For the Love of a Fireman

She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “Your normal seduction techniques won’t work with me. I’m not that easy.” Her eyes narrowed. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a woman?”

His fingers slipped into her midnight silky tresses, rubbing their rich softness. “That’s one of those trick questions you women like to ask, isn’t it? If I tell you I had a date last night, then you’ll classify me as a player. If I say I haven’t gone out in two or three months, then you’ll just call me a horny bastard. Either answer puts me in a bad light when all I’m trying to do is be honest.”

There, let her stew on that.

He closed the door and rounded the front of the brown pick-up, a picture of an aqua-colored cabin by the sea and Gray’s Cottages painted in an arch over the dwelling. A website address was below it. He settled behind the steering wheel, clicked his seatbelt and aimed a smile her way. “Now that we’ve got that settled, where to, Sugar?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Molly crossed her arms and gave him the directions, although the way her jaw clenched it was a wonder she could force out one syllable much less a complete sentence. She was so damn pissed she could spit fireballs. This man, this stranger, this hunk of muscle with his sexy-as-hell smile had practically kissed her.

They’d met mere hours ago and this rascal was coming on to her. He must have mistakenly thought she was desperate for a man, any man. Still, he had saved her from Wade and taken care of her injuries. But even those kindnesses didn’t warrant his frisky nature.

Ice Man, his friends had called him. She’d give him a different nickname, like Sex on a Stick or Horny Toad.

What ticked her off, if she were honest, was her body’s reaction to his very male appearance and his gentle, yet almost assertive touch. Thank goodness her mind still contained some wits. For although her body had all but melted into a pile of feminine goo over his toying, her brain and all the common sense it contained resented his subtle flirting, if she could classify it as subtle.

The blond man with more muscles than those hunks in movies was mounting an offensive as if he were a war general. She shifted her shoulders in annoyance. Okay, so maybe mounting was the wrong terminology here. Her gaze drifted over his t-shirt stretched taut across hardened pecs and the clichéd washboard abs. Just what would it feel like to have him mount…oh hell, I must have a concussion to even think about him like this.

What kind of woman did he think she was? Just because she carried more than a few extra pounds than other girls, did he think she was desperate for a man’s attention, especially when society only saw beauty in being thin? No doubt, he was playing her because he thought she’d be someone who’d spread her legs for a compliment and a smile. She rolled her eyes. Sugar, he wanted to call her. Huh, I’d like to sugar his balls and plant his manly parts in an anthill.

When he eased his ancient pickup in front of the old motel converted into condominiums, he jumped out and came around to lift her from the vehicle. “I was thinking I’d talk to your dad a bit. Tell him about the changes I’m making at the cottages so he won’t be upset things aren’t the same as he remembers.”

She was surprised at his proposed consideration toward her father. Why should this Romeo care about an old man with early dementia? Or care enough about her to carry her to the door of the condo? He set her down and placed his hands at her waist to hold her up as she teetered on one foot while unlocking the door. Although his body wasn’t blatantly touching hers, the heat from him all but singed the back of her shirt. His nearness flustered her so badly, she could barely hit the lock with the key.

After several failed tries, his warm hand engulfed hers and inserted the key. Damn, if it didn’t feel so good, she almost turned the lock again so he’d have to help her one more time. What in the world was wrong with her? Her hormonal reactions were all over the place. One time, he’d touch her and she’d prickle with annoyance and the next she’d get all hot and bothered. It had to be the head injury. Wade’s punch must have left some lasting effects.

She opened the door. “Dad, are you still awake?” Barclay lifted her and carried her inside.

Her dad sat on an old rocker, a bag of Cheetos on his lap and the TV blaring. “Sure am. Been waiting on you. What time does that store close anyway?” His paternal gaze zeroed in on her face and slid to her bandaged foot. He bolted from his chair, a few orange curls falling out of the bag when it hit the floor. “What in the hell happened? Why can’t you walk?” His fingers curled into fists as he narrowed his eyes on Barclay. “You hurt my little girl?”

“No sir.” Barclay carried her to the plastic covered sofa and laid her so her head was on the armrest. He shifted and extended his hand. “I’m Barclay Gray, sir.”

