The Fireman Who Loved Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  She felt his hand on her arm, and tried to shake it off. But that strong grip wasn’t going anywhere.

  “He’s trying hard now. I’ve seen how hard.”

  “So?” She tugged her arm, but couldn’t free it.

  “You could try a little open-mindedness.”

  Last straw. Melissa spun around to face him. How dare he lecture her? Before she realized it, her free arm swung toward him, and her hand flew toward his cheek.

  He stopped her just in time, with a hard grip on her wrist. “Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe it’s in the genes.” Everything she’d tried to put behind her rose up like a horror movie. Just like the old days, when she’d live in dread of her father ruining everything. “I look like him, don’t I? That’s what everyone used to say. Along with things like alkie’s girl . . . white trash . . . welfare brat . . .”

  “Stop that!” He gave her a shake. “You’re none of those things.”

  “You probably despise me now. Who knows what he’s said about me.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. She couldn’t stand the thought of Brody, the legendary captain, the arrogant commander of men, knowing about her past.

  “You’ve got it all wrong.” He cupped her face in his warm hands and tilted it so she couldn’t avoid his gaze. “You’re the reason he’s working so hard. He talks about you all the time. You’re a . . . jewel.”

  Her breath caught in a hiccup. The look in those charcoal eyes made her suddenly go weak. Everything seemed to stop as they faced each other, only inches apart. Tiny details jumped out at her. The bits of sawdust caught in his dark eyebrows. The warmth of his body, so close to hers. The clean, spicy smell of his shampoo, buried under the scents of sweat and wood dust. The specks of silver lighting the unusual gray of his eyes. She leaned in, as though in a trance, and softly put her lips to his. He stood very still, but she felt his chest rising and falling with his quickening breath.

  This wasn’t like the other times. Before, they’d been crazed, out of control. This time, they moved at a deliberate pace that said, I know exactly what I’m doing, I like it, and I’m not going to stop. Feeling the gentle pressure of his mouth, she opened her lips, letting his tongue spread sweet wildfire along her tender inner flesh.

  This man was not like other men, she thought as her skin shivered and her bones melted. He affected her in a way no one ever had. If she let him in, her life would never be the same.

  Her father’s footsteps sounded on the pathway. They pulled apart, even though it physically hurt to withdraw from him. She fought to regain her balance.

  “We really need to stay away from doors,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  He chuckled, his muscles moving under her hands. How had her hands gotten onto his chest? She didn’t move them away.

  “Melissa, how would you like to—”

  Before Brody could finish his sentence, Melissa felt a tap on her shoulder. She quickly dropped her hands from that tempting bare chest.

  “You two know each other?” Haskell asked warily. “Or should I punch him out?”

  “I know him.” Melissa stepped away from Brody. “We’re working together on a project.”

  Haskell looked from one to the other, but made no comment. “Don’t know what Ma’s up to, or if she’s just confused, but my truck’s fine.”

  Melissa groaned. “Did she know you were working for Captain Brody?”

  “Well, I guess. Told her when I picked her up.”

  Melissa’s face flamed. “I’m really sorry, Captain Brody. You know my grandmother’s crazy ideas.”

  “She’s determined, I’ll give her that.” She couldn’t read his expression.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Melissa, sorry if I told Ma too much.” He looked so miserable she softened.

  “It’s okay.”

  In the past, she would have been furious with her father. But in this case, he hadn’t exactly ruined things. The opposite, really.

  She said an awkward good-bye to them both and drove away in a fog. This time, she had no one to blame but herself. She couldn’t blame it on wine. She couldn’t blame it on a door. She couldn’t even blame it on him, since she’d been the one to initiate the kiss. Maybe she could blame it on his bare chest, which ought to be illegal, not to mention the tool belt slung around his hips. That sight would be enough to make any woman, no matter how professional, lose control.

  Two days until the special. It would be a miracle if she managed to keep her clothes on until then.

