadable expression. As expected, Ella was plastered to his side.
“Captain Brody,” she purred. “I hope you wouldn’t mind if my producer and I came in and whipped up a little something for your brave boys.”
“Wait, what?” Melissa wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Ella never cooked. Her usual contribution to newsroom potlucks was a chocolate truffle cake from her favorite gourmet bakery. But they couldn’t feed a bunch of hungry firefighters cake.
“We should do our part, don’t you think? We’ll come back and cook these guys a meal they’ll never forget.” Ella winked at Ryan and sent a dazzling smile his way. Melissa gazed from one beautiful face to the other, two pairs of blue eyes flirting down the length of the table. So that’s what was going on. Ella had all kinds of ways of grabbing a good-looking man’s attention.
A general cheer went up among the firemen.
“You’re the best, Ms. Ella Joy,” announced Ryan.
“But wait, Ella . . .” Melissa tried to protest, but shouts of “Ella Joy!” “The Sunny Side,” and “Yee-hah!” drowned her out. Her gaze slid back to Brody’s, and she found him watching her with definite amusement. Her chin went up and she smiled defiantly. “I look forward to it,” she said firmly. It would give her a chance to find out more about this bachelor curse.
Nelly tugged on her sleeve. “Don’t let her win,” she hissed.
Melissa sighed. Grans apparently expected her to hold the attention of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen even though Ella was nearby, taking off the red vinyl gloves. Worst of all, she didn’t want his attention, she wanted someone else’s.
Nelly shouldered her aside and tugged on Ryan’s sleeve. “Could you explain something to an old lady? What happens if there’s a fire tonight?”
Ryan immediately turned back to them and eagerly explained that a certain number of them would have to leap up from the table, jump into their gear (their turnouts were already waiting) and pile into Engine 1 or Truck 1, depending on their roles. “You never can predict when or where the next fire will hit,” he added.
Isn’t that the truth, thought Melissa.
For the rest of the evening, Ryan devoted himself to the two of them. He refilled their drinks, made sure Nelly had first crack at the choicest pieces of lamb in the stew, and kept an easy flow of conversation going. Melissa knew he was just being polite, but by the end of the dinner, he had earned her undying gratitude. Ryan was a great kid, she decided, under all that star power.
“Kid” being the key word. Brody now . . . Brody was a man. As she chatted and laughed with Ryan, she started to feel almost schizophrenic. It was a mystery how her brain managed it, but somehow she could hear every word Brody said. She felt like a cat, with one ear listening to Ryan, the other swiveled back to catch everything passing between Brody and Ella. Ella laughed at every little thing Brody said, no matter how mundane, and each time, it was like fingernails down a chalkboard to Melissa. She risked a peek back while pretending to look for the salt shaker, and found Brody smiling down at Ella’s perfect face.
Hadn’t he told Melissa she had a lovely laugh? Maybe he liked laughs of all sorts.
She viciously shook salt into her stew until Nelly exclaimed in horror. Wonderful. Now she was going to give herself hypertension on top of everything else. She shrugged and reminded herself that this night was about survival, not enjoyment.
“Melissa, you have to fight back,” Nelly whispered in her ear.
“Stay out of it, Grans.”
“I will not.” Nelly raised her voice so the entire table could hear. “Ryan, did you know that my little Melissa used to be the top news producer in Los Angeles?”
“Oh please, Grans . . .”
“You know it’s true. She’s won five Emmys, and once she even went to New York to attend a ceremony. Some people work their whole lives and never even get to work in a big city like Los Angeles.” Nelly darted a pointed look in Ella’s direction. “It’s like going from the minor leagues to the major leagues.”
“So our Ella Joy’s stuck here in the minors, huh?” chuckled Double D.
“That’s a very good way to put it,” Nelly said, as Melissa cringed.
“Oh really?” Ella rose to the bait. “Then what’s Melissa doing here? Maybe she couldn’t hack it in the majors.”
“Melissa came back to take care of her ailing grandmother,” said Nelly with a kind of prim sweetness that Melissa knew was totally out of character.
Melissa could practically hear Ella’s teeth gnash. She couldn’t help admiring the neat trap Nelly
had set for Ella, but at the same time, the last thing she needed was a snippy anchor. “Ella could move away in a heartbeat, but she doesn’t want to disappoint all her fans.”
