Where There's Smoke (Holiday Hearts #1)
Page 15
The moonlight spilled over her face, silvering her lashes, bringing her skin the pale translucence of marble. She looked, Nick thought, ethereal, fragile. In his arms she felt warm and alive. For a long time it was simply enough to hold her, browsing over her face with soft, nibbling kisses, feeling her heat.
“I want you,” he murmured softly. Her response was to pull his face to hers. Her answer was on her lips. All heat and temptation, the kiss lured and aroused. For every desire it satisfied, it ignited a dozen more. Every touch made him want, every taste made him hunger. Desperation colored every move; there could never be enough.
Down the hall and behind the doors, a dozen men slumbered. Here, in this shadowy room, there were only the two of them.
The lights went up and the abrupt sound of the alarm bells shattered the stillness. They broke apart, breathing hard. Nick turned toward the dormitory. The others were just rising. Yawning, they stepped to the fire pole to slide down to the apparatus floor, taking no notice when Sloane trailed in after Nick.
Downstairs, the firefighters pulled on their turnouts. Sloane frowned at the stiff canvas. “They’re the quickest way,” Nick advised. “Step in and go.”
Sloane dragged up the pants and threw the suspenders over her shoulders. The canvas was stiff, the boots awkward and heavy as she climbed up into the cab of the truck. So why was it she could still feel that wanton sense of arousal? Every inch of her was piercingly aware of Nick beside her. She didn’t trust herself enough to look at him as the truck drove out of the lighted garage into the darkness of the streets.
“What I want to know is why these people always pick the middle of the night to have these fires,” O’Hanlan groused. “I was having this great dream. I won the lottery and was sailing down the bay in Florida on this great big yacht. How people set their houses on fire at 2:00 a.m. is something I’ll never figure.”
“Nineteen-twenties’ wiring and insulation, probably.” Nick gestured at the dilapidated triple-decker ahead of them, smoke already seeping out of its second-floor windows. “Look at the place.”
They pulled to the front of the building, by the knot of neighbors and the spectators who always seemed to have some sixth sense about fires. Ahead of them, the pumper had dropped hose by the hydrant ahead of the house and driven forward to give the ladder truck room. Already, the engine crew was stretching lines from the pumper to the hydrant.
Nick tapped Beaulieu on the shoulder. “See if you can find out anything about who might be inside.” He turned to flag down Giancoli of Engine 58. “What’s the word on occupants?” Nick asked as he tightened the harness on his breathing mask.
“Three apartments, one on each level.”
Nick glanced over to Sloane. She stood staring at the fire like Joan of Arc facing the armies of France. He wished he could go to her. He didn’t have that luxury. As ranking officer, he ran the scene until the district chief showed up.
Beaulieu hurried over. “Everybody’s already out,” he said, gesturing toward a small clutch of stunned-looking adults and crying children, shivering in the night cold.
That made it easier, though they still needed to run through the building just in case. “Let’s get a one-and-a-half inch line in there,” Nick directed. He turned to the ladder crew. “Beaulieu, Knapp, I want you on the roof ventilating. O’Hanlan, run the stick up over at the corner where the A wall meets the B wall, away from the smoke. Sorensen?” He looked at him. “You and I are on inside detail.”
Excitement leapt in the probie’s eyes. “I’m on it, cap.”
It might have been nearly three in the morning, but people were straggling out of their houses, awakened by the noise. Unfortunately, the police hadn’t shown up yet for crowd control, Nick thought in annoyance. Without the other companies on the alarm, who had yet to appear, he couldn’t spare the time.
The sound of gasoline-powered saws sounded from the roof where Beaulieu and Knapp were cutting holes to let out hot gases and smoke. Once they’d ventilated the fire, the inside teams would have an easier time.
Suddenly, one of the children in the knot of occupants began to wail. A women crouched down to talk with him, but he shook her off and came pelting over to the firefighters.
