by Ashlyn Chase
Her orgasm hit hard, transporting her out of her body. She lost awareness of her surroundings. It seemed as if Gabe was the only anchor she had to the earth, and she wasn’t sure he wasn’t floating in space too.
Several minutes later, they lay limp and exhausted. Gabe nuzzled her neck and whispered words of love in her ear.
She knew why people tried to describe certain things they felt passionate about as “better than sex.” There was nothing like this feeling. And there was nothing better than sex with the man you loved most in the universe.
Epilogue
“Push, Misty!” Gabe coached.
“You push!” she cried out.
“I wish I could.” He’d take over for her if it were possible. Anything to spare her the pain of the last few hours. After all, she was giving birth to his child. They still didn’t know the sex of the baby. No one did except her OB-GYN doctor, and she had agreed to keep it to herself.
“Come on, honey. You’re almost there,” Gabriella said.
Gabe was grateful that his mother was acting as the midwife, although they had a professional on standby in the living room. She had given birth to all seven of her kids right there in the kitchen on a rented hospital bed. If she could do it…
Why did we wait until after the birth for Misty to become a muse? He was tempted to summon Mother Nature and ask her to change his wife that instant. He figured everything—birth included—would be easier on a minor goddess than a human. Oh, yeah. Misty wanted the whole human experience. Something about a bonding story with other mothers.
She panted a few times and then gave it one last concerted effort, gritting her teeth and practically howling. A dark, hairy dome peeked out from her opening.
“I see it!” he cried.
She looked surprised but encouraged. She took one more deep breath and bore down with all her might. Out popped his son, into his waiting arms.
“It’s a boy!” he shouted.
She was panting too hard to speak, but the grin on her face and tears in her eyes said it all. Gabe cleared the baby’s face with the edge of a waiting warm cloth and stared in awe.
“Give him to me,” his mother demanded.
Knowing that tone of voice, he handed over his son. She grabbed him by the feet, and as he hung upside down, she tapped his back. He took a deep breath and let out a healthy howl.
“That’s it, little man,” Gabriella cooed. “You’re a Fierro, all right.” She laid the baby in Misty’s arms and kissed him on the forehead. “Let me take over down there,” she said to Gabe. “You just enjoy your son. What’s his name, by the way?”
He happily traded places with his mother and let her handle the afterbirth. “Tony, after Dad. We decided to Americanize his name with the common nickname. It won’t get confusing that way. But we’ll tell Dad he’s named after the Red Sox legend Tony Conigliaro so he doesn’t get all puffed up.”
Gabriella laughed. “He’d love it either way.”
The goddess they’d come to know better over the past few months materialized. Gaia’s long white hair was tied up in a bun, and she wore a white lab coat over her white toga.
“I knew you could do it. I made women for this,” she said to Misty proudly.
Gabe didn’t want to point out that some women didn’t make it, and he couldn’t help worrying about his wife until it was all over. But as Mother Nature produced a clean blanket and helped Gabe cut the cord and wrap up his little boy, all was forgiven.
They’d decided that Misty could handle the job of muse of parenting if she was allowed to see some of the wonderful moments as well as the challenging. She’d read everything she could get her hands on to prepare her for just about any situation. She was ready and raring to go after maternity leave. Fortunately, Gaia was okay with a maternity leave before the job even started.
It had been decided that Bliss Cameron would be her mentor and trainer. She was another modern muse, married to a firefighter. Kristine would be there if she needed backup. She would have trained her full-time, but she was often busy, enjoying her job with the Boston Fire Department.
And so was Gabe. He’d been able to return to Engine 22 and pick up where he’d left off, but soon, he was transferring to the marine unit. Having a brief experience with the panic that comes from being trapped on a burning boat, he could imagine what humans felt like.
The harbor was close to the financial district. Ironically, he’d be closer to Misty’s old bank after all. That didn’t mean he’d be popping in to use the account he opened there. Thank goodness for online banking.
And thank goodness for strong vaults on timers, poor impulse control, and the unconditional love of a special woman he’d known most of his life. They looked forward to enjoying their love and family for the rest of it.
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“Pride of Midtown. Never missed a performance?”
Someone with a deep, sexy voice was reading the FDNY patch on Kristine Scott’s dress uniform. She swiveled enough to see a dark-haired, devastatingly handsome Boston firefighter—a lieutenant, from the insignia on his uniform. He was admiring not only the patch but also her. She was tall, five-foot-ten, but he was taller.
The after-funeral crowd noise obliterated anything but close conversation in the firehouse, and yet she didn’t mind his proximity. Not one bit.
“Yeah. I guess you wouldn’t know what our motto means, being from Boston and all.” She picked up a canapé from a long folding table.
He smiled—and, oh God, he had dimples.
“Enlighten me,” he said.
She chewed and swallowed the little cracker before launching into her explanation. “We’re located in Manhattan, close to Broadway but in an affordable neighborhood, so a lot of actors live in the area.”
