by Julie Miller
She took a drink from her own glass, hoping the icy liquid trickling down her own throat would be enough to cool the untimely awakening of her libido. With his drink half emptied, Gideon pressed the chilled glass to his cheeks and forehead. His quest for relief from the heat flexed the toned ridges of muscle across his chest and shoulders. It stirred the musky scents of man and heat from the crisp, T-shaped mat of hair that spread from nipple to nipple and thinned in a line down to his navel and disappeared behind the top button of his jeans.
Though she clearly remembered where that distinctly masculine trail led, she valiantly tried to continue a normal conversation. “I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done in one evening.”
He took another drink and she had to look away to concentrate on what he was saying. “Alex is doing most of the work. That kid has something eating inside him.”
“At times I think he’s half afraid he won’t live to be a man.” She watched as Alex attacked a particularly stubborn spot. He scraped the paint and blew away the dust and rubbed it with his hand until it was perfectly primed. A familiar, protective anger churned in her gut, effectively turning her lusty thoughts into more maternal ones. “He survived a father who beat him unconscious more than once. He joined a gang…”
Meghan sucked in her breath and zeroed in on the stylized blue-black W on the back of Alex’s shoulder. After an awkward pause she released the breath she’d been holding. Gideon wasn’t an idiot. “I guess you saw his tattoo.”
Gideon nodded. “Westside Warrior. Just like the symbol burned into the floor at the last two fires.”
“Alex is a good kid. He—”
“I know he’s not a gang member anymore. Dorie wouldn’t let him through the front door if he was.” His resolute statement eased some of her fears. “He didn’t set those fires.”
“But maybe some of his old friends—enemies now, I guess—did. You don’t think he’s hiding any secrets about it—do you?”
Gideon watched Alex continue to work without a break. The sun-carved lines beside his eyes deepened with a frown. “I’m not sure he’d admit it, but he’s too anxious to keep what he has here. You and Dorie. I think he likes the responsibility of being a big brother. If he thought his enemies had put any of you in danger, I think he’d come forward.” He glanced down at Meghan. “He said something to me about another guy hittin’ on his girl. Flirting, not physically. Maybe that’s all that’s bugging him right now. He is sixteen.”
“He told you about his girlfriend?” It had taken her the entire car ride home from the precinct office last night to pull those details out of him.
“Yeah. We’ve been talking. Well, mostly I’ve been listening.” His frown transformed into a mischievous smile that made him look almost as young as Alex. “By the way, if Dorie is missing some Tupperware, you might check Eddie’s room. He said he needed a container for the snails he found to live in.”
Meghan didn’t bother with an “O-oh, gross.” She looked beyond Eddie’s confession to the bigger picture.
“I knew you’d be wonderful with children.” Meghan hesitated, but then she gave in to what she wanted—no, what she needed—to do. Bracing her hand against one bare shoulder, she rose up on tiptoe and kissed the dimple beside Gideon’s mouth, blinking back the unexpected sting of tears as she dropped back onto her heels. “Thank you for being so good with my boys. And not holding what I did to you against them.”
She could feel the thunderous beating of his heart beneath her palm. But she couldn’t tell if it was their potential audience or his considerable self-control that kept him from responding with nothing less subtle, nothing more precious than the light stroke of his fingertips across her cheek. “I told you I’m not into retribution. I’m not sure what I feel lately. But I would never hurt you. Or them.”
She centered her gaze in the middle of that broad, inviting chest. “I suppose I know that intellectually, but…” She pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply, flaring her nostrils and working up the courage to force herself to look him in the eye again. “I have a voice inside my head that tells me you get what you give. And I hurt you, so there’s going to be payback for me somewhere along the line.”
His eyes narrowed and studied her for so long without comment that she had to speak again to keep from running into the house.
“I’m not crazy,” she tried to explain. “It isn’t that kind of voice.”
But he understood that she was talking about a memory. “Who told you that? Your father? That’s a pretty morbid philosophy.” Gideon ground the low-pitched words like an accusation between his teeth.