“T.O.’s still up there,” he burst out, even as a man who might have been his father hurried over to scoop him up.
“Don’t bug the firemen, Jamal. They’re busy.” Behind them, a pair of enginemen hauled a hose line through the front door.
The boy twisted his in father’s hands. “What’s gonna happen to T.O.?”
Nick crouched down in front of him. “Is there someone still inside?”
“T.O.,” the boy cried. “I want T.O.”
“His hamster,” the father said apologetically.
All of his problems should be so easily handled. “Okay. Where is it?”
“On the second floor, back bedroom, against the window.”
Nick grinned. “Hey Sorensen, want to go rescue a hamster?”
The probie hefted his six-foot-long ceiling hook. “I got a nose for hamsters, cap.”
“You mean a nose like a hamster,” O’Hanlan heckled him as he headed toward the front door.
It wasn’t much of a fire, Sloane reassured herself. White smoke streamed toward the sky from the hole the roof team had cut. White smoke was good. White smoke meant the fire was out, so why was she still riven with anxiety? To take her mind off it all, she turned toward the spectators. “Okay, everyone, move back,” she said with the authority the turnouts gave her. “Let’s leave the crews room to work.” Repeatedly, she glanced over at the building, searching for an indicator of progress.
“Miss?” Sloane turned to see an older woman behind her. “Can you tell me how bad it is? I live on the top floor.” Her face was worn, her eyes worried. Although she twisted her hands together in unconscious tension, her shoulders were squared and resolute beneath her shabby robe.
Anxiety was forgotten in a rush of sympathy. Sloane caught at the woman’s hands. They were icy cold. “What’s your name?”
“Latrice Winston.”
“I’m Sloane. You’re out safely, that’s what matters.”
“Everything I own is in there.” Her voice wobbled for an instant, but she raised her chin. “I got to know what’s happened.”
It wrung her heart. “Here, sit.” Sloane drew her down to the running board of the ladder truck. “I don’t know the status, but I promise you I’ll do everything I can to find out for you. Let me get you something to keep you warm first, though.”
After she’d draped a red firehouse blanket around the woman’s shoulders, Sloane turned to the house in time to see Sorenson and Nick emerge with a small cage.
“T.O.,” a little boy shrieked and raced over to him. Grinning, Sorenson handed him the cage. Inside, a furry chestnut-colored ball stirred and unrolled to inspect them with beady black eyes.
“Here you go, one special-delivery hamster.”
The boy clutched the cage to his chest. “T.O., you made it, buddy.”
And Nick had made it, Sloane thought with a surge of relief. He was out of the house, away from the fire.
Safe.
She walked up behind him. “Hamster search and rescue?”
“I’m one of the best.”
“I’m sure there’s no one I’d trust more. How’s the fire?”
“History. It wasn’t much to begin with.” He shook his head. “Looked like a candle tipped over in one of the second-floor units, caught the sofa and the curtains and a little bit of the wall. We’ll spend an hour or so here overhauling to be sure there aren’t any little pockets of embers, but the excitement’s over.”
And finally the iron clutch on her stomach could ease entirely. Then she remembered her mission. “How’s the third floor? Any damage?”
“Clean. We’re going to have to go into the walls to see if anything’s involved up there, but unless we find that the fire’s spread, we won’t bring in water.”
“Who was doing crowd control?”
“I was.”
“You?”
She shrugged. “It was a way I could help. Nothing’s harder than watching.”
“I know.” He stared at her and she felt the buzz begin again. It wasn’t what she’d choose, but choice had become irrelevant. He wasn’t what she wanted but he was who she had to have. Silver-gray, his gaze delved into hers until it was inside her.
Nick took a step back and gave a brief smile. “Well, we’ve still got work to do here. Get comfortable, because we’re going to be awhile. We’ve got business to finish.”
And when the overhauling was done and they were back in quarters, she and Nick would finish the business between them.
