Flashpoint (5 page)

“There was a metal trash can in the kid's room—”

“Zach, stop.” Tommy's voice was quiet but his eyes were intense. “The chief's signing off on the report today. Accidental ignition.”

“He can't sign off. It's arson.”

“I'm not having this conversation.” Tommy turned and started to walk away. “Not with you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Tommy looked back, regret creeping into his expression. “Look, you're not the most credible of witnesses right now, okay? There were those two other fires earlier in the season that you cried arson—”

“
Cried arson?
What am I, the boy who cried wolf?”

“Just leave the case to those who are trained, Zach. I've got a helluva workload right now and I don't need you—”

“I don't care about your workload. We're
all
overworked. What I care about is making sure that whoever killed that kid pays his due.”

“
My
job, Zach. My job.”

“But you don't believe it was arson.”

Tommy gave him one hard, long stare. “I never said that.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Look, I get that after what happened to your parents, that you'd see arson in every fire, but—”

No. Oh, hell, no.
“We dealt with that in my interview, remember? That fire was years ago and has nothing to do with this.”

“Are you saying that what happened to them when you were a kid has nothing to do with you being a firefighter?”

“I'm saying that I know what I saw on that Hill Street fire.”

“No, you don't.” Tommy scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “Listen, you should have several strikes on your permanent record by now, but I've always stepped in for you. I trusted you, and now I'm asking you to trust me.”

“To do what?”

“To not go over my head with this. The chief is getting pissed off, Zach. And when he's pissed, he reacts. You know that by now. So do this, for me.” He paused.
“Please.”
And with that, he walked away.

Zach watched him leave in frustrated disbelief before turning to go inside, coming face-to-face with Brooke.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey.” Before he could ask how much she'd overheard, she put her hand on his arm and literally gave him a physical jolt. Gave her one, too, by the way she pulled her hand back. Jesus, when they finally touched each other sexually—and they would—he was convinced they'd spontaneously combust.

“You okay?”

Better now, he thought. “Yeah.” He took her hand in his, and felt the jolt all the way to his toes. “Quite a zap.”

“Yeah.”

Something about her made him forget his troubles. Well, not forget, but be able to ignore them, anyway. Her eyes were soft and also somehow sweet. After nearly three weeks, Number Seven had finally let her guard down, and damn, but it looked good on her. He wondered if she wanted to put that concern to good use, because he had several ideas—

“Are you sure you're okay?”

Soft, sweet, sexy, and too perceptive. “I'm fine.”

“Because it's understandable if you're not. I'm here if you wanted to—”

Oh yeah. He wanted to. He wanted to in his bed, in hers, with her panting out his name as she came all over him.

“—talk.”

He blinked the sexy vision away. “No. Not talk.”

She blushed but didn't go there. “I'm sorry about your parents.”

So she'd heard everything. “It was a long time ago.”

“And it doesn't change what you saw at that Hill Street fire.”

He stared at her, a little stunned. “No, it doesn't.” He felt his heart engage, hard. “You're different, Brooke O'Brien.”

“I've heard that before.”

“Different good. Different great.”

She didn't believe him, that was all over her face. “If you'd gone surfing with me,” he said, “I could have shown you, proven it to you.”

“Maybe another time.”

Now that, he could get behind. “I'll count on it.”

With an unsure but endearing nod, she walked away.

I
F
B
ROOKE HAD TALKED
with Zach for even another minute, she'd probably have thrown herself at him. She wouldn't have been able to help herself. He'd been standing there, looking fiercely unhappy, and her ears had been ringing with all she'd heard Tommy say to him—about his parents, about that kid dying, about how Zach needed to stay out of it. God, she'd wanted to grab him and hug him and kiss away that look on his face.

Even now she wanted to, hours later, sitting by herself in the house.

Good thing she was off duty for two days. Two days in which to get herself together and find some semblance of control. Because there were other ways to offer comfort than sex, for God's sake. She could buy a Hallmark card, for instance. Or make cookies.

But neither appealed. No, she wanted to offer a different kind of comfort all together.

A physical comfort.

A grip. She needed one. So she buried herself in packing. By the time her weekend was over, she'd gotten to the halfway point, setting aside a shocking amount of boxes to keep.

Keep.

Odd, how she wished she could keep even more, but she'd talked herself out of that, going only for the photos and diaries, still surprised at the sentimental impulse. What was she going to do with it all and no house to keep it in? Oh sure, her name was on the deed of this one, but that was temporary.

Like everything in her life.

