The Firefighter and the Virgin Princess

by Jemma Harte

  This was what it must have been like for a woman captured by a caveman in ancient times, she thought drowsily. The mating would have been savage, like this. A raw need serviced. Not much conversation. All instinct and base lust.

  "I'm coming," he growled into her hair, and she saw him stiffen, arched over her. His strong, firm buttocks flexed and thrust a few more times before he clamped his hips to her ass and exhaled a gush of breath into the still air of the little room.

  * * * *

  He watched her dress. "My shift is tomorrow, but can I see you Friday? Sometime?"

  She clipped her bra and shook her hair back, wrapping it into a quick ponytail. "I don't know. I have to—"

  "Dance. Yeah, I know." He sighed. "You'll call me. If you can fit me in again, between all the dancing."

  Pulling up her jeans, she shot him a quick half smile over her shoulder. "Maybe. We'll see."

  "We could get a bite to eat, go skating at Rockefeller Center and—"

  "Or we could just meet here for an hour or two."

  Joe was starting to feel like a gigolo, he mused, wanted only for sex. "Oh, right. You don't date."

  "Right."

  He yawned and stretched, then remembered—"Ah, shit, Friday I can't. I've gotta go to a funeral upstate. A bunch of us are going on a bus."

  "A funeral?" She dropped to the bed.

  "Those four firefighters that died in a warehouse factory in Buffalo." She probably had no idea, he realized. She'd told him she never watched the news and only read theater reviews in the Sunday paper. "Anyway, I knew one of the guys. He was young, only twenty-four, got a little boy, a wife. Too bad, ya know?"

  Her face paled. "That's terrible."

  "Ya never know. That's why we have to make the most of every day."

  He saw her lips press tightly together again, holding something in— like the time he talked about his car trunk full of Christmas presents. Then she grabbed her boots and pulled them on.

  Suddenly he reached for her arm and held it. About to rise off the bed, she turned and looked at him, a line deepening between her brows. He tugged her closer and kissed her on the lips. "I want more than this, Lily. I want more of you." He hadn't known he was going to say that until it came out.

  She winced. "Such as?"

  "I'd like to meet your friends and...go to dinner sometimes. The movies. Things like that."

  "What's wrong with this?" She gestured at the bed. "Is it the money? I told you I'd pay for the room."

  "Great, then I'd really feel like a gigolo," he exclaimed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's not about the damned money."

  There was a lengthy pause. Outside the traffic noise rumbled away in the street below and icy rain hit the window.

  "I haven't any friends for you to meet, Joe." Her face was perfectly serious. "There are dancers I know and see every day, but I don't consider them friends."

  "What about your roommate?"

  "Roommate?" Her eyes looked confused.

  His fingers tightened around her arm. "The one you told me about. The reason why we couldn't go to your place."

  She drew back as far as she could, glaring at his hand around her arm. "Oh, it's ... just another dancer who helps pay the rent. I barely see them."

  "What's her name?" he demanded, his anger mounting rapidly.

  "Why?"

  So she was lying to him. Hiding things again. He didn't like it. After all they'd done together, she was still being fucking coy about her life. "Just tell me her name. It is a her, right? Or maybe it's another guy."

  She replied steadily, "You know I was a virgin when we met. Don't tell me you think there's another man in my life now already. Is that it?"

  "I have no idea what goes on in your life when you're not with me, do I? I don't know who else you share your time with, but evidently you want to keep me out of it." His voice was getting louder and he couldn't stop it.

  "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

  "Oh, yeah, sure. I'm okay for fucking in secret, right, Princess? But you wouldn't want your friends to see us together."

  He felt her arm tensing, trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go. "You're being ridiculous," she exclaimed. "There are no friends for you to meet. How many times do I have to tell you?"

  "So you've never had a friend?" he snapped. Joe couldn't comprehend that. His life was full of people.

  Lily seemed to ponder the question for a while. "I had a few childhood friends, I suppose. I barely remember. Just birthday parties with kids I was supposed to invite." She paused awkwardly and then added, "There was one girl I liked. We were very close at school, in our teens."

  It seemed as if it caused her pain to get that much out, and Joe was sorry he'd pushed. He should know how that felt for him when girls pushed and nagged.

  With the two of them the tables were turned and he was in danger of chasing her away.

  "Ah!" He smiled, carefully relaxing his grip on her arm and shifting closer. "This sounds interesting. Go on."

  She rolled her eyes. "No, we didn't experiment sexually together or anything like that, but we shared secrets. Did everything together."

  "So what happened?"

  "She turned sixteen, got too tall, got boobs, got a boyfriend. She lost interest in ballet, left school, went home to Virginia. I never saw her again. We wrote a few times, but...once she left ballet...we had nothing in common anymore, nothing to talk about."

  He caught her straightening the sorrowful bend of her pouty lips. Although her features were nobly brave again now, he had seen the glimmer of loneliness. What she'd just told him, without meaning to do so, was that when her friend left the world of ballet she left their friendship behind too. Lily must have felt betrayed by it.