Bright lights, loud thumps and voices. Dragged up from sleep, Sloane opened her eyes, staring groggily out into the dorm at men who rose slowly, stumbling to the bathroom in the hope that a splash of cold water might make them feel more human. She fumbled for her watch on the little bedside ledge. Six in the morning. They’d pulled back in to the station, she recalled, a whopping hour and a half before. An hour and a half of sleep.
It wasn’t enough.
She rolled over, away from the light. And with her cheek to the pillow, she locked eyes with Nick.
He’d been awake for long moments watching her sleep, her hair like a pale cloud of fire against the white of the pillow-case. When she rolled over to face him, he quite simply lost his breath. Less than a yard of space stretched out between them but it was spanned by the heat that sprang up instantly, demanding satisfaction. Only the sounds of the fire crew stopped her from going to him. Only the knowledge that others were in the room prevented him from reaching for her.
They stirred and rose at the same time, keeping their distance from one another. Perhaps no one else would have noticed, but the certainty was there, in their eyes. When she rubbed her arms, he felt her skin. When he stretched, her hands knew the feeling of muscles flexing beneath them. The boundary between imagination and reality, awareness and experience thinned dangerously. They stared at each other, neither wanting to leave the room, to leave the other’s sight.
The scent of coffee drifted into the dormitory, drawing the others. Sloane turned into the women’s bathroom. Her reflection looked back at her from the mirror, eyes huge, mouth soft. She started to pull her hair back and then on second thought left it loose to tumble down over her shoulders. The soft cotton of her shirt feathered over her skin like a caress.
And when she stepped back into the hall, she saw Nick walking from his office to the kitchen.
It wasn’t that she stopped, simply that her muscles no longer accepted the command to move. He was taut, lean in jeans and a fresh T-shirt. He hadn’t taken time to shave away the dark overnight shadow on his jaw. His hair was damp, slicked back, but already loose strands hung down over his forehead.
Sexuality. It vibrated around him until she thought she could almost see the air wavering with it. Her heart slammed against her ribs in a violent tattoo.
To want this much was terrifying.
Nick saw the rise of Sloane’s breasts as she caught her breath. Desire wrapped around him until he wanted to groan with the need. It was like the moments before flashover, heat rising, coming closer to the instant when everything would spontaneously combust. She was so close. Just a few steps would take him to her. He watched.
She waited.
The edge of control sharpened.
“Hey, Trask, if you want any of this coffee you’d better finish up and get in here.” The voice broke them free just as Nick approached the point where nothing mattered but touching her. He had to move away while he still could.
“We’d better…”
Sloane nodded, walking the few steps into the kitchen, trying to stay as far from Nick as possible. If they brushed against each other she didn’t know what she would do.
Her every movement felt distinct, underlined with importance, with the certainty that he watched. She took the last empty seat at the table, dimly aware that the room had filled with the next crew, the hubbub of conversation filled with descriptions of the fire. Nick leaned against a cupboard. Their eyes locked.
Arousal hummed through her entire body, saturating the air between them. She wondered that it wasn’t visible, like the rising, crackling sparks of a Jacob’s ladder. The minutes ticked by unbearably. She waited for release.
O’Hanlan looked at his watch. “Well, boys,” he said, clapping one of the day crew on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s that time again. I can’t think of better hands to leave the gig to. I’m outta here.” He grabbed his shoulder bag and headed for the door. The rest of the shift began to trickle out.
In the parking lot, Sloane started her car. She pulled out to the driveway and paused. He would follow. She knew it.
The streets stirred with early-morning activity. Everything seemed unbearably vivid, unbearably clear. She didn’t look for the red truck behind her.
She didn’t have to.
The drive seemed endless, yet in a surprisingly short time she was parking in the small lot behind her house, turning off the ignition. Her feet made hollow thumps on the porch boards.
With a throbbing roar, Nick’s car pulled in behind hers. At her back door, Sloane stopped and turned. His eyes were turbulent. Her satchel dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. Swift, intent, he walked straight to her and wordlessly dragged her against him.
