Seducing the Fireman (Risky Business) (11 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Becca pulled up to the curb at St. John’s Place with her stomach in her throat. There was a very real possibility she was going to spew granola cereal all over the car if she didn’t get her nerves settled. The prospect of spending forty-eight hours at the station with Jax? Yeah, that had her belly twisted in knots.

Really. Big. Knots.

What the hell had
she gotten herself into?

Throwing the car into park, she leaned back against the headrest. When she’d received the text from Jax saying her ride along had been approved, she’d had mixed emotions. Half of her wanted to celebrate, the other half wanted to scream.

Today the screaming side was winning out.

Get it together.
You want to be treated like a professional? Act like one.

She opened one eye and peeked at the firehouse. Unlike her last visit, the bay doors were down. There were two of them, one labeled Ladder One-Three-Two and one labeled Engine Two-Eight-Oh. Both were painted with the words “In the Eye of the Storm.” Nice. Nothing said, “Welcome to Brooklyn,” like a burning skull and crossbones.

Suck it up. It’s time to get this show on the road.

Thirty minutes later she found herself on a whirlwind tour of the firehouse with Jax. Thankfully, she didn’t have to ask a lot of questions. He was incredibly knowledgeable and more than willing to share, giving her a full history of the company, a rundown on the equipment, and a real understanding of a day in the life of New York’s Bravest. Mostly she just listened and snapped pictures, absorbing
as much information as possible to feed back to Quinn for the series.

Truthfully, it was fascinating. There was so much she didn’t know, like the difference between a ladder company and an engine company, and the fact that they were housed together to work in tandem. Much as she hated to admit it, she was actually impressed to learn Jax worked on a ladder truck. He and his crew were the
first through the door doing forcible entry and search and rescue.

Talk about courage.

Heck, she’d nearly had a nervous breakdown just being trapped in an elevator. She couldn’t even begin to guess at the mettle it took to charge into a fire, risking his life to save another. It was the very definition of selfless, something she had a hard time associating with the kid who’d left her
high and dry.

Maybe he really had changed.

Or maybe he was just one of those adrenaline junkies with a hero complex.

She watched silently as he demonstrated the proper way to put on turnout gear over his fitted cotton uniform. So patient. So self-assured. So damn gorgeous.

Yeah, she could totally see why women threw their panties at men in uniform. Hell, the man in question
pushed her bitch buttons like no other, but that didn’t stop him from setting her undies on fire.

“Hey,” Jax asked, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You still with me?”

“Huh?” She blinked. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

He stripped off the black jacket and placed it back on the rack. “I was just saying that fully dressed with gear, each man on the truck is toting an extra seventy-five
pounds in personal protective equipment.”

“Guess that explains all the muscles,” she quipped, giving herself a mental face palm as soon as the words were out. Where was her filter this morning? The last thing she needed was for him to think she was distracted by his stupid muscles. “Not that I was looking.”

He flashed those damn dimples. “
Riiiight
.”

“So what made you decide to
become a firefighter, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject to something less volatile than his orgasm-inducing body. “Please tell me you didn’t do it just to meet women.”

He smiled at her joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes were sad, as if she’d touched on an old wound. “I guess you didn’t know this. I don’t talk about it much, but I lost my mom to a house fire.”

Shit
.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “My old man was working out of town, and we were staying with my aunt. She left a candle burning overnight, and the whole place went up in flames. The firemen were able to get my aunt and me out, but it was too late for my mom. I was three at the time.”

“I’m so sorry, Jax.”

“It was a long time ago.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I can hardly remember her. I’ve got some old pictures…”

“But it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not the same.” He forced a smile. “Anyway, I’ve always known I wanted to be a firefighter, to save lives, and that’s what keeps me going. If I can spare even one child that kind of loss? It’s all worth it. That’s why I got the tattoo,” he said, pointing to his right
shoulder. Although it was covered by his uniform, she could see the flames in her mind’s eye, wrapping around his bicep and shoulder as if to consume him. “So I’ll never forget.”

Her heart broke for the boy who’d lost his mother so tragically. And for the man who needed so desperately to save others from the thing that scared him most. What a heavy burden to carry day in and day out. She’d
always known his home life was tough, but he’d been tightlipped about it as a kid. He hadn’t wanted their pity then, and he wouldn’t want it now.

“I’m sure she’s very proud of you.” She reached out and straightened his collar, running her fingers over the silver axe insignia. This was one story that would stay off the record. There were some things more sacred than a byline. “Tell me, how
many lives have you saved, Jax?”

“You don’t keep track of the ones who live, the ones who go home to their families and thank God above.” He met her gaze, his eyes as hard as ice, his words wrought with conviction. “You remember the ones you’ve lost, the ones you couldn’t save. And you pray like hell the next time you’ll be faster, stronger, and luckier.”

