Flirting with Fire (Hot in Chicago #1) (13 page)

Instinctively, she stepped back, and her butt met the cool porcelain of the sink. It was one of those single restrooms with its own lock. Which he turned. The click set her heart thrashing like a wild animal struggling to escape her throat.

“Luke, people need to get in,” she said in her most reasonable tone. Yes, let’s be reasonable here. People needed to empty their bladders, and Luke Almeida was planning . . . well, she was unsure what exactly he was planning. But those feral eyes of his—oh, they told her it would be something wicked.

The air was drenched with masculine spice, aggression, and danger. In a split second, he was on her, swarming her senses, his hands stroking and inciting before settling at her hips. They fit just right. Everything about him fit. His Semper Fidelis tattoo gleamed on his chest and her jaw dropped to the undoubtedly filthy tile as if she was seeing that chest for the first time.

Kinsey, get
a grip. It’s just a chest!

“I think it’s time you realized how goddamn sexy you are, Miss Taylor.”

“But we—we can’t. Did you not hear a word I said about keeping it prof—” She lost her train of thought because Luke’s sandpaper-rough hands had started swirling tight, erotic circles on her back . . . her hips . . . her ass.

“I’ve—I’ve given up on men.”

“Wait until tomorrow, baby.” He nuzzled along the line of her jaw, his lips igniting volcanic heat across her skin. “Today, let this man take care of you the way you need.” His hands kneaded her rear in a way that made her mindless with desire.

“I can take care of myself,” she moaned, then added, “and my orgasms,” in case her implication was unclear.

She felt the curve of his lips in a smile against her neck. “I don’t doubt it, but why should you have to?”

“Luke, stop. You’re already in enough trouble—”

But trouble was what found her when Luke’s lips brutally claimed hers. His hand shaped her neck, his thumbs held her jaw in place for his assault. She surrendered, no fight left in her, no longer wanting to be the difficult woman. She let him work her mouth, slide his tongue inside, map the roof of her mouth. She let him use her.

He broke the kiss, his eyes hazy with a strange brew of lust and compassion. “That’s okay, baby. Next time, I expect your full participation, but right now I’m drivin’ this train.”

Yes.
She was so tired of trying to do it all, wear the pants and the skirt. Giving herself permission to submit was as arousing as anything Luke Almeida brought to the table.

He turned her so she faced the cracked mirror, its luster diminished but still bright enough to show her body’s potent reaction to this astonishingly sexy man. Nipples a lot perkier than she felt, hair the wrong side of sexy tousled.

“You need to see how beautiful you are, Kinsey. How powerful.”

Trailing a blunt hand along the border of her bikini bottoms, he tested the boundaries. She shuffled her feet apart. His grin turned disgracefully wicked.

“Do you want to direct?”

“No, just do it right, Luke. Make it good.”

He bit down on her earlobe, a tender puncture to that sensitive flesh, then yanked her bikini bottoms halfway down her thighs so roughly she gasped at the contrast. Moisture flooded her sex at the thought of what would come next.

One strong forearm banded beneath her breasts while his other hand tunneled through her tawny curls, parting her swelling folds to where she was already shockingly hot and slick. Reaching up, she cupped the back of his head and set anchor. He kissed her wrist over her rocketing pulse.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Hold on tight.”

He slid a finger inside her.

Then, giving her the intimate stretch she needed, a mind-melting two.

“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight. You really need this, don’t you? You need me deep inside you, baby.”

“Yes. God, yes.” Every fluid thrust massaged her clit perfectly on the return, and increased the spirals of want low in her belly. The raging evidence of his own need jutted into her spine.

“There, right there.” She grasped his hand and pressed it closer to where she needed it.

He chuckled. “Seems you can’t resist taking charge.”

Mind in a blur, she froze. That’s what David had hated. Her assumption of the role of aggressor, her pleading for him to deliver more than he had to give.

The rules were so hard to follow.

“Don’t stop, Kinsey. If you need to tell me what makes you feel good, do it. I’m yours to command.”

Thoughts vaporized. Muscles dissolved. Desire flew loose in her core as those words smashed her senseless.

“I need . . .”

