A Firefighter in Her Stocking

by Janice Lynn

  “What?” He sounded truly surprised. “I thought you would have done so first thing.”

  “I just walked in the door from work,” she reminded him, pulling off her shoes and tucking her feet up under her on the sofa.

  “Busy day?”

  “I work in the emergency department at Manhattan Mercy. Every day is a busy day.”

  “Touché.”

  “Speaking of which, are you related to my boss?” She’d almost asked Charles today, but hadn’t wanted to risk his asking why she wanted to know. She could have just said she lived next door to Jude, but she’d been afraid Charles might see things she didn’t want seen.

  There was a moment of silence, then Jude said, “He’s my cousin.”

  Jude hadn’t asked who she meant, which meant he’d already made the connection. Of course he had. He’d seen her at the hospital where his family was practically royalty.

  “I thought you must be related. Your eye color is so similar to his. You should have told me. Might have helped your cause to mention your relationship to Charles. I’d be hard-pressed to name a man I admire more.”

  There was another brief silence, then, rather than take advantage of the opening she’d given him, he ignored her compliments about his cousin and said, “Try on your dress, Sarah.”

  She frowned at her phone.

  “Why are you changing the subject? I adore Charles. If I had family of the caliber of Charles Davenport I’d make sure the whole world knew we were related.”

  “Yeah, well, when you’re a Davenport the whole world tends to know a lot about you, whether you want them to or not.” His voice had lost its happy edge and had taken on a dark one.

  Apparently, Jude did not want to discuss his family with her. Fine. So they weren’t that kind of dating. Not the kind that shared about their family and met each other’s families and were invited to family functions.

  Well, that was good to know. Helped her keep things in perspective.

  Not that she wasn’t planning to do that already.

  She knew they were only temporary.

  “I’m not going to try on my dress until after I’ve taken a shower.” Maybe because she had hospital grime on her. Maybe because she was feeling contrary. “And then, I still might not tonight.”

  Her bets were leaning toward the latter.

  “If you don’t then I’ll question if you’re female.”

  The teasing tone she was used to was back and a tightness inside her unwound.

  “I’m definitely female. Been that way my whole life,” she assured him, glad that the dark edge had left his voice as quickly as it had appeared. “But whether the dress fits or not really isn’t relevant, because even if it’s a perfect fit, I’m not sure I’ll wear it. It’s not my usual style.”

  * * *

  The dress was a perfect fit and Sarah was wearing it.

  At the moment.

  She’d contemplated changing a dozen times. Every time she’d walked to her closet and tried to come up with something else to wear to her Broadway show date, she’d not seen anything to tempt her to change.

  Instead her gaze would fall on the black dress she’d worn the last time she’d planned to go to see Phantom of the Opera and an uneasy feeling would twist her gut.

  Maybe she should have spent the day shopping.

  Instead, she’d done laundry, cleaned her apartment, bought groceries. All the things she typically did on her day off even when she didn’t have a date with her hunky neighbor.

  Her very handsome neighbor whom she’d not seen since he’d kissed her goodnight two nights ago.

  What if he saw her and was disappointed?

  What if she’d been wrong and he didn’t show?

  Her nervousness was just foolishness, wasn’t it?

  No, it wasn’t. He wasn’t going to stand her up. No matter how many ghosts from the past haunted her mind, she refused to let them take hold. Her nervousness stemmed from so much more than fear of rejection and humiliation.

  Her fears came from what would happen after their date.

  Jude might have said he didn’t expect anything in return, but a man didn’t bother sending a woman a dress, shoes, and jewelry unless he wanted something.

  She knew what he wanted. It was what they both wanted. Her question was why? He didn’t have to do gifts to get women into his bed, to get her into his bed. If anything, his gifts made her that much more skeptical. Was he toying with her? Seeing her as a challenge?

  A make-over challenge?

  Wouldn’t he be in for a surprise? Although she had on the dress he’d sent, the shoes that were surprisingly comfortable or she’d not have kept them on fifteen seconds, and the sparkly earrings, she’d not done anything more than brush a little mascara across her lashes and gloss on some lip balm to prevent chapping.

  She glanced down at her glasses sitting on the bathroom sink counter. She didn’t need them to see, but she had a feeling she’d need them in other ways before the night ended. She slid them onto her face and instantly felt calmer.

  She had this. She was in control. Not Jude. What happened tonight was up to her. Even he’d said so.

  When she opened her apartment door and he stood there, in a tux, holding flowers, she wasn’t so sure about that control.

  He looked like the hero straight from a romantic movie. Only she was no fun, quirky heroine. She was...just her.

  A just her that felt prickles in her eyes. Prickles she fought because she was not going to end up with raccoon eyes tonight.

  “You are beautiful.”

