Four Weddings and a Fireman (19 page)

The husky sound of his breathing penetrated her awareness. The desire it held echoed her own, and amplified it even further. Her eyes closed halfway, like a satisfied cat's, and a sense of luxurious anticipation took hold. Her body, held securely between Vader's strong frame and the cool steel of the engine, hummed with arousal.

Then his lips touched hers, just a whisper of a brush, firmness against softness. A sigh passed between them, slipping from one to the other, she wasn't sure which. Her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted, giving him the welcome her soul demanded. He cupped her face, tilting it toward his mouth. He claimed his kiss like a king, like an emperor, as if he had absolute divine right to worship her, to possess her. His tongue swept through her mouth, chased by ripples of excitement dancing in its wake like drunken revelers.

The intoxicating taste of him went right to her head, straight to her sex. She kissed him back with naked hunger, baring all the sensual need that had been building since their last time together. They clung to each other, ravished by the heat that flared so quickly between them.

Then he stepped back, his chest heaving with harsh pants, his muscles jumping from the effort of ending the kiss. From inside the firehouse, she heard someone shouting about a ladder. For the space of one kiss, she'd completely forgotten where she was.

“Oh yeah,” said Vader. “We'll have no problem living in the same house together.”

She stared at him helplessly, knowing her arousal was written all over her face, in her darkened pupils and flushed cheeks. “Is that a no?” she managed.

“No. That's a yes. A yes, thank you. On one condition.”

Her cheeks got even hotter. Her susceptibility to Vader was already off the charts. When he got into his dominant, demanding mode, she had absolutely no resistance. “What condition?”

“We'll talk about it later. I should get back to work. You'd never know I was trying to make captain.” With a deep breath, he took another step back.

Risking a quick glance at his trousers, she caught the huge bulge. He was absolutely right. If they couldn't keep their hands off each other at his workplace, how would they stand a chance at home?

“I have a condition too. No sex while your mother's in the house.”

“Unless you beg me.” He winked.

She put her hands to her flushed cheeks. “I'll try to remember not to beg. So what's your condition? Tell me now, so we can settle this.”

“My condition is easy. One night with you in your bedroom. That's it.”

“But no sex?”

“Unless you beg.”

She eyed him suspiciously. That innocent expression meant trouble. He had something up his sleeve, but she couldn't begin to guess what it was. As long as he agreed to the rule against sex, she couldn't imagine they'd have a problem.

“Agreed.” She stuck out her hand to shake on it, but he hesitated, his playfulness gone for the moment.

“Also, I have to talk it over with my mother. I'm not sure she's going to agree.”

“Why not?”

He gave an uneasy shrug. “She's been through a lot. I need to be sure she's comfortable with whatever I decide. I'll let you know tonight, okay?”

“Sure.”

“And Cherie.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth. “Thank you. You're a true sweetheart.”

“You're welcome.” The sensation of his warm mouth on her palm made her giddy. Scolding herself for being a sex-­crazed idiot, she pulled her hand away and waved good-­bye. She was picking her way across the diesel-­spotted concrete when she remembered the other part of her errand. “Vader,” she called.

He was already halfway through the door that led into the firehouse. “Yeah?”

“I nearly forgot to ask you. Do you have a cat?”

He spun around and strode across the apparatus bay in about three longs steps. “Yeah. But I haven't seen him since the fire. Why?”

“Is he big and orange?”

Those brown eyes lit up with a joy that made her heart skip several beats. “Yes. That sounds like Izzy. Did you see him at the house?”

“No, but after I left the hospital I drove that red truck to my house to check on Trixie because she wasn't answering the phone. Then I took it back here to the firehouse and one of the firemen brought me home. The next morning I saw this orange cat hiding under the bougainvillea. I put out a dish of milk, but then I had to go to work. When I came back the milk was gone. Same thing with a can of tuna. I couldn't figure out where he came from, but then I remembered the truck, and thought maybe he was hiding in it during the fire, then hopped out at my house. Cats can be pretty smart.” She grabbed his hand. “Are you okay?”