“Affordable? In Manhattan? Even a mere Bostonian like me knows that’s like finding a unicorn in Central Park.”
She chuckled. Damn. So sexy, except for that hideous Boston accent. “I work in the second-oldest fire station in the country. The area is known as Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“Shit. Only as a horrible place where hundreds of thousands of immigrants died of nasty diseases.”
“Yeah, that was a long time ago. We’re becoming gentrified and fairly disease-free these days.”
He looked her up and down. “Now there’s a relief.”
“And what is that supposed to mean, Boston?”
“Oh, nothing.” He heaved a deep sigh. “You live in Manhattan, and I live in Charlestown—the part of Boston where Old Ironsides is docked. You don’t care about that. The point is…it would never work.” His sad smile spoke of resignation.
“Oh? Were you thinking of asking me out?”
That devastating grin of his returned. “Is there any chance you’d consider moving to Boston?”
“Ha! Nope,” she said, trying to sound casual. Not that she’d date a firefighter anywhere.
“Then we have an insurmountable problem. I can’t leave Boston because of family obligations. And you can’t—or won’t—leave New York. I guess we might as well break up now.”
She hoped her disappointment didn’t show, but she had a sinking feeling she didn’t hide it well enough.
As if he’d just come up with a solution, he snapped his fingers. “I know. Since we can’t date anyway, why don’t we tell each other all of our annoying habits right off the bat? That way we won’t worry about what might have been.”
She couldn’t help letting out a loud laugh. Probably inappropriate after a funeral, and several nearby firefighters turned toward them. Oops. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“I’
ll start,” her potential ex said. “I forget to floss about ninety percent of the time.”
Playing along, she crossed her arms. “Ugh. That’s disgusting. Don’t you know that’s the only way to brush between your teeth?”
He simply showed off his pearly whites and said, “Your turn.”
“Okay… I wear granny panties.”
“No way!” He cringed and recoiled. “Haven’t you ever heard of that not-so-secret store? If we were dating, which we’re not, I’d get you a gift certificate.”
“Ah. There’s another thing that would annoy me. I want to be accepted exactly the way I am.”
He let out a snort. “You’re not wrong, but a little sexy something for your man to uncover goes a long way.”
“Hey. I’m a firefighter. You don’t want to floss your teeth? I don’t want to floss my butt—I’ll leave that to the girls who slide down a different kind of pole.”
He laughed “I guess it might be inconvenient on the job.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You think? Well… It’s your turn again.”
“Okay. When I’m home, I can be a slob. I leave my clothes in a disorganized pile,” he said.
“That’s ridiculous! You must have to keep your area at the fire station neat. Why not at home?”
He smirked. “Because I can. Your turn.”
One of the nearby firefighters interrupted before she had a chance to respond.
“Hey, Jayce. If you’re flirting, that’s the worst I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed and slung his arm around the other firefighter’s shoulder. “This is my brother Gabe, who should be minding his own business.”
“I was about to say the same thing as Gabe,” another firefighter chimed in.
“And that’s my brother Noah. Same goes for you, buddy.”
The family resemblance was hard to miss. Tall, dark, and good-looking, every one of them. But there was something special about the one they called “Jayce.” His brown eyes were darker—almost black, and full of mischief—and he had killer dimples. Suddenly she realized she and he hadn’t even introduced themselves.
“So, is Jayce short for Jason?”
“Nope. My given name is J-a-y-c-e. And who have I had the pleasure of breaking up with?”
“My name is Kristine. Kristine Scott. They call me Scotty.”
“Hey, Fierro!” a firefighter called to the group.
“Yeah?” the three men answered at once.
“Your dad and the chief are looking for you.”
“Wait,” Kristine said. “The firefighter we memorialized today was named Fierro. Are you related?”
“Yeah. He was my younger brother,” Jayce said. “A probie.”
“Holy fuck,” she muttered. “I’ve been joking and laughing with the deceased’s brother?”
“Guess so,” Jayce answered matter-of-factly.
“How can you be so callous?” The words were out before she could think about them. Oh well. Since we’re being totally honest… “It’s a good thing we’re breaking up before we even get started. That kind of insensitivity just blows.” She found a hole in the crowd and stomped off before he could object.
He called after her. “Hey, pride of Midtown.”
She stopped and turned around.
He sidled up next to her. “Do you know which is the oldest fire station in the country?”
She shook her head.
“You’ve been standing in it for the last fifteen minutes.”
“How do you know I’ve been here for fifteen minutes?”
“I noticed you the minute you walked in.” He grinned. “Can I get your phone number?”
Still miffed, she answered, “Yeah… It’s 911.”
He winked and then strode off, leaving her without the satisfaction of a dramatic exit.
How infuriating! But she couldn’t help admiring his gorgeous ass as he walked away.
Leaving the firehouse, Kristine shivered in the January wind and made her way to her car in the Prudential parking garage. On the way there, she ran the gamut of emotions. Her outrage gave way to sympathy. She tried to give Jayce the benefit of the doubt. Some people coped with grief through denial. Maybe that was what he was doing. However, she had a feeling that wasn’t all of it. He was too charming. Too polished. He seemed totally comfortable in his own skin. Usually that would be a turn-on. But today of all days?