  She went to deny his claim and chide him for his use of lines again, then realized he was sincere. He looked at her with true appreciation, with true admiration in his blue eyes. So she just stared at him in a bit of awe, blushed, and murmured thanks.

  “I was wrong about wanting you to put up your hair. I like it better loose the way you have it. I’d never seen you with your hair down or I’d have suggested it to begin with. It’s gorgeous.”

  Ha. She’d left it loose because she had felt contrary about being a yes girl who did everything he said and she hadn’t wanted her neck exposed. At least, she’d thought she didn’t want that. Maybe she did.

  He didn’t comment on her glasses, but she knew he’d noted that she’d put them on despite his knowing she didn’t need them and that he’d asked her not to.

  She wasn’t sure why, but in her mind contrariness to being a yes girl equaled control of what was happening between them. Or as close as she was going to manage.

  “Do you have a coat?”

  “I’m not going out there like this. I’d freeze,” she countered, then realized how brusque and rude she sounded. She needed to just embrace the wonderfulness of what he was doing for her and forget contrariness. “Sorry. I’m a bit on edge.”

  “I’d never let you freeze.” His eyes had that twinkle that told he’d come up with all sorts of interesting ways to keep her warm. “I don’t want you tense, Sarah. This is supposed to be a fun night for you.”

  “It’s impossible for me not to be on edge when I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she admitted, pushing her glasses up a little on the bridge of her nose.

  He watched her movement, grinned. “Doing what?”

  “Taking me on a date.”

  “You are a beautiful, intelligent woman who I had a great time with a couple of nights ago and who I want to get to know better.” He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Smile, Sarah. You have no reason to be nervous of me. My priority is for you to have the best night of your life.”

  Sarah sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t help it. She was positive that at no point in her life had anyone wanted to give her that. Not her mother. Not anyone.

  “That
’s a good priority.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” He brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, and smiled a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Grab your coat and let’s head out. The car is waiting.”

  Expecting to see a taxi, Sarah’s feet froze in her new heels when she caught sight of the long black stretch limo pulled up to the curb in front of the building.

  Taking in his proud smile, she choked, “What have you done?”

  His pleasure at her reaction was as obvious as the huge smile on his face. “Arranged a ride to the theater.”

  “A taxi would have done just fine.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Tonight’s not a taxi kind of night.”

  She cut her gaze to him. “Why not?”

  He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “I promised the best night of your life, remember?”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  His smile widened. “Good.”

  “I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. All this isn’t necessary.”

  “All this is very necessary,” he assured. “Tonight is a night of firsts.”

  He had no idea.

  Or maybe he did. Maybe that was why he was going to the extra trouble. Although if he was really the womanizer she’d initially labeled him as she supposed it didn’t make sense that he’d go to so much trouble.

  “Your first Broadway show,” he clarified, grinning, and his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Our first date.”

  “Probably our last,” she added, with an eye roll because she was scared if she kept looking at him he might see just how touched she was by how much effort he’d gone to.

  “Such an optimist,” he teased, and tucked her hand between his. “You agreed to through Christmas. I’m holding you to that. Don’t you expect to enjoy yourself?”

  She did expect to enjoy tonight. Very much. Like a fairy-tale princess on her way to the ball with the handsome prince. A heroic prince who fought fire-breathing dragons and carried her away in his chariot.

  “Also my first limo ride,” she said, offering him a small smile.

  When her gaze connected with his, what she saw there stole her breath. So did his next words.

  “Then I’m even happier I didn’t go for a taxi.”

  The driver opened the passenger door and held out his hand to assist her. Sarah climbed into the car, slid across the seat to make room for Jude.

  Make room for him? Half their apartment complex could fit inside the thing.

  “The driver will take us to the Majestic and pick us up afterward. We have reservations for dinner at—” he named a French restaurant she’d heard of, but had never been to “—and then afterward I have a surprise I think you’ll enjoy.”

  Sarah wasn’t really a surprise kind of girl. There had been too many unknowns during her childhood for that. None of them ever good. She liked having a plan and knowing what to expect so she could prepare.

  Besides, afterward? The show would last a few hours, then dinner. That would put them well past ten, probably close to eleven. Just what did he have planned? Maybe he really was some type of superman, but she needed sleep.

  She wasn’t scheduled in the emergency room the next day, but she did have things she planned to do.

  She glanced around the inside of the limo, at the pure luxuriousness of the interior, then over at the man sitting beside her.

  Looking like an eager kid to give her whatever his surprise was, he grinned and her heart jerked.

  Careful, Sarah. Not only is Jude exactly what your mother has warned you about your whole life, he’s got more layers than you’d have ever given him credit for.

  Because the man sitting beside her looked completely comfortable in his tuxedo. Completely and utterly breathtaking, too.

  No more so than he’d been in his jeans and T-shirt the other night.