He was blinking rapidly, as if trying to bat away tears. “My mother loves that cat like nobody's business. If she knows he's alive . . . He's alive, right?”

“Oh yes. He was shy at first, but he got over that pretty quick. He runs right up to the food dish now, but he still won't let me get close enough to check his collar.”

Vader squeezed her hand tightly. He seemed rooted to the floor, afraid to release her.

“Really, Vader, he's fine.” She curved her other hand around his cheek and felt his jaw muscle jerk. “Cats are survivors. He probably has at least seven lives left. Do you want to come and see him? You want to make sure it's him? Oh, wait! Where is my brain today?”

She dug in her pocket for her cell phone and scanned through her photos. There it was, the big orange cat crouched over a dish of tuna. Vader grabbed the phone and enlarged the picture.

“That's definitely Izzy.” He caught her up and swung her in a wide circle. Breathless with surprise, she gripped his forearms, clinging to their corded strength as she flew through the air. Like a pro, he landed her safely on her feet, then steadied her. “Thank you so much, Cherie. You have no idea what this is going to mean to my mom. I want to go tell her right this minute. But I have a whole shift to go.”

“I'll take good care of him until then. Don't worry. He'll still be there. He's definitely adopted us.”

“As my mother would say, ‘Bless you, hon.' I'll call you tomorrow after I talk to her.”

The news of
Izzy's survival perked his mother up tremendously. She finally spoke, telling the nurse that her cat was so smart he'd recognized a fire department vehicle and hitched himself a ride to safety. She was so thrilled that she easily accepted the news that they were going to be staying at Cherie's house for a while.

“If Izzy trusts her, then I guess I can give her a chance,” she said, her voice still raw from smoke. She poked at the plastic-­wrapped dinner the nurse had left on the retractable tray. “Is her house wheelchair accessible?”

“We'll have the first floor. There's a nice backyard with only two steps down. I can rig up a ramp for you.”

“This is what you want?”

“Yeah.” He wanted it for several reasons. Being around Trixie might cheer his mother up and give her something to do. Also, if some crazy dude from Arkansas chased down Cherie and Trixie, he wanted to be manning the barricades. But most of all, he couldn't resist the chance to be so close to Cherie. Her barriers were starting to come down, he just knew it. If he was living in her house, he gave himself pretty good odds of kicking them down once and for all.

He decided to focus on the Trixie factor. “Cherie needs help with her little sister. I told you about her. She's a handful.”

Ginny loved nothing more than being of use to someone. “She won't be a handful for me, hon. I have my secret weapon. My wheelchair. She won't know what hit her.”

“You can't hit her with your wheelchair, Mom. Rules of the house.”

She gave him a playful slap on the arm. “You're deliberately misunderstanding me, Vader. You know I'd never do a crazy thing like that, unless it was an accident, or Izzy got in the way.”

“You can't blame it on Izzy either. I'm on to you.”

When she giggled, the world settled back in its proper orbit. His mother was going to be fine.

A frown settled over her exhausted face as she fiddled with a container of chocolate pudding. “I wonder what went wrong?”

“You mean with the fire? I've been meaning to ask you what happened.”

“Not the fire. Well, yes, the fire. But the feng shui ritual.”

“The what?”

“I know you'll think I'm silly, but I was summoning true love, which requires plenty of red candles. I put them a little too close to my
Casablanca
poster. It caught on fire while I was chanting a love prayer, and by the time I realized it, I couldn't do a thing. It spread so fast.” She began tearing at the napkin on her dinner tray.

“It's okay, Mom. Calm down. These things happen. I've seen it a zillion times.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She dismissed the fire with a careless wave. “But what went wrong with the feng shui? I was trying to get you unstuck from Cherie. And now we're going to be living in her house! That doesn't make any sense. Unless . . .” Her face cleared.