She’d heard that eye-for-an-eye adage the first time she’d refused to let Pete Preston treat her like a girlfriend instead of his niece. She’d been Alex’s age. Sweet sixteen. She’d told Pete no and slapped his face.
Seemed as though he’d been paying her back ever since.
“Meg?” His hand was on her face again, a stronger touch this time. His fingers slid into the hair at her temple as he cupped her cheek. “Do you honestly think I’m going to walk away from you when you need me? At the very least we’re colleagues, and it’s part of the unwritten code that I back you up. But seeing you these past two days tells me there’s still more than that between us. I think we owe it to ourselves to figure out exactly where we stand.”
“But what if I hurt you again? What if you’re kind and gentle like before and I still…” Guilt choked the words in her throat.
Courage, Meg, she coached herself. She had to move past the shame. Tell him.
“I lived with my aunt and uncle for a year or so when I was a teenager.” It was a shaky beginning, but she leaned into the warmth of Gideon’s hand and discovered the strength to go on. “Uncle Pete’s nickname for me was…” She swallowed hard. “Freak.”
She felt the tremor in Gideon’s hand as he held his reaction in check. But he never took his patient gaze from hers. “Good thing I never met Uncle Pete.”
“Yeah, well—”
Alex’s scraper tore the air with an abrasive screech, then clunked into metal. “Ow! Son of a bitch!” She and Gideon turned in unison and saw the teen throw down the tool then shake his fingers as if he were flinging something off the tips.
“Hey, watch your mouth,” warned Gideon, his tone firm, not angry.
“Are you okay?” asked Meghan.
Alex turned around and mumbled an apology. “Yeah. It just stings. Gid, could you give me a hand? I think I need someone taller.”
Gideon’s hand had slid down to her shoulder where the calloused pads of his fingers singed the exposed skin beside the strap of her tank top. She could see he was torn between the needs of the teen and her pathetic story. She twisted and tried to scoot free, absolving him of guilt and removing the tempting contact. “It’s okay. Go.”
“I’ll be there in a sec.” Gideon looked at Alex, but didn’t release her. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I already did that.”
While the boy fussed and fumed and picked up the scraper, Gideon released her. But she’d retreated less than half a step before he caught her again, beneath the chin this time. The unexpected contact was an incendiary spark to dozens of nerve endings. Her lips parted on a startled breath of anticipation.
Whatever damage had been done to his left hand, there was no mistaking the strength in his right. Like steel sheathed in velvet, his fingers and thumb spanned her jaw and pulled her close. He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was swift and thorough and over before she could either respond or protest. She felt cherished and hot and full of questions.
His eyes probed her face and hugged her with reassurance. “You’ll tell me later?”
He made it sound more like an expectation than a request.
Meghan nodded. If she found the courage once, she could find it again. “Go on. I want to get the kitchen cleaned up before we leave. You finish up out here.”
He released her as quickly as he’d taken her in
hand, gave her his empty glass and strode over to Alex. “Hey, let me help with that.”
They discussed ladders and architecture while Meghan practiced breathing evenly again. She collected glasses and made sure Eddie and Matthew were playing safely on the swing set before retreating into the house as quietly as she’d appeared.
She found Dorie dozing on the couch in the den. Meghan shook her head and smiled. The older woman took on too much. As much as she loved the boys, she needed to be paying more attention to her own health needs. Offering her some rest, at least, Meghan tiptoed in to turn off the TV and retrieve Dorie’s half-empty lemonade glass.
Back in the kitchen, Meghan inserted the glass into the last empty spot on the top dishwasher rack and wondered if she should make room for the glass she’d carried up to Matthew’s room. Though Gideon had issued the invitation to help with the garage to all four boys, Matthew had opted to go upstairs to play. At least he hadn’t run from Gideon the way he had the night before.