“That’s right. I get calls all the time, but I turn them down because I’m happy where I am.”
“What calls? Name one,” snorted Nelly.
Taken aback by such a direct attack, Ella fumbled. Melissa smoothly came to her rescue. “My old news director in LA used to say our viewers would go crazy if we could get Ella Joy. But our anchors all had contracts, so his hands were tied.” Everett hadn’t actually meant it as a compliment—watching the small-town news feed, they used to laugh at some of her sexier outfits—but it was, strictly speaking, true.
“Melissa is a really good producer,” said Ella grudgingly. “She’s worked on some of my best stories.”
“Your stories . . .” Nelly spluttered in outrage.
Time for a quick subject change. Melissa turned to Double D, on her other side, and asked him about the scariest fire he’d ever fought.
“Easy!” said Double D promptly, in his booming voice. “The time we got called up to San Berdu to help out with those brushfires. Captain wasn’t with us—they put us under the county guys—”
“We aren’t trained for brushfires,” interjected another firefighter.
“A fire’s a fire. And good sense is good sense. I’m just saying, Captain wasn’t with us, and we ended up getting ourselves trapped, surrounded on all sides by the biggest son-of-a-gun flames we’d ever seen.”
“Tall as skyscrapers,” chimed in Ryan.
“And hot as a horny Catholic girl . . .” Double D caught his captain’s look. “Excuse me, ladies. I mean, extremely hot.”
“So what happened? What’d you do?” Everyone was listening now.
“We clustered together, back to back. How many were there, five, six? Hoagie, you were there. And Vader, Skeet, me, and One. So five of us. We came together, back to back, and just sprayed those flames like there was no tomorrow. We could hardly see an inch, what with the sweat, and the heat from the flames. Couldn’t breathe. Took me a week to be able to say one word afterward. Throat was that sore.”
“So you put out the flames?”
“Lord no. There’s no putting out flames like that. They do what they’re gonna do. No, the captain got a military chopper to come and get us. In the nick of time too.”
Melissa looked over at Brody, who was staring absently at his cup of water. He hadn’t even been there, and he’d saved their lives. “How’d you get the chopper?”
But Ella had already claimed his attention, leaning so her chest rubbed against his arm. “That’s exactly the kind of story our viewers want to hear. Ordinary heroes like you. Please let me do an interview with you, Harry. I would be so very grateful.” The caressing hand on his arm left no doubt as to just how grateful Ella would be.
Brody shook his head. “I don’t do interviews.”
“Maybe you haven’t been asked by the right person yet.”
“If I did one, it would be with you. How’s that?”
“Did you hear that, Melissa? He almost agreed to an interview.”
“But didn’t,” Brody quickly clarified.
“I’ll tell you what. You can look at it when we’re done, and if there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll take it out.”
“We can’t promise that, Ella!” Melissa reminded her. “That’s against our policy.”
“Don’t interfere, Melissa. I’ve almost gotten him to agree.”
“It does sound tempting.” Brody rubbed his jaw. “I sure could make myself look good. Maybe we could even ban certain words and topics from the interview. Say, the word ‘bachelor.’ ”
“Well . . . I guess . . .”
Melissa saw disaster approaching. Giving an interview subject approval of the final cut was against station policy. They could be fired for that, and if someone had to take the fall, it would be her, not Ella. Besides, the word “bachelor” happened to be the one Loudon wanted on the air. She stood up quickly.
“Ella, can I speak with you for a second?” Ella, as usual, ignored her. Melissa watched Ella curl a teasing finger across Brody’s hand, and suddenly couldn’t stand it another second. “Captain Brody, a word in private, please?”
“Certainly.”
Brody extricated himself from Ella’s grasp and followed Melissa into the hallway, the dog trotting at his heels. He closed the door and leaned against it, arms folded.
Melissa, glaring at him, crossed her arms too. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
An embarrassing moment of silence followed. With him looking at her like that, she couldn’t remember what she wanted to say to him. Which made her feel like an idiot. Which made her angry.
“Harry?” Of all things, that was what eventually burst from her mouth.
“Yes?”
“Your name’s Harry?”
“Is that what you needed to speak to me about?” He cocked his head.