“Unless what?”

“Living so close to her will finally open your eyes. You'll find out she's not the one for you. Just you wait and see.”

 

Chapter Eighteen

W
hen Ginny finally met Cherie, on the day Vader drove her to Gardam Street in the blue Suburban, the encounter went much better than Vader had feared. His mother took Cherie's hand in both of hers, called her “hon,” and thanked her profusely. She showed off her bubbly chatterbox side, even though she still sounded as if she'd smoked a carton of cigarettes.

Cherie presented her with a welcome gift of lemon bars, which Vader had said were her favorites. Ginny took one taste, and proclaimed them the best she'd ever tried.

“Thanks for being so nice,” whispered Vader as he wheeled her into her new bedroom. “You just earned yourself a box of mini-­donuts.”

She spun the chair in a circle, surveying her new domain. “I can afford to be nice. I still don't believe she'll last.”

“I take it all back,” Vader grumbled.

Cherie knocked on the doorjamb. “How does everything look? Do you like the table?”

She'd offered up an old drafting table she'd found at a flea market. By some miracle, Ginny's computer had survived and now sat on top of it, plugged in and ready for action.

“Everything looks wonderful,” said Ginny. Vader could tell she was itching to get online and check her forums. When Izzy trotted into the room and jumped into her lap, things couldn't have been more perfect.

Although the house was workable as it was, Vader decided to make a few alterations for his mother. He bought the materials for a ramp to the backyard, a ramp onto the front porch, and safety bars installed in the shower and by the toilet. A ­couple of the guys from the firehouse—­Fred and, surprisingly, Mulligan—­showed up to help him with the construction.

While they cut the boards for the ramps, Trixie outdid herself bringing them snacks and homemade cookies. Every delivery seemed to come with a different outfit.

“Was she wearing that miniskirt last time she came in here?” Fred asked through a mouthful of shortbread.

“That's what they call a microskirt,” said Mulligan. “They're getting shorter. Next they'll make a nanoskirt and no man will be safe.”

At the table saw, Vader used the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. “Nanoskirt? Where'd you come up with that?”

“Science. Heard of it? I have a degree in it.”

“Rings a bell. Like scientifically formulated energy drinks?” Vader winked at Fred. He loved tweaking his muscleman reputation.

Trixie reappeared with another platter, this one loaded with roast beef sandwiches. “Red meat for you red-­blooded American guys,” she said, flirtation dripping from every pore.

Fred dropped his nail gun and bounded to her side. “You're a lifesaver.”

Trixie batted her eyelashes, revealing bright turquoise eye shadow. “Thanks, hot stuff. You know, you should really take those gloves off when you eat. At least the left one. Unless there's a ring on it. Then you don't have to bother. Do you have a ring under there?”

“What?” Fred looked thoroughly confused, as any normal man would be.

Vader rolled his eyes. Trixie must still be husband hunting. He should have warned the other guys. Or made them all wear fake rings.

Ginny appeared at the doorway. “Oh Trixie, Izzy's stuck under that old curio cabinet. Would you mind helping me get him out, hon? You're such a darling, helping out an old crippled lady like me.”

Vader nearly choked on his roast beef.

“Wow,” said Fred, gazing at Trixie with reverence. “You are something special. Not only do you make killer roast beef, but you help out ladies in wheelchairs.”

Trixie's kitten face lit up, and she practically danced into the house to help Ginny. Vader watched her go, realizing he'd just gotten a taste of life on Gardam Street, and it wasn't half bad. Ginny already had Trixie's number. He had a feeling they were going to be perfect for each other.

“Freddy, that girl is pure trouble,” said Vader, feeling duty-­bound to warn his fellow fireman. Then he caught Fred's wink. “Wait. You did that on purpose?”

“Redirection and positive reinforcement. Works great with kids.”

