Seducing the Fireman (Risky Business) (15 page)

“That’s right. Take me in your mouth. I need to feel those sweet lips wrapped around my cock.”

She licked the length of him, obliterating coherent thought, and drew him into her mouth, sucking hard and taking him deep. His body tensed, and it was all he
could do not to pump his hips into her mouth as she worked him with her tongue, moving him toward orgasm at light speed.

Shit. The sight of her fucking him with her mouth? After weeks without sex? It was more than he could take.

“Jesus, Becca. I can’t—”

No way was he going to come without her. He pulled out and grabbed her under the arms, lifting her onto the dresser.

“That mouth of yours feels too damn good.” He pulled a condom out of the top drawer, tore it open, and rolled it on. “I need to be inside you.”

She wrapped her legs around him, crushing her lips to his as he plunged into her. Hard and deep, just how she liked it. Her moan of pleasure drove him on as he kissed his way down her neck, loving the taste of her salty skin. He slipped an arm around
her backside, holding her in place as their hips crashed together.

“Jax,” she panted, her legs squeezing him tight. “I’m going to come.”

“That’s right.” He pumped into her, driving them both toward release. “Come for me.”

Her nails raked over his shoulder as she screamed out his name, her body clenching him tight. Three strokes later, he joined her, his own orgasm searing through
his cock like white lightning, electrifying his senses. He’d never experienced anything like it, riding that fine line between pleasure and pain, coming inside the woman he loved. Because he did love Becca. He’d been wrong when he said he was falling in love with her.

He was already gone.

Chapter Nineteen

Becca scrolled through the images from her ride along with Ladder One-Three-Two, tagging images that had merit for Quinn’s series. Since she’d taken hundreds of photos, it was best to narrow the pool before she began editing. Otherwise she’d lose her mind and more hours than she cared to count.

She stopped on an image from the apartment fire. Jax was descending
the ladder with a small boy in his arms. How had she missed this one before? Zooming in on his face, she studied his eyes. The photo wasn’t perfect from a technical perspective. The light was a little off and the angle could’ve been better, but the look in his eyes? Sheer determination. It truly embodied the miracle of the human spirit. She marveled again at his ability to do the job after losing
his own mother to the flames. Facing every day the thing you feared most? As far as she was concerned, that was the definition of courage.

It was also one of the traits that drew her to him like a raindrop to a puddle. Despite his difficult upbringing, despite losing his mother, despite a father who didn’t give a damn about him, he’d become an amazing man. One who was funny and thoughtful
and brave. He was exactly the kind of man she’d always known he could be. And he made her feel…sweet Jesus, he made her feel things she hadn’t even known existed, things she couldn’t put into words. But above all, he made her feel like she was
his
.

Now and always.

The idea terrified her and thrilled her all at the same time. Being in a relationship with Jax was everything she’d never
let herself dream of, and that scared the hell out of her. She’d long ago accepted that happily ever after wasn’t for her. It was easier than opening herself up to heartache and despair again. But now that it was within her grasp? She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sure, her relationship with Jax had the potential for disaster written all over it, but what if it actually worked out?

She
tagged the image and moved to the next, reminding herself to stay on task and not get sidetracked like a love struck teenager. There would be plenty of time later to sort out her tumultuous feelings. For now, she needed to remain focused and get through these edits, or Quinn would have her ass.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it vibrating on the counter and decided to let it go to voicemail.
Whoever it was could wait. Quinn was a stickler with deadlines, and she couldn’t afford to be late. Weeks had passed since the ride along, but with all the prep work for the exhibition, she hadn’t gotten around to finishing the editing, and they were down to the wire.

Two minutes later, the phone buzzed again.

Sighing, she climbed from her chair and went to retrieve it. Unknown number.
She swiped the screen and brought it to her ear, hoping it wasn’t a telemarketer because she was so
not
in the mood.

“Hello?”

“May I please speak with Becca Mancini?” a harried voice asked.

“Speaking,” she said, dropping back into her desk chair and moving to the next picture in the series. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. My name is Dr. Krishnan. I’m calling from New York Methodist
Hospital.” Fear blossomed in her chest, its icy tendrils spreading through her body. “I have a patient here, uh, Jackson Hart, who listed you as his emergency contact.”

