Boston Fire: Heat Exchange Part 13

We can talk about it while you give me that b.l.o.w. .j.o.b you still owe me.

He could almost picture her eyebrow arching as she read that, and the way the corners of her delicious mouth would turn up in a smile.

If you're ever lucky enough to have my mouth on your d.i.c.k, you won't even manage a coherent thought, never mind making words into a sentence.

Even though he was on the other side of Rick's truck from the crowd and his coat was probably long enough to conceal the instant hard-on, Aidan turned his back to them.

This will be the most uncomfortable ceremony ever.

She sent back an emoticon that was sticking its tongue out, and then Oops, sorry.

"Hey, Hunt, let's go," he heard Porter yell.

They're calling me in. Talk to you later.

Have fun.

These s.h.i.+ndigs were his least favorite part of the job as it was. Suffering through it without thinking about Lydia and b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs was going to be almost impossible, which meant it would be an exercise in having enough self-control not to squirm in his seat.

Sure, it was going to be all kinds of fun.

LYDIA FELT BONELESS, trying to catch her breath with her head hung over the side of Aidan's bed. The man really knew what he was doing between the sheets.

When he came back from the bathroom, she heard him chuckle before he lifted her up and slid her around so her head was on the pillow. Then he climbed in and spooned himself around her.

"I needed that very badly," he murmured into her hair. "I swear today was endless. And sitting in that ceremony thinking about b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs didn't help, just so you know."

"You're the one who brought them up."

"I just don't want you to forget that you owe me."

She laughed. "Someday, when you least expect it..."

He was rubbing her hip with his left hand, but then he draped his arm over her body so he could hold her hand. Their fingers slid together and she smiled. They fit well together in a lot of ways.

"I told Ashley I wouldn't be home tonight," she said. "Is that okay?"

"Admit it. You just want to sleep on my sheets."

"I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out." She squeezed his fingers. "I don't think I've ever met a single guy with sheets like this, though."

He laughed. "They were a gift from my mother. I can ask her the thread count or whatever if you want."

"That's okay. I'll just enjoy yours."

"Consider this a standing invitation to enjoy my sheets anytime."

She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his warm body cupping hers and his soft sheets and his breath in her hair. It was nice, she thought, to not rush out as soon as the glow faded. Not all the time, of course, because that would be a bad precedent to set. But once in a while.

It was probably stupid, spending the night. It was bad enough she thought about him every waking moment, watching the clock and waiting until she could see him again. The whole burning off the excess chemistry excuse was wearing thin and falling asleep in his arms wasn't going to help.

But one time probably wouldn't hurt, she told herself as Aidan's breathing deepened into soft snores.

Later in the night, something woke Lydia and she blinked in the dark, trying to figure out why she was awake. It took her a few seconds to remember she was in Aidan's bed, and she squinted at the clock until the red blur formed numbers. 3:19. She definitely shouldn't be awake.

Aidan kicked the back of her heel and she realized he not only wasn't snoring, but he was breathing funny. Folding back the sheet, she rolled over and pushed onto her elbow. He was on his side, facing away from her, but in the moonlight she could see the slight sheen of sweat just below his hairline. His leg jerked again and the hand she could see clenched into a fist.

He was having a nightmare.

Lydia wasn't sure what the best way to handle it was. Maybe she should move away and call his name, in case he came up swinging. That probably wasn't likely, though. It was more likely his dream involved fire than violence.

When he made a keening sound low in his throat and his head twitched on the pillow, she couldn't stand it anymore. She stroked his hair, making a shh sound. He stilled, but his breathing was still quick and his hand didn't relax.

"Aidan?" He rolled onto his back without waking up, and she saw how deeply a scowl had drawn his eyebrows together. Pus.h.i.+ng his hair back from his clammy forehead, she tried again. "Aidan, wake up."

He opened his eyes and then took a deep, shuddering breath. It took him a few seconds to shake off the dream, and she smiled when his gaze finally focused on her.

"Hey," she said softly. "Bad dream."

"Yeah." His voice was hoa.r.s.e, and he cleared his throat to try again. "I couldn't find Scotty. I can never find Scotty."

