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  Yes, I want to protect her. The thought of her coming to any kind of harm is completely unbearable.

  I hear a strained chuckle leave my mouth, the sound perfectly summing up my feelings about this issue. Somehow I’ve gone and gotten invested in this woman’s safety. This is completely out of character for me.

  Nevertheless, here I am—up bright and early with a still-raging boner and a mind full of variables.

  Shit.

  I watch the final drops of coffee splash into the second mug, only now realizing I have no idea how Beth takes it. The coffee, that is. With a debating glance towards the fridge, I decide to wing it: hot and black ought to be good enough.

  She still hasn’t moved by the time I get back to the room, not so much as an inch. For a second I debate letting her sleep. She did have one hell of a day yesterday.

  But the thought vanishes the moment I let my gaze trail down her. I can actually feel conscious thought fleeing from my mind, silenced by the blood rushing to my cock.

  I take a seat on the edge of the bed, setting the mugs down on the worn wood of the nightstand.

  “Beth?”

  I’m trying for gentle and soothing, but my need comes through in the rasp of my voice.

  Regardless, she doesn’t move. I settle a hand onto her arm, letting my fingers lightly stroke her silken skin.

  “Beth?”

  She jerks softly, her eyelids finally starting to flutter open. For a second her gaze is blank, bordering on confusion, but the second her eyes find me, they clear.

  “Derek,” she says, sounding almost startled before jolting upright.

  Not exactly the response I was going for.

  The blanket falls from her, pooling at her waist and exposing her still-naked chest. Her skin is fucking flawless, her nipples hard and inviting in the chill morning air.

  It takes a force of will to draw my gaze back to her eyes.

  “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head for emphasis, “I just forgot where I was for a minute.”

  She glances downward, seeming to remember she’s naked. One hand reaches for the blanket, looking determined to protect her modesty, before apparently deciding better of it.

  She gives me a half-asleep smirk, fire already returning to her eyes, before inclining her head towards the nightstand.

  “Please say one of those is for me.”

  I chuckle as I reach for a mug and pass it to her, the smell of freshly brewed coffee driving me to then reach for my own.

  “I didn’t know how you took it,” I comment.

  She takes an experimental sip, a nearly indiscernible crease appearing on her forehead as she tastes it. I bite my tongue, holding back a chuckle, making an inner note to include sugar next time. If there is a next time.

  To her credit, she doesn’t complain. After a second’s pause, she drains half the mug, actually looking more awake in the next moment.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs.

  “No problem. How are you feeling?”

  She nods noncommittally. “Physically, fine. Still trying to wrap my head around yesterday, though.”

  “Well, that’s understandable. No headache, though? Sore throat?”

  She giggles, leaning forward at the waist in a way that makes eye contact nearly impossible.

  “Why, Derek, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds like you care.”

  It’s like she sees right through me.

  I shrug it off, plastering my most charming smile onto my face.

  “Just doing my job ma’am,” I drawl lazily.

  Her laugh sounds around us. “Oh, right. My hero. How could I forget?” The teasing look from last night is back on her face, eyebrows quirked, smirk firmly in place.

  Most women treat me like a god, like something to be revered. Beth looks at me like I’m a kid who got caught playing dress up in daddy’s uniform.

  It makes me fucking wild.

  I lean in slowly, coming to a stop a hairsbreadth from her upturned face.

  “Say it again.”

  The smirk transforms into a full-blown smile as she holds my eyes, a challenging glare shining out at me.

  “Not a chance.”

  That’s about all I can stand. The dam breaks, my need to touch her becoming instantly overwhelming.

  My lips crash against hers, rough and hungry. I note her answering desire as she kisses me back, as her hands find purchase in my hair.

  I flip her onto her back, her tits bouncing between us with the impact. The blankets are gone, tossed madly aside as I lower myself onto her. I run my mouth down the length of her neck, kissing and biting with wild abandon while she squirms beneath me.

