Seducing the Fireman (Risky Business) (9 page)

Turning to face her, he offered his hand. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“I…can’t,” she stammered, backpedaling. “What if the elevator drops, like in that movie, and I get chopped in half?” Her eyes darted to the opening between the elevator and the fourth floor. “I really
don’t want to get chopped in half.”

He suppressed a smile. She’d been watching too much TV. Not that he’d done a lot of elevator rescues, but hers wasn’t an uncommon fear. “Look at me, Becca.” For once, she did as he asked without arguing. Her eyes locked on his and understanding passed between them. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her—not today, not ever. “This elevator isn’t going anywhere,
which is why we need to get you out.”

“Okay.” She licked her bottom lip, looking helpless and scared. It was completely at odds with the woman he’d come to know. His gut twisted, and he ached to take her in his arms. “Just…I want you to know I’m sorry. About the radio thing. It was stupid and immature and, well, mean. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Now let’s get you out of here.” He
grabbed her hand and slipped an arm around her waist, steering her toward the opening. Although he wasn’t a fan of his new nickname, he sure as hell didn’t have any hard feelings. She’d been angry and hurt and she had every right to feel that way. Besides, this wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not when she was scared shitless. “I’m going to boost you up, and Anderson is going to take your hand
and pull you out. Got it?”

She drew a shaky breath and nodded. “Fine. But you better keep your hands off my ass if you know what’s good for you.”

Jax laughed and linked his fingers, creating a step to boost her up to the fourth floor. She placed her left foot in his hands and gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in. When he looked up at her, those dark eyes were swimming with fear.

“You’ve got this,” he promised. She squeezed his shoulder, nodded, and pulled herself up, placing her other foot on the step he’d created. Rising to his full height, he pushed her up and through the opening, keeping his hands off her ass. “You’re doing great, Becca. Almost there.”

Anderson pulled her over the edge, and she quickly yanked her feet to safety.

Jax grabbed her shopping
bags and passed them to Anderson. Then he jumped up and grabbed the edge of the floor, hoisting himself up. He swung a leg up, and using the leverage, heaved himself clear. Becca sat across the hall with her back to the wall, breathing hard.

“Thank you,” she said, clasping her hands between her knees to still their shaking.

“You’re welcome. And much as I enjoy the damsel-in-distress
routine,” he said, settling into the spot beside her, shoulder to shoulder, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, shortie. A six pack and a hot pie work just as well if you want to woo a firefighter.”

Chapter Eleven

Becca eyed the massive box sticking out of her trunk and sighed. The damn thing was a tighter fit than the L train at rush hour. So much for doing it on her own. She couldn’t even get the stupid thing out of the car by herself.

Now what?

She’d just have to call Christopher. He could help her carry it up, too, since the elevator was still out of service.
Not that she was in any great hurry to use it again, but it still chafed a little. Wracking her brain for something she could use to guilt him into helping her, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Yo,” he answered, a man of few words. How he managed to capture the interest of so many women remained one of the borough’s greatest mysteries.

“Hey, Christopher,” she said, deciding to
play it straight. “Can you get mom to cover the bar for twenty minutes and come help me move a table?”

“It’s a little busy right now.” He covered the phone and yelled something across the bar before asking her, “Can it wait?”

“Not really. It’s sticking out the back of my car, and I don’t want it to walk off while I’m upstairs.” She left off the part where she’d been too cheap to pay
fifty-nine dollars for delivery. After all, that’s why God gave her a strapping older brother, right? She sighed heavily, making sure her next words were laden with the remnants of teenage angst. “Remember that time you told Jimmy Sanders I had lice, and he refused to sit next to me in class for a week?” She sniffed for effect. Really, she should get an Oscar nod for these performances.

“All right, all right. Let me go talk to Ma. I’ll be there in ten.”

Becca disconnected and slipped the phone in her pocket. God help her the day she ran out of ways to manipulate Christopher. Fortunately, he’d given her lots of ammunition during their formative years. Little did he know she hated sitting next to Jimmy Sanders. The kid smelled like boiled cabbage, and the week he’d refused
to sit next to her had been like heaven.

Climbing up on the hood of her car, she sat to wait for the muscle. It was a beautiful evening, way too nice to wait inside. Plus, it was unlikely Christopher would be on time. Ten minutes probably meant fifteen, because if she knew her brother at all, being busy meant he was scoring digits.

Ten minutes later a black SUV pulled up to the curb.
She ignored it at first, but when Jax stepped out, looking sexy as hell and smug to boot, her temper flared.

Christopher had sold her out.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sliding off the car and going on the offensive.

“Chris said you needed a hand. He was busy, so I volunteered.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. But it was. It was a big freaking deal. Especially after
the elevator debacle. While she’d been on the verge of losing it, he’d been so calm and controlled.