Her dad shook his hand, a quizzical expression played across his features as his scrutiny slipped from Barclay to her. “Name’s Sam Devon.” He jerked his head toward the empty end of the sofa. “Suppose you have a seat while my daughter explains why she’s all battered and bruised again.” He reached for the remote and turned off the television.

Barclay lifted her feet and sat so they were elevated on his thick thighs while she shifted to her side to face her dad and told him what happened.

He ran his wide palm over his mouth, his whiskered stubble rasping in the silence of the room. “Wade followed us here?” His voice was incredulous as if he couldn’t grasp the reality of the situation. “The bastard tried to tie you up and take you away from me?” He glanced around the living area, his gaze turning wild. “Tammy, come here and listen to this! You won’t believe what’s happened to our little girl.”

His confusion was back. “Daddy, Momma’s not here.” It was no use to tell him she was dead; he’d only start crying again.

“Did she go to the store for milk and bread? I hope she remembers the ice cream.”

“Sam?” Barclay leaned forward, his forearms over his spread thighs, sliding her feet against his firm abdomen. “Do you recall a place called Verne’s Cabins?”

A smile broke through her dad’s muddled mind. “Yup, sure do. Me and Tammy spent our honeymoon there and every February since. ʼTwas always a slow month for carpentry work, so I’d bring the wife and daughter here. Place is closed up now. That’s how we ended up in this dump.” He scowled as if he’d tasted Aunt Willa’s prune cake. “Walls are paper thin. Hell, you can hear couples screwing, moanin’ and a groanin’.”

“Well, sir, Verne was my uncle.”

Her dad settled back in the rocking chair. “You don’t say?”

“A massive heart attack took him a year ago. He willed the property to me and I’m trying to remodel the place. You wouldn’t feel up to swinging a hammer a couple hours a day, would you? I could use the help and some advice from an experienced man like you. There’re lots of things about carpentry I just don’t know. I could use an advisor.”

Molly stared at Barclay. His invitation for her dad to be both a helper and a carpentry mentor was totally unexpected. The man’s personality had many facets. She wasn’t sure what her opinion of him was, but there was no doubting she appreciated his kindness toward her father.

Her dad’s chest puffed out. “Hell’s bells, ain’t been a hammer made that didn’t fit this old hand.” He waved his arthritic right arm.

“Your daughter was telling me what a fine worker you were.” Her dad smiled in response to Barclay’s compliment. “Sam, if you think the two of you can stay here another night, I’ll help move you into the apricot unit I’m almost through fixing up. Still needs painting and furniture moved in. You could work off your rent by helping me a few hours in the morning before it gets so hot.”

He glanced at her and then her dad. “I’ve installed a security gate. I think you’ll be pretty safe there. Wade would need the code to get in.”

“I’m worried about her, son. This is the second time the sombitch put marks on her. She’s a good girl. Spirited, like her momma, but never been in any trouble. She’s got a heart of gold under all the attitude she’s had of late.”

Barclay stared at her for a minute, his gaze sweeping over her face almost like a warm caress. What was up with that?

“I won’t let him hurt her again. Not as long as the two of you are here in Indian Rocks Beach.” He placed her feet on the sofa before he stood and bent to the floor to pick up the spilled snack and return the bag to her dad. The Cheetos he’d plucked from the carpet, he tossed into the wastepaper can by her dad’s chair.

He clasped his hand on her dad’s shoulder, stopping his rocking. “Meanwhile, Sam, I think you’re gonna have a pretty hard job on your hands. Molly needs to rest and keep her ankle elevated. That means no more working for her while you’re on vacation, except for her website design business. She can prop her ankle up while she does whatever she does on her computer.”

Barclay placed a throw pillow where he’d been sitting earlier and shifted her down so her feet lay on it. Raising her head, he sat, placing it on his lap and sifting his fingers through her hair, making her relax all over. “Getting her to listen might be a job in itself. She hasn’t complained, but both her head and her ankle have to hurt like hell. Bastard kicked her in the side, too, but I don’t think he broke any ribs. Still, she’s going to be in a world of hurt for a day or two.”