  It troubled him that she had no one. When she'd said that she really meant it, apparently. Now he felt like an ass.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, "Well, then you can meet my friends." It was a chancy move— his friends would probably go out of their way to embarrass him in front of her, and she would seem like an alien to them—but he had to have more of her in his life, somehow. A few hours of sex here and there was not enough and he'd realized it as he lay there watching her dress to leave him. He needed her and she needed him, not that she'd admit it.

  "I don't want to meet your friends," she said softly. "I like this the way it is. Just sex."

  He fell back against the headboard and stared at her. "That's not enough for me, Lily."

  Slowly she nodded. "Okay."

  For a moment he thought that meant she'd agreed to come out with him and meet his friends, but when she stood and wrapped the scarf around her neck, she added, "I'm sorry I can't give you more, Joe. But I can't and I told you that from the beginning."

  "So you have a tight schedule and you work hard. Me too. We can still manage a relationship. Many people do. We're two smart adults, right?"

  She stood there biting her lip, looking worried. Finally she replied, "I'm sorry. I can't. It wouldn't be fair to string you along and pretend otherwise. I have to dance."

  "Damn it, Lily! Would it be so hard to let me into your life, just a little bit?"

  "It wouldn't just be hard. It's impossible."

  That was when he lost his temper. Seeing her standing there, so beautiful, brave and alone, refusing to need him, hurt like getting knifed in the groin. "Great," he shouted. "So next time you fancy a quick fuck on a Wednesday afternoon just call me up and I'll come running, Princess. That's all I'm good for, right? Joe the blow-up doll, here for all your sexual needs, guaranteed to get you off with no messy strings attached."

  She looked at him for a moment. "You're nothing like a blow-up doll. You talk too much." And she walked out of the room.

  * * * *

  So it was over. She might have known he would get pushy and start grabbing at her. The imprint of his fingers still ached around her arm where he'd held on to her. Did the man not know his own strength?

  It was rather aro
using actually, made her sorry she already put her boots on at that point.

  But however much she liked having sex with him, it was over. Short and sweet. Just an experiment, nothing more.

  What if a condom broke and she ended up like Pregnant Carrie?

  A drooling baby? No way.

  But Joe Rossini was the type who would want children and lots of them. He'd make a good father, she thought. For someone else's brats.

  Even worse than a pregnancy— what if something happened to him in a fire, she thought with a shudder. She couldn't handle it. He was so full of life and vitality, but look at what he did for a living! Like he'd said, you never knew what might happen. Of course, the way he said it was breezy, trying to make her agree they should throw themselves into a nonsensical romantic relationship. But she didn't feel very breezy when she thought about what he did. It was fine to eye up a hunky fireman from a distance, but thinking about the danger he put himself in—the reality of running into a burning building when everyone else was running out...

  What sort of man would do that? Someone brave. Someone crazy. Someone who didn't know fear or uncertainty.

  Lily couldn't risk falling for him and then standing at his grave one day when he left her. Everyone left her. She was better off alone.

  Ignoring the sudden twinge of bitter sadness in her heart, she quickened her steps, passing through the doors of the NYBT rehearsal studios, almost colliding with a cluster of young dancers heading out. They barely saw her. She watched them leap out into the street, laughing and chatting. Anyone seeing them must know they were dancers. They had that graceful poise in everything they did and they couldn't walk down a sidewalk without practicing a jete, or wait at a bus stop without trying a few pique turns. She was like that once too.

  A fire truck went by as she stood there watching through the glass doors. Her heartbeat tripped and faltered.

  Oh, Joe, I'm sorry. He was a good guy. He deserved someone who could give him everything she had to give. Lily was certain she couldn't keep him happy for long. It would be disastrous, and he'd end up hating her because she couldn't give him her sole attention.

  But thanks to him she had taken a few steps that got her out of a rut. Now she was dancing again the way she knew she could. Her body was refreshed.

  She owed him a thank you, at least. Her grandmother might not approve of all that rough sex, but she would approve of a thank you. Thank you notes and showing one's appreciation when appropriate were very big on the list of important things her grandmother had taught her.

  The next day she called his number, but it went to voice mail and she hung up, losing her gumption. Lily hated recorded messages, never knew what to say and ended up sounding like a socially awkward idiot. Which she probably was, actually.

  She'd have to think of some other way to communicate her appreciation for what he'd done. Something more imaginative and special than a silly, garbled phone message.

  Chapter Seven

  When he arrived at the firehouse for his next shift, something was waiting for him.

  "Hey, Joe, this came for you. It ain't ticking so I guess you can open it."

  He caught the small package as it was casually tossed over to him. Didn't recognize the writing. No return address and the front merely had his name and shift written on it, so it must have been hand-delivered.

  A pair of thick, waterproof gloves fell out of the wrapping and with it a small card, which he luckily grabbed before anyone else could and slipped it into his pants pocket.

  The gloves fit perfectly and they were warm. Just what he needed, since he'd lost his other pair. She must have remembered that.

  No girl had ever bought Joe such a thoughtful gift. Donna had bought him fancy cologne and silk ties that he didn't really wear— but she picked them out because she liked them. She'd never given him anything he really needed or wanted. Nothing practical.

