Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel (18 page)

His way of honoring Maureen had been to keep doing the job they’d both loved. Raise their son, put out fires, keep putting one foot in front of the other. All the joy in his life had come from Luke. He hadn’t had another adult to laugh with until . . . well, now.

Roman had gone
quiet while he finished the omelet. Sabina could practically see an imaginary wall being erected around him. Not that she’d complain about the fact that a bare-chested, gorgeous man was making her breakfast. She couldn’t keep her eyes off his ass, those tight buttocks draped in thin cotton, unless it was to travel up the smooth curve of the ridged muscles along his spine to the broad, powerful shoulders bent over the stove.

Incredible smells drifted from that stove. Earthy mushrooms, rich butter, virile man . . . Mouth watering, she feasted her eyes on him.

He flipped the omelet onto a plate and added a piece of buttered toast. Sabina licked her lips as he brought her his masterpiece.

“Do you know the first time I ate actual butter was after I left home? My mother had very strict policies about dairy products.”

He shuddered. “Life without butter. I don’t want to think about it.” After arranging a parade of jam jars in front of her, he poured her a cup of coffee. “Cream?”

“Hell, yes.”

“That’s the attitude. By the way, this omelet is known as a Rapscallion Omelet in my family.”

“A what?”

“I learned how to make it from my Zio Paolo, my uncle, who used to call me a rapscallion. I thought he meant the scallions he threw in the omelet.”

“Cute.” She smiled a little sadly—she’d always wanted uncles and aunts and cousins—and took a bite. Her eyes closed in bliss. “I never knew a rapscallion could taste so good.”

“You make that sound so naughty.”

She laughed through her mouthful of omelet, then put up a hand calling for silence. She didn’t want anything to distract from her single-minded appreciation of his creation.

“You like it?” He sounded so vulnerable, so eager, like a little boy asking for his mother’s approval. So endearing, she could barely stand it.

“Um . . . yeah. I like it. I love it. It’s incredible. You’re incredible.” She dropped her eyes, embarrassed, and spooned a dollop of cream into her coffee. Her first sip elicited a new groan of ecstasy.

“You know, nothing is quite as satisfying as watching someone enjoy my cooking. Not even putting out a fire.”

“You must be very satisfied right now.”

“Oh, I am.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in a piratical leer that made her stomach tighten. He went back to the stove to make his own omelet. They ate the rest of the meal in reverent, companionable silence. A sense of utter rightness and harmony made Sabina’s heart sing. Sitting here with him, eating the omelet he’d made for her from a family recipe, an omelet with a family joke name, was a dose of heaven.

It took the edge off the fact that he hadn’t opened up to her last night the way she had.

Maybe the Rapscallion Omelet and Zio Paolo would be the just the beginning. Maybe soon she’d know all his secrets too, and the invisible wall around him would topple.

When Roman finished
eating, he sat back with a sigh and reached for the remote. “Let’s see if they had any calls last night.”

When he clicked on the little TV that sat on the kitchen counter, Ella Joy’s perfect face appeared. Sabina squinted at the banner headline at the bottom of the screen. “ ‘Scandal at the Firehouse’? What’s she talking about?”

“Can’t be good.” Grimly, Roman turned the volume up.

“A fellow Lush patron caught the entire incident on his cell phone.” The TV screen filled with a blurry, grainy video of Roman slamming his fist into Vader’s jaw. Damn, he’d hit him hard.

“Battalion Chief Ricardo—Rick— Roman and Firefighter Derek Brown are seen here duking it out in a local bar. Not just any bar, but one of San Gabriel’s best-known gay bars. Clearly, there’s a story here, but no one’s talking, including Fire Chief Rent-a-Mirr— that is, Fire Chief Renteria. Attempts to reach Chief Roman have been unsuccessful. Brown’s only comment consisted of a profanity we can’t repeat here, per FCC regulations. But”—the anchorwoman winked—“it began with an F, ended with an F, and had two words.” Ella Joy paused, giving viewers time to figure it out. “More to come on this developing story as the day progresses.”

“I believe the phrase she means,” said Roman, hurling his toast at the television, “is ‘fuck off.’ ”

Chapter Twenty

“D
id I somehow give you the idea that you were hired to make things
worse
?”