Putting her at ease and risking his own safety to protect her? That was a side of Jax she wouldn’t—
couldn’t
—consider. Because if she thought for one second that he’d actually changed, she might go and do something stupid like fall in love with him again.

He circled her tiny Honda, stopping
at the open trunk.

“You were at Mancini’s?”

“I like to support local businesses,” he responded, gripping the end of the box and shifting the weight to free it from the tiny vehicle.

Figured. Just like its owner, it moved instantly at his touch.

Whoa
. Strike that. Jackson Hart did not
move
her. And if he did, the only place she was going was Aggravation Station, population
one.

“Really?” she asked, her words dripping with sarcasm. “You just happened to be hanging out at Mancini’s?”

“What can I say?” He slid the box out of the trunk and stood it on its end, leaning on the top and showcasing those ridiculous biceps of his. Her traitorous heart fluttered at the sight. “Your mom makes the best sauce in Brooklyn.”

Jax was making himself right at home
in her life again. It was too familiar. Too dangerous. “Convenient excuse.” She slammed the trunk, her purse sliding off the roof of the car and landing on the blacktop.

“Excuse?” he asked, shifting his face into a mask of confusion. As if he didn’t know exactly what she meant.

“For completely invading my life.” She raised her brows and looked around. What was this, the third time
he’d been to her apartment uninvited? “You’re worse than a bad penny, showing up every time I turn around.”

“So you
don’t
want me to take the table upstairs?” he asked with a lazy grin, not the least bit offended by her insinuation.

“No. Yes.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did she let herself get so flustered around him? Deep cleansing breaths—that’s what she needed. She
bent over and picked up her purse, knowing full well he was staring at her butt. Stupid yoga pants. Returning to an upright position, she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I mean, quit following me.”

“Just to be clear.” He leaned forward so close their lips were almost touching. She could smell peppermint on his breath, one of the starlight mints from Mancini’s. “I’m more than happy to lead
if you want to try following.”

“You’re impossible.” Turning on her heel, she stomped up the stairs and opened the front door. “You first. I’m not walking up five flights of stairs with you ogling my ass.”

He breezed by as if the table weighed nothing at all. “Fine by me. I don’t mind if you stare at my ass. Actually, I think I’ll rather enjoy it, knowing you’re getting as hot for me
as I am for you.”

She climbed the stairs, telling herself it was the exercise, not the man above, heating her skin. So what if he had a perfect ass, the kind that was round and firm and looked like you could bounce quarters off it. There was nothing wrong with liking his ass, right? Butt lust was harmless enough. She liked Channing Tatum’s ass, and she was in no danger of falling into bed
with him.

Jax stopped at the fifth floor landing, waiting for her outside her apartment door. And of course, he wasn’t even out of breath, while she was huffing and puffing like she’d just run the New York City Marathon. Cursing herself for noticing the way his pecs contracted when he picked up the box, she unlocked the door and pushed it wide, allowing him to enter first.

“Where do
you want me to put it?”

She groaned. That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question, wasn’t it?

…

Jax set the monstrous box on the floor in the dining space and pulled out his Swiss Army knife, making quick work of the packing tape. One look at the directions and he knew he was in trouble. Apparently the Swedes didn’t believe in step by step instructions, just poorly drawn
depictions of furniture that seemed only loosely based on the actual design.

Who the hell bought flat pack furniture anyway?

The answer was five foot eight and staring him down with a pair of bourbon-colored eyes that could blitz his control faster than the contents of any bottle. Wearing a pair of black knee-length stretch pants that hugged every curve, and an off the shoulder Supergirl
T-shirt that revealed the supple skin of her neck, she was definitely putting his control to the test. He wanted nothing more than to lick that stretch of bare skin while she moaned with pleasure.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular MacGyver.” She kicked off her black and white Chuck Taylors and leaned against the back of the overstuffed purple loveseat that separated the tiny living and dining
spaces.

“I always wanted to be a boy scout.” He rolled his shoulders and fished the bag of hardware out of the box. Time to focus on the task at hand. “Never stayed in one place long enough to join, but I like to think I’ve got the whole ‘be prepared’ thing down.”

“Prepared, indeed.” An amused smile lit up her face. She crossed her legs, drawing his gaze up the long line of her body.
Fucking perfect. From her bare feet to the curve of her hips to the swell of her breasts. There wasn’t a thing he would change, except, maybe, her opinion of him. That alone should have been reason enough to steer clear of her. His job was too dangerous for him to consider a serious relationship. Growing up he’d seen firsthand what kind of fallout it could bring. “You do know I’m capable of putting
my own table together, right?”