Vader clapped him on the shoulder. He should have known Fred would get it. The more he hung out with the guy, the more he respected him.

“So how's the captain thing going?” asked Mulligan. “You schedule the exam yet?”

Vader adjusted the bandanna keeping the sweat off his face and bent over the table saw. “Next week. But I think I might have blown my chances. Fuck-­up city every time I turn around. Brody asked if I wanted to back off some of my work commitments considering what I have on my plate right now. I told him no way. I need the promotion now more than ever.”

Fred finished his sandwich and hoisted the nail gun again. “Everyone's saying you really opened ­people's eyes with all the committees you're serving on. They say the handbook's going to be the best ever.”

“Yeah, I've been researching the Bachelor Firemen curse,” added Mulligan. He turned a two-­by-­four resting on two sawhorses and brushed the sawdust off it. “Funny stuff. I'm starting to believe. Did you know the marriage rate for San Gabriel firemen is statistically speaking significantly lower?” He didn't sound at all disappointed by that.

“Well, just look at us,” said Fred. “None of us are married. And some of us want to be.”

Vader glanced at Fred in surprise. “You, Stud?”

“Why not? Are you saying you don't want a wife? A ­couple of kids to show off at the firehouse?”

The image was so similar to what his mother had said that he nearly laughed. And then everything else his mother had said came rushing back, and the answer burst into his mind with the clarity of a flashing neon sign. No, he didn't want “a wife and kids.” He wanted Cherie. He wanted his and Cherie's kids. No one else would do. Not now, anyway. And not for a long time. If he couldn't bring Cherie around, it would take his heart years to adjust. Stubborn, pigheaded organ.

To hide his reaction, he turned on the table saw and ran the next piece of lumber through the blade. When he looked up, Fred was watching him with a knowing little smile. “You can do it, Vader.”

“You mean make captain? You think so?”

“That too.”

Vader's mother looked
a lot like him, with deep brown eyes and a vivacious smile. While her face was worn into lines that indicated pain, Cherie hadn't seen her complain once. Mrs. Brown had a can-­do, effervescent spirit that Cherie admired. She was a magician at finding things for Trixie to do. At the first sight of her little sister lounging on the couch, ten tasks would suddenly appear, from rolling balls of yarn to giving Izzy his worm medicine. In three days, more cleaning occurred on the first floor than during Soren and Nick's entire stay. Ginny had Trixie dusting and scrubbing and Lemon-­Pledging until the entire house smelled like spring cleaning.

Cherie had no problem with that. She and Trixie had both grown up with lots of assigned chores. Keeping busy was much better for her little sister. Trixie seemed to know it too. Both Cherie and Vader offered to pay her to help Ginny, but to her credit, she refused to accept any money.

“You're putting me up and feeding me, Cherie. And Vader just lost his home. It's the least I can do. But if Vader wanted to hook me up with one of the Bachelor Firemen . . .”

“Not going to happen,” Vader had told her, very firmly.

“Oh, fine. They're probably too old for me anyway.” Trixie tossed her hair. “Cherie's right. I should focus on myself and developing my own interests. So if anyone needs me, I'll be online makeup shopping.”

Best of all, she got to see Vader on a regular, almost daily basis. Watching him move his mother into her room, set up her knickknacks just so, hang family photos on the wall so his mother would feel at home . . . well, it would be enough to make anyone melt.

She missed him during his shifts, but when he rolled in the door after a night at the station, she experienced a rush of giddy pleasure. Whenever she caught the rumble of his voice in conversation with his mother, a smile would spread across her face.

Vader brought a companionable, fun-­loving energy into the house, the spirit of a man who made everything into a party. He dug out the grill she never used and made steaks for everyone, wearing his “Stand Back, I'm a Fireman” apron. He brought home cat toys for Izzy because his mother found them endlessly entertaining.

And then there were the firehouse videos, Ginny's top form of amusement.