Meghan added soap and started the dishwasher. If Matthew needed some time and space to get used to a big man like Gideon, or just that there was a stranger in the house, she’d give it to him. She’d checked on him when she took him his drink. Matthew had been looking at his books, not crying or sulking.
Another look out the back window over the kitchen sink and she had all her precious charges accounted for. She marveled at Gideon’s patience as he held the ladder for Alex and carried on a conversation with Eddie. She went still for a moment, standing with suds up to her elbows, acquainting herself with the inexplicable peace she felt inside.
She lightly licked the rim of her lips, remembering the brief possession of Gideon’s mouth. He was doing this to her, she suspected. Surrounding her in the normalcy of how others lived. Listening to her. Showing kindness to her boys and former foster mom. Wrapping her up in his gentle patience and fierce protection. Gideon was making her care again. Reminding her that she had never stopped caring.
It was a beautiful world he was creating for her.
But it was a world she could destroy.
With that sobering reminder to burst her contented bubble, Meghan closed the curtains and pretended that scrubbing pans was the most important job in the world.
She’d managed to replace the shield that guarded her heart by the time Gideon and the boys burst in through the back door.
“Mission accomplished!” Gideon beamed as he deposited Mark on the countertop and tugged the boy’s shirt on over his head before slipping into his own. “One more day and we’ll have everything ready to paint.”
“I’m hittin’ the shower.” Alex grabbed a handful of cookies and headed toward his room downstairs.
“Do we have any salad? What do snails eat?” asked Eddie, already standing in front of the open refrigerator.
“Shh,” she cautioned them all with a finger to her mouth, “Dorie’s napping.” She closed her mouth to contain her own laughter as all four made just as much noise apologizing. “Stop it. You guys are terrible.” She slipped into Mom mode and closed the fridge door. “Boys first, snails later. I want all these dirty clothes in the laundry and everyone in a bath or shower. Now.”
As the boys quietly marched off to do her bidding, Gideon grinned. “Me, too?”
An instant image of his tall, naked body soaping down in her shower interrupted the authoritative flow of her thoughts. Her lips suddenly burned with the memory of his kiss. She pressed them tightly together to conquer the urge to put her hand there to reveal to Gideon just what she was thinking.
Feeling her emotional detachment rapidly eroding, she crooked a finger and asked him to follow her out through the dining room. “There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs. You can wash up at the sink in there.”
“I remember.” He’d mounted four stairs in two strides when he stopped.
Meghan’s nose wrinkled up at the same moment. A faint hint of sulphur hung in the air. “Do you smell that?”
Gideon wasn’t grinning anymore. “It’s up here.”
“Smoke.”
Chapter Eight
A familiar bolt of adrenaline shot through Gideon, heightening his senses and turning on a rusty radar that had died that night with Luke Redding.
Fire.
Meghan dashed up the stairs ahead of him. “Matthew!”
Reawakening the firefighter role that beat in his blood, he hurried behind her to the landing. An anticipatory energy thrummed through his nerve endings, making each movement quick and precise. “There.”
A whispery carpet of light gray smoke seeped from beneath the closed door at the top of the stairs. Meghan’s decisions were quick and instinctive and right on the money. She spread the flat of her hand against the closed door and checked for heat on the other side.
Assured that it was safe to go in, she opened the door. “Matthew, honey, are you in here?”
Smoke rolled out into the hallway behind her. There was finally enough of it rising in the air to trigger the smoke detector. The piercing alarm cut right through Gideon’s brain, adding to the charged urgency in the air. He kept the tension in his body under tight control, forcing rational thought to the forefront. Where was the kid? Gideon added a louder voice to the search. “Matthew?”
Gideon hovered in the doorway as Meghan swept aside the smoke and entered the room. “Talk to me, sweetie,” she begged.
A quick assessment of the bedroom indicated the fire was contained. Smoke had risen to the ceiling and was settling, but hadn’t filled the room yet. The only identifiable flames shot up from the tall, metal trash can near the window. “The curtains.”