  The taste of her makes all thought blur, the small moans already pouring from her mouth driving me to madness. I want more of her.

  I need more of her.

  I find her hardened nipple, taking it between my lips, pulling her into my mouth as my hand trails down her stomach. Her hips twitch beneath me, urging me onward, driving me to touch her.

  It’s this exact moment my phone decides to go off.

  The sound is jarring in this enclosed space, not to mention completely unwelcome.

  I groan around her nipple still clenched between my lips.

  It’s work. I fucking know it is.

  Son of a bitch.

  For a long moment, I consider ignoring it. I’m sure they can handle whatever it is without me.

  “Do you need to get that?” she asks finally.

  Begrudgingly, I disentangle myself from her, mouthing an apology as I take the call.

  It’s just as I thought: work. No time to waste.

  With a sigh, I disconnect, turning towards a Beth who’s much calmer than she was a moment ago.

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “That’s alright. Work is work, right?”

  I run a hand through my hair, already standing to dress.

  “Just… stay here, okay? And call me if you need anything, even if you just feel unsafe.”

  She looks hesitant but nods. “Okay, sure.”

  I’d love to question that look, but I’m already taking longer than usual to get going.

  I cross back to her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and taking a moment to let my eyes run over her again. It’s like torture.

  Then I’m out the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ELISABETH

  I lay there, tucked in Derek’s king-sized bed, and staring at the ceiling absent-mindedly. There’s nothing interesting up there, but the serenity of this moment—me alone in the apartment of the man who saved me—is everything. I don’t want it to end.

  I stroke the side of his bed, finding the warm imprint of his body still beside me. I trace the outline of it with my hand and hum a melody my mother used to sing to me.

  It’s fitting she’d be with me at this moment. She’s the whole reason why I’m here, really.

  Rolling over, the smell of his body wash escapes from the covers and wafts into the air. I sigh, loving the smell of him surrounding me and the way it tingles over my skin.

  I replay the shower, our date, his touch and that body.

  Wow. Just wow. I needed that.

  He might be the most attractive and charming man I’ve ever met, but I know reality will sink in soon. He’s still a firefighter. And one who uses his job to get laid—often. That alone is one large reason not to trust him.

  But, it’s an even bigger problem for my particular situation as he’s the firefighter who saved me from the fire I started.

  The fire that was supposed to save me and my mom.

  A fire that was illegal.

  A fire that might see me behind bars.

  If he gets involved, more than he already is, things could—no, will—get messy. How will I be able to lie to him, to continue to make him think I’m in danger? When the real danger I’m in is because of me.

  No, I can’
t trust him.

  And seeing as he throws women aside like they’re trash, Ana included, what’s to say he wouldn’t do that to me? Why wouldn’t he turn me in if—or when—he does find out? Especially now Officer Brady is suspicious about the fire. How long will it be before Derek becomes suspicious, too? Enough to go snooping around the house?

  A sudden spike of anxiety jolts through me, springing me up into a seated position. I hold the comforter to my chest and wrap it around me like a cocoon, hoping to ease my worry.

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind and I slowly replay all of it in my mind, needing to wrap my head around what had happened, what’s happening, and how I got here.

  I silently thank Derek for leaving. Without him here I can think more clearly. He has a way of distracting me I can’t seem to say no to. I need to get my bearings straight.

  Sweat starts to form at my hairline. I rip the comforter off me to cool my nerves. Everything will go according to plan, right?

  I hope.

  I get up and look for my clothes, wanting to get some food and caffeine to help me process… everything.

  But I find myself in his closet, looking for a t-shirt and pants to wear around his place. I know I can’t trust him—no, I don’t trust him—but he seems to truly care about me and my safety. At least, he did this morning. It’s heartwarming, and having his T-shirt on reminds me of that feeling. It’s like a warm hug, which I can really use right now.

