Falling for the Firefighter Read online

  Every garment she tried on had been a shock to her system, sending her into a month-long depression that had been just as bad as when her parents had split a few months prior. The trauma caused her to pile on even more weight, adding to her prom dress problem. Her feelings of inadequacy had underscored everything as though drawn with a heavy hand in charcoal, and it wasn’t until she began designing gowns like the one coming to life on her sketchpad that she’d come back around again.

  Simone held out her pad and studied it critically. She’d come full circle, hadn’t she? Starting with plus-sized gowns and ending with them.

  Or maybe it wasn’t full circle, maybe it was just a new start. The right start. The path she was actually supposed to follow. It was possible she’d sold her old brand, kit and caboodle, for a reason and now she could follow this new path without the restrictions or hesitation that came with an established brand name.

  JC moved closer, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She shifted away, afraid the sweet gesture might make her insecurities rear up, ready for attack. But instead of making contact, he braced himself against the mantel, so smoothly she doubted he’d actually intended to touch her.

  “Nice. Very goddess-like.” He was more curious and appraising than judgmental as he looked over her shoulder.

  She pulled the screen away from the fireplace and tossed the sketchpad inside.

  No new beginnings. They took too much time and would take her away from her dreams of a family. She was shifting back to her comfort zone and that needed to stop.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked, scrambling for the poker so he could fish out the smoking pad. “It was good!”

  “Leave it.” Flames licked the edges of the pages. “I’m not starting any new projects.”

  “You’re hard-core, woman.” He kneaded her shoulder and she let out a breathy laugh, not quite believing she’d tossed half a year’s worth of designs in the fire.

  “Oh! Get it out!” She pulled the poker out of JC’s grip as the papers ignited, sending out a flash of heat. “Those were good ideas.”

  “They’ll be even better the second time you sketch them. More refined.”

  “How do you know?” She turned to watch him, curious.

  JC gave a nonchalant shrug. “Still snowing out there?”

  His walls had been raised and Simone decided not to pursue it.

  “Not exactly how you anticipated spending your Christmas Eve, huh?” She refused to move away, even though he had placed himself squarely in her space as though she needed support. “Stuck here. Will Polly and your family be worried?”

  “Probably.” He looked at her with a steady gaze. Why wasn’t he freaking out about his family worrying? Oh, right. Because he was one of those men who expected the world to revolve around him, and any problems were always someone else’s. Machismo. She kept forgetting that. Especially when she met his kind eyes, which often flashed with secrets and pain.

  “Is anyone else expecting you?” She hated herself for holding her breath as she waited for his reply, but a part of her needed to know. She knew he wasn’t married, but he was a handsome man who fought fires for a living. He probably had twenty women waiting for him to call tonight.

  That idea shouldn’t bother her nearly as much as it did.

  Except he’d kissed her. Repeatedly. And it had been better and better each time.

  “A girlfriend?” JC asked, eyebrow lifted as though he thought he might be winning some sort of game. “Need someone to cozy up to, and you’re worried about infringing on someone else’s property?”

  “No, just wondering who I need to apologize to once you find my charms irresistible.”

  JC choked on a chuckle and Simone turned away, pleased by her quick retort.

  “Connor?” She waited for him to stop nuzzling Maya’s ear and pay attention. “Don’t you have sled dogs at your disposal? Emergency helicopters that are used to flying in Antarctica where there are blizzards all the time? This guy’s got people panicking that he’s vanished off the face of the earth, and while he obviously doesn’t care about it, I think we should make an effort to get him off the island.”

  “You’re voting me off?” JC said, his voice quiet behind her, sending chills up her spine. She could take a half step back and be in his arms, her body pressed against his rock-hard form.

  “There is no vote.” She prompted Connor, “So? Don’t you?”

  Everyone was staring at her. “What?” she asked.

  “If my people felt they could get here safely, they would be here,” Connor replied. “We’re okay where we are for the next while, so let’s focus on the joy of being disconnected from the world. Let’s celebrate being together with family and friends.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll take one of the extra beds upstairs?” she said. The fact that nobody had mentioned where she’d be sleeping was starting to feel a bit suspicious, and she was beginning to suspect that she was going to end up toughing it out with JC in front of the fire.

  Maya gave Connor a swift glance.

  “What?” Simone asked.

  “We, um, kind of took them out when we were perking up the décor this summer. There are two cots up there. Maybe Tigger could sleep on the couch instead of with Dot?”

  Since the marriage proposal the girl had received a second wind, and had been tucked away in the corner, furiously dictating the rest of her letter to Santa via Evander.

  “I’m sleeping with Dot!” Tigger announced, bottom lip thrust out. “Upstairs!”

  Simone threw up her hands, knowing better than to fight with the little girl when she stuck out her bottom lip. “Fine,” Simone said. “I can sleep on the couch.”

  Which meant JC was going to sleep where? In a chair?

  “Unless you want the couch,” she offered grudgingly. He gave her a dark, unimpressed look.

  “Okay, it’s mine then. Thank you.” She primly turned away, trying hard not to think about how close she would be sleeping to him.