Meghan saw the fuel source ignite the same time he did. She reached for the trash can. “Ow.”
He could hear the others moving about downstairs, responding to the alarm. “Meghan?” Dorie’s voice was high-pitched with panic. She’d had a rude awakening to danger. “Gideon? Boys? What’s wrong?”
Gideon debated his next move for about half a second. He yelled down the stairs. “Dorie, get out of the house!”
She was a smart enough lady not to ask questions. “Boys!”
The metal can with the Chiefs logo must be hotter than an oven. “You all right?” he asked Meghan. He rushed in and ripped down the curtain panel, stomping out the flames beneath his boot before they could take hold. He reached for her hand. “Let me see.”
“No. I’m fine.” She crossed over the closet and slung open the door. “Matthew?”
If the lack of an answer alarmed him, Meg must be worried sick. “We’ll find him.”
“I know.” She coughed once and knelt down, checking the hidden recesses of the closet. “Matthew?” When she turned he could see the redness in her eyes. Smoke irritation or tears? “He isn’t here.”
She needed a comrade-at-arms right now, not comfort. “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”
“Under the kitchen sink.”
He was already out the door. “I’ll get it. You keep looking.”
Gideon bounded down the stairs and ran to the kitchen, passing Dorie with Mark in her arms. “It’ll be okay.” He paused only long enough to tweak the little one’s nose and to visually reassure the older woman. “I want everyone outside just as a precaution, to make sure we’re all accounted for.”
Dorie’s breath came in shallow pants. “Is Matthew still up there?”
“We’ll get him.” Gideon opened the doors beneath the sink and snatched up the extinguisher.
Dorie was right behind him. “But Matthew won’t call out if he needs help.”
Gideon spun around and reached out to comfort her with his right hand. But his left hand didn’t respond to the quick transfer and the extinguisher slipped and crashed to the floor. “Damn.” He crushed what muscles and nerves were cooperating into a useless fist and scooped the red canister up with his right hand. “I have to go.”
Alex ran up from the basement. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a fire,” warned Dorie. “We
can’t find Matthew.”
A contained fire for right now if he could get back upstairs to help. But Gideon didn’t have time to explain. He looked straight at Alex. “Get Dorie and Mark out of here.”
The young man put his hands on Dorie’s shoulders and started backing out toward the patio door. “What about Eddie?”
Dorie glanced over her shoulder to answer. “I sent him outside already to put the leash on Crispy.”
Gideon was hurrying toward the opposite exit. “Alex, you make sure he’s there and then all of you stay put until I come for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t wait to see them leave. He believed Alex would get the job done.
The smoke was filtering down the stairs now as Gideon climbed them three at a time. “Meghan?”
She was an efficient piece of work to behold as she darted from the second bedroom into Dorie’s master suite, keeping her head and doing a methodical search for the missing boy. “He’s not in the first two rooms or the john.”
“Good girl.”
His praise fell on her retreating back. As it should be. He went to work himself.
Not trusting his hand to fail again, he tucked the extinguisher into the crook of his left elbow, pulled out the pin and squeezed the handle. In under a minute he had the trash can and the surrounding floor covered in white, suppressive foam.
He blinked against the stinging cloud of smoke and coughed out a cleansing breath. “It’s out.”
The intense heat had melted the rug beneath the can, and the flames had left scorch marks on the wall. Other than the lingering smoke getting into anything that could absorb the odor, the damage was minimal. But it could have been worse. A lot worse.
He didn’t give himself time to savor the tiny victory over a fire he could defeat. The piercing cry of the smoke detector was an unnecessary reminder of just how dangerous this fire could have become. And how deadly it might have been for a little boy who didn’t heed its call.
He opened the bedroom windows to bring in fresh air and vent the smoke, then went in search of Meghan and Matthew. “Meg?” He opened the smoke detector casing and ripped out the battery to stop the ear-splitting noise. The shock of sudden silence hurt his ears almost as much as the alarm had. “Meg, did you find him?”