The Night Belongs to Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  “So we can check grungy dive off your list? Please tell me yes.” He pulled away from the curb.

  “Oh, I suppose,” she said, still flying from the adrenaline rush. “I don’t want to wear out my favorite bodyguard.”

  His smoldering glance made her fly even higher. “I don’t wear out that easy.” The promise in his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Where to now? Tattoo parlor? Cockfight? Gang war?”

  “Is the carnival still in town? I always wanted to go, but my father got an eye twitch every time I brought it up.”

  “San Gabriel Fairgrounds, here we come.”

  The brightly lit streets sped past. One beer, and she was already entering that expansive, carefree, babbling state.

  “You have no idea how sick I get of being Rachel Allen Kessler,” she told Fred. “Sometimes I pretend I’m someone else. Someone who isn’t guarded and hunted and watched. I’ve thought about wearing a disguise so there’s no chance of anyone recognizing me.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Nothing too radical. Go out dancing. Play pool. Play bocce ball with the old guys in the park. Talk to people. That probably sounds dub.” She gave a hiccup. “I mean dumb.”

  Fred shot her a sidelong look as he downshifted around a corner. “You’re a lightweight, aren’t you?”

  “Yup,” she said cheerfully. “I really never, ever drink. Hey, do you think the carnival has bumper cars?”

  Ten minutes later, Rachel was screaming with laughter as Fred slammed his car into hers. The guy was ruthless. And he liked to trash talk. “Bring it, rich girl,” he taunted as he pinned her car against the wall. “My eight-year-old neighbor drives faster than you.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Turbo.” She fought back, ramming her car against his until she won a little breathing room. “They’ll have to bring out the Jaws of Life when I’m done with you.” She zoomed off and he chased after her.

  “All talk, no action,” he said as he nipped her bumper. “Better change your name to Rachel Roadkill.”

  “Freddie Fender Bender,” she yelled over her shoulder. She yanked the wheel to the side and zipped around him, getting in a sneak sideswipe in the process.

  “Prepare to surrender.”

  By the time she gave in, tears of laughter were streaming down her face. Fred might be kindhearted, but he was viciously competitive when it came to bumper cars.

  “You look so normal,” she complained, as they walked across the fairgrounds, sharing a bag of roasted peanuts. “Then you turn out to have this vicious competitive streak. Do you take all games this seriously?”

  He shrugged, his wide shoulders rising and falling under his black T-shirt. The bright glare from a cotton candy booth turned his hair shining mahogany. “I’m a guy, I’m a Breen, and I’m a firefighter. You do the math.”

  “Surrounded by testosterone,” she guessed.

  “More like raised on a diet of one hundred percent testosterone.”

  She peered at him as they sidestepped around a group of kids sporting face paint—a pirate, a ninja, a dragon. “Then how’d you end up with a sensitive side?”

  “How do you know I have one?” He pulled her close as a teenager zoomed past on a skateboard.

  The brush of his warm, solid frame made her throat go dry. His muscled thigh bumped against her hip. She heroically suppressed a whimper. Why’d Marsden have to pick such a cute bodyguard? Was he trying to torture her? “I know you have a sensitive side because I see it every day. I see it with the animals at the Refuge, with your neighbor kids, everywhere except in a bumper car.”

  “You should see me on a basketball court.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m not tall, but I play hard. I had to, growing up, or I would have been roadkill. Competitiveness kind of runs in the Breen family.”

  The silky hair on his arm whispered against hers as he stepped back to give her space. If that slight bit of contact felt that delicious, what would the rest of him feel like?

  “And by the way, if you ever run into my brothers, don’t mention anything about my alleged sensitive side. You have no idea what they would do with that shit.”

  “Oh, I won’t mention a word,” she assured him. “But I might compliment your oldest brother—Trent, right?—on his famous haircutting skills.” She winked at him. Fred was so good at teasing her, and she loved how it made her feel, as if champagne bubbles floated through her veins. But it felt even better to tease him back.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I see your evil plan. Trent won’t be able to fight back, because you’re a civilian, not to mention a woman. So he’ll go after me for ratting him out. Is this revenge for the bumper cars?”