  The day before the taping, Ella stretched out on the chaise by her pool to refresh her tan. She yawned into her cell phone. “Hey there, beautiful,” Ryan was saying. “Saw you on the news last night. You read that story about celebrity moms real well. They should have just kept the camera on you instead of showing all those ugly movie stars.”

  “You mean like Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow?” Ella stretched her tiny, toned body. This phone call was boring her to death.

  “Yeah, who cares about them? We want us some more Ella Joy, baby.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “You go tell that news director to get rid of all that other boring stuff. It just takes away from the main event. You.”

  Ryan said all the right things, but still . . . something was missing. After she hung up, Ella crossed one leg over the other and gazed at her frosted-plum toenails. Damn, she felt restless. She was always restless when she wasn’t on the air. She loved the moment when that magic red camera light went on. It meant she could shine the way destiny intended. It meant she could speak, live, to thousands of people, people she didn’t have to listen to.

  Not that she wasn’t a “people” person. She preferred being with people. Being alone sucked. What was the point of trying on her new lime-green string bikini if no one was there to tell her how great her ass looked in it, and that she ought to go switch the pink Gucci sunglasses for the white Versace ones? In her dream life she would have an assistant, a stylist, a nutritionist, a manicurist, and so on. That’s what she needed—an entourage. If she had an entourage, she wouldn’t be lounging alone by her pool.

  She sauntered back into her house, grabbed the other pair of sunglasses, and poured herself a sugar-free iced tea. Why couldn’t she just relax? She worked hard; she deserved a couple hours of downtime. But her foot kept tapping, and she couldn’t get comfortable on her chaise. Stupid five-hundred-dollar chaise that she’d seen in InStyle magazine. If she had an assistant, the girl (or eager gay guy, or hot young stud) would have thoroughly tested it before letting her purchase it.

  The thought of a hot young stud made her mind wander to Ryan. He was a sweet guy, gorgeous as a movie star, but the challenge had disappeared. Once he’d fallen for her, he seemed dull. In fact, her life seemed dull. By the end of tomorrow, the Thanksgiving special would be history. She had nothing else to look forward to. Of course, if it turned out well, it could be her ticket to a bigger market.

  She flopped back down on her chaise and crossed her perfectly tanned legs, which gleamed like the sand on a Tahitian beach.

  She grabbed her cell and dialed her agent. “Don, have you heard anything more about the spot in LA? I heard they’re not renewing that old hag.”

  “Ella, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

  “I sure hope it’s a meeting about my future. I have to get out of here, Don. I belong in Los Angeles. Can’t you call that Everett Malcolm?”

  “I have. No go. Won’t even look at your tape. But he had good things to say about someone you work with.”

  “Who?”

  “Do you know Melissa McGuire? He thinks highly of her. Maybe she can put a good word in for you.”

  Furious, she clicked off the phone. Melissa, Melissa, Melissa. As if Melissa would ever help her out. She’d already tried to bribe her with a hazelnut latte.

  “Ella,�
� she’d said, “I can’t recommend that place as long as Everett Malcolm is news director. You can’t trust him. He has no conscience. He’s destroyed a lot of people’s careers.”

  “Oh come on, you’re exaggerating because you screwed him and he dumped you.”

  Melissa had nearly choked on her biscotti. “You know about that?”

  “It’s old news, honey. But that’s not the main point. What about the old hag who’s leaving?”

  But Melissa had clammed up. “The only thing I’m going to say is that it’s true Everett dumped me, but I never had sex with him.”

  “Maybe that’s why he dumped you.”

  “Don’t mess with him, Ella. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Ella recrossed her legs and downed her iced tea. Melissa would be no help at all. Unless . . .

  An idea formed. Maybe it was time to get more proactive. All she had to do was get Everett Malcolm to San Gabriel. Once he saw her in person, he’d change his mind.

  While she was on the phone with a party rental company, one thought kept running through Melissa’s mind. What had Brody been about to say?

