“That I can handle. What’s trickier is having the hots for a direct report who happens to be that man’s daughter.”
She doesn’t even blink, and neither do I. Look at us, maturely acknowledging the problem.
With a sip of her wine, she eyes me over the lip of the glass. “When you flame out you do it with style, Rossi.”
“That I fucking do.” Back to the meatballs because yet again,
It’s gettin’ hot in here.
“Hey, I have something for you to do.”
So take off all your clothes …
“Oh, yeah?”
“Can you maybe … boil some water?”
She grasps at her throat dramatically, leeching the tension from the moment. “I resent the implication! I haven’t burned a pot of water in months.”
I direct her to a pot and instruct her to fill it three quarters of the way.
She places it under the faucet. “Hmm, I wonder how the clear liquid stuff comes out.”
“Cute.”
She shrugs. “I know. Playing up my inner blonde sure appeals to the boys.”
“Not this boy. I’m all about the competence porn.”
“Well, you’re not my audience.”
Lie of major magnitude. If I had my way, I would be her entire fucking audience. We share a look that basically affirms what would be happening if we were different people in a different universe.
With a heavy sigh, I throw some salt in the water, the meatballs in the sauce, and pick up my wine for a healthy swig. The notion that I need to be always moving takes hold, like it can protect me from the wild, inappropriate thoughts running riot.
In action, the dreams can’t slip through.
“So you’re not a cook?”
“No, though my aunt Kathleen tried her best to teach me. I practically lived with her and my cousin Jackie after my mom died. It was tough for my father to manage me and work the shifts he did.”
“I understand that. One-parent families need a support network, especially when the parent works long hours. That’s one of the reasons I came out here. Lena needs more than I can give her.”
She shuffles closer, touches my arm. “From what I’ve seen, you’re an amazing dad. And you obviously had her welfare in mind when you moved to Chicago.”
“And the free childcare,” I joke.
Her hand is still on my arm, the warmth of her seeping into my bones. Deeper. To the marrow. “She’s doing okay, Roman. She’s got people who love her and that goes a long way.”
My chest warms at her praise. “I’m glad you had that support, too. With your aunt.”
“Yeah, I was lucky. Some people might say I wasn’t because of what happened to my mom, but I landed in a good place. And Dad and I were close in the years after. I didn’t want him out of my sight. I’d wake up terrified he wouldn’t come home.” She punctuates that with a frown.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’d forgotten how upset I used to get. I’d be up early, waiting for him to come off shift. Insist on making him coffee even though the poor guy really just wanted to hit the hay. But I thought I was looking after him because he didn’t have my mom anymore.” A softness overcomes her expression along with a crimp between her brows I want to kiss better. “It seems like an age ago.”
“Not that long. Maybe cut him some slack. You’re always gonna be his princess.” Here I am defending that asshole again, but we’re both dads. I can empathize with him there.
“Bet that’s what you thought when you heard Chuck Sullivan’s daughter was posted to Six. Some prima donna who needs constant attention.”
“Yep. Turns out it’s true.”
She pushes at my shoulder. “What? I’m not afraid of hard work or getting my hands dirty.”
The mention of “dirty” and “hands,” even in that innocuous context, charges the conversation—an exchange that does not need any more electricity.
“No, you’re not. In fact, you’re a revelation, Abby.”
She’s surprised me every step of the way. With how hard she works, how great she gets along with anyone, how she’s never once traded on her family name. I’m proud to have her on my crew even if every second I’m with her makes me itchy with need.
My admission makes her blush. Does she have any idea how special she is?
“Can I be honest with you?” she asks before I have a chance to say something stupid.
“Always,” I reply, hoping she’ll nail down the stupid for both of us.
“I know we’ve said we can’t and I understand all the reasons—truly I do—but I still think you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever met. Inside and out. Neither of us wants what’s happening between us to affect our careers but I’d like to think we could be mature enough to handle it. I mean, it’s just …” She lowers her voice. “S-e-x. It’s no one’s business but ours.”
My cock stirs. Or at least it stirs more than usual because it’s been in a constant state of awareness for the last half hour.
Right on cue, my perfect little cock-blocker of a kid skips in. “Is dinner ready?”
“Here she is, the Queen of Perfect Timing.”
Lena gives me an oh-dad look. “I had homework to do.”
“I’ve never seen you so enthusiastic to hit the books. Set the table, please, and show our guest that we’re not heathens.”
“She knows.”
Does she? I eye Abby, feeling quite the heathen as a result of her last statement. Is she suggesting we do this and screw the complications?
It’s just s-e-x.
It’s never just sex, but maybe I’m too old to accept a statement like that at face value. Maybe I need to take a page from the book of my juniors, the advice of my sister, and the encouragement of everyone telling me to bang someone already.
Only this is not the woman I should be breaking my sex drought with. She’s a direct report, the daughter of my boss, and a whole lot of fucking trouble.
And hell if I don’t want a little trouble right now, especially when Trouble gives me that come-and-get-it scorcher of a look that tells me all I have to do is say yes.
We’re tearing into the garlic bread when my sister shows her sorry matchmaking face.
“Hey, gorgeous people!” She beams at me and I want to murder her. “What’d I miss?”
“All the work,” I say. “But you’re in time to see the fruits of your meddling.”
She’s washing her hands at the sink, fake bafflement on her face. “Med-del-ling?” Like it’s a foreign language.
Annoyed, I grab a bowl for her and ladle up a serving with an extra meatball I hope lodges in her throat.
Chiara squeezes our guest’s shoulder. “Thanks so much for helping out, Abs!”
Abs? I exchange a glance with Abby, who gives me a quick grin that melts the frost compacting my heart.
“Happy to. And I got the better end of the deal.” She licks her lips. “This is amazing. How come you don’t cook like this at the firehouse?”
“And steal Gage’s thunder? I’m not getting into that kind of piss—” Quick glance at my daughter. “Kind of contest. Besides it’s nice to have someone cook for me seeing as I do all the cooking here.” Pointed look at my sister. Tonight, I am the master of nonverbal communication.