  “Oh yes. Better watch your back, fireman.”

  “Bring it, rich girl. Ever gone bowling?”

  She couldn’t help squealing with delight. “Can we go, can we go?”

  What kind of childhood didn’t include bowling? It was practically un-American. Even though Fred was too caught up in Rachel to hit a single strike, it was worth it to see the joy on her pixie face, her sparkling smile, the delight in every line of her provocatively vinyl-clad body. Good thing she had no idea he was going through the evening with a constant semi-hard-on.

  There were still at the bowling alley, and she’d just collapsed next to him, laughing over her latest gutter ball, when a snide voice cut into his pleasantly lustful thoughts.

  “I suppose this is one of those ‘successful women’ the firehouse is so crazy about?” Courtney stood over them, holding hands with a guy from her business school program. She gave Rachel a pointed, disdainful look, taking in her belly shirt and black vinyl.

  Fred went on full alert. “How you doing, Courtney?”

  “Great. Very successful. I aced my finals. And did you get my phone messages about how I’ve moved on?” She pointedly squeezed her classmate’s hand. Her gaze kept flickering to Rachel, but the hell if Fred was going to introduce them.

  “Congratulations. I knew you would.”

  “Haven’t seen you on TV lately. Did the press get tired of you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Courtney dismissed him and turned to Rachel. “I’m in business school. What do you do?”

  Rachel said promptly, “Dog groomer.” Fred nearly spurted his Orange Crush all over Courtney’s painted-on jeans. “I started with people, but I flunked out of beauty school and now I just do dogs.”

  Courtney’s eyes narrowed, but Rachel stood her ground. “Do you have any dogs?”

  “I’m too busy for pets.”

  “That figures.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Fred jumped to his feet, blocking the line of sight between Rachel and Courtney. His bodyguard duties had better not include stopping a catfight. “We have to go. Nice running into you, Courtney.”

  “Are you serious, Fred? Her?” Courtney hissed. “She’s the skankiest thing this side of the Sunset Strip. Look at that top. I mean, everyone else is.”

  “Hey!” Rachel yelled from behind him. “Are you dissing my outfit?” Apparently channeling a reality show contestant, Rachel was trying to claw her way from behind his back. He held her off like some kind of bouncer.

  “OMG, she’s crazy. You’re really scraping the bottom of the tramp barrel, Freddie. So sad.” Courtney rolled her eyes dramatically and sidled off, dragging her business-school boy toy like a pet on a leash.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Rachel doubled over in laughter. “That was . . . She actually thought . . .” She could barely speak through her wheezes. “That was the most awesome thing ever.”

  “I suppose that was on your list?” Irritated, Fred crossed his arms over his chest. “Catfight in a bowling alley?”

  “I just . . . No one ever sees me that way!”

  “Let’s go.” Fred hadn’t enjoyed the encounter nearly as much as Rachel clearly had. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. Whirling around, he headed for
the shoe rental return. Rachel skipped after him.

  “Is she an old girlfriend or something? She was being so mean to you. I was trying to help you get rid of her.”

  “Yes,” Fred answered shortly, unwilling to reveal anything more about Courtney. “We dated for bit, then we ended it.”

  “It sounded more like you ended it.”

  Fred didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t want to talk about Courtney at all. Desperately he turned the subject around to Rachel. “What about your exes? What sort of guys do you go out with?”

  “Me? Oh, you know . . .”

  They reached the benches at the shoe rental return. He plopped down and began unlacing his bowling shoes. “No idea. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Well,” Rachel sat down next to him. “I don’t go on many dates here in San Gabriel. Back home, I usually go out with people my father already knows. We might go to a fund-raiser or a charity event, things like that. He’s less worried about that type of person.”

  “The rich type,” Fred offered grimly.