  Melissa, how would you like to—? Like to what? Have dinner? Fly to Paris? Crochet a placemat? She wanted to scream just thinking about it. Had he almost asked her out? If so, why hadn’t he called her later to finish the job? Or maybe it was business-related, something like, How would you like to interview Vader in his muscle shirt?

  One thing she knew—she wanted Brody. She thought about him all the time. Even now, when she was supposed to be arranging for tablecloths and extra card tables, she was thinking about him. If you really want Brody, why don’t you just go for it? Have a fling. It won’t kill you. No one has to know. No one has to get hurt. Other people do it all the time. So what if he was recovering from being dumped by his ex-wife? A little sexual healing would be good for him. Good for both of them. So what if they were all wrong for each other? That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other on a physical level.

  What if things had gone differently at his house? What if he’d leaned her against the door frame, opened her blouse one slow button at a time, rubbed his thumbs over her nipples? What if he’d traced warm fingertips along the curves of her torso, murmuring, “Touch me. Put your hands on me,” in a rough whisper? What if she’d opened his pants, reached her hand inside, and felt his heavy, burning erection . . . ?

  “Miss, did you say you wanted the ivory, or the cream?”

  Melissa shook herself out of her fantasy. “What the hell’s the difference?” Her whole body felt flushed and restless. And who was this idiot asking stupid questions on the phone?

  “No need for that attitude. It doesn’t make any difference to me what you choose.”

  “Sorry. Uh . . . better make them a darker color, white doesn’t look good on camera.” This had to stop before she made some bonehead mistake, she thought as she hung up with Party Central. Maybe she should just get it out of her system. As soon as the special was over, she was going to jump his bones. Where did this madness come from? She’d never even used the phrase “jump his bones” before. Get a grip, she ordered herself.

  She picked up the phone to call Rodrigo. Twice now she’d had to cancel a meeting with him when some “crisis” came up with the Thanksgiving special. Before she could finish dialing, Loudon stuck his head into her cubicle. She quickly hung up. Was she in trouble?

  “I’m hearing good things about the special. You’re shooting tomorrow, right?”

  Whew. “Yep. I think it’ll turn out pretty well.”

  “I have no doubt. You’re my ace in the hole. My clean-up batter. My consigliere.”

  “Are you about to dump another project on me? Because you promised . . .”

  “Hang on, tiger. I’m a good guy today. If this special knocks ’em out the way I expect, there’s a new title in it for you.”

  “And a raise?” she asked quickly. Titles were a dime a dozen in this business.

  “Greedy minx.”

  “Stingy penny pincher.”

  “We’ll discuss your precious pennies if and when the time comes. Make it sing, Melissa. Make it sing.” And he took his drooping face and streaming eyes back to the dim office that was his natural habitat.

  Melissa sat back with a happy sigh. A new title and a raise. Maybe things were finally going her way. Leaving LA for San Gabriel had been a huge step backward, career-wise. But maybe things were finally going to turn around. She’d work like crazy on the special, hold on to her professionalism until it was wrapped, get her promotion, and then jump Brody’s bones. She was beginning to like that phrase.

  She forgot all about the call to Rodrigo.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Captain Brody gazed in horror at his normally neat-as-a-pin fire station. He saw a scene of utter chaos, worse than any four-alarm fire. Piles of camera equipment filled the training room. Cables cluttered the floor, technical people snapped at anyone who got in their way. His usually confident, cock-of-the-walk firemen tiptoed around or stood in stunned clusters. He saw Vader try to inch out of the room, only to be scolded by a scruffy man in shorts wheeling a large light.

  “Careful! Watch where you’re going, big guy.”

  “Sorry,” muttered Vader, and quickly rejoined his comrades. The scruffy man plugged in the light, and suddenly the entire room was filled with a white glare. The firefighters blinked and threw their arms over their eyes. Brody shook his head in disgust. How could his guys, who would run into a burning building, turn into such wimps just because they were going to be on TV?