Grimacing, Roman held the phone away from his ear. He couldn’t blame Renteria for his angry rant. He just wished he had something to offer in the way of an explanation.

But the fire chief didn’t even pause to listen to the lack of one. “On Channel Two they’re saying the two of you were fighting over a woman. On Channel Six they’re hinting at a homosexual affair. I’m surprised someone isn’t saying two-headed aliens were involved.”

“None of that is true,” said Roman, fighting to hold on to his calm. “I believed one of my firefighters was in danger. It was my error. The three of us have already sorted it out.”

“That’s cozy. Any advice for the rest of us who have to deal with the media wolves?”

“I’ll step down if it helps.” If anyone were to take the fall, it ought to be he. No one had asked him to follow Sabina and Vader into that bar. No one had asked him to rush to her defense, or carry her off like a savage beast . . .

Neither Sabina nor Vader should have to pay because he let his dick call the shots.

“No.” Chief Renteria gave a dry laugh. “Bet you wish it was that simple. You’re sticking around, Roman, like it or not. And you’re in for a shit storm. Reporters are camped out outside the firehouse. They already cornered Firefighter Brown at the gym.”

“I saw that.”

All the channels had shown the shot of Vader leaving the gym with a small entourage of beautiful girls. Channel Two wondered if that meant Sabina was home nursing a broken heart. Channel Six speculated that he might be trying too hard to quash the rumors.

None of the stations had footage of Sabina. She was an expert at hiding from the media, after all. And from him too, apparently. After she’d left the house, white-faced and horrified, she hadn’t answered any of his calls. Hopefully he’d see her back at work. Hopefully he’d be able to keep his hands off her, and not stare at her all day like a lovesick puppy dog.

Talk about a scandal.

“Straighten this mess out the best you can.” Chief Renteria was wrapping it up now. “I’m starting to wonder if there isn’t something to this curse.”

“Sir?”

“Might as well be a soap opera over there. Never seen anything like it. Have you?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“All right. Carry on. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

After he hung up, Roman dialed Sabina’s number again. Not that he had much more to say about the situation, but he longed for some connection with her. If the feel of her sleek skin and the jasmine scent of her hair weren’t available, her husky voice would have to do. Even if it was nothing more that her outgoing message.

“I’m unavailable. Please leave a message.”

Short and to the point. And quite accurate. Sabina Jones was unavailable, at least to him, Battalion Chief Rick Roman. He’d made a huge mistake giving in to his craving for her. Things were more complicated than ever now. Fortunately, things weren’t too far gone. They’d just have to forget what happened and focus on getting life back to normal.

If there was such a thing as “normal” in San Gabriel.

Baseball cap, check.
Sunglasses, check. Generic T-shirt and jeans, check. The life of a media refugee came back so easily. Sabina was able to tune out the madness while she went jogging at a park on the other side of town. Afterward, she stopped at a coffee shop she’d never been to before. She kept her braid tucked under her cap and didn’t say much to anyone. No one recognized her.

The same couldn’t be said for Chief Roman. When she switched on the TV for her daily dose of reality—make that surreality—she saw a swarm of reporters mobbing him outside San Gabriel Middle School. With his face set in his most intimidating scowl, the one she remembered from that Reno intersection, he shepherded Luke through the crowd.

She ate up every frame of the shot, noticing how he kept his hand on his son’s back, how he stood a head taller than everyone else, how his black hair and strong features made him a casting agent’s dream. She wasn’t surprised when Ella Joy followed up with a mini-feature on the hunky new San Gabriel training officer, a single father whose wife was killed on 9/11.

“Chief Roman has a reputation for being extremely strict but fair. But his short tenure at San Gabriel Station 1 hasn’t been smooth sailing. Quite a change from New York, where he reportedly buried himself in his work after the tragic loss of his wife.”

They showed a picture of Maureen O’Keefe Roman, a pretty redhead who looked much too young to die. At least San Gabriel’s viewers were spared yet another shot of the Twin Towers collapsing. It was the Sunny Side of the News, after all.

