The Night Belongs to Fireman (25 page)

He staggered backward, bracing himself so he wouldn't get bowled over. And then Rachel was in his arms, raining kisses on him, on his neck, on his shoulders, his chin, everywhere she could reach.

“Rachel, sweetheart, what's going on? Are you okay?” He tried to hold her off so he could check her out. He'd never seen her so openly emotional. She usually kept her feelings under close guard, as if she was afraid they'd be used against her. But now she was clinging to him like shrink wrap, not allowing so much as a millimeter of space between them.

He gave in and let her plaster her body against him. It felt good, of course. He didn't mind; he just wanted to make sure she was okay.

“I was so worried about you,” she muttered into his neck, when she'd finally gotten all the hugging out of her system, or most of it, anyway. “I hated every second that horrible man had you.”

“Are you referring to Kale?”

Even in her weepy state, that got a laugh out of Rachel. “Yes, Kale. I don't care what he calls himself. He stole you and kept you prisoner and I hate him with every cell in my body.”

He wrapped his hands around the back of her head, tilting her face toward him, noticing the anxiety tightening the angled lines of her face. Tears stood in her eyes, making them shimmer like a night thunderstorm over the ocean. “I can think of much better things to do with your cells.”

And then they were kissing, a joining so electric he was surprised it didn't short out the elevator circuits. He felt as if he held a bolt of lightning in his arms, one turned into flesh and blood by some kind of magic spell. A rush of intoxicating heat flashed through his nervous system and settled in his groin. He sprang into instant, bursting arousal.

“Damn, Rachel. We're in an elevator. What are we doing?” He dragged the words from his throat. In a fever, he ran his hands across her body, then under her ass. He hoisted her up while she twined her legs around his hips.

He nearly came on the spot.

“I want you, Fred.” If words could be naked, hers were. Primal and shaking, they acted like an electric prod on his already delirious senses.

“Me too. But here? Now? We're in a freaking elevator. And I know damn well there's a security camera somewhere in here.”

She reached over and punched a button. “Nope. Besides, I'm the only one who uses this elevator.”

“Marsden—”

“Will figure it out.” The rough desperation in her voice scraped across his nerve endings, and made him realize something for the first time.

“You
were
really worried.”

“It was so horrible. I guess it was a taste of what my father went through. Honestly, I think I'd rather be the one kidnapped than watch the same thing happen to someone I . . .” She caught herself. “. . . care about.”

He wondered what she'd almost said, but the rising drumbeat of arousal kept scattering all his thoughts. Especially because now she was tilting her hips up and down, rubbing her softness against his bursting cock. “Don't do that,” he managed to grind out. “I won't last two seconds.”

“Then get naked,” she urged in a shaky voice. “I want to be with you. I want to touch you everywhere and make sure he didn't hurt you too badly.” Her hands were on his fly. She slid free from his embrace and dropped to her knees.

Oh God. Oh God
. What was she about to do? His cock pulsed at the erotic sight of her kneeling on the thick bronze carpet of the elevator. She was wearing her black yoga pants and a thin turquoise T-shirt with a picture of an elephant—and no bra. Her nipples strained at the nearly transparent fabric. He groaned, helpless before this vision.

Her quick, eager fingers pulled down his zipper, she shimmied his pants down his hips, and his erection burst free like a bottle rocket. It was so engorged and sensitive he was afraid he'd come before she even touched him.

To distract himself, he glanced aside, at the elevator's elegant cherry-paneled wall. He saw a dim reflection of the two of them, Rachel's head level with his groin, her dark hair a wild halo around her head. The quiet hummed around them; they must be cocooned in soundproofing.

He wanted to say this wasn't smart, that they should go to her bedroom, that she didn't need to put her beautiful lips around him, but the words wouldn't leave his brain. And then it was too late.

The gentle touch of her tongue on the head of his cock made his eyes cross. She seemed to realize that he was so aroused he couldn't take much more stimulation. Instead she gave him a loving touch, sweet strokes of her tongue and mouth, like wine through velvet.

“Sweet Jesus, Rachel,” he gasped, tangling his hands in her hair. Even the palms of his hands felt aroused by the feel of her thick curls.