  “Well, I’m calling it a night,” Hailey said, stretching her arms above her head. “Growing a baby makes me tired.” She shot Simone an apologetic look.

  “Of course. You need to take care of yourself,” Simone said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Do we have enough firewood to get us through the night?”

  “I carried some in earlier,” Finian said.

  “And I cleared the roof,” Evander added. “The snow load should be okay through this storm.”

  Great. Another thing to worry about: the roof falling in on them due to the weight of the snow Mother Nature was using to bury them alive.

  JC was pulling on his snowsuit, zipping it up, the bulky outerwear covering his well-defined chest. “Where’s the woodpile?”

  Finian went out with him and Simone relaxed, fidgeting with the burn holes in her jeans. As much as she hated to admit it, she trusted JC to take care of things. As Hailey had said earlier, he was a fixer, too. Or rescuer. Whatever. Same difference. But it was starting to feel as though she was relying on him too much for basic survival. She wanted to wade through the snow to get more wood, too, if only to prove that she didn’t need him.

  “Are you okay?” Hailey asked, head cocked to the side.

  “Fine. Great. Just, you know, problem solving.” She caught Tigger as the girl bounced past, her letter finished. “Let’s get you into that bed, kiddo. I’ll tell you a story, how’s that sound?”

  “Are you sleeping with Uncle Josh tonight?” Tigger asked, her eyes so full of innocence and hope.

  Simone needed someone who would think she was enough, no matter what she did or didn’t do with her life, and the men like JC she’d dated always wanted her to change, always wanted more. They always wanted that “something” she didn’t seem to possess.

  She took a deep breath before replying. “He isn’t my type, sweetie.”

  “You should make him your type.”

  Yeah, that’s what her body kept telling her, too.

  S
imone had just finished telling a story to Tigger—and Dot, who had pretended not to listen on the neighboring cot, but hadn’t turned a single page in her book the entire time—when she heard JC’s voice downstairs. She let out a sigh of relief, knowing they likely now had enough wood to get them through the night, plus some. The man would make a good provider and protector for someone who liked that sort of thing.

  “Josh!” Tigger hollered from beside Simone, startling her.

  Heavy feet pounded up the wood steps to the attic and Josh called, “Yeah?”

  “Come up here.”

  Simone stayed where she was on the cot, curious about what Tigger was up to.

  “We’re friends, right?” the little girl asked, when his head poked over the railing.

  “Yup,” he said simply. He moved to the top step, hand gripping the banister. His cheeks were bright red from darting out into the cold night, his shoulders as broad as ever. He looked handsome and strong, intent on making sure Tigger knew she was important and heard. Not all adults took the time to do that, and while that quality had always softened Simone, she hadn’t expected it in a man such as JC, and for some reason it made her angry. The man was supposed to stay in his arrogant little box, not mess with her mind by being caring and great with kids.

  He was being a heart slayer, which was completely unfair.

  “Friends get friends Christmas presents, right?” Tigger questioned. Simone chuckled, scolding her gently for being so forward.

  “Of course they do,” Josh replied.

  The girl beckoned him over, sitting up. Only a moment ago Simone had her close to falling asleep, but now she was as wide awake as Dot.

  “Phone.” Tigger held out her hand expectantly.

  Josh passed it to her and she punched in his access code.

  “Wait. You know his code?” Simone asked.

  “I changed it to my birthday,” the girl said, zipping through the contents, her mind on one thing.

  Josh laughed. “Were you planning to tell me that or leave me locked out of my phone forever?”

  “Forever.”

  Simone bit her bottom lip, trying not to laugh, and Josh shook his head, eyes crinkling with amusement.

  “Never give a kid your phone,” Dot said from her cot. “First rule of ownership.”

  “Too bad this bright adult male didn’t think of that,” Simone teased.

  JC sat beside her on Tigger’s small bed, too close for comfort, but Simone forced herself to stay, to stand her ground even though the heat coming off him felt too familiar, too consuming. It reminded her of how irresistible he was when she let her guard down. But he wasn’t her type. The two of them were opposites, or too much alike, too something. Something that would make them fight all the time and weaken the very defenses she needed in order to survive.

  She sighed, knowing a man such as JC could throw her off track, and she had too much at stake. And yet…and yet he tempted her much more than she cared to admit.

  “This.” Tigger held up JC’s phone. “I want this.”

  “In pink?” JC replied. “Or purple?”

  “Purple so it matches the dress Simone is making for me. She makes me lots of dresses. Can you tuck me in?”

  Simone snatched the phone, holding it still so she could get a better look at the photo of an adorable frilly doodad. “You have Internet connection? When did you get a link? We need to call the helicopters.”

  “They’re pictures,” Tigger said, suddenly sleepy again.

  “From the Internet, which means he has signal.”

  “Maybe he could have a show in your boutique like Mom and Hailey did. Mom sold lots of paintings.”

  Simone ignored the girl while she searched for the phone app. “Why do you have all of your mobile apps arranged by color?” The man was proving to be more and more nutters. Definitely not good dad material.

  She dialed 911. Nothing but silence as she held the phone to her ear. She checked the cell signal. No bars of service. What on earth?

