Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
SAVANNAH
It’s early when I stir, a chalky light visible at the edge of the blinds. I rub the sleep away and give my eyes a moment to adjust so I can check out Brodie’s room. Oh, and the man himself, who’s fast asleep next to me.
At a guess I’d say I’ve had about two hours’ rest. Brodie returned with the cocktails, but we didn’t get round to drinking them straight away.
The sight of me tucked up in his bed seemed to do something wild to him.
The drinks were cast aside and he was on top of me in seconds.
Round two led to the cocktails, which swiftly led to round three when he decided to pour a mouthful of whisky sour over my pussy before licking me clean.
I’ve never been as sexually fearless as I was last night.
I knew what I needed when I texted him. The experience of the fire.
The adrenaline. The ferocity of the memories it conjured up.
My mission was clear. I just wasn’t entirely prepared for Brodie being on the same page.
It was like throwing accelerant onto the fire—everything smoldering between us exploded.
Safe to say, my body has been ruined. I ache everywhere and yet all I can think about is the next round. Especially with Brodie turning in his sleep next to me, pushing the sheets off his body and giving me an eyeful of his pecs, his holy abs, and his morning wood.
Easing myself out of the bed, I tiptoe to the bathroom.
I pee, wash my hands, and rinse my mouth with some of his mouthwash.
On the shelf in his shower is his body wash and I open the lid, breathing in the spicy scent.
My core clenches. Honestly, I’m not even sure it’s possible for me to have another orgasm, but the aroma is him.
Pure Brodie. In a bottle. And it turns me the fuck on.
Squeezing a small amount into my palm, I wash my hands for a second time just so I can have his scent on my skin.
Padding from the bathroom, I make my way to the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water, and take it to the comfy love seat in the window, with a plush charcoal cushion and a pile of books stacked on the floor.
I get another jolt of feelings. All these insights into Brodie’s life are like revealing secrets.
Who he’s become. How he spends his time.
What makes him tick. I want to know more. I want to know everything.
I sip my water and crack the blinds. Some early-bird West Enders are out.
A dog walker with a coat over her pajamas.
A commuter hunkered under a golf umbrella.
I’m so lost in the moment, absorbing this slice of Brodie’s world, that I don’t realize he’s awake and standing behind me in the kitchen until he clears his throat.
I come to with a start, nearly dropping my glass. “Shit. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He’s leaning against the open-plan arch where the kitchen leads to the front door. The front door where he fucked me senseless last night.
Like me, he’s naked, and his arms are folded over his pecs, making his muscles bunch. His eyes dust over my body.
I heat at his intensity. “What’s that look?”
“Logging the moment. Don’t want to forget this. Ever.”
“What?”
“You. Naked. In my home.” He gives a lazy smile. “You’re working tonight, right?”
I nod, unable to trust my voice.
“You should sleep some more. I’ll get us breakfast.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep?”
“What do you want to do instead?”
“You.”
“You’re insatiable.”
I shrug. “Can’t help it. It’s the impact you have on me.”
“What about if I promise you can do me many more times if you let yourself sleep while I get us breakfast? We need sustenance to feed your insatiable appetite.”
I lean into the flirting. It’s easy. Like it’s exactly what we’re meant to be doing with each other.
Jutting my mouth into a pout, I stroll over to him, catching the dip of his eyes as he checks out my boobs.
“Okay. You win. I’ll go sleep, naked and horny, in your bed, totally alone.
If you don’t want me to put your cock in my mouth, that’s fine. ”
His eyes flare and I allow my hand to brush over his growing erection. I make it two more steps before he whisks me into his arms, throwing me over his shoulder firefighter style.
“You win. But don’t blame me when you’re falling asleep on the job tonight.”
We lie side by side in his bed, the remains of the most romantic brunch I’ve ever eaten scattered on a tray between us.
Brodie managed to escape my clutches around ten, and I napped while he seemingly whipped up a breakfast straight from some fancy influencer’s Insta story.
Freshly squeezed orange juice and buttery pastries with strawberries and whipped cream.