Oh, God. Jax.

Her stomach plummeted.

“And? Is he okay?” she asked, not giving a damn about common courtesy.

“He suffered a line of duty injury, but yes, he’s fine,” the doctor said. “He’s been treated and
can probably be released later this evening. He’ll need someone to take him home and stay the night, though. He shouldn’t be alone.”

“Okay.” She moved to the hall closet and grabbed a pair of sneakers. “You said New York Methodist, right?”

“Yes, he’s in the ER. Just check in at the desk when you arrive and give them his name.”

“Thank you.” She disconnected and slipped her feet
into the shoes, grabbing her purse on the way out the door and slinging it over her shoulder.

The drive to the hospital felt endless, her stomach churning the entire way as she crawled across town.

Do not hurl in the car. That is not going to help. Besides, the doctor said he was fine. Take a deep breath and calm down, crazy lady.

Calm down? Impossible. Her brain was imagining
every horrific scenario. She should’ve asked for more details. Would the doctor have given them to her? Did being an emergency contact give her access to his medical care? And when had Jax made her his emergency contact, anyway?

No need to ask why he’d done it. She knew that sad answer, and it broke her damn heart. He didn’t have anyone else. But that wasn’t really true. Not anymore. The
Mancinis had always considered him family, and no matter what happened between the two of them that would never change. She’d just have to make sure Jax understood he had a family now, one that cared and would be there for him no matter what. Right after she figured out what was going on, and why he hadn’t called her himself.

…

Jax stared at the ceiling, cursing his bad luck. Another
few inches to the left and he’d have been home free. Funny how that worked. Still, fifteen stitches wasn’t the end of the world. He’d seen worse. At least no one had been seriously injured in the accident. Thank God for that. He’d be riding a desk for a few days, but he’d be back on the job in no time.

Maybe it was time to reconsider his emergency contact. Today had been a close call. He’d
just barely stopped the doc from calling Becca, promising one of the guys from the house would take him home when he was discharged. And they would. It’s what they did. They were family. But the department didn’t let you list another firefighter as next of kin. It wasn’t a problem for most guys. Most guys on the job had plenty of family. All he had was Becca. And the Mancinis.

Not that he
was complaining. It was more than enough. He just didn’t want one of them getting the call if something did happen to him. In retrospect, it had been stupid to list Becca. When he’d put her down, he’d just hoped no one would ever need to make the call. After all, he’d been on the job for eight years without a single incident.

There’s a first time for everything.

Dumb fucking luck.
That’s what this was. He glared at his gauze wrapped forearm. There would be no hiding it from Becca. He’d just have to downplay it when he told her. No need to worry her unnecessarily. With her freelance work and the upcoming exhibit, she had more than enough on her plate. She’d been working so hard to keep everything on schedule. Hell, she was barely sleeping. The last thing she needed was added
stress. Especially when he was fine. Still, better she hear it directly from him than from the doc.

Closing his eyes, he shifted his weight, doing his best to get comfortable. They’d hold him a few more hours, but the doc had promised to get him discharged by nightfall. No way in hell was he spending the night in the hospital. Anderson would bust him out, if need be.

The curtain slid
back with a rattle, and when he opened his eyes, Becca stood there, a look of pain carved on her face.

Pain he’d caused.

She rushed to his bedside and grabbed his hand, holding it tight. “Oh my God, Jax. I was so scared. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He glanced over her shoulder, finding the room empty. “What are you doing here? I told them not
to call you.”

Her head shot up, her eyes going narrow. “Excuse me? What do you mean you told them not to call me?”

“It’s not a big deal. Just a scratch, really,” he said, squeezing her hand. Dammit. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted the doc to call her. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You didn’t want to worry me?” she asked, her voice climbing an octave. She pressed her lips
together, as if tamping down her volatile temper. “You don’t get to pick and choose who gets to care about you and when, Jax. I’m your girlfriend, right? And your emergency contact? That means I get to know what’s going on with you. When you’re hurt, when you’re scared, when you’re having a bad goddamn day. Not when you say it’s okay, but always.”

