Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (8 page)

"So then why Neanderthal?"

Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? And why did he care? She didn't want to tell him, didn't want to admit to the little shiver of pure feminine delight that shot through her when she first met him. Yes, he had been rude—kind of—but it was much more than that and definitely more basic.

She had been filled with a certainty that he had been a protector. Strong and capable and willing to go to any length to take care and protect those around him. Such a silly, silly observation, one that had come out the wrong way when she called him a Neanderthal. Just one more example of her not thinking before speaking. And there was no way she would ever tell him that. Never.

Never ever.

Melanie looked away, frowning, focusing hard on the traffic stopped at the light at the end of I83. "Which way do we go from here? I'm not sure where we're going."

"You need to get in the right lane. Without hitting anyone, please."

She shot him a dirty look then glanced in the side view mirror, waiting for a break in the heavy traffic. A spot opened up and she gunned it, darting out with a squeal of rubber. He grabbed the dashboard again and stared at her.

"Je—" He stopped, his jaw clenched, then looked away. Turned and looked back at her. "Would you please stop doing that? I know we're out of my district now but that doesn't mean I want someone else to pick us up when you kill us."

"I'm not going to kill us. I'm a perfectly safe driver." Melanie slammed the brakes as the car in front her stopped, jerking them both forward. She refused to look at her passenger. "And why do you keep saying things like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like 'district' and 'first-due'. You said that earlier. I don't know what that means."

"It means just what I said. We're in the city now, out of my district."

"District for what?"

"For the fire department."

"What fire department?"

He blinked, a slow lowering of his lids that did nothing to hide the exasperation shining so clearly in his eyes. "The fire department where I work." His words were slow and clipped, like he was struggling to find patience. She looked at him, surprised.

"You work?"

"What the—? Yes I work. What the hell? What did you think I did?"

Melanie shrugged. "I'm not really sure. You're always home. At least, home when normal—I mean, other—people are usually working. And you're in and out at all hours. I didn't think you worked."

"Well I do. I'm a firefighter. A driver."

"You mean a chauffeur?"

"No, I mean a damn driver. I drive the engine to calls, work the pump, get the water onto the red stuff. A driver." He snorted, shaking his head. "A chauffeur. You have got to be kidding me. Do me a favor, don't say that to any of the guys tonight."

"What guys?"

"The guys from work. Go down two blocks and make a left."

Melanie jerked the steering wheel and shot into the left lane. "Why would I say anything to the people who work with you? Are we going to your firehouse later?"

"No, you'll see them at the game."

"I will?"

Dale turned in his seat, his gaze steady and just a little confused. "Yeah. That's who we're going to the game with. It's a shift outing. Who the hell did you think was going to be there?"

"I don't know that I gave it any thought, to be honest. Your sister and her boyfriend—"

"I'd hope so, since he plays for the Banners."

Melanie ignored him, even though she wanted to ask a million questions. He played hockey? Professionally? He didn't seem like a professional athlete. At least, not like she imagined. He had seemed nice, although he had looked to be a little accident prone, with all his cuts and bruises.

"Who else?"

"Hm?

"Who else did you think was going to be there?"

"Well you, obviously. I think your sister possibly said some other friends but I'm not totally sure because I wasn't paying as much attention as I should because I—"

"Enough, I get it. This is where you want to turn."

Melanie nodded then aimed the car through the intersection. Horns blared around them and she didn't understand why, just like she didn't understand the sudden paling of her passenger's face.

He straightened in the seat then gave her an odd look. "You, uh, you didn't think this was like a date or something, did you?"

"What? OhmyGod, of course not! No, not at all. The thought never crossed my mind. I wouldn't have agreed to go if that was the case."

"Because going on a date with me is that repulsive?"

"Of course not! I never said that. I would never even think that—"

"So you'd enjoy going on a date with me." He said it like he was stating fact, not asking a question. Her eyes widened and she shook her head, strands of hair getting caught in her mouth. She swiped at them with her hand and shook her head again.

"That's not what I said!"

"Not in so many words—"

"Not in any words!"

"—but that's what you meant."

"It is not! It is totally not. Not even close. How could you even think that—"

"Turn right up at the light then look for the parking garage on your left."

