Reckless

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Together, baby,” he said, the promise raking over her skin as he dipped his mouth forward to kiss her. “And I’ve got you. I swear.”

  Zoe arched up to meet him in one last thrust of her hips before she climaxed hard, her pulse racing through her veins while pleasure rolled through her in one surge after another. Alex never stopped making love to her—not when she screamed his name, not when her fingernails curved into the small of his back to keep him close, and not even when she was so filled with bright, beautiful sensation that she couldn’t do anything but gasp for breath. He pushed up to his knees, gripping her hips to keep her flush against his cock as he rocked into her over and again, until finally, his hands trembled at her sides.

  “Christ, Zoe, I . . .”

  She grabbed his wrists, dug in tight. “I’ve got you, too, Alex. Don’t hold back.”

  He came on a harsh moan, thrusting inside her to the hilt. Zoe blinked up at him, a ribbon of shock spiraling through her at the vulnerability in his release, and the way that even caught up in his pleasure, he was looking right back at her. After one last exhale, Alex lowered his chest to hers, the rapid thump of his heart beating a pattern against her breastbone.

  “Together,” he whispered. “Just like this.”

  And as they lay there, surrounded by shadow and caught up in nothing but each other, Zoe knew with undeniable certainty that she was one hundred percent, completely over the line, insanely in love with Alex Donovan.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alex stood outside the battalion chief’s office, fiddling with the buttons on his uniform shirt and trying to convince himself not to puke. He didn’t get nervous often, but like everything else in his wheelhouse, when it happened, it was an all-in type of affair. Considering his freaking job was on the line, he’d give himself some leeway in the feeling-a-little-tense department.

  Provided he got reinstated and not shit-canned.

  “Donovan.” Captain Westin’s voice slipped through Alex’s gut-clenching thoughts, delivering a fresh batch of other gut-clenching thoughts, and Jesus Christ, Alex wasn’t going to make it through this day.

  But it wasn’t his fault he’d gone and fallen for his captain’s daughter. Or that the thought of her was the only thing keeping him from losing his fucking marbles right now.

  Breathe in, you idiot. One career-trashing thing at a time.

  “Hey, Cap.” Alex tried on a smile, reaching out to shake Westin’s hand. “Thanks for asking the chief to schedule this hearing as soon as possible.” The first Monday morning slot must’ve cost Westin a few withdrawals from the favor bank, and hell if the realization didn’t pang through Alex’s gut with renewed vigor.

  One corner of Westin’s mouth kicked up. “I’ve been down a man on Engine for four weeks, Alex. I know you think highly of yourself, but I assure you, my motivations aren’t entirely selfless.”

  Alex coughed out a laugh, his nerves scattering. “Fair enough.” He opened his mouth to tack on a joke to lighten the mood even further, but a figure down at the end of the hallway caught his attention. “We’ve got a second, right?” he asked, jutting his chin at the door with the chief’s name emblazoned across the glass in gold lettering.

  “Yes, but . . .” Westin’s gaze narrowed in confusion before going momentarily wide as he followed Alex’s stare. “Donovan, this isn’t a good idea.”

  Of course Westin was balls-on accurate. Not that it changed Alex’s mind.

  He turned toward the spot where Captain McManus stood at the end of the wide expanse of linoleum and office doorways. “I’ll be right back.”

  Alex’s boots thumped out a steady rhythm, his heartbeat kicking in to match it as he made his way down the hall. McManus’s normally shifty stare hardened a few degrees at the sight of Alex approaching, but the man stood firm, arms crossed into a menacing knot over his navy-blue uniform shirt.

  “What do you want, Donovan?”

  Alex inhaled on a five-count before saying, “I want to offer you an apology.”

  The thin line of McManus’s lips fell open. “I’m sorry?”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry,” Alex said, drawing his shoulders tight around his spine. This was going to sting, but the words were still due. Even if it had taken him a while to realize it. “I know you and I had differing opinions on how to run that warehouse fire. While I stand by my reasoning, my actions were out of line, and for that, I apologize.”

