“I don’t know a Bambi,” Jack inserted, enjoying the way her blue eyes lit up with humor. He’d only seen that intense shade of blue once before, in a kitten he’d befriended as a kid. Eyes so full of life.
“No Bambi, huh?” Kayla said. “Well, I’m sure it won’t take you long to remedy that. How can you keep them all apart with names so similar?”
“That’s not a problem. Randi has long red hair and the biggest pair of...eyes you ever saw.”
“Never mind.” The humor in Kayla’s eyes was replaced with a flash of something else, something he couldn’t identify. “Forget I asked.”
“No way. The least I can do is satisfy your...curiosity.”
“That’s all you’re gonna satisfy, buster,” she muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?”
“I was just talking to myself.”
“Lonely people do that a lot, I hear.”
“I’m not lonely,” she denied.
“No?”
“No. I have a daughter and I lead a very full life.”
“Even if you’re not an exotic dancer?”
His mocking voice sneaked under her defenses, making its way to her heart like a shot of whiskey. Not that she had much experience with whiskey. She was more the milk shake type herself.
“I still can’t believe you ever thought that,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because. I mean, I’m not...I don’t have the right kind of body.... Never mind.”
Jack grinned. “For what it’s worth, I think you definitely have the right kind of body. The kind I like.”
“From the number of women who called you, it sounds as if you like all kinds of female bodies,” she tartly retorted.
“Hey, there’s always room for one more.”
“I don’t care for crowds.” Her voice got that prim tone again, the one that made him want to kiss her.
“I’m not wild about crowds, either,” he murmured.
“You couldn’t prove it by those calls.”
“Ah, but one-on-one is always best, don’t you think so?”
“I think this discussion has gotten way out of hand,” she declared in a no-nonsense tone of voice.
“And here I was, thinking things were just getting interesting.... Wait a second. What’s that?” Jack demanded as she pulled a six-pack out of the grocery bag.
“Beer.”
“It’s not the right kind of beer. That’s not what I wrote on the list.”
“They didn’t carry that imported brand. The liquor clerk told me this one would taste the same.”
“Well, he lied. It doesn’t. One is ale, this is just a pale imitation.”
“Fine—” she snatched the six-pack back from him “—I’ll pick up your imported beer tomorrow.”
“And these aren’t the right kind of beer nuts, either,” Jack grumbled, eyeing the can he’d removed from one of the plastic bags still littering the floor. “These are honey roasted. I wanted salted.”
“I had no idea I was dealing with such a gourmet.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I know what I like. Do you have a problem with that?”
“I’m not the one with a problem,” she muttered under her breath.
“Implying that I am?” he retorted,
“You’re the one with the broken leg.”
“What a brilliant observation.”
She’d observed plenty of other things about him, like the way his dark hair tumbled over his forehead as it dried, the intensity of his smoky eyes, the breadth of his shoulders—swimmer’s shoulders. And then there was his mouth. When he’d grinned at her a few minutes ago, it had been like watching the sun come out. Crinkly laugh lines had suddenly appeared at the corners of his lips and his eyes. The gleam of devilish humor in his gray eyes made them seem even more awesome than usual.
Belatedly realizing he’d caught her staring at him, she hurriedly said, “So exactly how did you break your leg?”
“I told you, I broke it in the line of duty. You didn’t seem too interested in hearing the details this morning.”
“That’s because you rattled me.”
“Really?”
“Who wouldn’t be rattled when a madman comes at them, waving a crutch and shouting like a banshee?”
“Why do I get the feeling that there isn’t much that rattles you?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And you still haven’t answered my question about how you broke your leg.”
“Would you believe I broke it falling out of bed at the firehouse?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not that’s the truth.”
“It’s one version of it.”
“Truth doesn’t have versions.”
“Sure it does. Ask any cop. You get three witnesses and you’ll get three different versions of the truth.”
“So what’s your version?”
“I got clumsy.” Fighting fire left no place for being clumsy. “Fire is a jealous taskmaster,” he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. “She doesn’t like it when you take your attention off her, even for a second.”
“So fire is a female?”
Jack nodded.
In exasperation, she said, “Why is it that anything disastrous is female—hurricanes and now fires?”
“Hurricanes are named after guys now,” he pointed out. “But something as beautiful and powerful as fire has to be female. She’s like a living thing that eats...and hates. And in her eyes you’re nothing more than fuel. That’s all you are. Fuel.”
Kayla shivered. There was just something so matter-of-fact in his voice. “How can you talk about it that way? So calmly?”
“Because I fight fire. It’s what I do.”
“And doing it broke your leg?”
He shrugged. “I told you, I got clumsy. You’ve seen me on these crutches and you’ve got to agree, I’m not the most graceful guy you’ve ever seen.”
Not the most graceful, no—but certainly the most powerful. Yet for all of his strength, she experienced this sudden need to look after him. “Did you get your cast wet when you took your shower?”
“Nope. I put a garbage bag around it because the doc said to keep it dry.”
“What other orders did the doctor gave you yesterday?”
“Hey, no one gives me orders outside of the firehouse.”
Kayla sighed. Her instincts were right. This guy definitely needed a keeper. “Meaning you probably ignored whatever orders the doctor gave you, right? That was real bright. Do you enjoy being in pain?”
“Want me to tell you what I enjoy?” Jack countered, his gaze focused on her lush lips.