  “Slow down,” JC said, laying a hand over hers, then taking his phone back. His palm was large, warm, and oddly comforting. And made her mind flash to other things besides getting off this island. “They’re photos of things I make for kids.”

  She tried to look at his phone again, but he had turned it off, slipping it into his faded jeans pocket. And now she was staring at his crotch’s bulge.

  Man, these hormones were getting out of control.

  “He makes really pretty hair ribbons and barrettes.”

  JC was calm, his voice low and soothing. “I make them for kids in the burn unit.”

  Simone felt as though she was lost in a funhouse. Only it wasn’t fun. The hair ribbons she’d seen had been delicate, beautiful, well-crafted, and unique. She’d barely had a glance at them, but knew they were special and that the creator had talent.

  How could JC create something like that?

  It was impossible. The man jumped out of airplanes so he could face off against raging forest fires. He got into fistfights and was built like a steamy, sexy hunk of manhood. Creating delicate girlie things by hand was not manly. It was not JC.

  It made no sense. It didn’t add up.

  “I’ve been thinking about expanding my own business a little. I was hoping you and I could talk about distribution if you have time.”

  Simone sat up, jostling Tigger in the process. “Get the creator to call me and we’ll set something up, but I’m not dealing with a middleman.” Her heart was pounding like mad as she felt her world slipping. “I deal with the heart of the business—the creator. And tell her that candy-apple red is too overstated. Even for a child.”

  Dot, who had been watching the exchange, quietly slipped away, scurrying like a cat in a roomful of guard dogs.

  Josh paused for a second, then gave a slight, thoughtful nod.

  “He is the heart,” Tigger said, her voice laced with confusion.

  “Him?” Simone shook her head. “Tigger, no. Not possible.”

  “He makes fairy art, too.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “I’ll show you!” The girl hopped up and trundled down the stairs. “Wait here.”

  Fairy art? The man was so manly he was stirring up parts of Simone that had been on life support for years. He couldn’t be gay. It wouldn’t be fair to womankind.

  No, it didn’t matter. She knew who he was and she didn’t want him. Let him be gay. That would be a relief, actually. It would make him a lot less dangerous and make a lot more sense.

  “So you’re a gay man masquerading as some big macho alpha dude?” Simone laughed, relief washing over her like a downpour after years of drought. She clapped her hands as she stood. “That’s so perfect.”

  He scowled up at her and she placed her palms on either side of his cheeks in joy. Who cared if he was angry that she’d figured out his secret? She’d known there was no way the old JC could make something so delicately beautiful. She’d known something was up with him. Known he wasn’t real—because he was a fake.

  She placed her lips on his, kissing him with happiness and relief. He was gay! She was safe!

  His fingers knotted in her hair, drawing her close. Her eyes flew open as his kiss turned angry and possessive. And hot. Really hot. It was as though he was trying to prove something to her and…wow. It was as though a bell was being rung again and again as his mouth worked hers in angry, hungry passes.

  He pulled her into his lap, their surroundings forgotten. She became lost in what was simply the best kiss she’d ever had. It was passionate and barely contained. Her control was slipping and she didn’t care.

  His hand was caressing her gently, and she eased closer, jumping back when she moved against something firm. She fell out of his arms, landing on the floor.

  Gay men didn’t get excited kissing women.

  Oh, no, JC wasn’t gay. Gay men didn’t consume women in passionate kisses.

  He was as straight as a prairie highway.


  What had she been doing? Where was her mind?

  “What was that?” she barked.

  He stood up, his mouth set in that angry way of his that made her want to take him down a notch for being so…so JC.

  “You are such a liar!”

  “What are you talking about?” He scowled.

  “Are you gay or not gay?”

  “What does that matter? You’re not open-minded enough to see that I’m the best thing that could ever happen to you.”

  “Best thing?” She snorted and focused on his chest, which was rising and falling as quickly as hers. “You’re a big hoax. A liar. A façade. A bunch of false advertising in a big sexy body. You’re a—a…” Words failed her as she looked up into his eyes. His anger was gone and had been replaced with resignation and disappointment. In her.

  No. Nobody was ever disappointed in her. She exceeded expectations. That’s what she did. That was her thing.

  He pulled her up off the floor, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles before letting her go.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  He gave her one last glance before heading down the stairs, pausing to murmur something to a returning Tigger as Simone sank onto the vacated cot, feeling as though she might cry, her heart slashed by a sense of devastating loss.

  Simone was getting under Josh’s skin. She’d been so hot and cold. Strong and vulnerable. Push and pull. Tease and withdraw. And then the gay comment? It was as if a rocket had gone off in his brain. When she’d bent down to give him that patronizing “you’re gay so I’m saved from being attracted to you” kiss, it had been all he could do to keep from proving just how hetero he was.

  The worst part was that she had been right. The candy-apple red was overstated. It wasn’t a big deal, but her offhand comment showed him just how out of his depth he’d swum. She had an instinctual color sense he lacked. He’d been working on trying to develop it and had barely branched out from pink, knowing it was beyond his current skills. And she’d taken one glimpse and known.

  Over. His. Head.