  “You apologize,” McManus said, disdain darkening the word like a heavy layer of soot. “That’s rich, coming from you. But it’s going to take more than just slick talk to get you out of this.”

  Alex shook his head in a clipped back and forth, his response all truth. “I’m not trying to get out of anything.”

  “Well, good, because I’m still going to recommend that you get sanctioned up to your ass.” McManus glared, and although Alex’s molars came together hard enough to test their fortitude, he refused to give in to the impulsive urge to tell the guy to get bent.

  “That’s your prerogative, sir. I stand by my apology either way.”

  After a minute of silence on Alex’s part and a whole lot of nasty scowling on McManus’s, Alex stepped back to break the stalemate. He turned on his heel, retracing his steps back to the spot where Captain Westin had moved closer to listen in.

  “Well. I have to admit, that’s not what I was expecting from you,” Westin said quietly, his eyes showing his surprise.

  Alex straightened the front of his shirt, smoothing his fingers over the FFD crest stitched over the pocket by his heart. “It was the truth. There is a difference between recklessness and bravery. Even though McManus and I have our differences, and God knows he pisses me off to no end, I still needed a wake-up call to remember where the line is.”

  “It takes a hell of a man to admit something like that,” Westin said, but Alex wasn’t about to ditch all his personality traits just yet.

  “It’s cool. I might’ve screwed up by knocking McManus down, but we’re still going to beat his ass in this year’s softball tourney.” Christ, he was practically salivating just thinking about it.

  Westin’s laugh only lasted for a minute before his expression slid back into seriousness. “You might’ve done a stupid thing, but you’re a good man, Donovan. What you did for Zoe at Hope House this month . . .” He trailed off, and Alex’s mouth went Sahara Desert dry.

  “It was all part of community service,” he croaked, and okay, yeah, the lie tasted like a mouthful of ashes with a battery acid chaser.

  “You had her back out there at that soup kitchen, even when you didn’t want to be there.” Westin extended his hand, the pure gratitude in his expression sending Alex’s gut into a free fall toward his knees. “I’m grateful, son.”

  Oh God, he was on the bullet train straight to hell. He and Zoe had agreed to come clean to her father together, in private, where he’d be able to get used to the idea of them as a couple on his own terms, but damn it, holding back now in the face of the man’s sincerity just felt like a lie. Alex opened his mouth, the truth tearing a path toward his lips.

  And then the door to the battalion chief’s office swung open, killing his confession before it could even fully form.

  “Alex Donovan?” the chief’s assistant asked, and Alex nodded mutely over his slamming pulse. “Chief Williams will see you now.”

  He auto-piloted his way into the chief’s office, his spine at full attention. Captains Westin and McManus filed in after him, leaving Chief Williams’s assistant to close the glass-paned door with a heavy thunk.

  “Gentlemen.” The chief addressed all three of them with his trademark steely stare. “This is familiar territory for us, so I think we can skip the pleasantries.”

  “Yes, Chief,” Alex said, revisiting his compulsion to throw up. But Chief Williams hadn’t earned his reputation as a hard-ass by selling Girl Scout cookies, and in truth, he wasn’t wrong about how many times Alex’s file had turned up on his desk. They went through
a brief recounting of the events of the warehouse fire, both via the official report and McManus’s overblown account. Captain Westin filled in a few blanks, bringing the overall story to a way more unbiased level, and McManus countered by blustering on about Alex’s shortcomings. Finally—thankfully—Chief Williams cut the whole bitch fest short with a lift of his hand.

  “Donovan, you’ve been unexpectedly quiet over there. Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

  Alex paused, pulling a deep breath into his overtight lungs. “I can’t argue the events of the warehouse fire in question,” he admitted. “They pretty much speak for themselves per the report. In the same way that Captain McManus didn’t appreciate my challenging his orders, I didn’t appreciate him putting his hands on me.”