“What, baby? Tell me what you need.”

This. You. Everything you have.

“Your fingers . . . your fingers spreading me. A little rougher than—” Oh! He followed her instructions, the callused sides of his rough-cast fingers abrading her sensitive folds as he plunged inside her.

“Like that?”

“And my breasts. Squeeze my nipples.”

His meaty paw yanked away, then replaced, the triangle of fabric over her aching breast. He covered her easily, molding her soft flesh to his rough ministrations.

“Please, Luke,” she begged. “More.”

Another bite on her earlobe, a further pinch of her nipple, and he adapted quickly to her raw, desperate needs. An invisible thread of pleasure shot straight to her sex and produced another gush of pleasure on his hand.

The blatant look of male satisfaction on his face said he approved.

Faster, he rubbed against that taut bundle of nerves, drawing the blistering sensation to a peak. All she could do was writhe. And watch. And feel. His dark, cocoa skin against her gilded flesh heightened their contrasts, yet also showed how well they complemented each other. She stood cradled in his arms, half dressed, a sleazy mess, which made it filthier and sexier and so, so good.

“Need your mouth, Kinsey.”

Angling her head, she offered herself up to his ruthless kiss. The thrusts of his tongue mimicked the possessive invasion below and spun her higher toward that place she was desperate to reach. Where
no man could touch her. Hurt her. She was close, her moans rising in volume.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Let go.”

Pound.
A loud noise pulled her out of her sex-crazed fog.

“Hey, people are waiting out here!”

“Luke,” she gasped.

“Finish.” With eyes so heated she wondered how the mirror was still solid, he held her gaze. Bold, resolute, compelling her to release. But it was gone. People would know what they were doing and her moans . . . she couldn’t suppress them if she tried.

Another thump on the door shot a bolt of panic through her.

“. . . come on, open up
. . .”

“Finish, baby.”

“I can’t,” she said, tears of frustration leaking from the corners of her eyes. On noodle legs, she collapsed her weight against him. “I’m sorry.”

He moved his hand still soaked with her pleasure away from her swollen sex and held it to her mouth.

“Lick.”

Oh. My. “God.”

“Lick,” he demanded.

This was outrageous.
He
was outrageous.

Yet.

She felt her lips parting, her mouth watering, something deliciously obscene switching on. Obeying him, she alternated long lewd licks with gentle kitten ones. Combined with her musky taste, Luke’s bossy self-possession renewed the slippery warmth between her thighs and recharged her libido to dizzying heights.

“Now bite down and finish.”

In a pleasure-stung haze, she bit down on the two fingers he placed lengthwise in her mouth. His other hand found her glistening sex, while against her ear, he whispered wicked words of encouragement. All the depraved things he wanted to do to her. Filthy promises she reveled in. Within seconds, she was bucking against him, riding long, shivering pulses of pleasure, her cries of release muffled against Luke’s hand. Finally, she went spineless, safe in the knowledge he was sheltering her through the squall. They stayed that way for a few precious, breath-grabbing moments.

When she opened her eyes again, he had turned her to face him while he rearranged her clothing. So kindhearted, so unexpected. He laid his forehead against hers, his eyes dark with liquid heat.

“You are somethin’ else, Kinsey,” he whispered. “I could spend the rest of my life watching you come.”

She closed her eyes against the perilous fondness she felt for him, until an angry thump against the door wrenched her eyelids apart and ushered in the reality she had suppressed during that brief moment of oblivion. The customers who needed to pee away the watered-down beer.

“Ready to face your public?” Luke’s grin was pure evil. He was loving this. “I wonder how the woman who spends her life cleaning up after the bad behavior of others is going to get out of this pickle.”

She slid a glance to the door. The barbarians were at the gate and she had just been serviced by Chicago’s sexiest,
and most recognizable,
firefighter.

In the words of her boss, a PR-fucking-disaster.

“Do I look”—she chewed her lip—“like I just—”

“Had your world rocked? Oh yeah.”

Her hands flew to her hair as if that could minimize the lover’s flush on her cheeks or the desire-drunk lethargy of her limbs. The flutter in her chest turned into a full-scale flapping.