  "What's that dumb look on your face, Rossini?" one of the men shouted. "You look like you just got goosed."

  He shrugged sheepishly and tucked his gloves away out of sight. No point letting his imagination run away with him. It was just gloves for Christ's sake.

  Play it cool, Joe. If she wants you, let her call.

  Why didn't she just call?

  He had too much pride to stand outside the theater waiting for her again.

  Later he read the note card.

  Thank you for everything.

  Best wishes,

  Lily Keene.

  Best wishes? Trust the Princess to be so fucking polite while breaking up with him, he mused.

  Still, how could she break up with him since, in her mind, they hadn't even started a proper relationship?

  * * * *

  She tried not to think about Joe, but he kept creeping in at the oddest times— during the dull routine of barre work in class, while taping her hurting toes, while standing in the wings poised for her entrance. Whenever she heard a siren in the street.

  One day in class the smoke detectors started going off. Someone called the fire department, but she didn't see Joe. Must not be his shift.

  She almost expected to see him outside the theater again one night, but he didn't come. The weather was bad, so she couldn't blame him. At least he had gloves now to keep his hands warm. His lovely, strong, firm hands, that she could not trust herself to feel again.

  The casting for Sleeping Beauty was posted two days later. Lily was dancing the Lilac Fairy, and Stacey Glasson was out. She took all the hollow congratulations fluttering through the air around her and smiled a little. Yes, it felt good to be appreciated at last, her hard work and skill recognized.

  But she was sorry that Stacey's troubles could be so quickly swept aside. That was ballet, of course. If someone slipped there was always another dancer standing ready to take their place. That was the way roles were lost and snatched up. Even the very talented, the exceptional ones, often got their first big chance because someone else wasn't fit enough, someone else had fallen. Like the ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.

  "You've been dancing strong," one of the dancers told her. "You deserve this, Lily."

  But like Peter had said recently, they were all talented dancers to have got this far, they all worked hard. Was any one of them more deserving than another? It was all about luck. A moment of chance that got a dancer noticed. A higher leg, a faster spin, a better turnout.

  For some reason, after all her struggles, now that she had the role she'd wanted for two seasons the sense of accomplishment was not as great as she'd imagined it would be. She still wasn't safe from the heel snappers— those waiting for her to fail. And she realized she never would be. There was no lasting victory. Not anything that continued beyond the glory of a curtain call.

  Then, once the applause had faded, she was alone again and fair game.

  There wasn't much joy in success when she had no one to share it with. No one who genuinely cared about her.

  * * * *

  Riding the Staten Island ferry one day he ran into Donna. He supposed it was inevitable that he'd see her again, sooner or later.

  "How ya been, Joe?" she said, holding her windblown hair back with one hand.

  "Doing good. How about you?"

  "Great. Busy, ya know. With Christmas coming and everything."

  "Yeah." He looked out over the water toward the Manhattan skyline. "Busy." Everyone was fucking busy doing their own thing in that city. Some people couldn't even slow down to hold a hand when it was offered.

  "I been thinking about you, Joe. About us." Her voice pummeled his face like the chill wind. "Maybe we can go out sometime. Get a bite to eat. Talk things over. Sherri said you're not seeing anyone."

  He looked at her, puzzled. "Why would we do that, Donna? We already talked."

  "For old time's sake. Maybe we can start again. You've had time to think about stuff now, right?"

  "What stuff?" He knew damn well that she hadn't changed. The same old Donna would be pushing for a
n engagement ring the moment he started seeing her again. "What happened? You broke up with your new boyfriend already? Now you're lonely, bored?"

  She turned red. "Sherri told you about him, huh? Eh, that was nothin'. I was on the rebound. Maybe...I don't know...maybe I was trying to make you jealous."

  Joe leaned against the rail. "You should take some time to be alone, Donna. You don't have to be hooked up with some guy, all the time. Go out and do things for yourself. Learn who you are and what you really want out of life before you get into another relationship."

  Her thickly clumped eyelashes blinked hard, but she couldn't squeeze out the tears that she evidently wanted. "I know what I want. I'm twenty-seven. I wanna have babies, Joe. I wanna get married and go to Cabo for a honeymoon and —"

  "Twenty-seven is young, Donna. You've got years ahead of you."

  "My friends are all getting married and having kids," she exclaimed, sullen. "It's what you and me were supposed to do."

  Yeah, nobody likes to be alone, he mused. Except Lily. She was so afraid of living and falling in love that she pushed him away and stayed in her lonely world. She thought he couldn't understand her life and she didn't want to give him the chance to try. But since when did Joe Rossini need some woman's permission to do what he wanted?

  "Joe? Are you even listening to me?"

  He bounced on his heels to get some feeling back in his icy feet and blew out a misty breath. "Sure, I'm listening. You wanna get married and have kids. But I can't help you with that."

  "Why not, Joe? We're meant to be together, I know it. Everyone knows it. No one can believe we broke up."

  "Thing is, Donna, it's not always about going with what's easy or what other people think you should do. It's about what's in your heart, what feels right for you. Then everything else falls into place."