Page 17 of Her Fire Master (Master Me #5)

L ia

I moan softly into the bedcovers. Blaze rolled me to my belly this morning, inspected my ass and then ordered me to spread my legs. Now, I’m lying boneless on his bed after he essentially fucked my brains out.

His phone beeps with a text and he picks it up and looks at it. Instantly, his shoulders tense and his mouth turns into a grim line. He glances at the clock and rolls out of bed.

“What is it?” I ask, even though it’s none of my business. Or is it? I don’t know. We haven’t really defined our relationship.

“My ex. I have to get going. It’s our daughter’s birthday party today.”

I sit up, my mouth turning bone dry, stomach knotting into a tight twist. “You have a daughter?”

“Yeah. Sort of. It’s complicated. Listen, I’m sorry to run off. I didn’t realize the time—not that I’m sorry about how we spent it, by any means.” He gets dressed with the speed and efficiency of a firefighter.

“Your daughter’s birthday,” I echo again. I’m shocked by this information. I didn’t know he had a daughter—or whatever complicated thing she may be. And the fact that he’s not willing to explain it to me kind of tells me everything, doesn’t it?

This isn’t a relationship. He’s not inviting me along to meet his daughter—not that I’m presuming we’re at that stage, but still.

Or maybe I’m just bitter over him running off to his ex’s while the bed’s still warm from our love-making. Fucking. Whatever.

I get up, the bliss of my recent orgasm spiraling down into something dark and tired. I don’t use any of my firefighter speed-dress skills. In fact, I move slower than usual, out of a wee bit of spite. I hate feeling like I’m being kicked out.

“You’re welcome to stay here and sleep, if you want,” he offers, somewhat mollifying me. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll still be here when he gets back. But then he adds, “I won’t be back until late. I have to help a friend install some cabinets after the party.”

“You’re always helping someone, aren’t you?” I try, unsuccessfully to keep my tone light.

He turns a shrewd glance at me and rubs the stubble on his face. “Yeah, it’s a habit, I guess. Maybe it needs breaking.”

I force myself to throw off my foul mood. “Nah, I think it’s sweet. You like to be the hero. That’s why you’re the captain.”

His smile seems forced, but I sail past him toward the door.

“Hold up.” He sounds unhappy. He catches me around the waist and pulls me back against him. “Are you pissed?”

“No,” I sigh. It’s not really a lie. I’m not pissed, just disappointed. “I’m fine. Have fun at the party.” I turn in his arms and offer my lips.

He gives me a perfunctory kiss, but his eyes still search my face for more information.

I don’t give him the chance to sniff out my bad mood. It’s just me being small, anyway. “See ya,” I call and head out the door.

Blaze

I show up at the park near Samantha’s with a My Little Pony and a stuffed rainbow unicorn under my arm. It’s Lily’s birthday. I couldn’t possibly forget because the last time I watched her, she chatted about it non-stop. Turning four years old is a pretty exciting time.

I didn’t think twice about coming, but now that I’m here, I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing.

Lily’s not my kid. She felt like my kid at one time.

I saw her birth, I changed her diapers in the middle of the night, picked her up from daycare, watched her on my days off.

Even now, Samantha still dumps her on me anytime she needs a sitter.

Even though she doesn’t deserve my help, I always do it because I freaking love her kid.

I mean, I wanted to adopt her as my own when we were together.

Maybe it’s because I just had Lia in my bed, but I suddenly question why Samantha and Lily are still in my life.

As a dozen princesses screech and race around the park, I stand there like a tool. Samantha ignores me from where she’s chatting up the other moms. Lily’s dad is nowhere to be seen, but that’s not surprising. The guy’s less than engaged with his daughter.

Maybe that’s why I keep sticking around. I feel bad for Lily and the stupid choices her mother makes.

But no.

I don’t wish I was still with Samantha and Lily. Not at all. In fact, I’m really fucking glad I’m not still carrying their weight. It was a whole lot of effort and responsibility without any thanks.

From Samantha.

Lily’s always generous with preschooler hugs. She sees me now and comes racing over, throwing herself into the air. I catch her and swing her around, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Hi, Mac,” she says, using the name Samantha calls me by.

Samantha walks over and I set Lily down to run back to her friends.

“Hey. Can you go up to my apartment and carry the coolers down? They’re super heavy.” No hi. No please. Just another request.

This is nothing new and yet I’m seeing it through different eyes. I try to picture this scene with Lia instead of Samantha. Like if Lia and I had a kid together.

Whoa. That thought sends billows of warmth crowding out my chest.

Lia wouldn’t be giving me orders. First of all, she’d be pulling her own weight because she’s a hard-worker and doesn’t shrink from shit jobs. But second of all, she’s sweet and grateful. She lets me lead. She says thank you and sorry.

I turn and walk toward the apartment.

“You have a key?” Samantha calls. “Oh yeah, you do, right?” Yeah, I do.

Because of all the times I’ve brought Lily home here and stayed with her after I put her to bed.

Or when I had to stop by and pick up shit she was supposed to have at preschool.

Or when Samantha called me to fix her leaking sink while she was at work.

Jesus. I’m a chump. When did I confuse my urge to take care of people with becoming a doormat?

I hold up my keys and keep going. I don’t bother answering. Of course I’m not going to say no—I’m the only big guy here. But it’s suddenly really fucking clear to me that I’m the chump being used.

