Читать книгу The Firefighter - Susan Lyons - Страница 10

I jerk up in bed. Is Nana okay? What time is it? Light streams through the window, so at least it’s still daytime. Mick’s bedside table holds a clutter of newspapers and books, a coffee mug, a beer can, but I don’t see a clock.

Grabbing his shoulder none too gently I shake him. “Mick, wake up.”

He grunts, yawns, stretches, gives me a happy grin. “Hey, Tash.”

“I have to phone the hospital. What time is it?”

His gaze sharpens and he nods. “Yeah, course you do. But don’t worry, they’d have called if there was a problem.” He sits up, scans the messy table. “Where’s my mobile?”

“Mobile?”

“Mobile phone. Oh yeah, right. Jeans pocket.”

Then he’s out of bed, walking in a long-strided saunter to the bathroom.

Good God, he looks fantastic. I pinch my arm. Wince. Yes, it’s really me. I actually had sex—double orgasmic sex—with this beautiful man. And he woke up seeming happy I was there.

He leans out the bathroom door. “It’s one o’clock. Heads up.”

“What?”

“Catch?” He holds up his cell—mobile—phone. Then he tosses it straight to me. “Gotta take a piss.” He retreats into the bathroom.

Okay, he may be beautiful, but he’s definitely a guy.

I open the phone and realize I have no clue of the number or even the name of the hospital. From the bathroom I hear the toilet flush, water running, then he saunters out in all his glorious nakedness. This time I try hard not to notice. “Phone number?”

“Sorry, wasn’t thinking.” He takes the phone from me, calls directory assistance, then dials a number and hands the phone back.

As I take it, he stretches lazily, then sinks down and starts doing push-ups. Still naked.

When a woman answers I explain who I am and ask how Nana’s doing.

“I’ll check for you, dear,” she says with cozy informality. Waiting, I enjoy the scenery.

Then she comes back. “She had a nice lunch, we have her medicated for the pain in her leg and she’s having an afternoon nap. Everything’s looking beaut.”

I’m relieved but feel guilty. Poor Nana woke alone, hurting, in a foreign hospital. While I was sleeping off fantastic sex. First I almost get her killed, then I abandon her. Did I leave all sense of responsibility back home in Vancouver? “When she wakes, would you tell her I called? I’ll be in as soon as I take care of a few things.”

I hang up. God, there’s so much to do. I have to make a list. I have a terrible memory, and I’m paranoid about forgetting things, so I’m addicted to lists.

Besides, every time I look at Mick I lose my train of thought.

He stops with the push-ups and rises easily to his feet. “’Ow’s she goin?”

“Good. But I can’t believe I left her to wake up alone.”

“The nurses will’ve been good to her.” He sits on the bed and touches my arm. “’Sides, you needed rest.”

True, and I’d love nothing better than to go straight back to sleep. Except, maybe, to see if sex with Mick is as great out of the shower as in. But neither’s in the cards right now.

“I need to see Nana, but first I need clothes,” I tell him, a bit panicky. “And I have to deal with my credit cards, get some money, figure out where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“Can stay here,” he says.

Not being a girl who takes things for granted in relationships, I’m pleased he’s not tired of me yet. “That’s, uh, generous of you.”

“Selfish.” He strokes my arm so lightly his fingers just skim the surface, and all the fine hairs stand up to greet his caress. Amazing how erotic this can be, a simple touch on the arm.

For him, too. His cock’s rising and I want to touch, fondle, lick, explore every inch of it.

“Oh, Mick, I can’t relax until I see Nana and get my life under control.”

One corner of his mouth turns up. “Got a bit of a thing about control, do you?”

“I guess.” I’m not a control freak, but I do like being organized, having my list, feeling like I control my life rather than vice versa.

Since I first smelled smoke, life’s thrust me onto a rollercoaster and I need to slow down, assert myself. Not give in to the temptation of this naked man with the sexy blue eyes, the seductive smile, the swelling penis.

The stroking fingers. I groan and wrench my arm away. “Stop doing that.”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. No worries.” He walks over to a dresser. “We’ll get you organized, then to the hospital. But after that, I’m having my way with you.”

Good-natured. Especially for an alpha male. The lawyers I know would’ve turned this into a power struggle. Tried to manipulate me into bed, where they’d have had an orgasm and I’d have lain stressed out, making my list in my head. How did I have the great good luck to be rescued by a firie who’s gorgeous, a great lover and considerate?

He turns, his expression serious. “Something I need to say.”

Our gazes meet. “Okay,” I respond warily.

“Should’ve said earlier,” his voice is apologetic, “that I’m not into anything serious. But I like you, Tash. It’d be fun to spend some time together.”

I have to smile. “How can you like me? You barely know me.”