She might have said something, but the words came across as a vibration against the skin of his erection. He sucked in a lungful of climate-controlled air. Was it getting hotter in this elevator, or was he simply combusting under the wet suction of her mouth?

He wanted to be inside her, to plunge into her, spear her on his cock and drive her over the edge, make her fill this silence with wild screams. But one more thought surfaced through his feverish lust.

“I thought small spaces were a problem for you.”

She drew back in surprise and looked up at him. His gaze fastened onto her mouth, wet and ripe from his cock. With a slightly puzzled look, she ran her tongue across her lips. He cursed himself for being the world's worst idiot, for interrupting one of the best experiences of his life.

A little pucker appeared between her eyebrows. “They are. But I wasn't thinking of this as a small space. I was thinking of it as the place where you are.”

God, I love you
. The words blazed across his mind without conscious thought. They almost spilled into the quiet elevator cube, but he managed to keep them to himself by pulling her to her feet, lifting her up, yanking down her leggings, and losing himself inside her.

R
achel cried out as soon as Fred's hard length touched her core. She felt as if she was being showered with a million sparks. It wasn't an orgasm, at least in the usual sense. It was more of an all-body transformation, as if her ordinary flesh and bones had been changed to something made of fire and stardust.

With her body still wrapped around him, pinned against the wall, Fred yanked up her shirt with his teeth. Every stitch of her clothing felt claustrophobic, an unwelcome barrier between them. When her shirt was out of the way, he consumed her breasts, one, then the other, practically inhaling them into his hot mouth. Excitement screamed through her, a roller coaster off its tracks. She tugged at his shirt, dug her fingers into his hair, writhed against his strong hips. She felt completely out of control, with no memory of what control even felt like.

She wasn't alone; the tendons along Fred's neck strained tight, his arm muscles bunched hard as iron. His whole body vibrated against hers, the need and power pouring off him. She wanted to eat him alive, every bit of him. She buried her face in his shoulder, glorying in the slick skin over solid muscle. Urging him on, she bit the thick bulge of muscle, not hard, just enough to fill her mouth with his scent and taste.
I want you
, that bite said.
I want you now, forever, again, again . . .

He responded with thrilling decisiveness. Shifting his grip on her ass, he tilted her just so, spreading her thighs to spear her hard. She cried out again, the sound muffled by the flesh of his shoulder. He took her deeper than she'd ever gone, deeper than she'd ever imagined going.

“Fred, Fred . . .” she heard herself whisper hoarsely. And then she was gone, flying over the rooftops, tumbling end over end in a mind-emptying flood of pure joy.

He came too, one hand still under her rear, the other braced against the elevator wall. She used the strength of her thighs to cling tightly to his hips, so he wasn't bearing the entire burden of her weight. Bent over her, his body shaking with great shudders, his eyes half-shut slits of shining darkness, he rode his orgasm to its world-rocking, bone-shaking end. He was entirely focused on exploding inside her, and the thrill of that gave her another aftershock of pleasure.

Afterward, they both slithered to the ground in a sweaty heap. The tang of sex floated in the still air of the elevator, mingling with the lemon polish the cleaning crew used on the walls. The sound of their pounding heartbeats seemed to echo in the confined space.

At first it felt completely right to sit in silence, as if both of them needed time to put themselves back together. But then the silence started to feel uncomfortable. Rachel had never let a man take her to such a raw, exposed place before. What did one say after something like that?

Finally Fred broke the ice. “Damn, Rachel, you sure know how to welcome a guy back to work.”

She giggled, snuggling her face into his chest. So inappropriate, and yet so perfect. “We try here at Kessler Tech. I can't say that I've ever tried that hard before.”

“That's very good to know. Can you move yet? I think I'm back up to about sixty percent functionality.”

“What if I don't want to move?” She snuggled deeper. Truth was, she never wanted his arms to leave her.

“You don't have to. I'm the man around here. I got this.”

Smothering a laugh, she pointed to his pants, which were still halfway down his thighs. “Like that?”

“Try to get your mind out of the gutter,” he said sternly, refastening his pants. “And please cover yourself so I can concentrate.”

“Right. Sorry.” She pulled down her top, the soft cotton providing a sweet thrill against her still aroused nipples. “Carry on.”