The answers didn't come, not then, and not when she drove to work for her next scheduled shift. As she got out of her car, her eyes automatically strayed to the hammock, empty of one übersexy firefighter. Not there.

And not washing his rig, half-naked. His rig was parked, though, so she knew he was here, somewhere. Pulse quickening for no good reason other than she was thinking about him, she stepped inside her new home away from home and found a big poster had gone up in the front room, announcing the chief's upcoming big birthday beach bash.

A party.

She wasn't great at those. Turning to head into the kitchen, she ran smack into a warm, solid chest.

Zach's T-shirt didn't say Bite Me today. It didn't say anything. No, this one was plain black, half-tucked into loosely fitted Levi's that looked like beloved old friends, faded in all the stress points. He had his firefighter duffel bag over his shoulder and was clearly just getting here for his shift, same as her.

“Hey.” It was the low, rough voice that had thrilled her in waaaay too many of her dreams lately. “You showed.”

At the old refrain said after all these weeks only to make her smile, she found herself doing just that even as her body came to quick, searing life. She had it bad for him, and it was as hot and uncontrollable as a flash fire. “I told you, I finish everything I start.”

He smiled a bad-boy smile, and touched her, a hand to hers, that was all—and the whole of her melted. “Everything?” he murmured.

Oh, boy. She recognized the heat in his gaze, and felt a matching heat in her belly.

And her nipples.

And between her legs.

A kiss. She wanted just one kiss. Was that so bad?

“Because I think we've started something very interesting here. Something we should finish. What do you think?”

“I…uh…”

“I'm all ears,” he murmured and shifted just a little closer. So close that she had to tip her head up to see into his eyes, giving her an up-front and personal view of the scar that slashed his right eyebrow in half.

Her gaze dropped from that scarred brow to his mouth.
Way
too dangerous. Also too sexy-looking for his own good, for
hers
—his smile too easy on the eyes, his
everything
too easy on the eyes.

“Brooke?”

“Don't I hear a fire bell?” she managed.

He chuckled softly. “No, but nice try.” He shifted to let her move past him, but somehow they ended up bumping against each other, softness to hardness. For a brief breath she closed her eyes and allowed herself to absorb it—his scent, his proximity, the feel of him brushing up against her.

She'd had no idea how much she'd craved this nearness, a physical touch; that it was
him,
the object of her secret nighttime fantasies, only intensified the sensation.

He put his hands on her arms, sensuously slid them up and down, and she forgot they were in the firehouse, forgot that they should really make at least an attempt to be discreet. Hell, she forgot to breathe. “Zach.” She tore her gaze from his and looked at his mouth.

A mouth that let out a low, rough sound of hunger, and then, blessedly,
finally,
was on hers, and then she was kissing him with
her
mouth, with her entire body, and most likely her heart and soul, because, good Lord, the man could kiss. He gave her everything—his hands, his body, his tongue—and when they broke apart for air, he stared down at her in astonishment. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Just damn.” Eyes a little dazed, he took a step back, looking off his axis enough to send a surge of lust and power skittering through her, but she managed to control herself. Controlled and composed. Yeah, that was her, one hundred percent put together.

With hard nipples.

And a telling dampness between her thighs.

“You ever feel anything like that before?” he asked.

“Truthfully? It's been so long, I can't remember.”

His soft but not necessarily amused laugh ruffled the hair at her temple and ran down her spine. “Love your honesty.”

She didn't. And she didn't love the idea that anyone could have seen that wild kiss they'd just shared. What was the matter with her? She turned away, but he caught her, a hand curving around her shoulder. “Don't go.”

She needed to.
So
needed to. “Listen, maybe we could forget about this, at least until I figure out what it is.”

His hand slid down her arm, settling on her waist, where his thumb lazily stroked one of her ribs. The motion liquefied her bones and altered her breath. “Forget it? I don't think that's possible. Did you feel that?”

“I felt…something.” Which she was fighting. She wasn't sure why, when she'd wanted that kiss more than her next breath—but that hadn't been just any kiss. No. And being with him wouldn't be just sex, either, and she knew herself enough to know that she wasn't quite equipped to walk away. Not from that.

And she
was
walking away. In a matter of weeks. Her job would be over, her grandmother's home on the market…“It's natural that we'd feel…” She watched him arch a curious brow. “This. Natural. I'm a woman, you're a man.” A really,
really
hot man, but still. “Natural,” she repeated again, and tried to mean it. “We've been working hard, and not relaxing, and…”

His head dipped to hers, his eyes a lethal combo of heat and good humor. “So you'd feel this with everyone, then? Say, Dustin? Or Blake?”