“Know you’re brave enough to risk your life to save your nana. Know you’re sexy and passionate.”

Three adjectives again, but different ones this time. Brave, sexy, passionate. No, the man doesn’t know me at all. But I like the way he views me. “I like you too,” I say. “I like how you make me feel. And no, Mick, I’m not into serious. I’m only here for two weeks, to help Nana.”

He studies my face carefully and I know he’ll see I mean it. Suddenly I remember my grandmother’s and my conversation on the plane, and laugh. “Nana’s going to be thrilled. Seems she’s a great believer in holiday flings.” And I’d thought the notion impractical and foolish, but the fire and Mick have made me a convert. My analytical brain can even rationalize that it’ll be good for me to have great sex, as well as the ego boost of having Mick find me attractive.

He chuckles. “Your nana sounds like a bonza lady.” He tosses me a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. “See how these go.”

“Thanks.” Men’s clothes. Better than PJs, but I’m still going to look like a clown.

For the first time since I woke up, I think about my appearance. Gingerly I touch my hair, then wrinkle up my nose. Bedhead. “You don’t have any hair gel, I suppose?”

“No way.”

Nah. Macho guys don’t use that stuff.

In the bathroom I study my reflection. Hmm. Not as bad as I’d expected. My hair’s kind of spiky, but it’s got body, for once. My eyelashes cry out for mascara, and I add to my mental list. Thank God Mick does have some heavy-duty, guy-type hand lotion, and it’s just what my parched body needs.

When I put on his clothes, the only good thing is the T-shirt’s so big it hangs down to cover the baggy shorts.

When I come out of the bathroom he’s wearing a similar outfit, but his T-shirt hugs lean muscles and the shorts reveal gorgeous legs. Not fair. He studies me, lips curving.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, trying to be a good sport. I’ve always done well at that; it’s part of the reason I’m good best-bud material. “Pretty funny, eh?”

“You wearin’ anything under that shirt?”

I pull it up to show him the shorts. “Of course.”

“Nothing like a sheila in a bloke’s shirt,” he says. “Makes a man think of sex.”

Well…okay then!

Before we leave, I borrow paper and a pen and start my list. Then he helps me order a replacement charge card to pick up later, and in the meantime loans me some cash. I call the lawyer and insurer to set up appointments for tomorrow. Hurray, three ticks on my list.

Then we head out for shopping and lunch.

“First stop, a shoe store,” I tell him as we climb onto his Ducati. I’ve almost worn through the paper slippers.

It’s a short ride to an area filled with funky shops and cute restaurants. The first shoe store has fun casual wear, not what I’d normally choose at home, but this isn’t the time to be picky so I buy a flirty pair of green flip-flops.

Hand in hand, Mick and I wander down the block. I enjoy the sunshine, peer in windows. After a couple of bumps from other pedestrians, I realize Aussies walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk. They’re also doing a lot of staring at me, and nudging each other.

“What’s up with all the wink-wink, nudge-nudge?” I ask Mick.

“Looking like that, they figure you just rolled out of my bed,” he says smugly.

“Really?” If I was walking Georgia Street in Vancouver, among businesspeople and shoppers, I’d be too embarrassed for words. Here, where no one knows me, where I’m strolling with the hottest guy in all of Cairns, I feel pretty darned smug myself.

I bump my hip against his. “Perceptive, aren’t they?”

He bumps me back. “What next? Food or clothes? Or wanna go to my place and roll back into bed?”

I bump him a little harder. “Food.” A minute ago, my female vanity would have voted for clothes. But now I’m reveling in this people-know-we-just-had-sex feeling. Besides, I’m starving and all these neighborhood restaurants are sending out delicious aromas. “Something quick. I still have so much to do.”

He points kitty-corner across the street. “That pub has good basic food, and it’s fast.”

Although I’m tempted by Thai, Indian and Italian, fast basic food fits today’s bill. “Sold.”

Inside, it’s dark after the sun. The place has an English pub feel with heavy wood and a dartboard. The menu’s on a blackboard behind the bar, and we step up to order. Mick opts for a burger and fries and I, aiming for healthy, say, “A tuna sandwich on multigrain, with salad.”

He orders draft beer, I choose a glass of Australian sauvignon blanc and we settle at a window table to wait for our meals. Across the table, he takes my hand, and I feel a quick zip of sexual energy. But right now, my list is more important.

I give his hand a squeeze then pull out my list. He gives a resigned sigh and raises his beer.

“Tomorrow I’ll have to cancel my other charge cards, arrange a new passport. Driver’s license—God knows how I deal with that. Find a hotel for Nana and me. Talk to the lawyer about the prospects of selling, now that the house…” I shake my head sadly. “It was a pretty house, Mick. Auntie Bet had a great garden, and a bunch of knickknacks she obviously loved.”