Her dad narrowed his eyes on her. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Barclay. I’ll keep her in line.”

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

“Sugar.” Barclay’s deep and sensual whisper made her female parts stand up and do the hula.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude for rescuing her from Wade and fixing her up the way you did. Strangers helping strangers just don’t happen like it used to. I thank you, Barclay.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” He shifted and slipped his cell from his pocket. “Molly, how about you give me your cell phone number so I can call tomorrow before I come over to pack up your stuff and move you out? Don’t give me that mule-headed glare. You know you’re going to need some help. Besides we need to stop at the police station so you can sign the complaint.”

He thumbed in her number when she rattled it off and showed it to her, asking if he’d gotten it correct. She noted in place of her name, he’d put Sugar. If it wouldn’t have hurt her sprained ankle so much she’d have kicked his fine ass to the door.

Her dad grinned and rubbed his hands together. “We’ll be in our little beach cottage tomorrow night, Molly, with the sounds of the waves lulling us to sleep. You won’t have to work at two jobs. I won’t have to be alone so much, plus I’ll have a part-time job. Things are looking up.” He turned to Barclay. “You promise you’ll protect her from Wade?”

“Or die trying.”

Her dad stared at him for several minutes. “You a married man?”

She bolted to a sitting position. “Dad!”

His bald head barely turned in her direction. “It’s an honest question.” He rocked slowly. “I’m widowed, myself.”

“I’m divorced.”

“Another woman?” Her dad stopped rocking, his chair leaning forward.

Barclay stared at him for a few seconds. “My wife and I lost a baby to sudden infant death and we could never get beyond it. We both grieved in our own way, growing further and further apart instead of closer in our mourning. So, we ended up with a double loss. Sweet little Bella Marie and our marriage.” Mournful eyes hinged on her dad’s and it was as if invisible links launched between them. Bonds of loss, agony and soul-deep pain.

Tears blurred her vision. She understood and felt those emotions herself, just in a different manner.

“Well, now. I think we understand each other.” Her dad started rocking again. “I thank you again for taking care of my daughter. She’s all I’ve got left.”

“I’m a fireman and marine rescue diver. It’s my job to take care of others. Besides, there’s something special about Molly.” He lifted her onto his lap. “Do you want me to carry you into bed and tuck you in?” Barclay smiled with that shy, yet sexy smile he seemed able to call forth on command. Her dad laughed as if the two had been best buds for years. She was none too happy with either of them, treating her as if she were a child and a helpless one at that.

“No. Thank you, I’ll be fine on my own.” She was damned tired of his constant charm. No man could be this appealing all the time—dimples or no dimples—and she was sick of it. Her head gonged like St. John’s church bells on Sunday morning, her side hurt when she breathed and her leg throbbed. Her face and knees were scrapped raw. Was it any wonder she was cranky? God, I ache all over.

Two of his fingers tucked under her chin, raising her head so they gazed into each other’s eyes. “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you? Where’s your aspirins?”

How did he know? “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Top shelf.”

He cupped her unbruised cheek. “Be right back.” His voice had softened and, for just an instant, she wanted to lean into him for support, but cursed her weakness instead. If Wade had taught her one thing, it was men were never what they seemed. She sat up while Barclay went for the medicine. Her dad kept rocking…both of them…no, wait, there were three dads in a trio of rocking chairs. She blinked to bring her father into focus.

Barclay held a tiny paper cup with the pills in it and another filled with water. She had to make two tries to wrap her fingers around the one with the pills and who knew how many to grasp the cup of water to wash them down.

“That’s it. I don’t give a damn how mad you get.” Barclay lifted her off the sofa. “Sam, would you mind showing me to her bedroom. She’s in no fit condition to walk or stay up any longer. I want her to sleep. Christ, she’s been battered to hell and back.”

Her dad, who’d always been her hero, stood and waddled to her room. “He messed her up pretty bad, didn’t he?”

“Yes. A man has no business hurting a woman. Bet you were the type of husband to protect your wife, weren’t you?”

“Did the best by Tammy I could, son.”

