Face the Flames Read online

  A bit of alpha male in him, then. A firefighter, a ladies’ man, a gentleman. A protector.

  Hot damn, that turned her crank on many levels.

  “No apology necessary, and thank you for dinner.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The way that word rolled off his tongue made her shiver, especially with the way he was looking at her. Trying to ignore the heat rushing through her, she stood and made her way out with him at her side. She liked how he put his free hand at the small of her back as they left. It did strange, wonderful things to her insides.

  As before, she drove him home—but this time with a big difference.

  This time, as her car idled in his driveway, he turned in his seat to face her. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek in one big hand, leaned over, and pressed his lips to hers.

  God, his mouth was soft, but with the right amount of firmness. His lips were made for kissing, his mouth for exploring. He smelled so good, too, though she couldn’t place the woodsy cologne. His scent rocked her senses, combining with the heat of his touch. She wanted more, and returned his kiss hungrily, touching his face, combing her fingers through his sandy hair.

  When they broke the kiss, both of them were panting and he had a serious bulge in the front of his jeans.

  “My God, that was incredible,” he said softly. “Can I see you again?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  What else could she possibly have said? She would go inside with him right now if he asked. But he didn’t.

  “Can we exchange numbers?”

  “Oh! Of course.” Pulling out her cell phone, she typed in his contact as he recited it. Then he did the same.

  “I’ll call or text you,” he said with a smile.

  Another lingering kiss, and he was gone before she quite knew what had hit her.

  A robbery, a life saved, a criminal behind bars, and a potential new boyfriend.

  Not bad for a day’s work. Not bad at all.

  3

  Clay awoke with a smile on his face and a better attitude than he’d possessed in months. For once, he truly looked forward to dragging his ass out of bed and facing a new day. The change had been a long time coming.

  He knew who was responsible, too. A certain redhead had caught his eye and kept his undivided attention. She had beauty and brains. She was tough, too, as he’d witnessed firsthand. Watching her take down that suspect had made him so hard, he just about came in his jeans like a horny seventeen-year-old.

  What was Melissa doing right now? Getting ready for work? Showering? Closing his eyes, he rolled to his back and tried to imagine her naked. It wasn’t hard to picture her taut, lean body, her pale skin streaming and slick with water. Did she have a few freckles on her body that he could trace with his tongue? He sure hoped so. He prayed she’d let him.

  Was the triangle at her mound as fiery as her hair? Would she be slick and hot, clasping him in a vise as he slid deep inside?

  Groaning, he fisted his cock and began to pump. The hard flesh slid through his palm, sending waves of pleasure rolling through him. He imagined instead that he was slipping through the folds of her sex, pumping deep.

  Moaning, she writhed underneath him, begging for more. Pert breasts tipped with pink nipples jiggled as his tempo increased. Soon he was fucking her hard, the sound of their flesh slapping together the most beautiful music he’d ever heard . . .

  “Fuck!”

  The curse exploded from his lips at the same moment his release shot from his cock. Creamy white ropes of cum splattered his belly and chest. He opened his eyes, heart pounding, coming down off the brief cloud of euphoria.

  That had been way too short. His hair trigger was a sad testament to exactly how lonely his life had been the past few months. Now that his body was healing, his libido had awakened with full force. And it had a lot to do with meeting the hot lady detective.

  Whistling to himself, he rose and padded carefully into the bathroom, noting that his knee and hip weren’t quite as sore today. Despite his long walk the day before, he’d recovered well. That meant he really was nearly healed. His soul warmed with hope that he’d have his job back soon.

  He jumped into the shower and made quick work of washing. Afterward, he toweled off and got dressed. He’d need another shower after his workout, but he couldn’t exactly show up at the fire department’s training facility reeking of cum.

  Forcing his mind off pleasant thoughts of Melissa for the time being, he focused on the hours ahead. Firm in his resolve, he dressed in his dark blue uniform pants and fire department polo shirt. As he tucked in his shirt, he turned and stared at himself in the mirror above his dresser. Staring back at him was a man who was still a few pounds shy of the weight he’d been, but a man who was getting stronger every day.

  His cheeks weren’t as gaunt, his eyes less haunted than before. This man was filled with more excitement for the future than he’d been in a very long while, and it felt damned good. The clothes looked right on him, and they belonged. They were more than just clothes—they were a part of him. Something settled deep inside him and a new sense of determination steeled his backbone, along with a profound sense of peace.

  This is who I am. I won’t be defeated, not at this point. I’ve worked too hard to make it back, and I’m going to win. No, I have already won.

  Slowly, he smiled. The sight of true happiness on his own face was foreign, and awesome at the same time. He didn’t delude himself that the final lap on the home stretch would be any less challenging than the past year had been, but he was almost there. He could do anything, reach any goal, now that the end was in sight.

  Eyeing his cane, which was propped against his nightstand, he was tempted to leave it behind. While the gesture would be satisfying and symbolic of his attitude, it would also be pretty stupid. With a sigh, he retrieved it. He didn’t, however, use it as he made his way to the living room.