He wrapped his arms around her and, bearing her full weight, lurched clumsily to his feet.

She held tight to his shoulders, suddenly anxious. “Isn't this going to hurt you?”

“I'm fine,” he gasped, and lurched toward the door. “You know, the first time we met you punched me in the nose. I think things have gone downhill since then.”

“Will you ever forget that punch?”

“Nope. Can you get the button? Hands are a little full here.”

“Just put me down!” she protested. “You're being crazy.”

“Button,” he insisted. She leaned down, pressed the button and the door opened. With him still carrying her, they made their way to the couch, where he dumped her, torn between laughing and scolding, onto the plush pillows.

Greta rushed to greet them both with an orgy of licks and tail wags. Fred crouched next to her, petting her and assuring her that he was all right and the world was still spinning. Rachel's heart swelled as she watched the man she loved with her beloved dog. Right at that moment, she was sure she had everything the world could offer her.

When Greta was sufficiently reassured, she turned her attention to chasing down a piece of misbehaving rawhide. Fred rose to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “Now, Ms. Rachel Kessler, I have a few things I need to say.”

Her heart raced. Was he about to tell her he loved her too? She hadn't said the words to him, but he must know. The truth must shine out from every pore.

“First thing is, I need to apologize. I should have seen it coming, that I would be a liability because of the Bachelor Fireman thing. I never thought of myself as anyone someone might kidnap. I thought I was protecting you, but I ended up making things worse.”

Apologize?
Of all the things he could have said, Rachel never would have imagined that. She scrambled to her knees on the couch so she was eye level with him. “What are you talking about, Fred? None of it was your fault! He was aiming for me, and he nearly got me. If you hadn't been there, it would have been me who got kidnapped.”

“And if you had? Same thing would have happened. You would have done the interview and they would have let you go.” He shot her a dark, impossible-to-read look, then hesitated.

“What?”

Turning away, he walked to the big picture window, where he shoved his hands in his pockets and ducked his head. Her gaze lingered on his thick glossy pelt of hair, all adorably disheveled at the back. “I'm sorry you did the interview.”

“Well . . .” She felt completely at sea in this conversation. “Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your fault some mentally unstable guy decided he needed more publicity. There are some crazy people out there, and sometimes they get what they want.” She knew it all too well; she could give a tutorial on the subject.

He didn't answer, didn't acknowledge her point other than with a slight hunching of his shoulders. The distance from the couch to the bank of windows suddenly seemed enormous, even unbridgeable. “What's going on, Fred? Talk to me.”

After more silent struggle with himself, he straightened his shoulders and turned to face her, his usual easygoing expression turned mulish. “You shouldn't have done the interview, that's what. I would have gotten away from him sooner or later. I had the situation under control. He was probably the most incompetent kidnapper in history. He made the Shoe Bomber look like a genius. Why didn't you trust me to handle it my way?”

Her hands flew to her stomach, as if she'd just taken a punch. “How was I supposed to know he was incompetent?”

“You got his message. Did he sound like a criminal mastermind to you?”

“But . . . it doesn't matter! Anyone can be dangerous when they've taken control. Even an idiot.” The unjustness of this whole line of conversation finally sank in. “I was trying to help you!”

“You didn't let me do my job.”

“How can you do your job when you're a prisoner?”

“I had a plan,” he insisted, with what seemed to her to be sheer, pointless stubbornness. “It was just taking longer than I wanted. Why didn't you at least give me a chance to make something happen? Instead you rushed ahead and gave him what he wanted. You sold yourself out on national TV. Exactly the sort of thing I was supposed to protect you from.”

“That was my choice.”

“And you chose not to trust me.”

She scrambled off the couch, so she could face him on two feet. Why was he being so obstinate? So unfair? She'd done the interview
for him
. Instead of gratitude, this was her reward? This completely unreasonable accusation? When people were kidnapped, you were supposed to try to rescue them!

She forced herself to stay calm. Fred just didn't understand her side of things.

“It's not that I didn't trust you,” she said carefully. “It wasn't that at all. You have no idea what it's like watching someone get grabbed like that. It was horrible, Fred. I watched them heave you into that van like a sack of potatoes. I felt so helpless. I didn't know if you were dead or hurt or what. Can you imagine what that felt like?”