  “Hey!” he called to the lighting guy. “Could you turn that god-awful light off?”

  He found himself the subject of a withering stare. “We have to get the lighting set. We’re only two hours from taping.”

  “You’re telling me that light is going to be on the whole time?”

  “How else is anyone supposed to see anything?”

  “We’re supposed to eat dinner with giant lights shining in our eyes?”

  The man shrugged. “I’m just the lighting guy. I set the light so Ella looks good, take my paycheck, and go home. Have a beer. You got a problem, talk to someone in charge.” He moved to the opposite side of the room and plugged in another light. The glare doubled.

  Brody groaned. He should have known it would be all about making Ella look good. “How much light does it take?”

  “We’ll have to play with it. Do you mind?” The man elbowed Brody out of the way.

  Brody stepped back, feeling his temper rise. When he’d agreed to this project, he’d been under pressure from the fire department’s public relations officer, who had emphasized the wholesome picture it would present, and the plugs for the Widows and Orphans Fund that the station had agreed to run. He certainly hadn’t imagined anything like this insanity.

  Fred bounced into the room and immediately tripped on a cable.

  “Captain! Can you believe this? Isn’t it awesome?”

  “Find Melissa for me, Stud. Hollywood. I need to talk to her.”

  “Sure, I think I just saw her outside.” And he ran off, once again tripping on the cable. Fred was probably the clumsiest of his crew, but that didn’t relieve the TV people of responsibility.

  A sudden shriek of feedback made everyone jump. Brody turned to the source, ready to let fly. A skinny blond girl with a ring in her nose was turning knobs on a mixer.

  “Sorry, dude,” she muttered as he glared at her.

  “Dude?” said Brody, ominously. “How old are you?”

  “I’m legal. But I’m not interested, sorry.” She tapped a small microphone, and he jumped again.

  “Damn it!” The word blared across the room, and startled faces turned toward him. He looked up to find a big, fuzzy microphone hovering over his head. It was attached to a long pole balanced on the shoulder of
a burly man in a tie-dyed T-shirt.

  Melissa’s cool voice intervened.

  “Hank, get that mic out of the captain’s face, you know better. Dina, there’s no need for the boom mic to be live right now. Turn it off. And someone come tape down this cable, it’s a hazard.” As her crew scrambled to follow her orders, she made her way toward Brody. She looked calm enough to be strolling through a garden party. “Hey there, Captain. Everything’s going great, as you can see.”

  “Can I?” He scowled at her. What he really wanted to do was kick the whole lot of them out of his station. Barring that, he could at least yell at the producer. “This is pure chaos. My guys are going to go blind and deaf. You have a thirteen-year-old club kid working for you, and I think she just propositioned me—”

  “No way! You’re too vanilla for me,” objected the skinny blonde.

  “—and don’t you people have any kind of dress code?”

  Melissa seemed unfazed. “They’ll get used to the light. We’re almost done testing audio. Dina is twenty-five, and apparently not interested. And behind-the-scenes people tend to dress however’s most comfortable. They have a tough job. Anyone who thinks TV is glamorous hasn’t seen the way it works.”

  “So this is normal?” Brody shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “This is more organized than normal. Come on, I’ll show you the production truck. We’re going to switch and record the show in there.”

  “I shouldn’t . . . my guys . . .” He shot a worried glance at his crew, who were now exchanging ogling looks with Dina. But Melissa took his hand, and how could he resist that? He followed her through the tangle of lights and cables.

  “That’s Greg behind the camera, he’s the best cameraman this side of the Mississippi.” She blew a kiss at the young cameraman, a dead ringer for Kobe Bryant. Brody found he didn’t like seeing one of her kisses aimed anywhere but toward him. He scowled, which she seemed to misinterpret. “I know this part’s boring, but we’ll be getting started soon.”