She stroked his hair, smiling down at him. "Scotty's fine. Do you want some water?"

"No." He lifted his arm and she ducked under it to lay her head on his chest and throw her arm across his body. He held her close and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"I'll go back to sleep." She could hear his heartbeat, and it was slowly returning to normal. "Once you're okay."

He pulled the sheet back over her and then gave her a squeeze. "I'm okay now. Sleep."

She didn't right away, though. I can never find Scotty. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to imagine anything except Aidan and her brother in a fire gone wrong. And, besides the fear that was constant when you loved firefighters flaring up, Lydia felt guilt rising above it.

To her, brotherhood meant people who were as-if not more-important to her father and ex-husband than she'd ever been. But to Aidan and Scotty and the rest of them, it was more than just a word. They lived together and worked together, but they also risked their lives together. They depended on each other in a way most people could never understand. Aidan and Scotty weren't only best friends. They trusted each other with their lives.

And there was a possibility her choosing to be here in Aidan's bed might break that bond. No amount of telling herself Aidan was a big boy and could make his own choices could ease the knot in her chest at the thought of he and Scotty not having each other's backs, and it was a long time before she drifted back into a fitful sleep.

AIDAN WOKE A FEW hours later with the weight of Lydia's head on his chest, half her body flung over his, and an arm he couldn't feel and simply had to hope was still there. He didn't care. Having her there to comfort him when that d.a.m.n dream got hold of him again had been worth any price.

He closed his eyes again, knowing he wouldn't go back to sleep, but content to hold her and listen to her breathe softly. She had to work later, but she could sleep another hour and still get home in plenty of time to get ready for her s.h.i.+ft at Kincaid's.

"Coffee," he heard her mutter against his chest.

"Good morning," he said, kissing her hair. "I thought you'd sleep a little longer."

"Coffee."

"I'd be happy to make a pot of coffee, but I think it'll be at least two hours before I get feeling back in my arm."

She rolled away, taking the sheet with her, until she was back on the other side of the bed. He grimaced and tried to make a fist, but was pretty sure he failed. The pins and needles were going to suck.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked Lydia. "Other than me waking you up, of course."

"Coffee," she growled into her pillow.

Laughing, he rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. "I'll go make a pot of coffee."

"Make some for yourself, too," she called after him.

In an act of impeccable timing he a.s.sumed must be her secret superpower, Lydia walked into the kitchen just as the coffeemaker gurgled and shot the last bit of liquid into the carafe. He turned to tease her about it, but whatever he'd been going to say died on the tip of his tongue.

She was rubbing her face, and having her arms slightly raised also slightly raised the hem of his T-s.h.i.+rt so he got a tantalizing glimpse of the tops of her thighs. The s.h.i.+rt appeared to be the only article of clothing she was wearing, which was ample reward for the pain of the blood flow returning to his hand and arm. Her hair was what the younger crowd probably meant by "hot mess," and she'd never looked more beautiful to him.

"Coffee's done brewing," he said.

"Those are my favorite words in the whole world." She kissed him, leaving behind the minty tingle of his mouthwash, and then took a mug out of his dish rack. After fixing herself a cup of coffee, she went to his couch and curled up on one end.

He usually sat at his kitchen table with his first coffee, watching the news and scrolling through headlines and the Facebook account he mostly ignored on his phone. He'd signed up for that at the urging of a former girlfriend and, since everybody else had one, he'd given in to the peer pressure. Now he skimmed through, looking at pictures, but he never posted and rarely commented.

But if Lydia wanted to sit on the couch, he was okay with that, too. She hit the power b.u.t.ton on the TV and pulled up the on-screen guide to change the channel to what he a.s.sumed was her usual morning news show. Not the one he usually put on when he bothered with the television, but he didn't really care. He listened to the chatter of the people on the screen and read the constant scroll across the bottom, leaving Lydia to drink her coffee in peace.

She was about halfway through when she turned her head to face him. "Have you had that nightmare before? Or is it new?"

A vague sense of embarra.s.sment crept over him. Not super smooth, having a nightmare the first time she stayed over. "I've had it before, but it's not usually so vivid. And I've had it twice in the last couple of weeks. That's different."