I shouldn’t even be here. Samantha and her boyfriend—Lily’s real dad—don’t seem happy, but I don’t give a shit about that.

For the first time, I realize with absolute certainty that I would never get back with Samantha—not in a million years.

I don’t think I ever loved her in the first place.

I thought I loved her. But I guess I was playing house.

She was pregnant and needed a man, and I stepped in to be that guy.

It felt good. I guess I like being the hero.

Or the rescuer. It wasn’t even about Samantha being the right one or what she could give to me.

It was me seeking meaning by being a provider.

I carry the coolers out and help myself to a Sprite.

As I stand there watching little girls run around, it’s clear as day I don’t need to be here.

If I stopped showing up, Lily would forget me—hell, she would’ve already if I’d stepped back when I should have.

Having me around may not be the best thing for the kid. It’s probably confusing to her.

“Go run up and grab the cake, will you?” Samantha says.

“Nah,” I say.

Her head jerks up in surprise and she frowns.

“I gotta go.” I don’t add good to see you, or see you later, because it’s suddenly crystal clear that I’m done.

As I walk away, a twisted thought takes over me. Am I doing the same thing with Lia I did with Samantha? Just taking charge of her life, moving way too fast? Am I inventing a connection that’s not there?

Sure, we like to have kinky sex—we’re fucking awesome together. But I jumped right on her and attached myself like glue without even taking the time to know her. Did my domineering alpha male tactics sideline the chance for a real relationship?

Is that even what I want? Because if it is, I’m sure as hell going about it the wrong way.

Lia

I spend the late afternoon taking buses through our station’s neighborhoods.

I have a feeling our teen pyro isn’t done, even though he came close to getting caught.

I’m looking for likely targets in the same vicinity as the other two fires.

By evening, I narrow it down to three empty buildings.

One used to be a corner liquor store, another is an office building with the ground floor available for lease and the last one is an old Catholic church.

A little voice in my head keeps nagging me to stop this search, but I can’t let it go.

I want to help this kid. I take the bus back to the empty liquor store because if I were going to set a fire, it’s the spot I would choose.

It’s on a corner without a ton of foot traffic, on a seedier street in the neighborhood.

My instincts pay off, because I see a slender figure skulking around. His dark bangs are long and hanging in his eyes and he wears that wary, ready to bolt tension in the angle of his elbows.

I walk on past because I don’t really have a plan. Am I going to talk to him? What will I say —Don’t do it? The fire won’t actually save you?

That’s what I want to tell him. But what are the chances of him listening? The kid needs help. And in order to get it for him, I’m best off catching him in the act. Then a social worker will get involved. He’ll be in the system. Spoken like a cop’s daughter, I suppose. I have faith in the system.

I round the corner and stop, my back against the wall. I wait as darkness presses in. My heart thuds against my chest, and I have to push away Blaze’s warning about personal danger.

This kid is worth the effort. He needs help.

I pull out my phone, ready to call 911. Twenty minutes later I smell lighter fluid.

I dial emergency and walk swiftly away so my voice won’t be heard.

“I’m calling to report an arson in progress.

314 W. Janey. Suspect is a dark-haired male youth, approximately five feet, 120 pounds.

” Being a cop’s daughter means I know how to call in a crime.

“What is your name, ma’am?”

“Lia Burke, NYFD, off-duty.”

“Is a fire truck required?”

“Not yet, but it will be if the police don’t respond soon.”

“Please hold on the line.”

I drag in a long breath, forcing my heart rate to slow. “We have an officer five minutes away. Are you somewhere safe, ma’am?”

I look around the decrepit neighborhood.

“No.” Again, Blaze’s anger with me over the last fire comes rushing back.

I don’t need to be stupid about this—I’ve done my part.

I’m neither a cop nor on duty as a firefighter.

“I am leaving the vicinity now. I’m available at this number for questioning or if they require a witness. ”

I hang up and walk swiftly toward a brighter street, where I catch a cab. On the way, I call Blaze. I don’t know why—I just feel like he should know.

“Hey, Sparks,” he answers. He sounds tired.

“Hey. I just saw the arsonist in action and I called the cops. I’m totally safe—in a cab on the way home.”

Blaze is silent for a beat. I hope it’s not his temper winding up.

“Jesus, Sparks,” he finally exclaims. “Were you out looking for him?”

“Maybe.”

He growls, but all he says is, “Can’t get the cop out of you, can we?”

I might be imagining it, but I swear he sounds almost proud. It does something wild and fluttery to my pulse.

“Thanks for letting me know. And I’m glad you’re safe. Something tells me you took a few risks, though, am I right?”

“Nothing I’ll ‘fess up to,” I say with a note of finality to my voice. I may like his punishments over some things, but I don’t want him to ruin this moment. I did something I feel good about. Maybe saved a building, but more importantly, I hope I helped that kid.

He seems to understand. “Well, good work, Sparks. You’re something else, you know that?”

Again, the fluttery warmth spins around my chest. “So are you, Captain.” I don’t want to ask about the birthday party or his daughter, so I simply say, “Good night.”

“Night, baby.” His deep voice is warm and it sends ripples of warmth through my body as I end the call.

Blaze. He’s an addiction. The man I can’t get enough of.

But I have to be careful—there’s way too much I don’t know about him. Too much he’s not sharing.

I need to guard my heart if I don’t want to feel the same crushing disappointment I felt this morning every time he runs off to be a hero to someone else.