“I can't make them anymore,” he told them gloomily as Ginny scanned through the files on her computer, looking for her favorites. Cherie had pulled up a chair next to Vader and was busy trying to ignore his nearness. “Not if I want to be captain.”

“Once you're captain, you can make your own rules,” said Ginny.

“I can't make my own rules. Captain doesn't mean dictator.”

“Aha. Here's one. Remember your Ella Joy investigation?”

“Yep. Came up empty.”

“Investigation?” Cherie inquired.

“Someone kept feeding Channel Six inside information on the firehouse. I interrogated everyone at the station on camera and asked them incriminating questions. I'd start them off with softball questions like, ‘How do you like your peanut butter sandwiches?' Then wham. I'd slam them with something like, ‘Speaking of food, are you feeding information to Ella Joy?' ”

Cherie laughed. “How'd that work out?”

“See for yourself.”

He gestured at the computer, where a short clip had just started. It showed Sabina flipping the bird at the camera, followed by a shot of Double D doing the exact same thing. Then came Fred, who gazed thoughtfully toward the ceiling, finger tapping his chin. “Do you need the question again?” asked Vader from off screen.

“No, no. I'm just thinking.” Finally he seemed to come to a decision. “Strawberry jam, with a glass of cold milk. Has to be whole milk. And I like cracked wheat bread.”

“That was the first question. What about the next one?”

“You mean the one that's too stupid to answer?” With a roll of his eyes, he wandered away from the camera. “I'm hungry. Did anyone pick up more peanut butter?”

At that point, the camera turned a hundred and eighty degrees so Vader could address it. “And there you have it. Who is the traitor? Inquiring minds want to know. But inquiring minds still don't have a clue. As you can see, this inquiring mind”—­he knocked on his head—­“got shut down like a leaky nuclear reactor. In the meantime, he—­or she—­is still on the loose, spilling firehouse secrets and royally pissing me off. Until next time, reporting live from Station 1, I'm Vader Brown.”

Ginny closed the file and beamed. “He's good, isn't he? My boy could have been a newscaster. So photogenic and well-­spoken.”

“Definitely network material.” Under her lashes, Cherie looked sidelong at Vader, who made a face at her.

“Don't encourage her. I did it purely for the love of the art.”

“He did it for me,” corrected Ginny. “It was like my own personal soap opera, those videos. I never liked the soaps much, but I could watch those firehouse videos for hours.”

The affection between mother and son was, quite frankly, adorable. Damn the man.

She wondered why he didn't come to her bedroom the way he'd promised—­or was it threatened? Whatever the reason, she spent each night of that first week alone, wishing his big, warm body was next to hers, dreaming of the touch of his skin, his heavy bones and hard flesh and hot mouth.

Then one night, it wasn't a dream. His mouth really was planting warm kisses along the inside of her arm. He really was naked in her bed. The night air really was charged with electric excitement.

“Vader?” That part wasn't in doubt; she'd know the feel and scent of him anywhere. But she wanted to make sure it wasn't a dream.

“Shhh.” He pushed her nightgown up to her chin, exposing her body.

“What took you so long?”

He nestled his face into the softness of her stomach. “Did you nearly give up on me?”

“Yes.” He licked the outer swell of her breast, close enough to her nipple to make it sing. “No.”

“You'd better not. I told you I was going to come.” He reached between her legs and dragged his hand across the soft furrow, already wet. “Mmmm. Have you been thinking about me?”

“No.” He pressed the heel of his palm against her pulsating clitoris. She groaned. “Yes.”

“Thank you. The truth, Cherie. The truth will set us free.” Her hips lifted against him, longing for a taste of the silky, hot skin of his pelvis.

“Is that right, Fireman? Then why didn't you ever tell me about your mother?”

He paused, and she could have kicked herself. The last thing she wanted was to make him stop the delicious things he was doing. “I should have. I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want anyone seeing me as some kind of charity case, I guess.”