“No, Harry, it isn’t. You ought to know we can’t give you final approval on an interview. Please don’t encourage her.”
“How should I know that? I’m just a simple firefighter. Now if you want me to rebuild an engine, or—”
“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry I said those things the other night. I was a little bit buzzed. I don’t always behave correctly when I’m . . . tipsy.”
His eyes darkened. “Well, that does explain some things.”
Melissa flushed and wrenched the conversation back to her original purpose. “So will you stop letting Ella promise things she can’t deliver?”
“Why don’t you make her stop? I don’t work for the Sunny Side of the News.”
Melissa gritted her teeth. “She doesn’t care what I say, haven’t you noticed?”
“I’ve noticed that an extremely intelligent woman is letting herself be pushed around. Where’s all that opinionated ranting and raving I listened to the other night?”
“I was not ranting. Or raving. I was expressing opinions.”
“Then what’s stopping you now? Just go out there and lay down the law. She doesn’t seem so unreasonable.”
Irritation took hold of Melissa. Who was this man to tell her how to handle Ella? “Maybe I should drool all over her. Then she’d listen to me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Do you love her laugh too?”
“What?”
“You’ve been hearing enough of it. Hahahahaheeee . . .” Melissa mimicked Ella’s trilling laugh. “You said I had a lovely laugh.”
“Are you jealous?”
Melissa snapped her mouth shut. “Don’t be silly,” she said loftily. “I just don’t want you to make a fool of yourself like all the rest.”
Brody’s eyes narrowed. “By the way, you do know Hoagie watches football, don’t you? Or maybe it doesn’t matter with that pretty face of his.”
“Hoagie, as you call him, is more than a pretty face. He’s a wonderful conversationalist. Did you know he studies affirmations to improve himself?”
“He’s a regular Dr. Phil.” A dangerous scowl appeared on Brody’s face, but Melissa barreled on.
“At least he’s not a Pussycat Doll.”
“Ella Joy is an accomplished journalist,” said Brody through clenched teeth. “Worth two extra ratings points, according to her—whatever that means.”
“If I went on the air wearing the stuff she does, I’d get two ratings points too!”
“Why don’t you then?”
The nerve of the man. “You’re not my career adviser. You want me to dress up in red vinyl and no underwear?”
Heat leaped in Brody’s eyes. He dug his fingers into her upper arms. His mouth lowered to hover an inch over hers. “How do you do this to me? I never argue. Ever. With everyone else I’
m calm and in control. I get around you, and I snap.”
“So you’re blaming me?” Melissa fired back.
“Yes,” he said, and his mouth swooped down on hers. Fire shot through her, the same unforgettable heat she’d felt that first night. His strong hands cradled her head, and a shiver shook her entire body. Those hands moved her head at will, tilting her face up to receive his kiss more deeply. She melted into a boneless, liquid waterfall of desire.
The dog whimpered.
“I blame that sweater you’re wearing, and how it moves against your body,” mumbled Brody against her lips.
“I didn’t think you noticed,” whispered Melissa. It was all she could do to get a sentence out.
“I noticed. I’ve been watching you all evening, with that short skirt and those . . .” He groaned. “ . . . those sexy boots.” One of his thighs thrust between her legs, which moved apart to make room for him. Her skirt rode up her thighs as she pressed herself against him. He muttered something else—something like “You’re killing me”—then moved his warm hands to her suede-covered rear to pull her more tightly against him.
Her breath came in quick pants, and her hands roamed his back, loving the feel of those hard muscles she’d dreamed about since the other night. She ran her hands down his backside to his strong thighs, feeling his muscles clench at her touch. Her head swam. “I want you,” she whispered. “Right now, against this door.”
Her words seemed to set him off. He spun her around so her back was to the door, firmly placed her legs around him, and crushed his bulging erection against her groin. A stream of rough, hot whispers came next. “I want to open you up . . . touch you all over . . . make you scream . . . spread you wide . . .” All the while he kept her pinned to the door, so only her hips could move. These seemed to have a will of their own, and she felt them quiver and thrust and tease. Her blood sang, her nerves thrummed.
The dog whined and pawed at Melissa’s leg.
“Stop it, Stan,” Brody ordered, tearing his mouth away from hers.
“The dog is Stan?” Melissa panted.
The Fireman Who Loved Me Page 8