  McManus opened his mouth with the clear intent of protesting, but Chief Williams killed the move with a brows-up stare. “Captain, please don’t insult my intelligence with an argument here. You’ve made your thoughts more than plain, and the report contains several statements corroborating a mutual shoving match between you two.”

  A crimson flush crept over the captain’s face, but he had the wherewithal to keep his trap shut, so Alex continued. “It was my goal at that warehouse fire to do what I thought would keep people safe. I don’t set out to be reckless on purpose, but I don’t shy away from my job, either. I regret the way this incident played out,” he said, the truth of the statement ringing in his ears. “But I assure you, Chief. I’m prepared to return to Station Eight and do my job to the best of my ability. All I want to do is fight fires and serve the community of Fairview.”

  Chief Williams paused for only a second before tapping the manila file folder on top of his desk. “I’m going to be blunt, Donovan. Your track record doesn’t speak well for you, and your behavior at this warehouse fire is the crown jewel of your bad choices. Fires are dangerous enough, even when everyone involved in fighting them respects the chain of command.”

  Alex’s palms went instantly damp, his yes, sir wedging in his throat. There had to be some way to make Chief Williams understand how desperately he needed this job, and he scrambled to come up with something—Christ, anything—to plead his case.

  But the man beat him to the punch. “However . . . both Captain Westin and your peers speak very highly of your skills as a firefighter, as well as your dedication. You’ve had an entire month to cool off, during which time you’ve gone above and beyond to complete your community service assignment. All things considered, I believe we can call this one a draw. I’m reinstating you to active duty, effective immediately.”

  Relief took the slingshot route through Alex’s chest at the same moment McManus blurted out a heated “What?”

  The chief turned his gaze on McManus. “Donovan might not have been in the right in this situation, but neither were you, Captain. I’d like to advise you to think twice next time you’re tempted to put your hands on another firefighter. You’re a superior officer in this department. I expect you to act like one. Am I clear?”

  McManus paused before finally mumbling, “Yes, sir.”

  Chief Williams shifted, splitting his scissor-sharp stare between Alex and Captain Westin. “As for you, Donovan. The next time I see you in this office, I’d better be awarding you a commendation. If you so much as put your uniform on crooked, I will show you the door permanently, and I won’t lose a second’s sleep over it.”

  Alex nodded past the slamming whoosh of his pulse in his ears. Holy shit. His job was safe. He was safe. “Thank you, sir.”

  But the chief just raised one gray brow, his expression going steel-tipped and serious. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re the one who has to stay in line. Now get out of my office, would you? You’ve got a shift to prepare for.”

  Zoe stood on the neatly kept threshold of Station Eight, the warmth of the late-April sunshine nothing in comparison to the all-out burn spreading through her shoulders. She balanced the two oversized food trays full of mac and cheese more firmly between her palms, wondering if maybe she’d overdone it just a little in the kitchen today. But with the grant proposal having been turned in for a whole workweek and the food drive being complete, Zoe had found herself at loose ends on her Friday off. Alex was on shift, and she’d needed some way to burn all of her nervous energy while she waited for news on the Collingsworth Grant. She’d heard rumblings that the committee had already culled the front-runners from the rest of the applicants, which meant in theory, Hope House could be that much closer to getting the money it so desperately needed.

  On second thought, maybe Zoe hadn’t cooked enough.

  The muscles in her shoulders burned with a fresh wave of exertion, and she snapped back to attention on Station Eight’s threshold. The trio of overstuffed grocery bags looped over her wrists gave up a loud crinkle as she shifted her weight, extending her elbow in an awkward attempt to ring the buzzer.

  “Whoa! Hey, let me help you with that.” Jones slipped in from behind her to trade the broom in his grasp for both trays.

  Zoe’s shoulders sang with relief. “Whew, thanks, Mike.”

  “No sweat,” Jones said, lifting the trays full of mac and cheese with a slight smile. “Did you cook all of this?”