Spoken like a true hero.

Her gut clenched. She’d been so incredibly wrong about Jackson Hart. And that was dangerous. So very dangerous. Protecting her heart from an arrogant prick would be a walk in the park, but a man like this? One who embraced life to the fullest? One who put his life on the line everyday so that others could live? That would be a hell of a lot harder.

…

Jax filled two mugs with coffee
and offered one to Becca, joining her at the kitchen table. Their time in the apparatus bay had left him raw and exposed. What he needed now was a few minutes to collect his thoughts and get his head on straight. Giving Becca a tour of the station had seemed harmless enough, but he’d quickly discovered that the more he talked, the more questions she had. He’d forgotten how inquisitive she could
be. Every question she asked opened the door to another, and some doors he preferred to keep closed.

And seeing her with her camera—she was focused, driven, determined. It was a total turn-on, and he had no doubt the piece would be amazing.

No, the real concern was having her under his roof for two days. There was no escape for either of them, and while he’d spent the last few weeks
trying to reconnect with her, he’d never considered the possibility that she might slip past his barriers in the process. He hadn’t meant to tell her about his mom—the last thing he wanted was her pity—but it had just tumbled out of his mouth. Having her immersed in his world without her usual snark and sass?

It was fucking
uncomfortable
.

He drank his coffee black, noting Becca added
both cream and sugar to hers before taking the first sip.

“Real mugs? How environmentally friendly.” She set her coffee on the table, keeping her fingers wrapped around the handle.

He grinned. “It’s tradition. Besides, most of us spend four days a week at the firehouse. That means it needs to be comfortable. This place is a second home for most of us.”

“I hadn’t thought about
it like that,” she said, surveying the kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. “Then I guess that makes you all family.”

“Pretty much,” he agreed. “Being a firefighter? It’s not just a job. It’s
the
job. It’s a lifestyle.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, bobbing her head and tapping her chin. “Now I remember. The badge comes with a healthy dose of ego, too.”

“If the boot fits.” He raised
his mug in salute, hoping to steer the conversation back to her. He didn’t want to talk about the demands of the job. She might not understand. It wasn’t just hard on the firefighter, it was hard on the people they loved, too. “What about you?”

“Me?” She laughed. “My ego pales in comparison to yours.”

“Cute.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. “I meant,
tell me more about your photography. You said you were interested in photojournalism, right?”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I remember everything when it comes to you, but I have to be honest, I have no idea how photojournalism is different than traditional photography.”

She leaned forward, her face lighting up. “It’s just a fancy way of saying that I want to photograph real
life, unfiltered. Instead of people posturing and posing, I want to catch the action as it unfolds, capturing those candid shots that reflect true emotion.”

“So following a bunch of truckies around is right up your alley then.”

“Yes and no.” She frowned, studying him thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t shy away from a fire if the situation presented itself, but I wouldn’t wish for tragedy just
to round out my portfolio. I’d be just as happy sitting around the station for two days, knowing you’re not barreling into a burning building with nothing more than an air tank, an axe, and the world’s biggest ego.”

“So you do care,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “I knew you’d come around eventually.”

“Are you always in the habit of flattering yourself? Because that explains a
lot,” she said, collecting his mug with a grin and turning to the sink. “I just meant that I’m working on a special piece right now.” Turning on the water, she went to work washing up. “It’s sort of an effervescent and macabre look at life in New York. I need a few more images, but it’s almost finished.”

He moved to the sink, leaning against the counter next to her. “I’d love to see it when
it’s ready.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, keeping her attention focused on the soapy dish. “I’m not really comfortable sharing my work.”

“Let me get this straight,” he said, handing her a towel to dry her hands. When she turned from the sink, he was there, blocking her retreat. “You trust me with your body, but not your art?”

“It’s personal.”

“Personal?” He braced his
hands on the counter, backing her up against the sink. Her breathing came fast and furious as she looked up at him with those big brown eyes. “I’ve buried myself so deep between your thighs I couldn’t tell where my body ended and yours began. It doesn’t get more personal than that.”

Shifting her weight, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his pants, her thighs brushing his as she
stretched up on her toes and lifted her chin.

Just as she was about to press those sweet lips to his, the alarm ripped through the station.

Chapter Fourteen

Becca froze, stopping short of kissing Jax. The screeching alarm cut through…whatever the hell it was she was doing, yanking her back to reality. The place where she and Jax were not supposed to be kissing anymore.