"I think that makes sense, though."

He laughed. "Yeah, a firefighter having a nightmare about being lost in the smoke and separated from his company probably makes sense."

"I meant your dream about Scotty being more vivid and more frequent. You feel like you're distanced from him. Because of me."

"No." Maybe. As much as he didn't want to admit it, that theory might not be totally off base. But he wasn't going to let her take the blame for it. "When it comes to my friends.h.i.+p with Scott, that's between him and me, and I own the choices I've made."

She reached over to slap his shoulder. "We made the decision together, remember?"

"Either way, I've had the nightmare before-many times-so don't read too much into it. It's probably the fire version of that stress dream where you're at school or in front of a crowd and you realize you forgot to put on pants."

"If you say so. Are you making me breakfast?"

He laughed. "I made the coffee."

"Okay, I'll make breakfast, but only because of the storage closet. I still owe you for that."

It took him all of two seconds to shake his head. "Oh, no you don't. You know what you owe me for that and it's not scrambled eggs."

"So you're making breakfast, then?" she asked sweetly, though the look of impending victory on her face gave lie to that.

No way in h.e.l.l was he giving up a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b IOU to save himself a few minutes of cooking. "I'll make breakfast."

He made them scrambled eggs and melted a couple of slices of American cheese on top. A few slices of toast and microwave sausage links and it was done. It was nice, he thought as he sat down across from her at the kitchen table, having somebody to eat breakfast with. And to watch television with.

Not only had giving in to his need to sleep with Lydia not scratched that particular itch to his satisfaction-and he wondered if that was even possible-but new little, nagging itches seemed to be popping up now.

Like the one that wished they could spend the entire day doing nothing but watching television and making love and maybe taking a walk to the deli for lunch. Couple stuff.

He wanted to take her out on a date. Make out with her in a movie theater. Kiss her without looking over his shoulder to make sure n.o.body was watching. His brother could sometimes get him decent tickets to a ball game, and he wanted to buy her a chili dog.

But he'd known this was how it was going to be when he made the jump, so he ate his eggs and made up his mind to enjoy every minute he had with her. He'd worry about the minutes he didn't have with her some other time.

Chapter Eleven.

LYDIA WAS GOING to be late if she didn't get a move on. The good news was that she'd already showered. The bad news was that Aidan had been in the shower with her, so it had taken longer than it should have. A lot longer.

Because she was rus.h.i.+ng, she swung the door closed behind her with a little more force than she'd intended and it slammed. Wincing, she headed for the stairs. She may have showered, but she needed a fresh set of clothes and some hair product before it totally dried that way.

"Lydia?"

Dammit. "Yeah, it's me. I have to get ready for work."

Ashley walked out of the kitchen, and Lydia could see she'd been crying. "Danny stopped by again last night."

And she was still puffy-eyed and red-nosed. "You should have called me. I would have come home."

"I don't know what to do, Lydia."

On the inside, she let out a long, resigned sigh. Outwardly, she offered a supportive smile. "Go pour us each a cup of coffee. I've got to get this hair into a pony or it'll drive me crazy."

Once she was upstairs, Lydia took a few seconds to send a text to her dad, telling him she might be a little late and he needed to head to the bar or let the cook open. It shouldn't have surprised her when her phone rang in her hand a few seconds later. The man hated texts.

"Hi, Dad."

"Why are you going to be late?"

It was tempting to tell him she was having lady problems. Nothing made her old man bail from a conversation faster than bringing up menstruation. But she needed to hold that in reserve for if and when it was actually an issue. "Danny stopped by last night and Ashley's upset. I'm going to talk to her for a few minutes and then I'll be in."

"Why didn't you talk to her last night? Or earlier this morning? You gotta wait until it's almost time to open the bar?"

Lydia froze, making an ouch, busted face she was thankful he couldn't see. That's what she got for trying to mult.i.task. "I was out. I just got home."

Maybe it would be enough. If menstruation held the number one spot for things Tommy Kincaid didn't want to hear his daughters talk about, s.e.x was definitely a close runner-up.