It was only on quizzing him further that he revealed he’d ordered from a local café via Skip.
I stretch out and lie back against the pillows, gazing up at him. “You know, you’ve set the bar way too high. You’re going to have to keep operating at this level forever.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Forever?”
“Oh, uh…” Fuck. Forever’s a big long-term couply statement. One I probably wasn’t quite ready to declare. But everything’s been so easy and felt so right, I can’t help but feel as if this is meant to be forever. “Maybe not forever forever. Just for now, I guess.” I shrug.
He dips down, peppering me with the lightest of kisses, over my lips and down my neck. “Savannah, I fully intend on spoiling you in every way possible. Forever forever.” His mouth continues to my ribs, where he gently kisses each word of my tattoo before returning to kissing my mouth.
My heart pounds in my chest and I try to ignore it, snaking my hands into his hair. He tastes of strawberries and sugar and I slip my tongue in.
He pulls back with a chuckle. “Maybe we should talk a little.”
“Why?”
“Because, well…” He sits up, smoothing the sheets over his legs so he can face me. “We haven’t talked about yesterday yet.”
“How you ripped off my clothes and fucked me by the front door?”
“No. How you saved a mom and child from a burning building.”
“Oh.” I feel a different kind of thumping under my rib cage. The sight of the young girl collapsed behind the couch. The visceral fear for the mom. The impulse to do everything I could to right the wrong that has defined my whole life.
“How are you feeling about it all now?”
“Fine.”
“Sure? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you yesterday.”
“Are you interviewing me again?”
“No.” He releases a sigh. “Look, maybe it’s me who needs to talk about it. I was so fucking scared watching you climb into a burning building. And then when you fainted…”
I frown, picking at my thumbnail.
He dwarfs my hand with his. “You know what? Maybe it would be easier to talk about if it was for the feature. Focus on the facts. Make it less emotional.” He shares a small smile. “And as Brad would say, talking is way easier longer term than pretending it never happened.”
I nod. Resigned. Rolling my eyes like a teenager. “Okay.” Sitting up, I mirror his body language, facing him in the bed. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start at the beginning. What was going through your head when you went inside the building?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
“Because you were so focused on the task at hand?”
“Maybe.” I dig deep. He’s clearly not going to let up. “You know when you’re writing and nothing else matters? That’s what yesterday was like for me.”
“So you weren’t even thinking about what happened in the past?”
“Oh no, I was thinking about it.” I cling to the sheet in my lap, the fabric cool against my skin.
“It’s like what happened when I was a kid was driving me from the inside.
The house was so similar. The little girl really could have been me.
And I had one singular goal. To make sure she didn’t lose her mom. ”
He takes my hands in his, easing my hold on the sheet before tugging me toward him. He drops a tender kiss and then whispers against my mouth, “You’re incredible.”
“Thought we were focusing on the facts. Not being, you know, emotional.”
He smirks as he sits back. “Copy that, East.”
I blink at hearing him call me by my work name. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay?”
“You remember when we first saw each other outside the fire hall? You asked why Springer called me East.”
“Yeah, why?”
“I wasn’t honest. About why it’s East.”
“It’s not because of something to do with a compass? Damn. I’ll have to rewrite the opening of my feature.”
I laugh although it’s a little strained. “East is actually my mom’s name.”
“Wow. That’s a special gesture by the crew. And makes for a way better story opener.”
I keep my eyes fixed on his even though I’m desperate to look anywhere else. “Not quite. I gave them the same line about the compass. They don’t know about Mom.”
His face falls, mouth opening to speak.
I don’t give him the chance. “I know. I should have told them already. And I’m going to.
Tonight, on shift.” I go back to gripping the sheet, bunching it into my fists.
“I fucked up yesterday. Removing my mask was a stupid thing to do, but I wasn’t thinking straight.
The girl was scared and I needed to know if there was anyone else in the apartment.
What happened to me couldn’t happen to her.
The past took over. Stopped me from thinking like a firefighter.
The cap and the crew need to know the truth. ” I brace myself for another lecture.
“Can I say something now?”
I nod.