Melanie tightened her hands around the steering wheel, wondering for a brief fleeting second how they would feel tightened around his neck. Horror filled her at the thought. She had never contemplated murder before. Never! The man was intolerable, totally intolerable, forcing her to think things she had never thought before, to feel things she didn't want to feel. Just look at what he'd done to her painting, what emotions he'd forced her to unleash on those poor blank canvases.

"Left. I said left. Right there. No, stop. Holy shit."

Melanie slammed on the brakes, turned the steering wheel, then pressed her foot against the gas pedal and darted in front of the oncoming traffic. The little car lurched, bouncing as it went over the concrete bump at the entrance of the garage. She hit the brakes again, the fender stopping inches from the black and yellow bar that blocked the way.

She calmly lowered her window and leaned out, grabbing the ticket that popped out from the dispenser. The gate opened and she hit the gas, propelling the car forward. Her passenger was strangely silent, not saying anything, not even when she parked and got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, waiting for him.

Minutes went by and she still waited, wondering why he wasn't getting out. Maybe this wasn't the right place after all. Maybe she had made the wrong turn. If she had, that was all his fault for giving her incorrect directions. Maybe he didn't really know where they were going, maybe—

The door finally opened and he climbed out. Slowly. Almost menacing. He straightened his legs, slowly standing to his full height. And he was close. Too close. And he seemed taller somehow, bigger. It didn't make sense, she had been this close to him before, so why did he suddenly seem so dangerous? So…so—her mind went blank, words failing her. All she knew was that tingles shot through her, sparkling between them in shades of gold and silver and opal that shimmered in the air, muting his own dangerously vibrant reds and oranges.

"Give me your hand."

Melanie automatically put both hands behind her back and shook her head.

"Smurfette, give me your hand."

His voice, deep and husky and oh-so-controlled, was commanding. Compelling. She was offering her hand before she even realized what she was doing, cursing herself while she did it.

"Your other hand."

She held that one out as well, wondering what he was going to do. Was he going to hold it? Take her hand in his as they walked to wherever they were going? Another little thrill shimmered in the air, anticipation filling her. He reached out, his skin warm, his hand so much larger and darker and stronger than hers. The breath hitched in her chest as she waited, wondering—

Until he pulled the keys from her grip and shoved them into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Those are my keys."

"I know."

"But you can't take them! I won't be able to drive back home!"

"That's the whole point, Smurfette. You're not driving."

"What? But I don't—"

He stepped closer, amusement and warning mixing in his eyes as he stared down at her. "You're a menace to every single person on the road. You're not driving. Period."

"That is so not true! I'm a perfectly capable driver—"

"Bullshit! You're not driving, end of discussion."

"You can't just—"

"I just did. Now come on." His hand closed around her elbow, leading her toward a bank of elevators on the other side of the garage.

"That is so high-handed. So autocratic. So pre-historic. So medieval. So…so barbaric."

He stopped and looked down at her, a shadow passing through his eyes. "So now I'm a barbarian, huh?"

Melanie opened her mouth to say no, to tell him that wasn't what she meant, but he didn't give her the chance. And she couldn't help but wonder if he was upset for some reason.

No, she must be mistaken. He couldn't be upset. That was silly.

Wasn't it?

"So that's your neighbor from hell, huh?" Jimmy stood next to him, balancing a plate of food on top of a plastic cup of beer while he ate. Dale glanced in the direction he was looking, his eyes falling on Smurfette—Melanie. They were in the lower level of the arena, downstairs in the exclusive VIP Lounge. The game started in forty minutes, which gave them plenty of time to eat and drink.

Smurfette was standing off to the side, an empty plastic cup of wine in her hand, looking lost and alone and out of place. Sympathy surged through him and he pushed it away as he grabbed a meatball from Jimmy's plate.

"Yup. That's her." He popped the meatball into his mouth and put the empty toothpick back on the plate. Jimmy gave him a dirty look and moved to Dale's other side, guarding his food.

"She's cute."

"She's a lunatic." A lunatic driver who was a menace on the road, one with no verbal filter whatsoever. If that wasn't bad enough, Dale honestly thought she had no idea she was insulting him. Not normal, everyday insults. No, her insults were cloaked in fancy-speak, delivered in a slightly husky voice from a mouth that was too full and luscious. You were so taken with her mouth that the words didn't register right away. And when they did register, you had to stop and think about what they meant before realizing you had been insulted.