  He could’ve kicked me to the curb, expecting me to leave the next morning like I’m sure he’s done with his other one-night stands, but he didn’t. He wants me to be here. He wants to take care of me and keep me safe.

  Pulling on one of his LAFD t-shirts that doubles as a dress, I make my way to his kitchen. Rummaging through his fridge and counter, I settle on eggs and toast for breakfast and put on a pot of coffee. I set some dishes on the dining room table and find myself feeling oddly content. It’s a complete one-eighty from the impending anxiety attack in the bedroom.

  But as I set my plate down and sit in silence, the hunger I felt disappears and the panic settles in again.

  “Calm down, Beth,” I chastise myself and take a few deep breaths.

  I shuffle the food around my plate, taking an occasional bite or two. I’m trying to stomach something or use the food as a distraction at least, but it doesn’t work. My worries over Derek, the fire, my mom, and Officer Brady begin to overwhelm me.

  I get up from the table, thinking a walk around his apartment might help quiet my thoughts.

  Oh, I need my coffee. I swivel around and pick up the mug, cradling it in my hands. It’s yet another piece of LAFD regalia—does he own anything else? —though this one has the name ‘Don’ on it. I wonder who that is?

  I sip the hot black liquid walking towards his living room and let it burn my tongue. It’s bitter and strong, but that’s how I like it. I take in all the pictures and artwork hanging up. Most are pictures of his buddies jumping all over each other. They all look like they’re a bunch of troublemakers. I can see where he gets it.

  There are a few pictures lining his TV console. I bend down to examine them. All of them are him in his varying uniforms and with his coworkers. In each, he looks so sincere and I can feel his pride beaming from him. There’s something reassuring and comforting in that—a person who loves his job so much he lives and breathes it. And, from what he says, this is in his blood. Helping and rescuing people is inherent in him, and in the decades of men before him.

  How could a man whose job requires him to take care and save others be a bad person?

  I land on a picture of him and a Dalmatian puppy that he’s cradling in his arms. It’s goddamn adorable. He has that same grin he had last night, when he was trying to convince me to come home with him. But this one looks genuine.

  He looks truly happy.

  I take a few steps back, finding the couch with the back of my knees and plopping down on the leather cushions. I cross my legs yoga-style and take another sip of my coffee, sighing and thinking about the man I see before me.

  Why did Ana make him seem like such an arrogant asshole?

  I know he has a reputation of taking advantage of women and using his firefighter hero persona as a pick-up line, as I can attest, but that’s not everything. He seems to be so much more than that.

  There appears to be more than his beautiful exterior lets on. Even the little bit of information he told me about his childhood and his reasoning for wanting to become a firefighter pokes holes in his mask. And the letter—his willingness to go back into a burning house with no questions asked is another blow to his perfectly crafted image.

  Ana must’ve been bitter. She gets that way after a break-up, especially when it’s the man who dumps her. It’s understandable. Who doesn’t get angry after a break-up? But I shouldn’t have trusted a scorned woman’s opinion on the man who did the rejecting.

  I doubt she’d be happy to hear I spent the night with him, though. Guilt starts to nag at me, but I ignore it. There’s nothing I should feel guilty about when it comes to Derek and Ana. They’ve been nothing for a while, and she doesn’t even like him because, according to her, he is a ‘philandering pig who could never get a woman if it wasn’t for his uniform and badge.’

  From what I’m gathering, the uniform and badge are not decorative to him. They’re rooted in tradition and bring with them a sense of pride and respect. I can see it in the pictures of him at the station, with his coworkers, and in his gear. He can’t be that bad if this is the life he chooses. A man who volunteers to put his life on the line for others every day can’t be a bad person. It just doesn’t make sense to me.

  I unravel my legs and stand up, finishing my cup of coffee. As I walk back to the kitchen to rinse my mug out, the tension eases from my neck and shoulders. The anxiety melts from me and I feel lighter having rationalized Derek to myself. It sounds ridiculous, but knowing he isn’t a bad guy makes everything seem okay. Like everything will work out. Somehow.

