Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (7 page)

"So she's coming with us this weekend."

Dale paused, the bottle halfway to his mouth. He stared at Lauren, thinking he must have missed something. "Who's coming where?"

"Melanie. She's coming to the game with us this weekend. I told her she could drive with you."

Dale stared at Lauren, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then, very slowly and very deliberately, he tilted the bottle and drained it, placed it on the table, and stalked into the kitchen.

This called for something stronger than beer. A lot stronger.

Melanie heard the knock, knew instantly who it was. Him. Her neighbor. Dale. She knew not just because it was close to the time they were supposed to leave but also because of the knock itself. Hard. Demanding. Full of authority. It was just so…so…
him
.

And was she really going to a hockey game? Was she really? Not just with
him
, but with his sister and her boyfriend and 18,000 other complete strangers. What had ever possessed her to say yes to something so barbaric and out of character?

Melanie frowned. Now that she thought about it, actually consciously thought about it, she didn't think she ever really said yes. His sister had said something, that led to her saying something else about something, and suddenly Melanie heard that she was going to a hockey game. She hadn't even agreed, or even disagreed. She wished she could say it was because she had been so surprised and caught off-guard but that wasn't the case. No, if she was honest, she had to admit—to herself, at least—that the reason she hadn't said anything was because of
him
. Because he had looked so surprised and so speechless and so discombobulated and so…frantic. Yes, he had actually looked frantic, like a wild animal caught in a trap he couldn't escape from.

And now here he was, knocking on her door. To take her to a hockey game. She was actually really going to a hockey game. Together. With
him
.

Not
him
. He had a name. Dale. She needed to start thinking of him as Dale and not
him
. But oh sweets, she was afraid to. It was much safer to think of him as…well,
him
.

The knock sounded again, a little harder, a little more forceful. He—Dale—was probably getting impatient. Well, let him. He was early and she wasn't quite ready yet so he could just wait.

Except she was ready. She was dressed, she had her small bag hanging across her body, with her wallet and keys. She didn't need anything else. All she needed to do was walk across the room and open the door and that would be that.

Melanie took a deep breath for courage then moved to the door, pulling it open just as he was about to knock again. His hand kept moving forward, meeting air, and he stumbled, catching his balance a second before his body would have tumbled against hers. Melanie took a hasty step back, her heart pounding. Why? From excitement? Ridiculous. Why would she be excited?

Maybe he—Dale—was attractive. Okay, yes. He was attractive, no maybe about it. Tall. Hair the color of light coffee mixed with shades of peanut, not too short, not too long, a little shaggy on the top. Deep brown eyes, the color of strong-brewed tea, like dark sepia with just a few flecks of gold that captured the light. A strong face, like a warrior's. Not pretty but definitely captivating, with strong lines and planes.

He was well-built, with broad shoulders and broad chest, sculpted abdominals that she had seen up close that very first time they met. A trim waist and lean hips and strong legs. Not muscle bound, not like the pictures of bodybuilders and even some models she had seen. His muscles were honest. Though how muscles could be honest, she didn't know. She just somehow knew that his build wasn't really from working out, but from actually working.

She wasn't sure if that should comfort her—or scare her.

He was dressed casually in worn faded jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with some kind of eagle logo on it. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the light spattering of hair on his muscled forearms.

"Are you done staring?"

Melanie started then took a quick step back, her gaze travelling up his body to meet his eyes. Small lines crinkled at the corners. Laugh lines, to match the amused gleam in his eyes and the crooked grin that teased the edges of his mouth. Melanie frowned and tilted her chin up.

"I was not staring."

"Sure you weren't, Smurfette." His gaze travelled from her head to her feet and back up again. It was a clinical glance, not an appreciative one, and Melanie fought the urge to be insulted by it.

"Is that what you're wearing?"

She glanced down at herself, not sure of his comment. Long skirt, loose blouse, comfortable sandals. She frowned. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing. It's just a little dressy. Don't you have jeans or something?"

"No."

He—
Dale
—opened his mouth to say something then quickly closed it. His brows lowered over his eyes and he frowned and Melanie didn't understand why.

"You really don't have any jeans?"

"No." Why did he look so surprised at that? She thought he might say something else but he just shook his head and stepped back, letting her out into the hallway. She was ready to pull the door closed when he stopped her.

"Wait. Are you sure you have your keys?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"You sure you're sure?"

"Oh sweets! I am not an idiot. Yes, I have my keys." She rattled the small bag resting against her hip, the metallic jingling of keys unmistakable.

"Just checking."

She pulled the door closed then followed him downstairs and out to the parking lot. He turned left while she turned right.

"Smurfette, where are you going?"

"To my car."

"But we're driving together, remember?"

"Of course I remember. My car's over here."

"But my car is this way."

"I don't want to go in your car. I want to go in mine." And that was exactly what she was going to do. If he didn't like that, well, too bad for him. It was bad enough she had no control over the overall coming evening, being forced to go to a barbaric sports event with people she didn't know. She didn't want to be forced to rely on someone else—a virtual stranger—for her way home. Melanie was going in her car, so she could leave if she wanted to. If he didn't like it, he could drive himself.

She almost thought he was going to do just that. In fact, a small part of her wished she would. To her amazement, he changed directions and followed her across the parking lot, muttering under his breath when she stopped at her car and unlocked the doors. He stood on the other side, his arm resting against the white metal of the hood, his brows lowered in another frown.

Did the man not know how to do anything but frown?

"I don't think I'm going to fit into this thing."