“Hey,” he said, reaching up and stroking
her cheek. “Why are you getting so upset? Look at me. I’m fine.”

“Why am I getting so upset?” She snorted and planted her hands on her hips, dark eyes shining with anger. “For a smart guy, you can be pretty dumb sometimes. You want to know why I’m upset, Jax? I’m upset because I love you. I. Love. You. Do you understand now?” She expelled a shaky breath, a tear sliding down her cheek. “The
thought of something happening to you, it…takes my breath away.”

She
loved
him?

His heart skipped a beat.

Becca Mancini loved him. It was too good to be true. Especially after everything they’d been through over the years.

Then reality came crashing back down. She loved him. A man with one of the most dangerous jobs in the city. Every time he went to work, every time she
got a call like this one, she’d be in hell, wondering if he’d be coming home to her again.

How could he expect her to live like that day in and day out? He chose this life; she didn’t. Hadn’t he caused her enough pain over the years? He ground his teeth together. How could he have been so thoughtless? He’d never really had to worry about the risks his job posed, because he’d never had to
worry about anyone else before.

Only himself.

“Jax? Say something.”

“Sit down,” he said, scooting over in the bed and making room for her to climb in with him. When she was settled next to him, her sweet scent overpowering the smells of disinfectant and bleach, he took her hand again, giving it a light squeeze. Now wasn’t the time to ponder his stupid mistakes, not when she’d
just confessed her love for him. No, he owed her so much more than that. “I love you, Becca Mancini. I’ve known for a while now, but I didn’t want to rush you. I think I’ve always loved you.” She beamed up at him with tears in her eyes. Tilting her mouth up to meet his, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “I just didn’t recognize the feeling for what it was before.”

She curled up next to
him, burying her face in his shoulder. “Yeah, it can be pretty hard to sort out those love/hate feels.”

“Exactly.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, thankful the day had gone his way.

“For the record,” she said, poking him in the chest. “You’d better never scare me like this again. Ever.”

His heart sank, spiraling down, down, down. What she was asking? He couldn’t promise
her that, no matter how badly he wanted the words to be true. The job was dangerous. Unpredictable. Potentially lethal. He’d accepted the risks a long time ago, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—lie to her about it. Refusing to make a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, he pressed his lips together and held her tight.

Chapter Twenty

Becca shimmied into the black lace cocktail dress she’d borrowed from Quinn, feeling like a kid playing dress up. With three-quarter-length sleeves and a boat neck, the sheath style was classic, understated, and sexy. It was also a far cry from her usual leggings and T-shirts. Thank God Quinn had let her borrow it because, being the clichéd starving artist she was,
there was no money in the budget for a new dress. Especially not a two hundred dollar Aidan Mattox cocktail dress she might only wear once.

She turned to the mirror, a swarm of butterflies taking flight in her belly. The reception started in one hour. She was cutting it close. Too close. Hell, she was still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she was going to her first gallery exhibition.
It was surreal. It was also terrifying.

Putting her work out there for others to judge and question and critique? It was
hard
. Despite the fact that she’d put it on display for public consumption, her art was incredibly personal. Each photo she’d selected held meaning to her, and while she wanted to tell those stories in her own voice, the prospect of selling her work to strangers made her
a little sad, like she was losing a piece of herself. Of course, selling nothing and never booking another exhibition would be even more disheartening.

Shoving her fears aside, she studied her reflection. At least she looked the part. Great dress, sexy shoes, fancy updo. No small feat considering her hands were shaking so badly she’d had a heck of a time wrestling her hair into submission
and pinning it tight. Her stomach growled, reminding her the only thing she’d managed to choke down all day was a handful of saltine crackers.

Too nervous to eat meant too nervous to drink, so she’d given herself a one-drink limit. The last thing she wanted to do was get tipsy at her first event.

She glanced at the clock for the eighth time. Apparently Jax was running late, too. She
tried his phone and got voicemail, leaving a short message.