  Grudgingly, he called Uber for a ride and mentally ticked off the days until he could get the doctor to sign off on letting him drive again. Two weeks. If he had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t wait two more days. After his time at the training facility today, he’d call and make an appointment.

  His ride showed ten minutes later and he was full of optimism as he left the house. His destination was some twenty minutes away, on the opposite side of town. The facility had once been a privately owned salvage yard that boasted a run-down residence and more than seventy acres of prime land. When the owner had decided to sell out thirty years ago, a bidding war had ensued. The City of Sugarland came out the winner, and the house and remaining junk was cleared away to birth the state-of-the art training grounds and educational center that stood there today.

  The Uber driver pulled through the entrance next to a sign that declared:

  LANNY C. McBRIDE MEMORIAL TRAINING CENTER

  CITY OF SUGARLAND FIRE DEPARTMENT

  Clay wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to McBride and whether anyone was around who still remembered. But for the grace of God, it could’ve been me on the next memorial. The thought sobered him, and he shook off the aura of sadness that touched him every time he saw the sign.

  The driveway led to a two-story red brick building with tall windows along the front. It was surrounded on three sides by a large parking lot sufficient to handle the number of firefighters and other city personnel who had business there each day. Beyond that, Clay could just get a glimpse of the track and obstacle course. Unable to be viewed from the front were several structures spread across the acreage that the department used in training drills on fighting fires.

  Excitement bubbled in his blood and he itched to get out there and prove to himself that he still had what it took. Yeah, okay—and to everyone else, too.

  After paying the driver, he palmed his cane and walked to the front entrance with almost no
limp. The second the older firefighter behind the front desk spotted him, bushy gray eyebrows shot skyward and the man jumped to his feet.

  “Montana!” he shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “How the fuck are you? And back in uniform, too. Did you get put back on duty?”

  Clay suppressed a wince at the last question and smiled back, pumping the man’s hand. “Jessop, you old fart! How’ve you been?”

  “I asked you first.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  William Jessop had been a fixture at SFD for as long as Clay could recall. He had to be nearing forty years with the department, and had given up his post at another station last year. “Let the young guys have it,” he’d said back then. “I’m too old to crawl into burning buildings and hope to get out in one piece. I’m lightening my load until retirement.”

  Nobody had blamed him. Jessop had retained his captain’s title, and now helped to run the training facility. It seemed to satisfy the older man to help the younger generation find their way within the department. He was well liked and respected by everyone Clay knew.

  “I’m not official yet,” Clay told him with reluctance. “I’m here to put myself through the paces and really start getting back into shape. It’s time.”

  The captain’s eyes softened with sympathy, and Clay hated that. “Do you have a doctor’s note clearing you for this, son?”

  “Of course I do.” He nodded confidently even as he lied his ass off to a man he respected. “I just left it at home.”

  Jessop eyed him sagely. “Uh-huh. That’s a likely story.” Clay fought not to squirm as the man held his gaze for a long moment. Then Jessop sighed. “I get where you’re coming from, kid. I’ll give you two hours max today since it’s your first day back. Keep the workout light, understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” He grabbed the older man in a bear hug.

  Laughing, Jessop shoved him off. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And Montana? Welcome back.”

  “Thanks, Cap!”

  Quickly, he signed in and hurried past the desk before the captain could change his mind. He heard the man chuckling as he turned the corner, and smiled to himself. “I’m back.”

  So what if it wasn’t official? This was the first day of the rest of his life, and all that good shit. He planned to make the most of it.

  Exiting through the back doors, he paused and took in the setup. No running on the track today. He hadn’t brought running clothes and that wasn’t why he was here. Next, his gaze found the obstacle course and his pulse sped up. There was his destination, and he headed for it with a determined step.

  A couple of guys from Station Two were there, running the course, working on their times. Lance, the station’s captain, made the drill appear totally effortless as he sailed over walls and under fences. Climbed a tall ladder, scaled out the window of the mock house, and rappelled down again. His boots touched the ground and J.T., one of his men, whooped, pumping his fist in the air.

  “Thirty-two seconds!” he called.

  Lance yanked off his fire hat and grinned back. “Not bad for an old man.”

  “Um, Jessop is old, Cap. You’re practically a kid compared to that fossil.”

  “I heard that, you fucking shithead!” yelled Jessop. Apparently, he’d come outside to watch the proceedings. He had his fists on his hips, feet braced apart, and looked rather menacing despite his age.

  J.T. turned eight shades of red and shot the older man a smile. “I meant it from a place of love. Honestly.”

  “The bullshit around here is so thick today it’s attracting flies.”

  Clay snorted and J.T. shot a pleading look at Lance. “Guess it’s time to go, right, Cap?”

  Lance shook his head. “Actually, I want to see what Clay’s got in mind.” He met Clay’s eyes, his expression warm. “Welcome back. You here to run a drill or two?”

  “Thanks. And yeah, I want to see how out of practice I am.”

  “Go ahead,” Lance said, waving a hand toward the course. “We’ll time you and be your spotters.”