“Prime location, right across from the beach. Your nana selling?”

“I hope so.” Surely she would now. The fire had to be a bad omen, a message there was nothing here for her.

“So, Tash.” He sprawls back in his chair, one hand on his beer glass. “You got all this stuff to deal with, but what else you have planned for this holiday?”

“It’s not a holiday. Just doing what we need to do, then going back home.”

“Wonder when your nana’s going to be up to traveling?”

“Oh, damn, I hadn’t thought of that.” Even if I can persuade her to come back where she belongs, she may not be able to travel. I bury my face in my hands.

“No worries.” He reaches over to touch my forearm. “Things’ll sort out.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Our meals arrive and I salivate at the sight of his French fries before noticing I didn’t get my salad. “I ordered a sandwich with salad,” I tell the young server.

“Yeah?” she says, seeming not to see a problem.

Mick gives a quick laugh. He lifts off the top of my sandwich and I see lettuce, tomato and beet. Sliced beets? Odd.

“Salad,” he says. “It means veggies in a sandwich. Did you want a separate salad?”

I shake my head. “Forget it, I don’t care.” Suddenly it’s all too much. Salad doesn’t mean salad? And beets, in a tuna sandwich?

“’Ere,” Mick says, shoving my wine glass toward me. “Bottoms up, then have another. And let’s talk about your holiday.”

“It’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. But you can’t come all this way and not see Oz. Look, I’m off for three days, I can rearrange some things, free myself up. We can go sailing, snorkeling, hot air ballooning—”

“Ballooning?” Despite my better judgment—what keeps those balloons in the air anyhow?—I’m intrigued. “They do hot air ballooning here?”

His grin’s a bit sly but all he says is, “Sure do.”

God, he’s tempting. A gorgeous, sexy man volunteering to tour me around. And from the sparkle in his eye, tour guide isn’t the only service he’s offering. My blood heats in response.

Reluctantly I shake my head. I have responsibilities. “I doubt I’ll have time for tourist stuff.” I flush, embarrassed. “Um, sex is great, though. I hope we can, uh, see each other sometimes.”

He chuckles. “Figure we can work that out. And some holiday stuff too. Now eat your lunch, drink your wine, we’ll start getting things sorted.”

Despite his easygoing ways, he’s surprisingly efficient. After I make another call to confirm Nana’s all right, he guides me around the shops. I buy a couple of brightly colored tank tops, a light cardigan, shorts, a broomstick skirt in blues and greens, a turquoise bikini that for now serves as undies. My choices are brighter and more casual than what I typically wear at home, where I have that lawyer reputation to maintain, but they suit the sun and the extravagant tropical flowers.

Mick’s persuading me into a holiday mood, as he pulls clothes off the racks for me to try, teases me about my choices, drapes an arm over my shoulder while I study shop windows. Each glance, each touch, sends a little zing through me, making me think of and crave sex with him.

I try to keep my focus. Next on my list, clothes for Nana. Easy here, because she’s always enjoyed vivid colors. Then I say, “Now I need a suit and proper shoes, to see the lawyer.”

“Don’t need to be stuffy, to get business done.”

Hmm. Maybe I don’t, in the village of Clifton Beach. Can I actually go in the broomstick skirt and green flip-flops? I laugh, loud and free. “Why not?”

He pulls me close for a kiss that has me tingling from head to toe. And mostly in between.

“What’s that for?”

“Felt like it. You’re so pretty, so sexy, such a good sport about all this crap that’s been happening to you. Just makes me want to kiss you. And by the way, when I kiss you…” He presses his groin against me suggestively.

My body heats and I ease away. “Me too. And you’re the good sport. Spending your day off helping me get my life back in order.”

He laughs. “Yeah, major hardship, spending time with you.”

God, but he’s sweet.

“You’re saying you actually enjoy shopping with a woman?”

He shrugs. “Maybe wouldn’t be my first pick. But a person can turn anything into fun, right?”

Well, Mick sure can.

Next on the list is a drugstore, which he calls a chemist’s. He waits outside for that one, but when I stop at a lingerie store he’s through the door ahead of me.

“Here, this’ll suit you.” He holds out a black silk and lace camisole with matching tap pants.

They’re the kind of thing I’d have picked for myself. My taste in undies has always bordered on risqué. Have to do something to balance that sedate lawyer exterior.

Mick’s hand brushes the side of my breast. “Try them on. I’ll find you some other stuff.”

The salesclerk, an older woman, is occupied with two giggling girls who are picking out items for one’s honeymoon. She waves me toward the back of the store.