Hell, if he was going to be insulted, he'd much rather it be done plainly, with no room for doubt.
Someone like him
. What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway?

He knew exactly what it meant. Medieval. Prehistoric. A Barbarian.

Why the hell was he so pissed, anyway? It didn't make sense. It wasn't any different from when she called him Neanderthal. In fact, she had called him a Neanderthal more than once. For some reason, that didn't bother him. In fact, he had thought it was kind of cute. Not so much that she was calling him a Neanderthal, but the expression on her face when she said it. Like some part of her liked it. How was being called a barbarian any different? Dale wasn't sure how but it was. And it bothered him.

"Well, she's a cute lunatic." Jimmy popped a meatball into his mouth. "You make a move on her yet?"

"Fuck no. Not my type." And wasn't that the truth. He preferred his women warm, willing, and without a sharp tongue. Unless they planned on using that tongue for something besides insults.

"Cool. I'm going to go over and say hi." Jimmy turned, already moving toward Smurfette. Dale reached out and grabbed his shoulder, jerking him back. Jimmy swore under his breath as the plate toppled from the cup, nearly falling. He caught it at the last minute, but not before several of the meatballs hit his arm, smearing his sleeve with gravy.

"Dammit. What the hell did you do that for?"

"Leave her alone."

"Why? I thought you said you weren't going to make a play for her."

"I'm not."

"Then she's fair game. I mean, look at that mouth. And all that hair. Can you just imagine how that hair would feel as it wrapped around you—"

Dale curled his hand into a fist and hit Jimmy on the arm. Hard. Hard enough that beer sloshed over the rim of the cup. He ignored his look of surprise and stepped closer, standing nose-to-nose with the paramedic. "You leave her the fuck alone."

"Jesus Christ. What the hell, man?"

"And watch your language. It's inappropriate."

"It's inappropriate? Shit, since when do you care? And what the hell has gotten into you, anyway? Are you getting sick or something?"

Dale pinned him with a steely glare, silently warning Jimmy to shut the hell up. But the man had a point. What the hell was wrong with him?

Nothing was wrong with him. He just didn't feel like watching Jimmy make a play on his neighbor, that was all. Something told him that Smurfette was probably on the naïve side when it came to men and he didn't want Jimmy coming on to her, leading her on, using her.

Yeah, sure. That's all it was.

Dale broke eye contact with Jimmy and took a long swallow of beer, his eyes darting across the room to where Smurfette was standing. He nearly choked.

She wasn't alone anymore. Lauren was with her, along with Mikey. The sight of the three of them huddled together made his gut tighten in fear. And now they were laughing, the sound catching the attention of several guys in the room. Dale's protective instincts kicked in and he started to move in that direction, only to stop when all three women turned and looked at him.

Not looked. Glared.

Smurfette's eyes caught his, their gazes locked as she leaned closer to Lauren and said something. Dale would have given anything at that moment for the ability to read lips, because he had a feeling they were talking about him. His suspicion was confirmed when Lauren stared at him, frowning.

Well shit. What the hell was that all about? And when the hell did Smurfette get another glass of wine? That must be her third, at least.

Lauren said something to the other two then stepped away, heading straight for him. Dale ducked behind Jimmy, frantically searching for a way to escape. Over there, by the bar. Maybe he could get lost in the crowd, hide so Lauren wouldn't see him—

"Don't even try it." Lauren stepped in front of him, blocking his escape. Her hands were fisted on her hips, her dark brows pulled low over her eyes. "Like I didn't see you hide behind Jimmy? You're losing your touch, big brother."

"I wasn't hiding. I'm getting another beer." He stepped around her and muttered under his breath when she walked with him.

"Good. I'll go with you."

"You don't need to. I can get my own."

"So what's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem." He made it to the bar and tried to squeeze through the people in order to get close enough to place his order. One of the bartenders saw him and made his way over. Dale pointed to his choice of draft then held up two fingers.

"I hope one of them is for me."