His eyes gleamed, smug with it. “You’ve done such a good job handling my reputation. Let’s see how I do handling yours. On three . . . two . . .”

“Luke, I don’t think . . .”

“
One . . .” He threw open the door and cannoned through the waiting crowd, most of whom were too focused on the hard glory of Luke Almeida’s chest to pay a passing glance to his disheveled, wholly satisfied companion. Assuredly, he pulled Kinsey with him toward the bar’s exit until they broke into the safety of the sun.

“Made it!” he whooped, like he had just performed the most daring rescue.

He caught her incredulous stare and shrugged, the movement as good as a smile. So much for keeping it professional.

In comfortable silence, they walked back to the volleyball courts. Back to his family and her new friends and postorgasm reality, all while one phrase beat a tattoo in her head.

Luke Almeida, my hero.

 CHAPTER TWELVE

K
insey was quiet on the way back to their spot on the beach, and Luke wondered if she had regrets about what had happened. All that need and messiness she had bottled up during her years with Dave the Douche had exploded like a firecracker in that restroom.

Under Luke’s command.

Kinsey coming all over his hand had been a sight to behold, an experience he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. As for the Douche, he might be a piece of work, but he had one thing going for him. If he’d been less of a D-bag, then Luke would not be in this situation. One he was liking more and more each second.

Back at the courts, they found only Wy left, sitting and staring out at the lake. Too often, Luke had tried to get inside his brother’s head but to no avail. However, today, Wy’s know-it-all lip twitch coupled with an eyebrow lift made his thoughts as clear as the sky over their heads.

Luke responded with his own patented look of,
Fuck the hell off.

“Larry’s been on,” Wy said. “You need to call him
back.” He squinted at Kinsey. “Your phone’s been ringin’, too.
1812 Overture
.”

Kinsey fished out her phone from her beach bag. “It’s the mayor.”

While she wandered a few feet away to get some privacy, Luke called his godfather back. Two minutes later, he had hung up and so had Kinsey. A few electrifying moments ticked over as their gazes locked.

“The commissioner said I’m back on the job, because apparently, the mayor is pleased with my level of cooperation. You know anything about that?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“Kinsey . . .”

“You’re overestimating my influence—”

“Don’t believe I am.” The few feet between them vanished, and then she was in his arms while he kissed her fiercely. “I’m thankful, baby. Truly, I am.”

She blushed, sliding a glance at Wy, who was still in full-on smirk. “It’s where you belong. I just made sure they knew that. We still have the community party, but the part of the assignment involving you specifically is finished.”

They stared at each other like idiots. Like horny idiots. Because now there was nothing to stop what came next.

“Probably should still keep it professional, though,” he teased, lobbing her mantra back at her.

She grinned. “Agreed. I expect to be serviced very professionally indeed, Mr. Almeida.”

Chuckling, he lifted her off the ground to the tune of her gasp and held her tight. He was a little bit crazy about this woman.

Wy sniffed as he stood. “Anyone need a ride? No? Okay. Later.”

L
uke parked the truck outside her place on Erie and flipped on the hazards. Kinsey turned, a wicked smile hooking the corner of her mouth. “There’s a parking garage around the corner.”

“Can’t. I have to report in. Larry said I’m needed on shift tonight.”

Kinsey’s naughty smile quickly faded into a skeptical frown.

“The holiday weekend is different from the usual,” he explained. “They need all hands on deck. Have to be in by six and I’ll be off at eight tomorrow morning.”

The implications of that hung in the air, so he went for the kill shot.

“I can be inside you by eight sixteen.”

She gulped, the slender column of her throat bulging. “That sounds very . . . precise.”

“It’ll take me fifteen minutes to drive and park—”

“And then wham bam, it’s the Fourth of July down here?” She gestured to her lap and he couldn’t help but laugh. Nice to see her sense of humor was intact, especially as she’d had such a shitty time of it earlier during that run-in with her ex. He liked to think that orgasm helped. However, she also made an excellent point.

“When you put it like that, it might be better if I come over later in the day.”

She shook her head. “No. What you did for me back there, Luke—I want to make you feel that good and I refuse to wait.” Along his thigh, she slid a hand
over the fabric of his shorts. Any higher and he was going to take her here, traffic be damned.

