Flashpoint Read online

  “My job, Zach. My job.”

  “But you don’t believe it was arson.”

  Tommy gave him one hard, long stare. “I never said that.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Look, I get that after what happened to your parents, that you’d see arson in every fire, but—”

  No. Oh, hell, no. “We dealt with that in my interview, remember? That fire was years ago and has nothing to do with this.”

  “Are you saying that what happened to them when you were a kid has nothing to do with you being a firefighter?”

  “I’m saying that I know what I saw on that Hill Street fire.”

  “No, you don’t.” Tommy scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “Listen, you should have several strikes on your permanent record by now, but I’ve always stepped in for you. I trusted you, and now I’m asking you to trust me.”

  “To do what?”

  “To not go over my head with this. The chief is getting pissed off, Zach. And when he’s pissed, he reacts. You know that by now. So do this, for me.” He paused. “Please.” And with that, he walked away.

  Zach watched him leave in frustrated disbelief before turning to go inside, coming face-to-face with Brooke.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  “Hey.” Before he could ask how much she’d overheard, she put her hand on his arm and literally gave him a physical jolt. Gave her one, too, by the way she pulled her hand back. Jesus, when they finally touched each other sexually—and they would—he was convinced they’d spontaneously combust.

  “You okay?”

  Better now, he thought. “Yeah.” He took her hand in his, and felt the jolt all the way to his toes. “Quite a zap.”

  “Yeah.”

  Something about her made him forget his troubles. Well, not forget, but be able to ignore them, anyway. Her eyes were soft and also somehow sweet. After nearly three weeks, Number Seven had finally let her guard down, and damn, but it looked good on her. He wondered if she wanted to put that concern to good use, because he had several ideas—

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Soft, sweet, sexy, and too perceptive. “I’m fine.”

  “Because it’s understandable if you’re not. I’m here if you wanted to—”

  Oh yeah. He wanted to. He wanted to in his bed, in hers, with her panting out his name as she came all over him.

  “—talk.”

  He blinked the sexy vision away. “No. Not talk.”

  She blushed but didn’t go there. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  So she’d heard everything. “It was a long time ago.”

  “And it doesn’t change what you saw at that Hill Street fire.”

  He stared at her, a little stunned. “No, it doesn’t.” He felt his heart engage, hard. “You’re different, Brooke O’Brien.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Different good. Different great.”

  She didn’t believe him, that was all over her face. “If you’d gone surfing with me,” he said, “I could have shown you, proven it to you.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  Now that, he could get behind. “I’ll count on it.”

  With an unsure but endearing nod, she walked away.

  5

  IF BROOKE HAD TALKED with Zach for even another minute, she’d probably have thrown herself at him. She wouldn’t have been able to help herself. He’d been standing there, looking fiercely unhappy, and her ears had been ringing with all she’d heard Tommy say to him—about his parents, about that kid dying, about how Zach needed to stay out of it. God, she’d wanted to grab him and hug him and kiss away that look on his face.

  Even now she wanted to, hours later, sitting by herself in the house.

  Good thing she was off duty for two days. Two days in which to get herself together and find some semblance of control. Because there were other ways to offer comfort than sex, for God’s sake. She could buy a Hallmark card, for instance. Or make cookies.

  But neither appealed. No, she wanted to offer a different kind of comfort all together.

  A physical comfort.

  A grip. She needed one. So she buried herself in packing. By the time her weekend was over, she’d gotten to the halfway point, setting aside a shocking amount of boxes to keep.

  Keep.

  Odd, how she wished she could keep even more, but she’d talked herself out of that, going only for the photos and diaries, still surprised at the sentimental impulse. What was she going to do with it all and no house to keep it in? Oh sure, her name was on the deed of this one, but that was temporary.

  Like everything in her life.

  The answers didn’t come, not then, and not when she drove to work for her next scheduled shift. As she got out of her car, her eyes automatically strayed to the hammock, empty of one übersexy firefighter. Not there.

  And not washing his rig, half-naked. His rig was parked, though, so she knew he was here, somewhere. Pulse quickening for no good reason other than she was thinking about him, she stepped inside her new home away from home and found a big poster had gone up in the front room, announcing the chief’s upcoming big birthday beach bash.

  A party.

  She wasn’t great at those. Turning to head into the kitchen, she ran smack into a warm, solid chest.

  Zach’s T-shirt didn’t say Bite Me today. It didn’t say anything. No, this one was plain black, half-tucked into loosely fitted Levi’s that looked like beloved old friends, faded in all the stress points. He had his firefighter duffel bag over his shoulder and was clearly just getting here for his shift, same as her.

  “Hey.” It was the low, rough voice that had thrilled her in waaaay too many of her dreams lately. “You showed.”

  At the old refrain said after all these weeks only to make her smile, she found herself doing just that even as her body came to quick, searing life. She had it bad for him, and it was as hot and uncontrollable as a flash fire. “I told you, I finish everything I start.”

  He smiled a bad-boy smile, and touched her, a hand to hers, that was all—and the whole of her melted. “Everything?” he murmured.

  Oh, boy. She recognized the heat in his gaze, and felt a matching heat in her belly.

  And her nipples.

  And between her legs.

  A kiss. She wanted just one kiss. Was that so bad?

  “Because I think we’ve started something very interesting here. Something we should finish. What do you think?”

  “I…uh…”

  “I’m all ears,” he murmured and shifted just a little closer. So close that she had to tip her head up to see into his eyes, giving her an up-front and personal view of the scar that slashed his right eyebrow in half.

  Her gaze dropped from that scarred brow to his mouth. Way too dangerous. Also too sexy-looking for his own good, for hers—his smile too easy on the eyes, his everything too easy on the eyes.

  “Brooke?”

  “Don’t I hear a fire bell?” she managed.

  He chuckled softly. “No, but nice try.” He shifted to let her move past him, but somehow they ended up bumping against each other, softness to hardness. For a brief breath she closed her eyes and allowed herself to absorb it—his scent, his proximity, the feel of him brushing up against her.

  She’d had no idea how much she’d craved this nearness, a physical touch; that it was him, the object of her secret nighttime fantasies, only intensified the sensation.

  He put his hands on her arms, sensuously slid them up and down, and she forgot they were in the firehouse, forgot that they should really make at least an attempt to be discreet. Hell, she forgot to breathe. “Zach.” She tore her gaze from his and looked at his mouth.

  A mouth that let out a low, rough sound of hunger, and then, blessedly, finally, was on hers, and then she was kissing him with her mouth, with her entire body, and most likely her heart and soul, because, good Lord, the man could kiss. He gave her everything—