Jill Shalvis: Heating up the Holidays

He pulled up to the multicar pileup on Hwy 1. James, his new partner, was talking to dispatch, but he could see what they faced-a big rig had hit the center divider, caught fire and then two other cars had impacted it, sliding beneath the trailer. It was a chaotic mess, and all units had been called to the scene.

The firefighters from his station were already there. Blake was working the flames, and Zach and Aidan were using the jaws of life to extract the people trapped in the first car, while Sam and Eddie rescued the woman in the second car.

And then there was the stubborn, gorgeous heartbreaker, Cristina. She stood right in the center of it all, surrounded by the blazing big rig and the smashed cars, feet firmly planted wide as she held a hose on the flames. She was in her fire gear from head to toe, including mask, so he couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. Her expression would be calm, intense, determined as she concentrated on the job at hand.

Much as it had been when she’d dumped him after the best night of his life.

As he watched, a burning chunk of debris flew off the truck toward Cristina’s head. Heart in his throat, he shouted her name even as he realized the futility of that-she couldn’t hear him over the ruckus all around them. But she didn’t need his help. She easily leapt out of the way with a casual agility, as graceful as a cat, never letting up on the flames she was drowning.

Sam and Eddie brought over the four victims from the first car, and Dustin tore his eyes off Cristina to do his job.

She’d be okay.

Hell, she always was. Like a cat, he reminded himself, always landing on her feet.

A talent he’d have to learn…

Unbelievably, he wrapped only a few minor scrapes and bruises, nothing serious, and then the woman from the second car was brought to them.

She didn’t have any injuries at all. But as they sat there, her car exploded.

Dustin’s head whipped back to the scene, his gaze anxiously searching for-

There. Cristina was there, still standing in one piece and he took a deep breath.

“My God,” the woman said in shock ten minutes later when the flames were out. “I can’t believe we’re all still alive. It’s a miracle.”

“Actually, it’s good firefighting.”

They turned to the petite but toned firefighter who’d come up behind them. Except Dustin. He didn’t have to look. He knew the sound of her voice, knew the sensation that hit him every time she was within a few feet.

“You okay?” Cristina asked the woman, pulling off her helmet.

“Yes, thanks to you. You got there just in time, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s my job. I’m glad to help.”

Dustin knew she meant that utterly sincerely. Much as he’d like it to be otherwise, Cristina was the job. She lived and breathed for it, and little else.

As he’d learned the hard way.

She had a streak of dirt over one jaw, another across her forehead. She had her silky, long blond hair tied back as usual, hanging down inside the stiff collar of her protective jacket, though several strands were stuck to her damp, dirty forehead. She was a mess, and still drop-dead gorgeous.

Firefighter Barbie, her partner Blake had once dared joke.

Once.

Cristina had been so furious she’d tongue-lashed him for a week. Poor Blake-Eeyore to those who knew and loved him-had never made that mistake again.

To Dustin, Cristina was much more kick-ass warrior princess than Barbie, but he valued his life enough to keep that particular fantasy to himself.

“You really should take a ride to the hospital,” he said to the woman they’d rescued. “Just to make sure.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ve called my fiancé, he’s on his way.” She whipped around as a man came running up to the rig, shouting her name hoarsely, in stark relief. The two of them hugged tightly. Dustin watched, trying to remain impartial, but he was a sorry sap, and these sorts of reunions got to him every single time.

“Are you okay?” the man demanded, pulling back to look the woman over for himself.

“I’m okay.”

“Thank God.” He hugged her tight. “You are my entire life, you know that, right? If something happened to you-”

“I’m okay. I’m right here.” She hugged him as though she never intended to let go, her eyes closed as she breathed him in as if he were her very essence. “I love you so much.”

Dustin had seen such scenes dozens of times. Hundreds. It still got him. He looked at Cristina, who’d already turned away.

Typical. She was uncomfortable with public displays of affection or love. “Cristina.”

“Gotta go,” she said.

He followed her off to the side, away from the victim and her fiancé. “Right. Because messy emotions disturb you.”

She went still, then turned and looked at him. Things were winding down behind them now. Several cops were taking statements and the tow-truck operators were working on hooking up all the disabled vehicles to pull them off the highway.

“Look,” she said defensively. “It was just one night.”

“And you had such a bad time that you can’t bear to repeat it?”

She sighed. “Don’t make me hurt your manly feelings, Dustin.”

At that, he out-and-out laughed. There was nothing else he could do. “Are you going to tell me it wasn’t good for you?”

Now she opened her mouth, then slowly shut it again. He arched a brow, waiting, knowing damn well she’d had a great night, too.

She rolled her eyes and took a step closer to him, so that their steel-toed boots were touching as she stabbed a finger into his chest. “Okay, so I came once or twice. Big deal, it’d been awhile and I was primed. It doesn’t mean that I’d like to repeat the event. I can do that myself.”

“Three times,” he said much more tightly than he wanted to. He knew better than to take her bait and say anything, but when it came to her, The Most Irritating Woman on the Planet, he couldn’t seem to help himself. “You came two times before, and then again when I was inside you. Can you give yourself that?”

He wasn’t surprised when she spun on her heel and walked away.

A few minutes later, Blake clasped a hand on his shoulder, having come up behind him. “Not the smartest move, man, poking at the bear. You’re going to get bitten.”

Yeah. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.

THINGSdidn’t go any easier that night for Cristina, who, along with her crew, worked in twenty-four-hour shifts, three days on, two days off. They were going to need both days off to recover after the three fire calls in quick succession between midnight and dawn. It was still dark when Cristina finally made it back to the station, exhausted, filthy and starving.

None of those things were new. It seemed that she spent most of her shifts in some variance of exhausted, filthy and starving. It was a way of life. Her life.

Normally she yelled “Shotgun” for the shower before anyone even got off the rig, but today she let the guys go ahead of her because she felt…wiped.

The station was a comfortable, old, two-story brick building, decorated at the moment with Christmas ornaments made by various elementary schools in town, plus several small trees and what must have been an entire bush of mistletoe.

But she wasn’t going to be kissing any firefighters, not this Christmas.

The station was on the main drag and directly across the street from the beach. The view was always gorgeous, no matter the weather. During the day she could stare at the waves and the surfers in it, and in the hours before dawn, she could watch the moonbeams bounce off the whitecaps as she did now.