Barclay sat Molly on the edge of the bed, kneeled in front of her and removed the remaining sandal she still wore. “Sam, I’m going to pull these muddy capris off her so she’ll rest better. You’re not going to tar and feather me for it, are you?”

Her dad chuffed a laugh. “I’m not the scrapper you need to worry about.”

Darn if Mr. I’m-Going-To-Charm-Your-Dad didn’t lean in, lime and ginger filling her nose, his lips against her ear and ask if she was wearing underwear under her red capris. The nerve! She hurt from her hair to her toenails and he wanted to be damn ballsy? Her hand fisted and rose.

His fingers coiled around her wrist, breath feathered her hair and his cheek touched hers. “I’m sorry, Sugar. That was out of line. You’re not up to my teasing, are you, baby? I’m sorry. I was only checking. I guess it’s we guys who are more prone to go commando.”

“Do you?” Crap, this is the last question I need to be asking him.

“Often, yes.”

Oh God, I do not need that visual.

His eyes locked on hers as he unbuttoned and unzipped the capris before sliding them off her hips and legs. Pulling the sheet and blanket up to her shoulders, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “See you tomorrow. Sleep well. Use aspirins as you need them. I’ll come by in the morning to rewrap your ankle after you shower. Will eight o’clock be fine? I’ll bring donuts.”

“I don’t want any of your damn donuts. Not even the ones with chocolate icing and sprinkles.” Her eyelids were already getting heavy. “Dad likes the glazed kind.” She yawned.

“I’ll bring half a dozen glazed for your dad and half a dozen with chocolate icing and sprinkles for me then. Guess you’ll just have to watch us eat them. I’ll bring you a bagel. How’s that?” The corners of his mouth spread enough the creases of his dimples deepened.

“You eat the damn bagel and leave my chocolate donuts alone.”

Easy, deep male laughter floated over her and somehow comforted. “I’ll get you whatever you want, Sugar. Dream good dreams tonight. No nightmares.” He traced the backs of his fingers down her face. “Do you know poets for centuries have written poetry about skin as fair and soft as yours? Alabaster skin, like pearls.” He stood, walked out of her bedroom behind her dad and turned out the light.

Her eyes drifted shut. What the hell was all his kindness about?

CHAPTER FIVE

Barclay jammed the key into the truck’s ignition and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. How could one man’s life get turned upside down in a few hours? All he’d wanted was some damn freakin’ douche powder and what did he get? A pair of indigo eyes, a smile that practically numbed his mind and a body that sent his cock on high alert.

Oh, and her gutsy attitude, he couldn’t forget that. He’d never been one for women who were pushovers, not that he wanted a life of verbal sparring and arguing. God, he’d had enough of that growing up…at least from his dad. His mother? She’d caved every time to “keep peace” and save herself from another beating. There were times when even that tactic didn’t work. The old man just wanted, needed, to hit something and it was either her or Barclay.

Still, he held no ill-feelings for Mom. She did her best to fill the house with love. Her goal was always to bring happiness to a house covered by the dark pall of abusive sickness from his dad. If only she’d left him, but she swore she loved the man. Why, Barclay could never figure out.

He’d always protected his younger sisters so Dad couldn’t get to them. Until the night he played in an away high school football game. The old man had put bruises on Jasmine, the youngest, because she’d been fussy with a sore throat. When Kayla, the middle child, had stood up for her younger sister, their father had whipped her across her back with his belt. The next day, Barclay had marched into the coach’s office and, with a heavy heart, quit the team.

Protecting his sisters was his responsibility. One he took damn seriously.

Now, there was another woman being battered, and he wasn’t going to allow her abuse either. Why did life have to be one fucking problem after another? Why did he have to meet Molly? Hell, she wasn’t interested in him. That much was damned obvious.

But I sure as hell am interested in her. Damned interested.

He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Life was catching up to him; that was all. He’d been alone too long. The occasional visit to the club wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe he needed someone more regular in his life. Not someone to love. Hell, love always brought loss. Just a woman he could rely on seeing once or twice a week.

