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A scowl wasn’t how a good Southern girl greeted a family friend who showed up out of the blue, but the female reaction to Brick, currently surrounding her like the scent of blooming gardenias, added to the downward pull on her lips.
“He’s a fireman,” Sue purred, obviously having noted the truck’s front plate. “Growl and prowl, ladies.”
A pussy magnet. That was what Rory called the original firefighter plate Brick had put on his first vehicle, a battered farm truck his grandfather let him use in high school. Brick had been the youngest firefighter accepted by their small-town volunteer department, probably because of his size.
His commitment was more than a teenager’s passing fancy. After high school, he’d gone after a degree in fire science and certifications in fire and crime investigation. During that time, he also joined the Richmond Fire Department. His family had moved back to Richmond by then. Through her mother and Rory’s updates, Les had heard when Brick moved into arson investigation in Major Crimes.
Basically a firefighter and a cop. A fire cop. What girl could resist that?
Brick had seen her. A smile crossed his face. Home was in that smile, a shared history. The resentment vanished, replaced by something just as appalling. Tears stung her eyes at the gift of it, coming in the middle of a grueling year.
Med school orientations cheerfully suggested if a student organized and prioritized correctly, she could have a social life. Some did manage it, but not her. Beulah said it was because Les was too anal, too wound up, too worried about getting things wrong. “Girlfriend, stick some Zen up your narrow ass to loosen it up.”
Beulah Joyner had been her roommate since the start of med school. The compatibility of their differences made them stick together ever since. Including when, like most second year grad school students, they’d had to seek off-campus housing.
Squelching her weird emotional reaction to his smile, Les watched Brick’s large hands slide off the wheel. As he unsnapped the seat belt and exited the truck, the girls got a top-to-toe view of him. They weren’t shy about taking it all in, viewing him like the Second Coming.
Really wrong thought, since Brick looked capable of giving a woman multiple orgasms. She winced as she imagined her devout Catholic mother’s reaction to that.
Brick wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t sure if he’d even be called handsome. He had the face of a man who routinely pitted himself against the forces of nature. Pre-dawn frosty mornings working his grandfather’s farm, subsistence hunting with his dad. Being a battering ram at the high school football games and practices. Running into a burning building.
Cold, wind, rain, heat. Those elements had carved his features, made him ruddy and rugged. He had a square cut jaw and dark brows that slanted toward his nose, giving him a formidable look. But his smile, which easily reached his eyes, drew attention to irises the color of fog in a forest, a smoky gray that could get hints of green or brown when sunlight burned off the fog.
His firm, thin top lip accentuated a tempting and full bottom one. The mouth was an invitation, the brow and hard planes of his face a warning. The combination had become more impactful as he grew older. More irresistible to her woman’s body and heart.
What usually attracted female attention was his massive build. Broad shoulders, solid trunk, and a compact ass. All of it developed by the same factors. Working a farm, pushing back a defensive line on the field, or handling the pressure of a charged hose and the weight of the turnout gear that protected him from a roaring wall of fire.
A woman saw a man who could plant himself in front of anything, to keep what he protected safe. Even more important, he wanted that job. It was the job he’d been born to do. The message was broadcast not just through his physique, but through his expression, those eyes.
If you think you can get past me to hurt someone I care about, you won’t.
He was smart, too. While other girls had focused on his sports exploits, she knew he’d tutored Rory and their friends in science and math. Even English lit.
Especially English lit. She pushed that distracting memory away and focused on the here and now. Since it was March, some days here in Durham, North Carolina still carried a chill. Brick wore a light-weight flannel shirt with gray and camel stripes, buttoned up halfway over a ribbed white tank. The shirts were tucked into tan jeans held with a brown belt, the jeans pulled down over scuffed boots. Not too tight or loose, the clothes worked with the flex and ripple of muscles.
Determinedly shouldering her laptop bag, Les moved away from her study partners and toward him. She tossed a distinct stay glance their way. Because it shocked them, they actually did it, thank God.
She crossed the strip of grass between the walkways to reach him. He’d seen her intent to come to him, so had stopped by the truck, one foot braced on the curb. She remained on the grass, but even in her elevated spot, he was taller than her.
His thick, slightly curly dark hair was damp, as if he’d recently showered. At Rory’s wedding a few months ago, he’d had a close-clipped dark beard, though today he was clean shaven. As she came closer, she detected the more noticeable aftershave and soap smell that confirmed the recent shower. It suggested he hadn’t driven from Richmond. He was staying somewhere in town.
She pushed down another surge of annoyance, that he would come to her unannounced like this. It only pointed out the obvious. She was his best friend’s “little sister,” not a girl he was worried about offending. He was probably here for some kind of fire conference. Hadn’t he said something about that at the wedding?
They’d been best man and maid of honor when Rory married Daralyn. Though Daralyn had lived with their family long enough Les thought of her as her sister, she was delighted to be able to officially call her a sister-in-law.
“I have some training down your way in a few weeks,” Brick had said at the reception. “I’ll come take you out for a pizza.”
A flutter low in her belly, a momentary thrill at the possibilities, was extinguished when Rory teased him. “If you don’t get distracted, chasing all those campus co-eds.”
Yet Brick’s gaze hadn’t wavered from hers, and he hadn’t responded to Rory’s joke.
She remembered walking down the aisle, her hand curved over his arm. She’d been able to feel the strength of it through the wool of his suit. Brick had done something the other groomsmen hadn’t. He’d covered her hand with his own as they walked together. His hands were nicked with small scars, the nails kept excruciatingly blunt, his firm grip warm and smooth.
Time to put those thoughts on the over-weighted train back to Fantasy Island. “Did my mother send you to check up on me?” she asked lightly.
“No, ma’am.” The warmth in Brick’s voice, the gravelly deepness, held her as surely as she imagined his arms would never do. “I decided you needed checking on all for myself. I’m taking you to dinner.”
She took the glint in his eye as a five-alarm warning to her sanity. He interpreted her expression a different way, because his brow cocked, and his drawl deepened.