“Officials are maintaining a strict ‘no comment’ policy, but the questions remain. Why were three San Gabriel firefighters duking it out in a bar? Can Chief Roman effectively do his job after this incident? When will Fire Chief Renteria finally crack down on the crew? Stay tuned for more on this story, including an exclusive interview with Annabelle Hatfield, mother of the San Gabriel Bachelorette.”

Sabina groaned and threw a pillow at the TV set. Of course her mother would jump all over this. She must be in movie-star comeback heaven right now. They’d interviewed Annabelle next to a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on a grand piano. Why a grand piano? Why not?

“It’s certainly no surprise that my daughter, Sabina, has two gorgeous men fighting over her. Which one has the edge? It’s anyone’s guess.” Light laughter. “If she asked for my advice, I’d say exactly what Peg McGee told Taffy when two boys got into a snowball fight over her. Go for the one with the biggest snowball.” She winked cheekily at the camera.

Sabina clutched at her aching head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. But it was. On every channel.

Finally she turned off the TV and crawled into her bed, which seemed small and lonely compared to Roman’s. She kept replaying the image of Roman shielding Luke with his arm over his son’s face, and the photo of Luke’s mother.

Maureen O’Keefe Roman. Firefighter, wife, mother, 9/11 hero. Roman hadn’t mentioned her once, not in all the hours they’d spent together. During all those magical, out-of-time moments, Roman had kept quiet about what must be one of the most important parts of his life.

Why? It was obvious. What they’d experienced together wasn’t real life. It was a one-night fantasy.

After all, what did she really know about him? Oh, she knew the highlights. Skilled firefighter, outstanding leadership qualities, excellent father, incredible lover, great cook. But what about the real stuff? How could she fall in love with a man who’d never so much as mentioned his tragically deceased wife?

And yet . . . how could she not, when that man was Roman?

Luke seemed really
shaken up by their encounter with the newspeople outside his school. He didn’t say anything until they’d reached the batting cages at Los Feliz Park. Roman scanned the area carefully before allowing him out of the car. When the coast seemed clear of reporters, they picked the most secluded cage and took turns whaling away at the balls spitting from the machine.

With the temperature in the low sixties, a pleasant breeze playing at the backs of their necks, Roman remembered why they’d moved to Southern California. For exactly this. The
thwack
of bats hitting balls, a warm breeze in mid-December, baseball year-round. Luke’s idea of heaven. He could put up with all the rest for Luke’s sake.

It wasn’t until they took a soda and hot dog break that Roman realized Luke’s unusual silence wasn’t just because of the reporters. As they sat on the bench, legs stretched out, gulping Seven-Up, his son suddenly said, “It’s a lot different here than in New York.”

“I’ll second that.”

“Do you ever think we should move back?”

Roman did a double take. Of all things he expected to hear from Luke, that hadn’t made the list. “I thought you loved it here.”

Luke gave him a sidelong look from under his sandy eyelashes. Roman noticed new freckles from all the sun. “I do. Mostly. But that’s okay. We don’t have to stay here.”

Finally it clicked. “You’re worried about me.”

“Well . . .” He took a bite of hot dog and spoke through it. “It’s kind of weird here.”

“You mean because cameras are following me around. And everyone’s talking about the firehouse. And one of my firefighters was a TV star. And her mother’s a movie star. And I punched a guy out in a bar.”

“Don’t worry, I beat up Ralphie when he said you were gay.”

Roman spurted out a mouthful of soda. “You know my philosophy on violence. It’s a last resort.”

“Like in the bar?”

“Well . . . yes, I suppose. I thought someone was attacking Sabina. It was a mistake, and look at all the trouble it’s caused.”

“But it wouldn’t have been a mistake if Sabina was being attacked.”

“Right.” Roman frowned. He wasn’t delivering the lesson quite the way he wanted to. “Maybe. Depends. Guys like you and me, Lukey, we’re strong, so we have to be careful. I can really hurt someone. On the other hand, when I see someone in trouble, I know I can help.”

Luke kicked at an old popcorn bag the breeze had piled against his feet. “Not everything.”

Ouch. “Nope. Not even close.”

“Do you know Carly’s mom?”

“No.” Conversations with a thirteen-year-old always seemed to go in unpredictable directions. “Why?”