Maybe he needed to spend more time at Dark Desires, even though the club scene was never his thing. Not really. A friend from another fire station had taken him there after he and Yvette separated. A night out to blow off steam and watch the sights of the BDSM lifestyle. What play turned him on the most—spanking and sex toys—were what scared him more than anything, given how he’d grown up.

Thank goodness an intuitive Dom invited him to the bar for a drink and a long talk. Barclay was so shocked and ashamed by what had aroused him, he could barely get the glass from the bar to his lips. How could he feel arousal for what he’d grown to hate all of his life? The silver-haired Dom listened while Barclay told this stranger about his family and his abusive father.

“My friend, there is a great difference between the open hand of a controlled slap or spank and the closed fist of abuse.” He clasped Barclay’s shoulder. “A huge difference. In our lifestyle, it is a power exchange. Some people need or enjoy a spanking to become highly aroused. They give the Dom the power to provide that stimulus, which heightens our sexual pleasure. A good Dominant wants to please and protect their sub. Never hurt. Never downgrade or belittle.”

He extended his hand. “My name is Aaron Karl. I’m one of the training Doms here, if you care to be considered for the proper teaching of our lifestyle. You’ll have to go through background checks and a vetting process, of course, but it might help you work through some issues of your own.”

Barclay took another sip and chuckled. “What? Kink counseling?”

The training encompassed some of his lonely free time and helped him come to grips with the reasons behind his dark desires. He never regretted all he learned; he just never had the urge to use it all in his playtime. He was a Dom with simple tastes. In fact, Aaron had told him he doubted he’d make a true Dom, but was a man turned on by kink. Barclay had insisted he was wrong.

Mainly, he was a private man who disliked sharing or having other men seeing what was his. Would a friend with benefits be so bad? One he didn’t have to love, just respect and take care of. Love was just too soul-shattering.

Losing little Bella Marie in the space between two fragile heartbeats had dragged him through an emotional hell the likes of which he never thought possible. Yvette mourned her deep loss by drinking and getting high. Barclay had done his fair share of drinking, too, but never went the drug route or did the party scene the way she had. Then his heart-adopted father Uncle Verne’s sudden heart attack, followed by another in the hospital, became another unbearable loss. Barclay distanced himself from emotion. A good time, sure. Caring, no problem. Love, never again.

Knowing Yvette was going through men and drugs like water through a drain didn’t ease his soul any. Although the love was gone between them, a part of him would always care. And therein lay his biggest liability—he cared too much for people. Wasn’t that why he went into the occupation he had? Christ, what a sap I can be at times.

He shuddered another sigh and lifted his gaze to the lights in the old condo. Now he had two more people to worry about. When would he ever learn? He straightened and turned the key. The old truck growled to life and he headed for home. Thank goodness he had three dogs to bathe, because it would be a few hours before his libido calmed down enough so he could sleep. A traffic light turned red and he braked.

Getting Molly out of his mind was going to be an all-night chore. Her hair was like black satin a man dreamed of having draped over his chest. Her full breasts made his hands ache to hold. He banged his head once on the steering wheel before the light changed and he peeled onto Gulf Boulevard. What man didn’t want to wrap his hands around those perfect fruits and kiss their pink tips? Man, shifting gears with a raging hard-on could be a bitch.

Wade, the woman beater, came to mind and Barclay ground his back molars. If he caught the sonofabitch coming near her, he’d strangle him with his bare hands.

Anger and possession—two emotions he had no business feeling where she was concerned—surfaced and anchored in his soul. He had to get home to his dogs and all the work ahead of him…anything to occupy his mind for he was fuckin’ losing it over a woman he’d just met. Two weeks, three tops and she’d be gone. He’d help her all he could, but he wouldn’t allow himself to get emotionally involved. He needed to hold back more, to care less and make his solitary life a priority for a change instead of thinking he could fix everyone else’s problems.

Armed with a strong dose of determination to keep his emotional distance, Barclay knocked at Molly’s at eight-fifteen the next morning. Her dad’s face brightened when he opened the door. “Did you bring the donuts?”

He held out a box. “Half a dozen glazed and half a dozen chocolate covered with sprinkles. Sorry I’m late. I stopped at Home Depot for paint. How’s the patient doing this morning?”