There, I find a decent-sized fitting room. When I change into the black lingerie, the mirror gives me back a reflection that makes me grin. Just wait until Mick sees me like this. If he liked me in baggy PJs, he’ll love me in black lace.

The fitting room door begins to open and I let out a squeak, then see it’s Mick, carrying slinky and lacy clothes in all shades. His eyes widen. “Knew you’d look good in that.” He drops the other clothes on the chair. “Gives a bloke ideas.”

Then he locks the door and pulls me into his arms, leaning down, slanting his mouth across mine, beginning a kiss that’s soft and seductive. He doesn’t give me a chance to respond; his lips are on the prowl—across my cheek, over to my ear. He sucks the lobe, darts his tongue inside. I imagine that sexy mouth on my pussy and feel my tap pants growing damp.

“Oh yeah,” he whispers, “lots of ideas.” He pulls me up against him, so I can’t avoid knowing what kind of ideas. His cock’s hard and all my female parts quicken in response.

I groan. “Mick, we can’t.”

“Can too. Just have to be quick. And quiet.”

This is insane. We’ll be caught. Arrested, or at the very least, embarrassed and tossed out on the street.

Me in a cami and tap pants, Mick with his shorts and boxer briefs down around his ankles, which is where he’s shoved them while I’ve been making a list of the “cons” of doing this. There’s one very big “pro,” though. His hungry erection, staring up at me.

And another. The hunger in my own body, that’s been building since we woke up.

He brushes the pile of lingerie off the chair, finds a condom in his shorts pocket, sits down. “Come here,” he murmurs, sheathing himself.

My aching pussy won’t let me say no. Hurriedly I step out of the tap pants then I’m climbing onto his lap, facing him. He reaches between us, eases himself inside me as I lower and stretch to encompass him. His arms go around my shoulders and then he’s kissing me, not soft and teasing any more but demanding, urgent.

I kiss him back the same way, my body lifting and falling in a rhythm that’s beyond thought, beyond control. Purely physical, building the friction, the tension, driving toward climax.

I whimper and his kiss swallows the sound.

There’s a light tap on the door and we both freeze.

“Yes?” I call, voice strained.

Mick shifts position and I can barely stifle a moan.

“Everything all right in there?” the woman calls.

“Fine. Good.”

His eyes meet mine, full of laughter.

“Got the right sizes?” she asks.

Now it’s a giggle I’m stifling. “Perfect fit so far.”

“Sorry I’ve been so tied up with those other girls.”

I borrow one of Mick’s expressions. “No worries. I’m doing fine on my own.”

He rocks his hips to remind me—as if I needed any reminding—that I’m definitely not doing this on my own. My muscles contract involuntarily, gripping him, and the laughter fades from his eyes as the blue deepens and his expression goes steamy. Want you, it says. Now.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she calls. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m all set.”

Mick and I hold still as footsteps retreat, then I hear three female voices begin to chatter in the distance.

“Got all you need?” Mick whispers in my ear, thrusting his cock high into me and making me gasp.

“Oh, yeah!”

We pick up where we left off, in a fast, driving rhythm that quickly brings us both to the brink of orgasm. I press myself hard against him as he thrusts up, and my body surges into a shuddering climax that triggers his.

We don’t have the luxury of enjoying the post-orgasmic glow. Hurriedly he adjusts his clothes, I wipe myself with tissues and step into the tap pants. “Guess I’m taking this outfit.”

“And all the rest.” He gestures to the pile on the floor. “Don’t try them on, or we’ll get busted for sure.”

I imagine trying on each outfit, having sex in each. He eases the fitting room door open and peeks out. “Coast’s clear. You go first. I’ll slip out while the clerk’s wrapping that stuff.”

It doesn’t take us long to finish the rest of the chores on my do-today list. We drop parcels off at his place, I freshen up, then we roar off to the hospital.

I love the feel of Mick’s body as I slide close and wrap my arms around him. It’s funny, this chemistry thing between us. It’s there all the time, and I feel sexier and more sexually aware than I ever have with a guy, but it’s like glowing embers. When there’s time and privacy, we’ll blow on them and they’ll burst into flame, but for now we’ll enjoy the warm glow.

When he parks the bike at the hospital, Mick says, “Want me to wait or come with you?”

I like it that he offers. How many men would want to spend time with a girl’s grandmother? And I’m pretty sure Nana—the Delia I got to know on the plane—would enjoy meeting a hot firie.

We get her room number and I hurry down the hall, eager to reassure myself she’s okay. I step into the room, Mick behind me, then stop in surprise.

My beloved grandmother, leg in a cast, is sitting propped up on pillows, her face glowing as she chats with a man who’s seated in the chair by the bed. His face, handsome behind a silver beard, is glowing too. And he’s holding her hand.