He takes my hands again. “You really are incredible.”
I frown. “Stop saying that. I’m not.”
“Sav, you literally saved lives yesterday. Which would be incredible enough. But you’re also here now, owning your mistakes, taking steps to make things right. Absolutely fucking incredible.”
Heat blooms across my chest. “Okay. Enough. I get it. You worship the ground I walk on. For the record though, I also think you’re incredible.”
“What for? Writing lousy articles for a crappy local newspaper?”
“Don’t you dare, Brodie. You’re a gifted writer.
Your words tell powerful stories. Sure, you’re working a local paper, but it’s got a broad reach and your features can make a real difference.
Look at this one for Eight. If it does what the captain expects, you’re saving jobs, and ensuring the safety of an entire community. Clark Kent, eat your heart out.”
I expect a cheeky smile, but his face falls, a line forming down the center of his brow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Guess I’m feeling a little pressure. I don’t want the West End to lose Ladder Eight, and I don’t want you, Brock, and the others having to transfer. Yesterday’s events prove how vital a part of the community you all are.” He looks away, stress rolling off him in waves.
“Hey.” I climb over to him, settling in his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. “You’ve got this. Try not to think about what’s at stake and just focus on telling your story. Keeping it small and—”
His phone rings. We both wait for it to stop, but when it does, it buzzes with messages. Four times in quick succession. He sighs and leans back, keeping hold of me in his lap with one hand and grabbing his phone with the other.
Staring at the screen, he frowns again, and then tuts. “Dammit.”
“What is it?”
“Just my mom. I love her, but she refuses to understand that Brad, Brock, Dad, and I should never be in the same room at the same time.” He drops his phone to the bed.
“It’s my gram’s eightieth. Mom’s hosting a family dinner.
Saturday night. Let the nightmare commence.
” He cringes. “Jesus. Sorry. I sound like an ungrateful dick dissing on my family like this.”
“No, I get it. There are pros and cons to having a big family.” I rest my head on Brodie’s shoulder, thoughts of my dad weighing heavy. “However, having a sibling wouldn’t be so bad in my world right now. Would make my impending conversation with Dad way fucking easier.”
Brodie’s shoulder locks under me. “What day is he arriving?”
“Tuesday.”
“How do you think he’s gonna react?”
I take a moment, thinking it through. Picturing my dad.
“For a long time, Dad’s priorities have been all about the business.
My future has been fixed.” A surge of nausea rocks through me with the urge to share more, even my darkest thoughts.
“But I sometimes wonder if he isn’t actually bothered about the business at all.
If maybe everything he’s done has been about something else. ”
“Like what?”
“Dad can’t control what happened in the past so he focuses on controlling the future. Me.” Sweat beads my palms. “Maybe he’s punishing me for what happened.”
“Punishing you? For what?”
I sip the air, my voice a whisper. “Because Mom died and I didn’t.”
Brodie exhales, short and sharp, and then lifts me from his shoulder so I’m looking straight at him. “Savannah, I’m going to say something that you might find difficult to hear, but I need to say it.”
My heart whooshes in my ears. “Okay.”
His gaze remains fixed, loaded with intensity. “It’s not your fault your mom died.”
I go to look away.
He doesn’t let me, holding my face in his hands. “You were only a kid. You were also trapped. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent what happened.”
Everything feels hot and tight around me. “Why are you saying this?”
“Because I think you need to hear it.” He strokes his hands lower, feathering over my tattoo. “Promise me something.”
My breath hitches. “What?”
“Don’t let yourself forget why you’ve made your choices.
You’re living life like you matter, remember.
Your dad has his own life. Is making his own choices.
He can control those all he wants, but this is about you and what you want.
What’s right for you. And you deserve that.
You deserve the world.” He presses a kiss to my hair.
My head spins.
Thoughts and feelings splintering my bones and rendering me speechless.
But among all of it, the words spelled out on my rib cage circle round and round.
And with each pass they get a little louder.
Brighter, even.
Brodie’s right. It is my life, not my dad’s.
And I deserve to live it like I matter.