  Or in his towel.

  Or even in his dirty uniform.

  She might even prefer the dirty uniform look because it had been one she could relate to, one that had cracked through the preconceived ideas she’d had about him.

  A look that made him real, human, vulnerable.

  Vulnerable?

  Ha! The man sitting next to her looked about as vulnerable as a double zero agent from a British spy flick.

  “This is the quietest you’ve been since we’ve met.”

  “That’s not true. I didn’t say a single word on the morning you were telling Brandy goodbye.”

  Why did the memory of him kissing the woman sting so deeply? Why did she always revert to throwing other women between them?

  Because she needed something to keep her from forgetting none of this was real, that she didn’t want it to be real.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “THAT MORNING DOESN’T COUNT.”

  At his comment, Sarah glanced toward Jude.

  “You and I hadn’t met,” he clarified. “I didn’t even know your name, despite the fact that I had said hi to you a couple of times.”

  He had. Sarah had ignored him, pretending not to hear, or had just mumbled a reply without looking his way.

  Why was that? She wasn’t a rude person, wasn’t unfriendly. She’d made friends with other tenants in the building. But for some reason she’d felt the need to keep a safe distance from Jude.

  Because he was a womanizing playboy.

  Only she couldn’t say he’d been anything other than a gentleman to her. At the hospital. When he’d rescued her from her screaming alarm. When he’d cooked dinner for her and shared his magnificent view of the city.

  When he’d kissed her goodnight.

  When he’d surprised her with presents, shown up at her door with flowers, arranged for a limousine for their date, and promised the best night of her life.

  He’d been pretty close to perfect since they’d met, which made him about as unsafe as was possible.

  Unable to stop herself, she faced him, stared at his mouth. She didn’t question whether or not he’d kiss her tonight. He would.

  He wouldn’t push or force himself upon her. He’d be just as he had been the other night. He’d give her control as to how far they went and seemed to have no issue with relinquishing that power to her.

  She was in control of what happened between them.

  Her.

  As long as she remembered that, held onto that control, she was fine.

  “Can I?”

  “Can you what?” she asked, wondering if she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she’d missed his having said something.

  “Kiss you.”

  The man’s powers of observation were quite terrifying.

  “It wouldn’t be a goodnight kiss.”

  His lips turned up a little at one corner. “I guess that depends on your definition of a good night.”

  Because he planned to give her a good night.

  And not kiss her goodnight, but good morning, instead. She could see it in his eyes.

  And feel it to her very core.

  He was wining and dining her so she’d be agreeable.

  Which she already was.

  So instead of answering his question, she turned to look out the window. “I love the city, you know. Not just the skyline, but the people, too. Where else in the world can you see so many people from different walks of life within just a few blocks?”

  “Not many.”

  “There’s nowhere else like Manhattan,” she defended the city she adored.

  “True. Have you visited many places, Sarah?”

  Heat rushed into her face again. He must think her such an uncultured bumpkin compared to the social circles he traveled in as a Davenport.

  “Not many,” she admi
tted. She had barely left Manhattan. There was no need. She loved everything about where she lived.

  “Your favorite place?” Apparently, realizing what she was about to say, he added, “Besides the obvious.”

  “London,” she answered, although she’d never been. Had never even flown. It was just a place she’d thought she’d like to visit someday. A city whose heartbeat reminded her of her own beloved New York’s. “Look.” She gestured out the limo’s window. “We’re about to see Times Square.”

  His grin was infectious. “You’re one of those who stand out there every New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely, and don’t you dare laugh at me.” It was something she’d done for as long as she could recall. She and her mother would stand in the crowded throng of happy partygoers and cheer in the New Year, thinking January was going to bring good things into their lives. Those hopeful moments were some of Sarah’s best memories.

  The one time her mother was optimistic rather than full of negativity.

  “So no worries that you’ll turn into a pumpkin at the midnight hour?”

  Her lips twitched. “Not on New Year’s Eve, at any rate.”

  The driver pulled the limo to the curb and came around to open their door.

  Sarah’s breath caught. She was at the Majestic. To watch a real, live Broadway show. One she’d fantasized about for years.

  Another throwback to her mother, no doubt, as she recalled them watching the film over and over while Sarah had been growing up.

  Now she was going to watch the show live, had arrived in style with a gorgeous man.

  Maybe she really had suffered smoke inhalation from her burnt toast and was still locked away in some fantasy world where men like Jude Davenport showered attention on women like her.

  If so, she’d enjoy every moment of her delirium.

  Excitement burned through her veins and, as she took Jude’s outstretched hand and stepped out of the limo, she smiled. A real smile. One that filled all of her being and left no room for anything other than pure joy.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  “For?” Jude almost stumbled backward. Not because of the people moving around him but because of the woman radiating inner beauty toward him.