The kiss was explosive, as though a spring that had been coiled to the strain point, then coiled just a bit more had been suddenly, violently released. His mouth savaged hers and she gloried in it. Her fingers clawed at his back and desire pulsed in her. When they broke away they were both breathless, speechless, knowing only what they wanted from each other.
Sloane’s fingers shook as she fit the key into the lock. It took an unbearably long time to get upstairs to her flat. And when she’d unlocked it, they fell inside, their mouths fused together, stoking up the heat, higher and higher.
Her lips moved hot and eager under his, her hands dragged at his shirt. He shrugged out of his jacket and pressed her toward the couch. The bedroom was way too far.
They’d made love night after night, but never like this. This time, desire owned them. They were swift and impatient to strip off every scrap of clothing. Naked, he would have slowed, but she drove him more quickly, her need egging him on. Tangled together, they fell to the couch, their mouths and hands frenzied.
Nick’s mouth raced down her neck to feast on her breasts, his tongue flicking over the nipples, the faint nip of his teeth making her cry out. The tug of desire started an answering throb lower down. Pleasure pressed itself to the point where it blurred into pain, intensity overwhelming the nerves’ ability to discern the difference.
Never like this, all flame, possession and plunder. She discovered her power in a blaze of passion. The brush of her hands over his chest, his nipples, made his breath hiss out, made him jolt. When she followed the path of her fingers with her lips, she tore a groan from him. She ranged across his chest, dropping lower to nibble over his belly, then lower still.
And with her lips and her tongue she saw how far she could take him from civilized man.
His body arched, caught in a shudder of pleasure. He rode it almost to the point of no return, then reached down to pull her up to him again. When their mouths met, hers could have been made for him alone.
She surrounded him, the sleekness of her body, the softness of her skin. The dark taste of her threatened to overwhelm his senses. His hands ranged over her body, searching for hidden sensitivity, driving her, always driving her higher. When his fingers slid up the inside of her thighs she gasped. She arched as she felt his touch.
Then he took her up again, more intensely than she’d ever known, her body rising, rising to a crescendo. When he sensed she was te
etering on the edge he shifted. Their cries melded as he plunged into her, then they drove each other to that final precipice and tumbled off, together.
Chapter Twelve
Sloane stared at the dark ribbon of pavement unrolling in the car’s headlights. If it had been daylight, she could have been distracted by the Vermont countryside they were driving through. Instead, she could only focus on the visit that lay ahead. At least it was getting late. They’d left as soon as possible after the end of shift, but holiday traffic had conspired to delay them. Now, it was pushing ten-thirty.
The later the better, as far as she was concerned. With every minute that passed, her misgivings mounted. She’d been out of her mind to agree to come up for the holiday. Small talk wasn’t her forte at the best of times, and certainly being grilled by family who saw her as a serious girlfriend—or threat—was far from the best of times. Maybe everyone would be in bed when they’d arrive and she’d get an overnight reprieve.
The headlights picked out a large sign painted in the vivid colors of fall foliage. “Trask Family Farm and Sugar House” it read, with an arrow pointing toward a branch road.
“Almost there,” Nick said.
Sloane felt the clutch of nerves in her stomach. “I don’t belong here. Why don’t you drop me off at that inn we passed a couple miles back and have your weekend with your family?”
The dash lights of the car showed the gleam of his smile. “Because I want you here with me.”
Ahead, high-wattage arc lights created bright pools in the parking lot of what she assumed was the Trask farm. “If you really cared about me, you’d take me somewhere else,” she said, only half joking as the car slowed.
“It’s because I care about you that I’m not. Stop trying to get out of it. They’re not going to bite.” He turned in and headed to the far right of the lot, searching out a narrow lane that threaded its way past the sugar house and gift shop. Behind loomed the dark bulk of a farmhouse; a yellow light on the side porch gleamed in welcome.