“Okay, no. But—”

Triumph surged in his eyes to go with that heart-stopping heat. “Maybe we should do something about it.”

Yes, cried her body. Oh please, yes.

A bell sounded, thank God, and before she could form a response, the call went out for all the firefighters, no EMTs required.

Aidan popped his head in for Zach, who nodded, then looked down into her face. “We can finish this when I get back.”

“No need,” she said quickly.

“Oh, there's a need.”

And then he was gone.

 

B
ROOKE SPENT
most of the day out on transport calls with Dustin, and though she gave her all to what she was doing, her mind wandered. Not to the house she needed to sell, or how it was going to make her feel to leave a place she was slowly, reluctantly, started to think of as hers, but to a man and his kiss, and to the fact that he was making her yearn and burn when she never yearned and burned.

“Where are you today, New Hire? Disneyland?” Dustin shot her an exasperated look after having to ask her the same question three times in a row.

“I'm sorry. I'm preoccupied.”

He pushed up his glasses. “It's because you guys haven't knocked it out yet. That's very preoccupying.”

She stared at him.
“What?”

“Come on. Are you going to tell me that you don't want to be with Zach?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I'm going to tell you that. I don't want to be with…”

He waited patiently, but the lie wouldn't come off her damn tongue. Frustrated, she turned to look out the window, watching the town go by. Farmers' market. An art gallery. An outdoor café. “It's personal.”

“Hey, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Hell, I've got the same problem.”

“You want to have sex with Zach?”

He pushed up his glasses again, grinned, and pulled into the station. “Not quite.” He hopped out and walked away whistling, getting inside before she could ask him
who
he had the same problem with.

Zach and Aidan's rig was in the garage, and her heart skipped a beat. The kiss, the kiss, the kiss…it was all she could think about. That, and getting another. And then she stepped into the kitchen and found Zach just standing there, looking ten kinds of wow.

He was in his gear, a little dusty, a little sooty and a whole lot sexy. He was still practically shimmering with adrenaline from the fire he'd just fought, looking far too edgy to be the laid-back, easygoing surfer guy she knew him to be.

And far too much for her to handle, no matter how much her body sent up a plea to let it do just that. He was too experienced for her, too…everything.

She'd spent too much time in her life trying to get somewhere, trying to find herself, to let a man like this in. Unfortunately, right now, at this very second, she wasn't thinking about finding herself. She was thinking about seeing him naked. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

But that was a lie, and that haze of lust he always created faded a little as she stepped closer. “Did anyone get hurt?” Or God forbid, like in the Hill Street fire that she knew haunted him, die.

“No.”

But the memory of something bad was etched in the drawn, exhausted lines of his face. He took his losses hard, very hard, and that fact only deepened how she felt about him. “I'm just tired,” he said. “And needed a moment alone.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” And she went to leave, because she understood that, but then he added, “I don't want to be alone from you.”

She turned to look at him, but he'd moved closer and she bumped right into him. Her chest to his, his thighs to hers, and she actually let out a shuddering sigh that might have been a moan.

“What was that?”

Oh, just her brain cells blowing fuses left and right. “Nothing.”

Snagging her hand, he held her close, peering into her face. “You let out a…sound.”

“Yes. It's called breathing.”

His hand slid to her waist and gently squeezed. “It sounded like more.”

How about a sexually charged, needy whimper? Did it sound like that? “No.”

His gaze searched hers for a moment. “Maybe we should talk about the kiss.”

Kisses. Plural. “Probably we shouldn't. It might lead to…”

More.

He was waiting for her to speak.

“I think I heard the fire alarm.”

“Huh,” he said, sounding curious.

“What?”

“You're not as honest as I thought.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Really?” His hand slid to the small of her back and stroked lightly. “Then what are you thinking right now?”

That he'd look mighty fine naked. “That I'm hungry.”

Not a lie. She
was
hungry. For his yummy body.

“Brooke…”

“Yeah. Listen.” She let out a breath. “I'm trying to resist you here, okay? I'm failing miserably, but I'm trying.”

“Why?”

Wasn't that the question of the year. “Because this is unlike me, this thing we have going on. I don't flirt, and I certainly don't do…whatever it is
you're
thinking right now.”

“Never?”

“No, not—not in a long time.”

“That's just not right, Brooke.”

Just the image of what they were talking about gave her an odd shiver and changed her breathing, and she realized he wasn't breathing all that steadily, either. “Not helping, Zach.”