Where There's Smoke. Kristin HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
he stood, unmoving.
“Hardly. This tower is designed so people can’t tell if they’re being watched. The windows are smoked so dark you can’t see in with the lights on, much less off.”
“You’d be the first to point out that designs don’t always work as intended,” Sloane said curtly. “Now listen to me very carefully, Trask.”
“Nick,” he corrected.
“Just listen,” Sloane snapped. It was terrifying, how easily he’d slashed his way through the barriers she’d surrounded herself with. She had to push him out. She had to escape before he knew how much she was at risk. “I am here to do a job that is entirely dependent on the cooperation of your truck company. I will not have my credibility damaged in front of your men.”
“It wasn’t damaged.”
Her eyes flashed. “It could have been. You’re interfering with my work.”
“The testing was done for the day,” Nick countered.
“I’m on the job as long as I’m on fire department property.”
Nick reached out to finger a stray curl of her hair. “Next time I’ll make sure we’re off department property, then.” There was a hint of danger in his smile. It frightened her, because it made her want.
“There won’t be a next time,” Sloane flared, pushing past him. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “After all, I’m just a tool for Ayre, right? Try to remind yourself of that every so often.”
Chapter Four
The hands of the clock on the wall moved noiselessly, counting off minutes of quiet broken only by the faint tick of pencils, the rustle of paper. Ranks of men sat at the tables, bent over sheaves of paper. Some scribbled madly, some thoughtfully, some stared blankly into space as though answers might suddenly, magically appear in the air in front of them. The second hand made its inexorable sweep about the clock face. The precious minutes marched relentlessly by.
The proctor at the front of the room cleared his throat. “Time, gentlemen. Please stop writing and bring your papers up to the front.”
Nick glanced up, feeling as though he had just broken to the surface after a long dive into a deep pool. Over the past months he had packed his brain with an enormous amount of detail about firefighting, fire management, personnel management, equipment, building codes, construction, hazardous materials and department regulations. He could recite the pump pressure of the fire engine and the weight of each size of hose, both empty and filled. Without thinking he could list the flashpoints of gasoline, methanol, dry cleaning fluid and a host of other chemicals. He knew as much about Boston building codes as any building inspector.
For nearly a year it had taken over his life. The hours of study had been worth it, though. The answers had been there when he’d needed them. Now that it was over, he felt light-headed, as though the facts that had poured out onto the paper had had weight. He set his paper down on the stack at the front of the room and walked gratefully out into the quiet of the hallway at fire department headquarters, rubbing his neck to loosen the tense muscles.
All done, he thought, and tried to take it in. For the first time in months he could relax without the voice of guilt reminding him he should be studying. Punching the elevator call button, he bounced a little on the balls of his feet, light with a growing sense of freedom. Maybe he could actually go out for a change, listen to some music, drink a few beers. A bell pinged and the elevator doors opened to allow him into the car.
“Hold the elevator.” A voice from the hallway interrupted his thoughts, a voice he recognized with the impact of a fist in his solar plexus.
Sloane Hillyard.
He’d thought of her in the four days since the testing, oh, he’d thought of her. Waving the ladder truck back into quarters after an alarm, sitting down to dinner with the crew, over and over he’d found her on his mind. He’d remembered her scent as he’d pored over statistics about building codes and fire standards. The memory of holding her against him had derailed his review of chemical reactions. He’d studied and he knew a thousand and one facts about firefighting strategies. He thought of Sloane Hillyard and he knew only one thing.
That he wanted her.
Sloane hurried down the hall toward the elevator, her mind on the clock and the relentless calendar. She’d just been through a morning that could have won awards for lack of productivity. She could only hope the afternoon would be better. Ahead of her, the elevator doors opened back up. A sign, she thought. Something, at least, was going right.
And then she stepped into the elevator.
“Hey.” Nick smiled at her lazily, leaning against one wall of an otherwise empty car that suddenly seemed very small. He wore a leather bomber jacket over a rough-weave blue shirt and khakis. She’d gotten familiar with the look of him in his departmental T-shirt and trousers. This was the first time she’d seen him in civvies.
She wasn’t at all prepared for the impact. They made him look leaner, rangier and subversively sexy.
“Going to the lobby?” Nick’s hand hovered over the lighted buttons of the control panel as the car started to move. “Better decide quick.”
“The lobby, please.” She stood next to him, immensely conscious of his eyes on her. After their last interlude, she’d resolved to put him out of her mind, which had worked about as well as the childhood game of not thinking of elephants. Still, just because she couldn’t stop thinking of the kiss didn’t mean she had anything to worry about. After all, how long had it been since she’d locked lips with a guy? Of course she’d overreacted. She probably would have with anyone. It was simply a physical response to an extremely attractive man, she’d told herself. Physical hunger was something she could recognize. Physical craving was something she could ignore.
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