But joking aside, he didn’t want to do her quickly. He wanted her slow and sweet, between cool, crisp sheets while he teased those sexy moans from her. Maybe a few screams.

“The thing about fires, Kinsey, is that it does something to me. To all of us. Around the Fourth is one of our busiest times. Lots of calls with barbecue and firework accidents, and when I finish my shift I’ll be all hopped up on adrenaline. Horny as hell, too, and I usually need to take the edge off quickly.”

“Are you warning me about your premature ejaculation problem?”

He slanted her his most condemning look. She took it like a champ.

“It’s not quite that bad, but I’m so hot for you that it’s gonna be close. I could always take a shower, take care of business before I saw you. That way I can do you right. Otherwise, I’ll want to fuck you really fast and then I’ll probably fall asleep right on top of you.”

“Wow, you’re really selling it, Almeida.”

Shit, he sounded like an idiot who had no control over his dick. But he knew that one look at her, all sleep-softened and beautiful tomorrow morning—like when she woke up hungover in his bed—and he’d want to nail her to the wall. They wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom, and he wanted to show her every way it could be good when he was balls-deep in her honeyed heat.

She leaned in, skated a tongue over her lower lip. No help, whatsoever.

“So you’d take a shower at the station, jerk off
on city property, and then come on over, ready to shamrock my world?”

“You make it sound so romantic.”

Her soft breath warmed his lips. “When the clock strikes eight tomorrow morning, you will come straight to me. Do not shower. Do not pass go. The only thing you will be doing is
me
, Luke. I want to be the one who takes the edge off. And you’d better be able to handle it.”

His shorts were not loose enough for this. “You’re killin’ me here, baby. Not sure I can last.”

“Oh, you’ll last. Because while you might rock a good impression of a guy who can’t control his passions, I think you’re the opposite. I think you like to be in control of the situation with your family, your job, your sex life. And even though you can’t stand to lose, this is the one race where coming second will make you happy. You’re going take care of me and then I’m going to take care of you.”

She had him pegged. He loved how she cut through his crap with those sharp eyes and even sharper observations.

“I’m pretty sure I already took care of you, Ms. Greedy.”

“I am greedy, I want it all.” She patted his erection with that hand she used to punch her ex, a sexy sliver of a smile on her lips when he expanded under her touch.

“I want
you
, Luke. And now there’s nothing stopping me from having you.”

She brushed her lips across his in a tantalizing sweep, that wicked mouth of hers an instrument of torture. Unable to resist, he cupped her face and rav
ished her for a few brain-destroying seconds. Then he pushed her back.

“Go. Now, Kinsey. Or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

“Luke . . .”

“I will fuck you right here, right now if you don’t get out of the truck.”

“Be still, my heart.” After grabbing her bag, she opened the car door, checked for oncoming traffic, and skipped to the sidewalk.

Look back, baby. Gimme one sweet look.

Over her shoulder, she threw him a smile and a wave, and he flat-out nearly came in his shorts. This was going to be the longest short shift ever.

“E
ngine 6 and truck 53 are on the scene of an occupied two-story ordinary, single-family, approximately twenty-four by forty. We’ve got a working fire.”

Luke radioed in the report as the truck halted halfway down the block on Leavitt, about a mile away from the station. Flames curled like greedy fingers from one window on the second floor, the smoke billowing from the first still gray. The crowd viewing the spectacle made no moves to get to safety, but then he supposed this counted as entertainment.

Fourth of July weekend. Amateur hour, filled with the ranks of the trashed and the stupid. It might have started with a splash of lighter fluid on the grill or an illegal cherry bomb in the backyard. Whatever, it was now his problem.

“Honda Civic blocking the hydrant, Lieutenant,” Derek called over from the other side of the street.

Phelan had started in on that lieutenant shit the minute Luke showed up at six, already feeling a hundred feet tall after those precious moments with Kinsey. Oh yeah, and the fact that he was a freakin’ firefighter again. Gruffly pleased that Luke was back in the rotation and that the “YouTube probation shit” was over, Venti had assigned him to fill in for the B platoon officer who was on vacation. As far as the crew was concerned, Luke was God tonight. At least until the battalion chief made it on scene.