"Get your own. Ouch. What the hell was that for?" Dale rubbed the back of his arm where Lauren had just pinched him. Damn her. How did she always know exactly where to pinch?

"For being a jerk. Why were you so rude to Melanie?"

"I wasn't rude. Who said I was rude?" He reached for the fresh cups of beer but Lauren got to them first. He frowned, then motioned to the bartender for two more as he pulled a bill from his wallet. The drinks and food were free, but he always made sure to tip the staff.

Lauren took the bill from his hand and leaned forward, making sure the bartender saw it. Then she smiled at him. "Can I get two glasses of red wine, too? Thanks."

"You're drinking beer and wine?"

Lauren looked at him like he was losing his mind. "No. The wine's not mine."

"Then who's it for? Not Mikey, I know she doesn't drink anymore." She didn't, not since reconnecting with her high school love, who happened to be a recovering alcoholic with more than ten years' sobriety under his belt.

"They're for Melanie."

"Both of them? How many has she had so far? We haven't been here that long."

"Why do you care? She'll have plenty of time to drink water during the game. And it's not like she's driving anyway, since you were a barbarian and stole her keys."

"Is that what she said? That I stole them?"

"Didn't you?"

"That's not the point. The woman is a menace. She shouldn't be driving. She damn near killed me at least three times."

"So you had to act like a barbarian?"

"I did not act like a barbarian! Dammit. This whole thing was a huge mistake." Dale took one of the fresh beers the bartender had just placed in front of him and drank it in three long swallows. He refused to look at Lauren, refused to acknowledge the censure in her gaze.

"What was a mistake?"

"This. Tonight. The whole thing. Why did you even invite her? She doesn't fit in. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Since when do you care if someone fits in or not? And are you going to stand there and tell me you don't like her?"

"Was that why you invited her? In some lame-ass attempt at matchmaking?"

Lauren stepped closer, almost eye-to-eye with him. "I invited her because I thought you liked her. Because she made you smile. Because you acted more like your normal self the night she was there than you have in the last six months. Probably longer."

Dale stepped back, surprised at her low words, surprised at the emotion in her voice. He looked away, his gaze scanning the room without really seeing anything. Fuck. Had it been that noticeable? He didn't think so. Just because Lauren noticed didn't mean anything. She was his sister, she knew his moods and quirks better than anyone else.

He looked back at her, not quite able to meet her eyes. "I'm fine."

"You're so full of shit." She lowered her voice and leaned closer, resting her hand on his arm. Could she feel the tension in the bunched muscles there? Probably. "Dale, I'm worried about you. You've been too distant, too removed these last few months. Like you're blaming yourself for what happened. Blaming yourself for everything Lindsay's done, for what she's become. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault."

"Yeah? Prove it. How many times did you tell me I should be more understanding? That I was her big brother, that I should be trying to help her. And I didn't. I turned my back on her and look what happened. She's in jail because she almost killed you."

"Dale, that's not your fault. And I was wrong for saying that stuff. You were the one who was right. Maybe if I had listened to you, if I had stepped back sooner and forced her to take responsibility, none of this would have happened. Maybe this is all my fault. Did you ever think about that?" Her voice cracked and she looked away, blinking her eyes before taking a sip of beer. Emotion, sharp and bitter, cut through him, peeling him open in places he had thought permanently closed, in places he didn't want open.

Especially not here. Not now.

He took a sip of his own beer and nudged her, tried to smile. It fell flat. "It's not your fault. And I appreciate what you tried to do, but don't. I don't need you meddling."

"So you're really going to tell me you're not interested in Melanie? Not even a little tiny bit?"

"No." He forced the lie through clenched teeth and hoped Lauren wouldn't notice. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. He couldn't really tell because she suddenly smiled, a large smile that matched the calculating gleam in her eyes.

"Good, because I'm pretty sure Jimmy is."

"What?"

Lauren motioned at something over his shoulder and he turned to look. Smurfette was still across the room, Mikey nowhere in sight. But she wasn't alone. Jimmy was standing next to her, his arm braced on the wall above her head, leaning in close as he said something to her. He was too close, his mouth damn near against her ear. Smurfette looked up at him, her long hair falling behind her as she tilted her head back and laughed at whatever he had said.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."