  “Not necessarily rich. Just . . . in the same world, I suppose.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” He understood perfectly well. Never in a million years would Rob Kessler consider plain old Fred Breen suitable dating material for his daughter. Bodyguard material, sure. But that’s where it ended. The thought made him suddenly grumpy.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You have this look on your face like we’re snobs.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I can tell what you’re thinking. You’re not very good at hiding your thoughts.”

  “Better than you think,” Fred muttered. If she had any idea how many of his thoughts involved her body parts, she’d be stunned. “Your father wants the best for you, that’s all. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “I’m twenty-five years old. Don’t you think I can decide for myself who’s best for me?”

  “Your father runs security checks on your dates,” he pointed out. “What happens if he says no? That’d be the end of that, right?” He didn’t know why he couldn’t leave it alone. The thought of rich guys in tuxedos escorting her to fund-raisers made him crazy.

  She yanked off her bowling shoes and glared at him. “You are so annoying.”

  He shrugged. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

  Surging to her feet, bowling shoes in hand, she rounded on him. “You know . . . up until now, this has been the best night of my life. And I was going to . . . to kiss you for it.”

  The way she said “kiss” made him think she meant something different. That thought kept him rooted to the bench while she continued her rant.

  “But now you’ve ruined everything. And I’m not going to kiss you. I’m just going to . . .” She interrupted herself by bending down and pressing her lips onto his. Sweet fire crashed through his system. He went hard as a bowling pin, and his head spun. Images cascaded across his vision. Her legs in those black vinyl pants. The thin sliver of skin revealed by her belly shirt, and her vulnerable shadowed navel. Unable to stop himself, he shaped his hands to her waist, feeling the tender give of her skin and the slickness of the vinyl.

  She yanked her head away from his, putting her hand to her lips as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Then she took a giant step back, so her body slipped from his hands.

  “Okay, I guess I will kiss you. Did kiss you. Once. That’s all. Because it was a really great night. Can we go now?”

  He took in a deep, lung-clearing breath. “In a minute.”

  “I want to go now!”

  “In a minute.”

  She flicked an indignant glance up and down his body, which didn’t do his painful hard-on any favors. “Oh.”

  Chapter 15

  Rachel had been all set to tell Bradford Maddox IV that she no longer needed an escort to Cindy’s wedding. But then Fred had started in with his teasing, and his insinuations that she wasn’t in charge of her own love life, and she changed her mind. He could take his opinions and his rude ex-girlfriend and shove it.

  Sure, maybe he had a point. Her father did dictate certain aspects of her life. On the other hand, she’d fought so hard for every piece of her independence. If her father had his way, she’d be back at Cranesbill, attending charity events with millionaires. Instead she was living on her own in San Gabriel and running the Refuge. Didn’t Fred understand what a miracle that was?

  Still, the germ of truth in Fred’s accusation got under her skin. It seemed even more accurate when Bradford picked her up in his red Porsche convertible. Dressed in a custom-tailored suit, his Bluetooth behind his ear, he looked the part of the picture-perfect Silicon Valley venture capitalist.

  Come to think of it, she’d never seen him without his Bluetooth.

  Bradford helped her into the Porsche with a glance back at Fred, who was just getting into his pickup. “You got yourself an official stalker?”

  “That’s one way to put it.” She didn’t want to talk about Fred. She wanted to get to the wedding, stand next to Cindy on her big day, then get straight to the champagne.

  Bradford had been the first of her father’s colleagues to back the Refuge, and she’d always been grateful for that. Anyone who cared about animals was okay in her book. On the other hand, the last time she’d seen him he’d talked about nothing but his financial dealings and never mentioned the Refuge. She was starting to wonder how deep his commitment to wildlife went. And if he rattled on about his investments again, she might start to zone out.

  Well, at least it was a wedding, so there would be plenty of distractions.