  She bit her bottom lip and gave a well-yeah half shrug, but she’d needed the outlet, and cooking for everyone at Station Eight had calmed her. At least, as much as anything could right now. “If there’s one thing I learned ages ago, it’s to never come to a firehouse unless you plan to knock with your elbows.”

  As if the presence of food had somehow stirred the energy in the building, Cole and Crews stuck their heads down the hallway from the junction into the main common area. “Zoe!” they called out in near unison, and she burst into a smile.

  “Hey, you guys. I thought you might like a little dinner.”

  “Rookie.” Crews met them halfway down the hall, delivering a hearty nudge to Jones’s shoulder. “You just totally got sprung from KP. Thank freaking God.”

  “Ah, don’t mess with him,” Cole argued. Zoe’s heart melted a little bit—Cole always was kind of the peacekeeper, but it was nice to see that his even keel extended to their rookie, who usually got the lion’s share of ribbing and crappy station chores by virtue of his newbie status. Of course, then Cole added, “Let him hand over dinner first,” and yeah. So much for his sweeter side.

  “Did someone say dinner?” O’Keefe appeared at the end of the hallway with Rachel at his side. “Oooh, look. It’s my very favorite chef.”

  Zoe’s laugh bubbled up from her chest as she made her way into the common room. “Aren’t I the only chef you know?”

  “Details, sweetheart. Details,” O’Keefe said with an exaggerated wave. “So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

  “Well, I couldn’t help but notice how you guys all hovered around the soup kitchen like vultures last week when I made macaroni and cheese, so . . .”

  “Stop.” Rachel’s eyes flashed with oh-yes goodness. “Did you use that super-secret recipe you were telling me and Ava about? With the spicy chorizo and bell peppers?”

  She kept her smile as coy as possible, but holy crap, it was a ten-foot-tall order. “Possibly.”

  “Brennan is going to be bent out of shape that he missed out,” O’Keefe said, his tone implying that he’d be more than happy to describe the meal to his buddy in borderline-bragging detail.

  But Zoe had his number. “I thought you might say that,” she flipped back, sending a playful wink in the paramedic’s direction. “Which is exactly why I dropped off a tray for him and Ava just before coming out here.”

  Rachel’s laughter met O’Keefe’s groan head-on, and she hip-checked her partner with a gentle bump. “Serves you right.”

  “Okay, okay!” O’Keefe returned the gesture with an enthusiastic nudge. “Anyway, you have great timing, Zoe. We all just got back from a pretty hairy fire call.”

  Just like that, her heart stuttered hard against her rib cage, her throat turning instantly dry.
“Is everything okay?” She swung her gaze around the common area as subtly as possible, but caught no sign of either Alex or her father.

  Crews stepped in beside her to take the grocery bags from her fingers, the bitter-burnt scent of smoke still clinging to his uniform. “Some brainiac didn’t want to miss a single second of the baseball game on TV. So he fired up his humongous gas grill inside his garage to keep him closer to the house.”

  “Really?” That didn’t sound so bad.

  “Yup.” O’Keefe shook his head, unfolding his frame in one of the chairs surrounding the long communal dining table. “We got there just in time to keep the damn propane tank from blowing a crater into Oak Street. Too bad for the guy his garage didn’t fare quite so well.”

  “Oh,” Zoe managed weakly, and God, she wasn’t cut out for this. “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “Nah. Just a few scrapes and a hell of a lot of property damage,” Cole said, his smile small but reassuring. He leaned in, his voice flawlessly nonchalant even though she was certain he knew the score. “Alex is in the engine bay, rechecking all the equipment.”

  She ran her clammy palms over the front of her jeans, but at least now she could breathe. Mostly. “Thanks.”

  Zoe knew she should take a few minutes to get the mac and cheese in the oven and start preparing the green beans she’d brought as a side before rushing out to the engine bay. After all, she and Alex hadn’t told her father about their relationship yet, and dropping everything to make a beeline for the guy would probably raise every eyebrow in the room.