“Duty calls.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs, descending at a breakneck pace. Adrenaline coursed through her, propelling her
forward. Whether it was Jax’s touch or the bleating alarm that sent her body into overdrive, she couldn’t be sure. His hand was strong and sure as he led her to the apparatus bay, positioning her out of the way as he jumped into his turnout gear. It was chaos. Organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless with men swarming the bay.

For a second she just watched as the firefighters donned their
gear, boots first. Then instinct kicked in. She had a job to do. Focusing her camera, she began snapping photos, stopping only when they were all dressed and climbing into the truck. Jax hoisted her up, taking the seat opposite. Their knees brushed, but he didn’t even look her way, just banged his hand on the outside of the rig, signaling the driver—no, the “chauffer”—they were ready to roll. The
truck’s siren blared, nearly shattering her eardrums as they pulled out onto the street, followed by engine two-eighty.

Jax slipped his helmet on and, noticing Becca staring, squeezed her knee. Did he think she was scared? She wasn’t. More like shocked. He was a freaking officer. A lieutenant. He’d completely downplayed his role when he’d told her family—told her—he was a firefighter. And
that humility? It was completely at odds with the bravado he wore most days.

The truck sailed through traffic, sirens screaming. She glanced out the window at the Prospect Heights neighborhood sliding past in a blur. No wonder they called the driver a chauffeur. The man could seriously drive, handling the truck like a damn Maserati, hauling ass across town.

“All right, captain, what’re
we looking at?” Jax shouted.

“Mid-rise apartment fire. Probably going to be a two-alarm, but we’ll call it at the scene.”

“Fully involved?” he asked, his mouth a grim line.

“Not yet. We’re going straight in.”

Jax and his men started strategizing, discussing how they’d attack the fire and which role each would take. She didn’t understand most of it, but what she did catch
made her heart leap into her throat. Lifting her camera, she captured the face of each man that would be rushing into the blaze. Anderson would be on the roof, checking it for stability. O’Rourke would be venting the upper levels, ensuring the smoke had an egress point. And Jax? He was the irons man, leading a rescue team to search for survivors who might be trapped inside.

It scared the
crap out of her.

This is what they do. Every day. When duty calls.

The men were out the door before the truck rolled to a stop. They had jobs to do, and so did she. Sucking in a deep breath, she followed them, snapping shots of the building and the commotion on the ground as soon as her sneakers hit the pavement.

“Stay behind the fire line.” Jax grabbed her shoulders, forcing
her to look him in the eye. Despite the gravity of the situation, he was in complete control, just as he’d been when he pulled her out of the elevator. “Do not leave the tuck. Understand?”

Did he think she had a death wish? She nodded, and he took off, huddling quickly with his men before deciding on a point of entry. The lower level of the stone building was fully engulfed in flames. Smoke
poured from the upper windows. The engine company was laying out their hoses and charging the lines, preparing to attack the fire on the main floor. An ambulance arrived on the scene, siren wailing and lights flashing.

“Surround and drown!” the engine captain hollered.

Focusing on her own job, she began snapping photos. Her hands were shaking so damn bad she nearly dropped the camera,
but she pressed on. Anderson climbed into the bucket and ascended skyward.
Click
. He climbed onto the roof and disappeared from view.
Click
. An older gentleman waved from a third floor window, begging for help. A ladder went up, and a firefighter scaled the rungs to assist in the evacuation.
Click
. There were several residents standing on the curb across the street, watching in shock as their
homes burned.
Click
. She tried to block out their grief and do her job. They had a story to tell and her photos would give them a voice.

Click. Click. Click
.

She lost track of time, completely immersed in the scene around her. The tension on the street was palpable as the Bravest fought to bring the blaze under control. Another engine pulled up to the scene. Where the hell was Jax?
Using her lens, she zeroed in on the men racing up and down the ladders.

No Jax.

Was he inside? Was he okay? What if he’d been trapped by the flames? She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed they’d grown, despite the steady stream of water the engine was pumping into the building.

Radios crackled, barely audible over the spray of the hoses and the shouts of the firefighters. The fire
roared, its flames licking at the sky and devouring the building. Black smoke poured from the windows and rooftop, hanging over the structure like a death shroud.

A wave of nausea rolled over her.

Jax will be fine. This is what he does.

He’d told her himself they’d have to clear the entire building. That would take time. Only time wasn’t on their side. What if the roof collapsed?

No. She would not think like that. Better to stay busy than let doubt and fear creep in.

Bringing her camera up, she focused the lens on the upper floors of the building, searching for signs of life.

…

Jax climbed the stairs, thoughts of Becca derailing his concentration. Had she listened, for once, and stayed with the apparatus? The thought of her getting too close to the
building, with smoke and debris flying, sliced at his gut. He needed to focus. Distraction was a surefire way to get himself or one of his men hurt. He’d just have to trust that Becca was safe on the ground and behind the fire line where she belonged.