  Distraction Number One, a fireman named Fred, followed close behind them as they drove. Rachel kept stealing glances in the rearview mirror, which meant she kept missing Bradford’s efforts at conversation. He didn’t seem to notice as he related the current Silicon Valley rumors.

  “So how are the creatures faring?” Bradford asked when he’d run out of tech business gossip.

  “The Refuge is doing well, for the most part. There were quite a few mountain lions and coyotes injured in that brushfire last month. We’ve been busy patching them up.”

  “Coyotes.” He shuddered. “Aren’t they classified as vermin? My neighborhood in the San Jose hills is infested with them.”

  “Maybe you’re the ones doing the infesting,” she pointed out, bristling. “Why should you have any more right to be there than they do?”

  He gave her a patronizing smile. “Your passion for your work is praiseworthy.”

  The words might have been dipped in suntan oil, they were so smooth. Fred might tease her until she lost her temper, but at least he wouldn’t spout fake flattery.

  Forget Fred.

  At the wedding chapel, she stood alongside Liza and Feather. Cindy being Cindy, she’d commanded them to wear their sexiest little black dresses and the most outrageous shoes in their closets. Rachel had chosen her favorite dress, the one with the heart-shaped neckline that revealed just a touch of cleavage. It flared in flirty folds just above her knees. Her shoes of choice were metallic stilettos.

  Her gaze kept stealing to Fred, who stood at the side of the chapel in brown gabardine dress pants and a creamy sweater. She knew he was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, but somehow she couldn’t keep her gaze off him. Forcing herself to check in on Bradford, who sat midway down the aisle, she noticed that he was murmuring something into his Bluetooth. What kind of person took a phone call during a wedding?

  The brief ceremony passed in a blur. When the minister proclaimed them man and wife, Bean kissed Cindy so hard her feet lifted off the floor. Rachel felt a shocking, profound moment of envy. Would she ever love and be loved like that? She’d put her heart and soul into the Refuge, because anything else was too complicated. But now something wild and wanting tugged at her heart. Why couldn’t she . . . why shouldn’t she have love, romantic love, like other people?

  They all drove to a restaurant ca
lled Castles for the reception. As Bradford helped her out of the Porsche, she tried to catch Fred’s eye. But he had his game face on and was scanning the area for . . . something. Something that wasn’t her. Feeling out of sorts, she let Bradford guide her into the magnificent interior of the restaurant. She cast a grumpy glance at her surroundings. Strange how gilded columns and crystal chandeliers could feel like a prison when you were facing tedious conversation with a man who didn’t interest you.

  Luckily, Liza and Feather pulled her aside as soon as they walked in. With a smoothly social laugh that grated on Rachel’s nerves, Bradford backed away to fetch drinks. Fred, channeling James Bond or someone, cruised the perimeter of the restaurant.

  “We’re dying to know why you brought two men to a wedding,” Liza whispered. “We’re not talking ménage here, are we?”

  Rachel’s face went so hot she pressed her hands against her cheeks. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Which part of it’s disgusting?” Feather looked sensational in a black tube dress, lace-up go-go boots, and a chunky crystal necklace. “The older-dude-with-Porsche part or the sexy-hot-fireman part? He’s the one who saved us from the limo, right?”

  Rachel nodded miserably. “Dad hired him to be my bodyguard, that’s the only reason he’s here. My date is Bradford. Fred’s just doing his job.”

  Her two friends draped sympathetic arms around her. “And you like the fireman. Of course you like the fireman.” Liza shook her head so her dangling chandelier earrings brushed her jawline. “But you can salvage the situation.”

  “How?”

  “Three words. Make him jealous.”

  “Who?”

  Liza sighed. “Rachel, you really need to spend less time with dogs and more time with men. Fred the Fireman, that’s who. You’re here with another man. That’s a chance to make Fred jealous.”

  “That seems so mean.”

  “A little jealousy never killed anyone,” said Feather blithely. “He’s a big, strong fireman, he can take it. Sometimes guys need a little kick in the pants, that’s all.”