“Nothing.”

Of course it wasn’t nothing. Luke wanted to say something, but Roman couldn’t tell what. And he didn’t know how to ask.

“I think . . . well, I think maybe Carly . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Forget it. It’s good she has Sabina, that’s all. And Papa?”

Roman silently cursed. But at least Luke hadn’t said,
You wouldn’t understand
. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to leave here.”

“Hey, we’re not going anywhere. We’re tough New Yorkers, remember? We can put up with a few cameras and nasty rumors and movie stars and so forth.”

He used the phrase “so forth” to invite Luke to say more about Carly. But Luke switched his attention to a sparrow with a hankering for hot dog bun crumbs. How was Luke supposed to learn to talk about the important stuff when his own father couldn’t do it?

Roman made a mental note to ask Sabina if something was going on with Carly.

But first he
owed Vader more of an apology than he’d offered so far. He tracked him down at Toned, a gym that had become popular among the off-shift firefighters ever since Ryan Blake had married the owner’s sister.

He found Vader working his delts while glowering at the three TV sets, all showing some version of “Scandal at the Firehouse.”

“Buy you a Red Bull when you finish up?”

Vader didn’t look happy to see Roman, but could hardly reject an invitation from a battalion chief.

Fifteen minutes later, Vader heaved himself onto a bar stool at the juice bar, leaving one stool empty between him and Roman. Roman slid a Red Bull his way.

“I’m not going to beat you up again, Vader.”

Vader bristled. “You didn’t beat me up the first time. I never got a chance to get my shots in. Good thing for you.”

“No doubt.” Roman’s peacemaking smile didn’t come easily. This man had forced an uninvited kiss on Sabina.

“If I’d known there was a camera around I would have gone for it, dude. Do you notice how they keep replaying that one shot where my head goes back and nearly hits the guy behind me?”

“I saw that,” said the waitress, appearing with a menu. Roman did a double take, wondering why she was dressed like a belly dancer, but Vader didn’t seem to think it was odd. “I do shiatsu massage when I’m not working here, so if you need some work on your neck . . .”

“My neck is fine,” gritted Vader.

Roman figured he must still be upset if he was ignoring offers of massages from pretty girls.

“I came here to apologize for that. I lost my head,” said Roman. “If I’d realized it was you I wouldn’t have gone nuts like that.”

Vader guzzled down the Red Bull, crushed the can in his fist, then rested his elbows on the counter. He dropped his head to his hands. Under his T-shirt, the veins on his biceps stood out. “No, you were right, dude. I shouldn’t have done that to Sabina. If I’d seen someone mauling her I’d have knocked him out too. What a fucking mess. All I wanted was to prove I wasn’t homophobic. Now I’m on every channel in town getting beat up in a gay bar. The things you’ll do for a chick, you know?”

“I hear that.”

“And you know the worst thing?”

“What’s that?”

He lowered his voice. “I think I
might
be homophobic. I freaked out, man. Kissing Sabina like that, it wasn’t cool.”

Not cool at all, if you asked Roman.

“Cherie’s probably laughing her head off along with everyone else in town.”

“Well, you’re in good company.” Roman tilted his blueberry–bee pollen smoothie as a toast and sipped deeply, then nearly gagged. Apparently bee pollen didn’t taste like honey. They ought to warn you about that.

Vader was tapping his crushed can against the counter. The waitress pranced toward them, practicing some kind of dance move that made her gypsy skirt jingle, but he waved her off.

“Chief?” Vader looked right, then left, checking for eavesdroppers.

Oh shit.
Roman braced himself for a confession from the younger guy. He’d never been that sort of captain, the kind who cared about his crew’s feelings. As long as they did their jobs, he didn’t get involved in their personal lives.

Vader leaned over the empty stool between him and Roman. “How do you convince a chick you’re not the way you seem?”

“Come again?”

“I’m more than a ripped body. I got a mind in here.” He tapped his head. “Just because I don’t know any Tori Amos songs doesn’t make me stupid.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“I want her to see the real me. I can be sensitive. I have feelings. Dreams. All that shit. It’s all trapped inside here. Waiting to get out.” He thumped his chest. “How do I get it out?”