He made his way down the fourth floor corridor, checking all the doors, with Smith at his heels.

“FDNY. Is there anyone in need of assistance?”

A strangled cry came from the end of the hall. Both men ran forward, stopping at the last door.

He checked the temperature before signaling Smith to break it down. They’d cleared floors two and three already. He was trying not to think about the first floor, which had been fully engulfed when they arrived. He hoped like hell the occupants had gotten out, but there was nothing he could
do for them now. They needed to focus on the lives they could still save.

Smith took an ax to the doorframe, striking close to the lock.

Sweat dripped down his face. They were running out of time. Flames licked at the stairwell, creeping toward them. “No freelancing. We make the grab and get out.”

Smith nodded his understanding. Then, holding the ax to his chest, Smith kicked
in the door. Black smoke billowed out. Not a good sign.

Jax led the way. “Hello? FDNY. We’re here to get you out.”

No answer.

They quickly cleared the front rooms, inching down the narrow hall to the bedrooms. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet.

“She’s not going to hold much longer,” Smith called, pushing open a bedroom door and scanning the room. “Clear.”

Jax moved to the next door, which was closed. He pounded on the door. “FDNY!”

“We’re in here.” There was a loud sob. “Please help us.”

“We’re going to get you out,” he called, trying the knob and finding it locked. “I need you to open the door for me.”

A moment later, the door opened, revealing a young family inside. A mother and two small children. Their faces were stained with
tears.

“Don’t be afraid. We’re going to take good care of you.” He grabbed a stack of towels from the rack next to the sink and instructed them all to cover their mouths to prevent smoke inhalation. Then he turned to his partner. “Get them to the front room.” He picked up the first boy and handed him to Smith, directing the mother to follow. The second boy, he lifted in his own arms. The
group hurried to the front bedroom, only to find the window painted shut.

“It’s stuck,” Smith hollered, waving them back. “I’m going to have to break it.”

“Do it.”

Two minutes and one death defying trip down the ladder later, they were all on the ground and the building was cleared.

When he peeled off his helmet and looked toward the apparatus, Becca was there, camera raised,
focused on the family they’d just pulled out. She was engrossed in her work, dark hair blowing on the breeze. Their eyes met, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was relief that flooded her features as she nodded her acknowledgment. Had she actually been worried about him? He glanced at the burning building. During his time on the job, he’d seen much worse, but this one wasn’t
pretty. Wiping his face, he signaled for a paramedic to check on the children and clear them of smoke inhalation.

An hour later, when the fire was finally extinguished and the scene was clear, he found Becca sitting on the curb. “So what did you think of your first day on the job?”

“It was…I don’t even know what to say. I can definitely see why they call you New York’s Bravest.” She
drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, watching the guys pack up their ladders. The engine company was rolling their hoses, a less than enviable task. “What’s it like to run into a fire when everyone else is running out? To know you’ve made a difference, saved a life?”

He shrugged. No matter how many times he was asked that question, he didn’t think he’d ever have
an adequate answer. It wasn’t that he was fearless; he just refused to let that fear control him. Instead, he channeled it into action, saving the ones he could.

“Can I see?” he asked, pointing at the camera. She handed it over without protest, letting him flip through the pictures she’d taken. They were incredible. The angles. The light. The emotion. She was really talented. He’d expected
as much, but seeing it firsthand through the lens of her camera? “These are really good,” he said, returning the camera. “Quinn is going to be very pleased.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She looked at him, awestruck, her dark eyes shining with adoration he didn’t deserve. “What you did today was amazing. I don’t think I breathed the entire time you were in the building. Hell, my hands were
shaking so bad it’s a wonder I got any decent photos.”

Her words landed like a sledgehammer to the gut. Aside from his crew, there’d never been anyone in his life to give a damn about his safety.

“It’s the job,” he said, shoving the realization aside and slinging an arm across her shoulders. For once, she didn’t protest. “Ask any guy here and you’ll get the same answer. These guys
aren’t on the job for accolades and badge bunnies. They’re on the job because it’s in their blood. It’s a family tradition, or a calling, or the only thing they’ve ever wanted to do.”

“It’s just so dangerous,” she said, twisting to look at her shoulder where his hand rested. “And dirty.”

“If you think that’s dirty,” he said, glancing at her blouse and realizing he’d smudged it with
soot. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Her lips curved, revealing her teeth. “And you’re going to teach me?”

He squeezed her shoulder, remembering how she’d almost kissed him back at the firehouse. Maybe this ride along wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Shortie, it would be my pleasure. And yours.”