Luke side-eyed Wyatt. There were ways of doing this without damaging a good citizen’s property, but . . .

“On it.” His brother headed over with the Halligan and made that Honda owner regret parking his piece-of-shit car within fifteen feet of a water source. Thirty seconds later, the hose was punched through the now nonexistent side windows and screwed into the hydrant.

Don’t fuck with the CFD.

Luke began barking out orders. “Phelan! You’re on the pipe. Take two hundred feet off the side and meet me at the front door.” Rapid fire growth in an occupied dwelling called for urgent tactics: quick water from the engine’s five-hundred-gallon tank into the attack hose line. It would be empty in two minutes, hence the hydrant hookup, but putting wet stuff on the red stuff ASAP was the priority.

Luke’s crew got to work. Murphy pushed the bug-eyed bystanders back. While Phelan readied to hand off the charged hose line, Luke strapped on his mask, ensuring the seal was airtight and the air regulator on his bottle was turned on. As acting officer, Luke’s job
was to go in to investigate what they were up against, knowing that simultaneously his crew was moving the truck’s aerial ladder into position to gear up for roof ventilation.

One minute later, Luke was back outside with a grab-and-go, a badly burned civilian who had tried climbing to the second floor where her son was sleeping.

“He’s still in there!” the woman screamed, her voice splintering in panic. “My Robbie!”

“I know, ma’am.” He passed her off to Gordie, the EMT, and spoke up to counter the sound-muting effects of the mask. “We’re going to get him out.”

Wyatt and Phelan looked to him for the assessment. “First floor’s clear. It’s really rollin’ on the second and stairs are already impassable. Seven-year-old kid in the front bedroom. Where are we with ventilation?”

A shriek fractured the air. Glass shattered like hail to the ground. All eyes fired upward to where a wild-haired kid stood with a telescope taller than he was. He dropped it to the floor, its job as window breaker done.

That took care of the ventilation and made CFD’s job ten times more dangerous. The fire would burn hotter and faster now that it had a new source of fuel: oxygen-rich air. Giver of life, but in this case, bringer of death.

“It’s too hot!” Robbie placed his hands on the shard-laden windowsill before drawing back, visibly shocked at his cut-up palms.

“Stay still, kid,” Luke called out. “We’re comin’ for you.” Heavy black smoke poured out of the top half of the double-hung window. A hundred more de
grees and the whole room would be totally engulfed in flames.

“He’s got a minute, maybe two at best,” Wyatt said.

At that instant, Battalion Chief Lonny Morgan swung onto the scene, ready to run the fire as Incident Command. The guy had a mouth as sharp as his chin, but he knew his job. About a hundred feet down the street, a local news van was perched, drooling for disaster. Wonderful.

“Report,” Morgan barked as he hopped out of the buggy.

“Wy, you and Derek get in there with the hose and slow that bastard down. Buy me some time,” Luke ordered, expecting that Morgan would pick up the specifics quickly.

In thirty seconds Luke was up that aerial ladder faster than a chimp on steroids. Eighty percent of runs these days were EMT calls: motor vehicle accidents, pin-ins, cardiac arrest at a nursing home, dehydration at a summer festival. Of the fire calls, it was mostly suppression and no rescue. People usually escaped on their own or the fire was too far gone by the time CFD made it on scene. Seven years on the job, and Luke had made only six rescues, including the woman he had pulled out three minutes ago. Beck had five, Gage had three, Wyatt had them all beat with eight, the house record. Alex had zilch. Firefighters can go decades without a rescue to call their own.

On the way up the ladder, the already dicey situation took a turn to shit: the kid disappeared from the window, likely overcome by the thick black smoke now pushing out of the opening.

“Robbie! Fire Department, call out!”

Nothing but the distant crackle of burning paint. Of death approaching.

Luke hauled himself into the room through the broken window, testing his footing in case he encountered the kid. But all he hit against was a large solid object—the telescope. Visibility was zero, the air so hot Luke started to feel the burn on his ears through his Nomex hood, a sure sign that he was in too deep.