  I know I could be wrong. He might be a good guy who cares about my safety and well-being, but he’s also a good guy who loves his job. A seed has been planted by Officer Brady and, if my calculations are correct, the other firefighters know of these suspicions as well.

  The smart thing for me to do is to walk away and let all this work itself out. I should distance myself from the fire and, specifically, from Derek.

  But given the chance that Derek is the good guy I think he is, I’ll be safe regardless. Whatever happens, Derek will keep me safe. He did tell me that earlier, despite him not knowing everything.

  That’s what I’ll do. I’ll put some distance between us. Well, only in terms of sleeping and housing accommodations. I’ll get myself a hotel and continue to spend time with him. Not in a romantic way, per se, but to gain access to any information regarding the fire. With him on my side and in my ear I’ll know what I’ll have to do and when I need to do it.

  I smile, confident with my decision, and finish cleaning the kitchen before I head back to the bedroom to collect my belongings.

  I can’t shut my head up. So what if the firefighter who saved me from the disaster is a good guy who’s amazing in bed? I think it’s a consolation prize for having to deal with the stress of my mother and the fire. If anything, it’ll keep me sane and safe during the whole process.

  I find a sticky note in one of the kitchen drawers after gathering my clothes and fish out a pen from my purse. I don’t want to worry him when he gets home and I’m not here. I scribble down my contact information and let him know I’ll be staying at a hotel for a while and then I add a P.S.

  I left with your shirt on, I write. Think of it as keeping me safe when you can’t in person. XO, Beth.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DEREK

  “Chief’s here!” Mike says, running through the firehouse like a madman.

  I sigh and roll my eyes. “McAllister?” I ask Mike abse
ntly. “He already knows what kind of lazy fuckin’ bums we all are.”

  Mike, shocked, stops and stares at me. “Not McAllister, asshole,” he says. “McAllister’s boss, LAFD Chief Hardy.”

  I jump up out of my chair and, on impulse, straighten out my shirt. “Shit. The Chief, not just Chief, Mikey. Fuck. We gotta look busy.” I look around the mess hall and begin picking up all the rubble from our standard firehouse savagery—dirty dishes, empty pizza boxes, spilled soda, and broken plastic ware–and marvel at the fact we didn’t have any cockroaches or other vermin.

  I manage to clean up enough of the disaster to make the house look somewhat decent when Chief Mick Hardy walks through the doorway, wheezing heavily.

  He looks at me, grunts, and sizes me up. I take the opportunity to do the same.

  A tall, portly man, Chief Hardy has been on the job since my grandfather’s time. He, in fact, started in the LAFD with my father, when my grandfather was in the position he occupies today. When my grandfather was ready to retire, Hardy was the automatic shoo-in for the role.

  Hardy’s advantageous position means he could close his eyes, figuratively speaking, as far as my more, uh, adventurous misdeeds are concerned. Provided I never jeopardize the job nor the house, and I never did, Hardy is able to let my more prurient hobbies slide.

  Naturally, this earns me a lot of flak from the boys in the house, but, frankly, I didn’t care, and I still don’t, because my commitment is to my job and to saving lives, not to firehouse gossip.

  That said, I’d be lying if I said I don’t worry, every day, about Hardy and his quickly failing health. He has COPD thanks to years of sucking in smoke, both from the job and from his three-pack-a-day Marlboro habit. He’s severely overweight and often makes the joke that ‘vegetables are what his food eats’. Because of his aversion to vegetables not drowned in butter, and his refusal to stop stuffing cigarettes in his mouth, he’s suffered two heart attacks, with the last one requiring a stent in his heart to keep it beating for a few more years. If he lives another five years he’ll be lucky, and it would be a long and brutal five years filled with a variety of ailments at that.