They hadn’t spoken since their fight the night before, when the captain had called and asked Jax to cover a shift on his day off. He’d been happy to do it, promising he’d be home in time for her show, but she’d been too stressed about the gallery opening to think straight, and they’d argued about it. She’d asked him if he understood
how important the show was to her, and he’d accused her of not understanding the job. Not
his
job.
The
job.

Still, even if he was mad, he’d never miss her gallery opening. Not after he’d promised to be there. He was probably just running late.

No big deal. They still had time.

Might as well use it productively. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a few more saltines, forcing
herself to nibble on the bland crackers. When she was done, she washed her hands and checked the time again. Then she checked her phone.

Maybe she’d missed his call.

Nothing.

A fine sheen broke out on her forehead. They were going to be late. Where the hell was he? She tried his phone again—feeling like a stalker—and again got his voicemail.

Shit.

What was she supposed
to do? She couldn’t wait much longer. It was opening night, and she couldn’t be late. They’d never book her again. He knew how important this night was to her. What could possibly be keeping him?

Only one thing. The job. Her gut clenched. Something was wrong. It had to be.

Do not let your imagination run rampant. Maybe he just got a call
. If he was on a call, he would be inaccessible.
It didn’t mean anything was wrong.
Just leave another message.

Beep!

“Hey, it’s me. I’m not sure where you are, but please call me as soon as you get this message, no matter what. I need to know you’re okay.” She checked her watch. “I’m heading over to the gallery, but I’ll leave your name at the door. I hope you can make it, but if not, just call me, okay? I need to know you’re safe.
I love you.”

She disconnected, her stomach sinking like a lead balloon.

She should’ve skipped the crackers.

Stop! Stop overreacting. Everything is fine. So he’s running late. It happens. It’s not that big of a deal.

The last thing he’d want her to do would be to sit around and worry. No, he’d want her to go and enjoy her night. Make the most of the opportunity and network
with other artists and critics. So that’s what she’d do.

Arriving at the gallery with ten minutes to spare, she checked in with the curator and grabbed a glass of wine, reminding herself it was meant to be ornamental.

When the doors opened at six, there was a steady stream of traffic through the gallery. She greeted her friends and family as they trickled through, making excuses for
Jax’s absence, which seemed to be top of mind for everyone. Doing her best to quell her nerves—about her art and about Jax—she focused on engaging guests about the pieces hanging on the wall. After all, her job tonight was to help sell the Rebecca Mancini brand and get people talking about her work.

Surprise, surprise. There was a lot of interest in the black and white of Jax. It had been
a last minute addition, but Madeline had agreed it rounded out the series nicely, adding a new layer of intensity to the collection. Unfortunately, discussing it endlessly did nothing but intensify her anxiety.

By the time nine o’clock rolled around, she couldn’t get out the door fast enough. The reception had gone well by all accounts—or as well as could be expected given her mind was a
million miles away—and she felt pretty damn good about her first showing. The early feedback had been positive, not that she had much to compare it to. The real feedback would come in the critic’s formal reviews.

The lights were off at Jax’s apartment when she arrived. She rang the buzzer anyway. If he wasn’t home, she’d sit on his front steps and wait all night for him if she had to.

No answer.

She rang the buzzer again. Just in case.

Still no answer.

Just as she was sitting down to make herself comfortable, his voice came over the intercom. “Yeah?”

She jumped to her feet. “Jax? It’s Becca.”

The door buzzed, and she let herself in, relief flooding her veins. He was home. And safe. She raced up the stairs, finding the door to his apartment
open.

“Jax?” She scanned the dark living room, taking in the beer bottles that littered the coffee table. He’d been drinking. A lot. Her eyes raked over Jax, who sat on the couch in a pair of track pants and nothing else. His eyes were bloodshot. The five-o’clock shadow on his jaw suggested he hadn’t shaved. She’d never seen him like this before. Ever. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She
took a tentative step forward. “Is everything okay?”

“Just peachy,” he said, taking a pull on his beer. “I’d offer you a drink, but this is the last one.”

“Are you drunk?” Stupid question. The answer was pretty damn obvious. “What is going on? Is this about last night? Because I didn’t mean to—”

“Just having a beer.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Or twelve.”