At that, his expression softened a little, making a tendril of hope sneak through her.

“I told you I'd be fine,” he reminded her. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, but that's . . . you know, just something people say. ‘I'll be fine.' It doesn't mean anything, because how can you really know it'll be fine? You can't. It's completely meaningless. All I knew was that I didn't want you getting hurt because of me.”

“But that's what I signed up for,” he pointed out, running a hand over the back of his neck. “To take the bullet. To be the one who stands between you and the bad guy. Like the Secret Service.”

“I'm not exactly the president,” she snapped. “You were an innocent bystander. Why should I be protected my whole life?”

“And why should I? If my brothers were taken hostage, they wouldn't expect the government to give in to some wacko's demands. They'd take it like a soldier.”

“What does this have to do with your brothers? Anyway, you
aren't
a soldier!”

That
didn't go over well at all. Fred's expression turned unforgiving as stone. “That's where you're wrong, Rachel. When I'm on the fire lines, I'm a kind of soldier, except I'm fighting fire, not other soldiers. When you hired me as your bodyguard, I became your own personal soldier. Sure, I might not be in the military like my brothers, but that doesn't mean I don't put myself in the line of fire.”

This was unfamiliar territory to Rachel. Maybe it was something in the male gender that she just didn't understand. She tried to resurrect every military movie she could think of. “But if your brothers were captured by the enemy, they'd expect to be rescued, right? By the Marines or something.
Zero Dark Thirty
or . . . or . . .”

Fred flung up a hand to stop her. She bit her lip, suddenly remembering his brother's crack about
Zero Dark Salad
.

“Sure, the Marines would do everything they could to rescue a captured soldier. But that soldier would be prepared for torture or beatings or psychological manipulation or all kinds of crap. But me? I get nabbed by someone named Kale and ranted to about how mean people are to cute, cuddly animals. You know something? The worst part of the whole experience was having to watch you do that interview and know that I'd failed.”

Rachel flinched backward as if she'd been slapped. Only the couch against the back of her knees kept her upright. “What kind of thing is that to say? I chose to help someone who matters to me. Why does that bother you so much?”

“I just told you. I feel like an ass.”

“You're not an ass! You're a hero!”

“
Don't fucking say that!
”

She stared at him in utter shock. Never had she expected her kind, sweet-hearted Fred to be swearing at her with that furious look on his face. Especially not after everything that had happened. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You of all people shouldn't call me a hero.” His intensity vibrated like a whip across the room. “I was hired to protect you. I was doing my job, until you decided I couldn't handle it.”

“That's ridiculous,” she cried desperately. “Don't do this, Fred. Is this about the money? Because the money doesn't matter.”

He went deadly still. “What money?”

“The . . . the ransom money,” she stammered. “I . . . I didn't even have to ask my dad. He paid it right away. He even paid double because the guy didn't want that much. Marsden thought more money would make him back off his demand for me to go public.”

“But it didn't, did it?”

She shook her head numbly.

“That's why you don't freakin' give these guys what they want. Fuck!” He pounded a fist into the strip of wood that separated the picture windows. Greta looked anxiously from one to the other of them, ears perking. “I'm going to pay your father back for that money.”

“What?” She started across the room. “That's insane. The money was nothing to him. It was just a wire transfer anyway. He can get it back with a few keystrokes.”

As soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing. She stopped in the middle of her living room, watching his fury mount.

“
Nothing?
Of course it's nothing to him. Fine, I'll refuse my paycheck. I messed up on the job, I won't accept his money.”

“Stop it,” she begged him. “You're taking all of this the wrong way. Can't you just see it as people caring about you and not wanting you to get hurt? What's so horrible about that?”

“You don't understand.”

“You're right! I don't. I think you're being mean and unfair.”

“Then I guess we just disagree,” he said stiffly, jamming his hands in his pockets again. “No surprise there.”

What was
that
supposed to mean? But Rachel's feelings were too bruised to find out. She didn't think she could take any more. “Maybe you should go. We should talk about this another time, when you're not . . .”
Being ridiculous
. “ . . . still injured.”