  Discomfort crept over him. “That’s okay. I really don’t need an audience.”

  Jessop spoke up from beside him. “If you’re not ready to be watched, you’re not ready, period.” His tone brooked no argument, and he didn’t get one.

  Damn, the old man was a freaking ninja. Frustration threatened to derail his plans altogether. He really hadn’t planned on his practice being observed, but he should’ve known better. He knew the unwritten rule—your brothers had your back. Always. Whether you wanted them to or not. They knew he’d come back from the brink, and now that his return had been made an issue, they weren’t going to budge.

  “Fine,” he said tersely. He handed his cane to Lance and studied the course. How many times had he run this thing? Too many to count. The route, every step, was ingrained in his memory. He had this.

  “Wear these,” Lance said, handing Clay his gloves.

  “Thanks.” Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he walked to the starting post, pulling on the gloves. Nodded to the group, shook out his arms and legs, and waited. J.T. shouted, “Go!”

  Clay took off, sprinting for the first wall. Vaulting, he grabbed the rope and began to haul himself up. The task was harder than he remembered, and he was huffing by the time he reached the top. But I did it! Triumphant, he launched himself over, dangled from his fingers, and landed on his feet. His knee only gave a slight protest at being jarred, and he was off again.

  Months of physical therapy had paid off. He was slower than he’d like to be, but that was to be expected. Joy surging through him, he negotiated the tire rings with ease, threw himself under fences, climbed a web of ropes. Another wall. More obstacles, until at last, the house. Quickly, he scaled the ladder and was pulling himself inside the window in seconds. He ran through the upper floor of the house, noticing a bit more twinging in his knee, but he was good.

  The window on the other side of the house had a rope attached to scale down to the ground. Grabbing it, he levered himself out and started toward the ground as fast as possible. The pinch in his knee was more acute as he hit the ground this time, and he shook it off.

  His friends were cheering. Smiling, he turned to face them. “How’d I do?”

  “One minute, twenty-four seconds,” J.T. said, peering at his stopwatch. “Not bad for your first time in a while.”

  “Congratulations,” Jessop grumbled. “The family inside just burned to death.”

  The smile slid from his face and his chest grew heavy. “That’s why I’m practicing, Cap,” he said quietly.

  “Christ, give the man a break, Jessop.” Lance glared at the older man.

  Jessop stood firm. “You’ve got to do better than that, son. A lot better before you’re ready to rescue anyone.”

  That was the truth, and it hurt. But it made him even more determined to regain his former skills. “Time me again,” he said to J.T.

  “Sure thing.”

  By the end of the second run, his knee was complaining more with every step and jarring movement. He’d take some ibuprofen later, ice it, and it would be fine. But he had to keep going, no matter what.

  He was sweating as he hit the ground after the second run.

  “Forty-eight seconds!” J.T.’s enthusiastic yell made Clay grin.

  “That’s more like it. Right, Jessop?” Clay called out.

  “Damned right. But you need to give that knee a rest. You’re limping.”

  Clay shook his head. “I want to run it again with turnout gear. Load me down.”

  A new voice joined the group. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy.”

  They turned as a unit to see Six-Pack striding toward them, his face lined with concern. “How many times have you run the course so far?”
r />   “Twice,” he told his captain. “I’m good, I swear. I improved a lot the second time. I want to see if I can equal or better my second time with all the gear on.”

  “I don’t want you to—”

  “Please, Howard?” he begged. He hated humbling himself in front of his brothers and comrades. “I’ve waited long enough. This is what I am, and there’s no time like the present to get my life back.”

  The big man hesitated, and finally relented. “All right. But if you feel the slightest bit off, you quit. I mean it.”

  “Sure,” he said, mentally crossing his fingers.

  Jessop went to fetch some practice gear while Clay made small talk with the others. When the older man finally returned, Clay studied the gear with a mixture of elation and fear. This was the true test—performing the course while being encumbered by the thick heavy pants, coat, hat, air tank, and face mask.

  More than fifty pounds of extra weight dragged at him when he was finished donning the clothes and equipment. The feel was familiar, and yet heavier than he would’ve liked. A year ago, he’d never given the burden a second thought. The gear was as much a part of him as his own limbs. It was a sobering reminder of just how weakened he’d been.

  “You okay?” Six-Pack asked, frowning.

  “I’m good.” The face mask muffled his words some, so he gave his friend a thumbs-up.

  He walked to the starting pole, his knee really bitching now. But he wasn’t about to quit. That shit was for pussies, and he was stronger than he’d been in months. He could do this.

  “Go!” J.T. shouted.

  He ran, legs pumping. Immediately the added strain on his body became awfully apparent. His knee was hurting in earnest now, and he felt short of breath despite the air flow through his mask. Yeah, he was out of shape, and wearing the gear highlighted that with glaring reality. Still, he refused to stop.

  He barely made it over the wall, and stumbled when he dropped to the ground. Sweat was pouring down his face and temples as he ran. He struggled through the rest of the obstacles, nearly tripping on the tire rings. Distantly, he thought he heard Six-Pack shouting something, but he kept going.