He snorted, ignoring the thinly veiled suggestion to leave. “Shortie, you do know grown adults shouldn’t buy imported, DIY furniture, right?” If it weren’t for him, she’d still be downstairs wrestling the monstrosity out of that munchkin-mobile she called a car. “The Brooklyn Flea has real furniture with twice as much charm as this big box stuff.”

“Cute,”
she drawled, twisting her wild curls up and pinning them atop her head. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by a little DIY? Or are you having trouble with the directions? Not enough pictures for you?”

He balled up the assembly instructions—they weren’t going to be much help anyway—and threw them back in the box, loving the way her eyebrows shot up in alarm.

“What do you think you’re
doing?” Falling to her knees, she grabbed the wadded up mess and tried unsuccessfully to flatten it out. “We need to follow the directions.”

“You? Follow directions?” Unlikely. From what he’d seen, she was more likely to issue them than take them. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

“All right, macho man. Have it your way.” She crossed her legs and settled back to watch, apparently deciding
to let him have a go at it. “But if it falls apart, I’m holding you responsible.”

“It’s a table. How hard can it be?”

She smirked, her words taking on a playful edge. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

No, he really didn’t. Because if she went down that path, he’d feel inclined to show her right there on the dining room floor how hard it could be, and the damn table might
never get assembled.

Forty minutes and a whole lot of aggravation later, he tightened the last screw, claiming victory.

“It’s perfect,” Becca said, running her hand lovingly over the smooth surface.

“I’m still trying to figure out why it has six legs.” He scratched the back of his head, studying the crisscrossing supports.

“It’s stylish.”

Hardly. The table legs were
exactly where the human ones should go during a meal. A guy like him? He’d be kicking them all through dinner. “It lacks function.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” She hopped up on the table, her thighs spreading modestly as her legs dangled over the side. Blood rushed to his cock. Did she have any idea of the effect she had on him? “Seems pretty functional to me.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” He
took a step toward the table. The conversation was shifting, like it always did, no matter how hard she tried to fight this thing between them. Gone were the combative undertones. They’d been replaced with a tension so thick he was choking on it, desperate to crush his lips to hers and inhale the intoxicating scent that made his body throb with need. “There’s only one way to know for sure.”

“Oh?” It wasn’t so much a question as a breathy whisper rolling off her full lips.

“Put it to the test.” He took a step closer. Her knees brushed his thighs, but she held her ground, keeping him at a distance.

“Wh-what are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting”—he ran his palms up her soft thighs, spreading them wide—“I’d like to lay you out right here on the table and work that
sweet little body of yours until you’re writhing in ecstasy, back bowed and screaming my name.”

Spreading her legs wider, she granted him better access, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. “Think your craftsmanship can handle it?”

“I’m pretty confident in my craftsmanship.” She wanted a challenge? He’d give her one. He positioned himself between her legs and cupped her chin, tilting
it to him. “The real question is, can
you
handle it?”

Gripping the front of his T-shirt, she twisted her fingers in the soft material and pulled him closer, bridging the gap between them and bringing her lips to his ear. “What’s it going to take to show you I’m a big girl, Jax?” Her tongue darted out, teasing his earlobe and making his balls draw up so damn tight they ached. Then she bit
him. Fucking
bit
him. And he loved it, an erotic wave of pleasure/pain rushing straight to his gut and unleashing a riptide of desire.

He reached for her hips and pulled her to the edge of the table, letting her feel the hard ridge of his erection against her belly. Lowering his mouth to hers, he licked her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. She moaned quietly, shifting her hips and
locking her ankles around his back. Like before, she responded explosively, melding her mouth to his and mating her tongue with his own.

“More,” she panted, breaking away and pulling his shirt over his head. Then she stripped away her own tee, revealing the perky breasts he’d been dreaming of for the last damn week. “I need more.”

Shit. The way she was looking at him, like she wanted
to devour him whole, he’d give her whatever she wanted. No questions asked. She skimmed her fingers over his abs, her hands leaving a blaze in their wake as they moved north, skating over his pecs. And like a greedy bastard, he stood there basking in her glow, enjoying the fire of her touch as she explored his body.

Stretching up, she kissed him, working his lips feverishly as she unbuckled
his belt and drew his zipper down, freeing his erection.

He tensed at her touch.

“Don’t worry.” She stroked his length, her fingers sliding up and down like silk despite her firm grip. “I’ll be gentle,” she promised, rubbing her thumb in a circular motion over the slick head. He groaned. If she kept this up, he wasn’t going to last long. Then, as if determined to test his restraint,
she brought her thumb to her lips and licked it.

When she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, with something dark and hungry reflected in her eyes, he abandoned any semblance of control. Lifting her bottom from the table, he removed the rest of her clothes, leaving her naked, flawless and splayed out before him like a feast.

A very sweet, very innocent feast. Right up until she
reached down and started stroking her clit. Then she looked downright sexy, driving him mad with lust.