Something was off about that whole funeral. The only one who seemed truly devastated was the firefighter’s fiancée. She tried to be brave, but tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. Occasionally her head dropped and her whole body shook as if she were literally racked with sobs, but no sound came out. She was a firefighter too—probably doing her best to be brave. Just another reason to stick to my vow of not dating firefighters.
And it wasn’t just Jayce who was acting like it was a normal Tuesday and not the solemn day they were burying his brother. All the brothers she met seemed to be taking it rather well. Their only complaint about Jayce’s flirting was that he was doing it wrong? What the hell? Of course, she wasn’t inside the church during the service. Thousands of firefighters from all over the country attended, so only family members and those closest to them were allowed inside. Maybe they got their tears out there.
Still…smiling and joking? If that had happened at the 9/11 funerals, somebody would have been pounded into Ground Zero… Her mind was definitely boggled.
“Scotty! Wait,” a familiar voice called.
She stuck her fist on her hip and waited for Donovan, the guy she had carpooled with. Damn.
“Jesus, Scott, were you about to take off without me?”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I thought you could get a ride from any of the other hundred FDNY attendees.”
“Well, it would have been nice if you’d told me that you were leaving.”
She chewed her lip and popped the passenger side door open with her key fob. When they were both seated inside the tiny rented sports car, he scrutinized her.
“What’s wrong?”
There was no hiding emotions from guys you lived with almost as much as your family.
“It’s nothing.” The universal code for I don’t want to talk about it.
“Bullshit. Did the funeral hit you that hard? Enough to make you want to get the hell out of town without even telling me? Did you run into someone you knew?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
She backed out of the parking space, turning the rented Corvette toward the exit without explaining herself.
“Are you on your period?”
She stomped on the brakes. “You are never, ever, ever allowed to ask a woman that—ever!”
He leaned away with his hands up. “Okay, okay. Don’t shoot.”
She resumed her exit from the parking garage with a bit more speed than was prudent. Donovan glanced over at her a couple of times but didn’t say another word.
* * *
Jayce and his brothers found their father and mother among the crowd. The chief was nowhere in sight.
“What did you want, Dad?”
“Me? Nothing. Why?”
“Miguel said you and the chief were looking for us.”
The brother in question spoke from behind them. “I was saving your ass. Do you even know how inappropriate your flirting with a girl at your brother’s funeral is?”
Their tiny mother stepped forward. “You were flirting with someone, Jayce?”
He heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I’m sorry. There was this drop-dead-gorgeous redhead, or strawberry blonde, kinda golden-red—whatever—with the most incredible turquoise eyes… We got to talking.”
“And laughing,” Miguel added.
Jayce shot him an angry look designed to shut him up.
<
br /> Mrs. Fierro placed a soothing hand on Jayce’s arm. “Well, I’m not upset about it at all. I want all my boys happy, and that means settled down with a good woman.” She glanced around at her fidgeting sons, except Miguel—the only married man in the bunch, naturally.
Mr. Fierro pulled Jayce closer so he could whisper, even though all of his supernatural sons could hear him. Obviously he didn’t want their human mother to overhear. “You know I want to retire in the Caribbean, and your mama refuses to leave until you’re all married off. Flirting is fine, but remember where you are. We’re all aware that Ryan is alive, but no one else knows that, including Chloe.”
Jayce glanced over to where his brother’s fiancée, in her dress uniform, leaned against her own big brother, Rory. He seemed to be propping her up. Most firefighters had seen some horrors, but few had had to watch helplessly as the person they loved most burned to death in front of them.
“Whatever you do, don’t let it slip to that poor girl,” Antonio Fierro continued. “She’s devastated, and we can’t let her know Ryan has reincarnated. She’d never recognize him in his new form, and, well, you know what would happen…”
“Got it. Message received,” Jayce whispered back. He stepped away and said, “I think I’ll go to the restroom and see if I can muster up a few tears.” Just thinking about what that cute NY firefighter said to him was enough to dampen his mood.
Mrs. Fierro smiled at her son as he kissed her on the cheek and excused himself. She had a not-so-hidden agenda, and all of her remaining sons knew it well. But the chances of finding a lover who could stand the shock of what he really was seemed slim to none. Some girls might like to know that if the worst happened, a blazing bird would rise from its own ashes—and several weeks later their lover would return to human form. But telling the truth about their supernatural natures could have devastating consequences. Ryan had learned that with his first fiancée, Melanie. The only reason she hadn’t screamed it to the world was her fear of being locked up and labeled crazy.
The brothers had to avoid telling a potential mate until they were a hundred percent certain the love they shared was strong enough to survive such a revelation. Miguel had gotten lucky. Sandra adored him, and she always would. And as much as his mother teased his father, she’d throw herself on a sword for him. The Fierro men treated their women like the rare treasures they were.