Anger sparked low in her belly. Had he forgotten about their plans? It was only the biggest night of her life. “I called.” Stay. Calm. “I was worried about you.”

“I shut my phone off.” He set his beer on the table, next to the phone. Even in the dim light, she could see the screen was cracked. “I needed some time to think.”

“You missed the reception. At the gallery,” she clarified,
just in case his beer-addled brain couldn’t make the connection. Judging by his current state, it was a pretty safe bet he might need the assist.

He looked up at her, an emotion she couldn’t identify flickering in his eyes, and grabbed his beer. When he raised it to his lips and took another pull, her Italian temper exploded, earning her a week’s worth of Hail Marys. The scene before her
was new, but the feelings it evoked—the sickening, disheartening crash of betrayal, the disappointment, the overwhelming feeling of being inadequate—those felt all too familiar, and it disgusted her.

“Jesus, Jax. Are you fucking kidding me right now? This is the biggest night of my career, and you’re sitting here getting shitfaced?” She fisted her hands, nails digging into the soft flesh
of her palms. The stabbing pain only fueled her anger. This could not be happening. The man she loved wouldn’t do this to her. Not again. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry, and you couldn’t even be bothered to return a goddamn phone call?”

…

Jax sat quietly as Becca unleashed her temper, keeping his face a blank mask. It wasn’t exactly hard after a dozen beers. She had every right
to be angry, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel…
anything
. Apparently the beer was doing its job. Keeping everything—the guilt, the pain, the anger—at bay.

Dammit, that’s what he needed. An escape. From all of it. If only for the night.

Because every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were the flames. They reached for him, reminding him that no matter how far or how
fast he ran, he’d never escape. They’d taken a life last night, and he hadn’t been able to stop them.

You’re a failure.

He’d failed, and a man had died. Somewhere in the city a broken family was mourning the loss of a husband, a father, a son. It was his fault, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Broken was broken. A fact he knew as well as anyone.

The call had come
in at the end of the shift, and it had been a bad one. He’d known it as soon as they’d pulled up. But he’d hoped, hell, he’d prayed—

“Jax?” Becca’s voice sliced through his thoughts like a blade. “Are you even listening to me?”

“How could I not?” he asked, forcing himself to do what had to be done. There wasn’t enough beer in the world to dull the pain this would bring. “You’re screaming
loud enough to wake the dead.”

“Excuse me?” Her face paled, the color draining from her cheeks.

“Look, I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“Actually, you didn’t,” she spat, anger radiating from her. “And this isn’t about you missing the show. I understand the job comes first. I get that. I can live with that. But this? You stood me up—
again
—to get drunk on your couch?”

“It’s
not that big of a deal,” he lied, hating himself for hurting her this way. “But if you’re just going to keep yelling, there’s the door.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

Every fiber of his being ached to go to her, to hold her in his arms and apologize, but he had to stay strong. For her. It was going to hurt like hell, but it was better to get it out of the way now, to make a
clean break before he did any permanent damage. She’d be hurt and angry for a while, but she’d get over it. Over him. His palms began to sweat. People got over breakups every day. There were other things, far worse things, you could never come back from. He’d always known it in the back of his head, but today it had become clear, when he’d heard her panicky voicemails, begging him to call her back.

That was the tipping point.

He couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—put her through that. His father had been destroyed by his mother’s death. By all accounts he’d become an entirely different person, a shell of a man. He wouldn’t do that to Becca. Never to Becca. She deserved so much more. More than a man who was always on call, who missed exhibits and holidays and birthdays. More than a man who could
only offer sleepless nights and who might not come home at all one day, leaving her with a flag and a hell of a lot of heartache. She deserved a better life than he could offer. She deserved a successful photography business. A doting husband. Hell, even two point five kids if she wanted them.

The idea of Becca in another man’s arms ripped his guts out. But if he truly loved her—and he did,
more than life itself—he had to let her go. No matter how bad it hurt.

“If I walk out that door, I won’t be coming back.” She leveled him with a glassy-eyed stare, her lips pressed into a firm line. “Do you want me to leave, Jax?”

He glanced at his empty beer. He was going to need another case to get through this night. “I think that would be for the best.”