"Don't be silly. Of course you will. My paintings fit with no problem, so will you." She opened her door and climbed in, smiling at the new car smell that greeted her. The Fiat 500L had been her gift to herself several months ago and she still loved it. She had wanted one of the smaller models, one with two doors, but her mom had wisely suggested she get the larger one so she could transport her art work. Her mom, of course, had been completely correct.

Melanie inhaled deeply then started the engine, listening to its whispered hum as the car came to life. The door opened and Dale folded himself into the passenger seat. Melanie couldn't help but grinning at the picture. "The seat does go back, you know."

"Not far enough it doesn't." He muttered the words in a harsh whisper then adjusted the seat. He shifted his legs around, twisting and turning in the seat, still grumbling as he reached for the seatbelt. Melanie put the car in gear and took off, almost laughing at his gasp of surprise. He leaned forward and grabbed the dashboard.

"Holy shit, Smurfette. Take it easy. I'd like to get there in one piece."

This time she did laugh. She pulled into the street with the sharp sound of rubber squealing against asphalt, maneuvering the small car through the residential neighborhood until she reached the main street. Traffic was a little too heavy for her liking and she sighed in disappointment. She'd still be able to zip around traffic once they hit I83, but it wouldn't be as fun as it usually was, not since rush hour had just started.

Her passenger would probably appreciate that, considering he was wedged into the seat, his legs locked in front of him, one hand against the dashboard and the other gripping the door. Melanie laughed again then leaned forward to turn on the stereo. The soundtrack from her favorite musical this month blared through the speakers, the deep tenor of Colm Wilkinson filling the car.

A car darted in front of her and she hit the brakes. Dale jerked forward and the car behind them blew the horn, the sound a long wail that could be heard over the music. Melanie glanced in the rearview then smiled and waved at the driver behind her. The horn blared again as the driver waved back with his middle finger.

"Well that wasn't very nice." Melanie checked her side mirror then pressed her foot against the gas pedal, shooting out into the break in traffic. The music came to an abrupt stop as her passenger turned the stereo off.

"Holy shit. Jesus Christ. You're a madwoman. A menace. You shouldn't be driving."

"That's not a very nice thing to say."

"Why? It's the truth! How did you even manage to get your license?"

"I meant the other thing you said. Your language."

"What? Holy shit? It seemed appropriate. And Christ, would you slow down? I'd like to not die tonight, especially in my first-due area."

"Not that. The other thing."

"What other thing?"

"What you said." Melanie glanced over at him and lowered her voice. "JC."

"What?" He frowned, a look of pure confusion twisting his features into something almost comical. His lips moved, like he was talking to himself, then his expression changed. "JC? You mean Jesus Christ?"

"Yes, that. You shouldn't say that, it's not nice."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious? What are you, super-religious or something?"

"No, I don't identify with any organized religion. But it's still rude to use any of the deities' names that way and you shouldn't do it."

Silence greeted her and she wondered if maybe her words had given her passenger something to think about. His muttered cursing told her she had been wrong.

"Out of everything that has come out of my mouth, that's what you have a problem with? You're insane. Nutso. Crazy."

"No. Most of your vocabulary is questionable, but I don't expect anything different from someone like you."

"Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means. Someone like you. A—"

"Neanderthal?"

"Yes, exactly." Melanie glanced over at him and smiled, expecting him to smile back. He was glowering instead. "Did I say something wrong?"

Oh sweets, she probably did. He just kept looking at her, his hands braced against the inside of the car, a ferocious scowl on his face. Not ferocious. Feral. Dangerous. And Melanie realized that he could be dangerous. He could be a murderous madman. She didn't know him, not at all. Why had she been so careless and agreed to go with him? He could take her anywhere. To a remote dirt road to kill her. To an abandoned warehouse to mutilate her body. To—wait, no he couldn't. She was driving. He couldn't take her anywhere, not unless he forced her to drive somewhere and he couldn't do that because she was driving.

Unless he had a weapon of some sort. Unless he—

She needed to stop. Just stop. She was overreacting, letting her imagination run wild as she usually did. Her father always cautioned her about those things, just as he cautioned her about choosing her words wisely and thinking before she spoke.

Imagination was a wonderful gift, as long as it was used wisely. Like with her art. Imagining the man sitting next to her to be a murderous madman wasn't a wise use of her imagination. And calling him a Neanderthal probably wasn't choosing her words wisely.

She took a deep breath and swerved in and out of the traffic. True, her passenger was still seething. He was putting off dangerous colors of scarlet and ebony, which perfectly matched the dangerous look on his face. But he wasn't a danger to her. Melanie was certain of that.

Mostly.

"I upset you, didn't I? I apologize. I didn't mean to." She glanced over at him, saw that his expression hadn't really changed yet. Well, maybe it had a little. He didn't look like was quite as anxious to throw her from the car any longer.

"So what's with the Neanderthal thing? Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Why do you keep calling me Smurfette?"

"There's a big difference between a cute little cartoon character and an overgrown primitive ape-man."

Cute? Had he said cute? Did that mean he thought
she
was cute? Sweets, she needed to stop being so silly and focus on what else he said. "I don't watch cartoons so I don't know what you're talking about. And you're not primitive. Not really. I mean, you don't drag your knuckles on the ground and carry a big club or beat your hairy chest and yell."

"My chest is not hairy."

"Yes, I noticed." And oh! Why had she just said that? Why had she admitted she had noticed? Not only noticed, but remembered? Heat filled her face, no doubt turning her skin an awful shade of red that clashed with her hair. She glanced over at him and her face flamed even hotter when she noticed his small grin.