Men On Fire. Susan Lyons

notebook I always carried. “What’s up?” I handed them to Quinn and he gave me his glass to hold.

      “Quinn’s going to get me and my mom box seats for a Vancouver Canadians game at Nat Bailey Stadium!” The boy’s blue eyes sparkled.

      “You are?” I glanced at Quinn.

      He winked. “I know a guy who knows a guy.”

      “Sweet!” Timothy said, then told Quinn his phone number. Quinn noted it, then wrote his own name and phone number on another sheet and tucked it in the boy’s shirt pocket.

      Timothy grinned. “Thanks. I’d better get back to work.” He took off across the lawn.

      Thirsty, I sipped from Quinn’s glass before handing it back. The drink tasted like straight Coca-Cola. “What’s up with Timothy?”

      “He and his mom are having a rough time, and Big Sibs hasn’t paired him up with anyone yet. He likes baseball…” He paused. “Maybe I could use a little brother.” A shadow crossed his face, and I remembered him saying, during our briefing, that his only close relative was his grandfather. “How do I get involved in the Big Sibs program?”

      I stared at him. “You want to be Timothy’s big brother?”

      He shrugged, and for the first time since I’d met him he looked awkward. “He’s a good kid.”

      “I’m sure. But…” Did Quinn have any idea what was involved?

      His eyebrows went up. “You think I don’t mean it.”

      “You just met him. It’s a long-term commitment.”

      “Yeah.”

      “How could you leap into a decision like that so quickly?”

      “Told you I’m impulsive.” He glanced down, shuffled his feet. “He reminds me of my brother.”

      “I thought you didn’t have any siblings.”

      “Not now.”

      “What?” He had me totally confused.

      His mouth tightened. “I had a brother. Patrick. Three years younger. I got the black Irish looks; he got the red hair and freckles. Like Timothy.”

      Softly, I asked, “What happened to Patrick?”

      “Died. Along with Mom and Dad when I was fifteen.”

      “Oh my God.” I gripped his arm, as much for my own comfort as his. “What happened?” And then I knew. “A fire.”

      He nodded, throat working, then took a long swallow of Coke. “Heritage house. Electrical problem.”

      “How did you…?”

      “Survive? Somehow I walked through the smoke, the flames, and made it out safely. It seemed natural, automatic. I never thought…just assumed my parents and Patrick had done the same. When I got outside, I saw the engine, the ladder truck, firefighters rushing around with hoses and axes. It was exciting.” He closed his eyes. Swallowed. “I was actually excited. Until I started looking around for my family.”

      And they weren’t there. My heart ached for him. “You became a firefighter.”

      “I didn’t rescue them.” His dark gaze was fierce. “Fire’s not going to claim any more lives if I have anything to do with it.”

      Each time he went into a fire, did he think about his parents and brother? I couldn’t ask. “Quinn, about Timothy…If he reminds you of Patrick, wouldn’t it be hard to be with him?”

      “Maybe.” He sighed and gazed at me, eyes troubled. “But it feels right. Like maybe he and I can…”

      What? Help each other? “You are serious.” I had a habit of underestimating this man.

      One corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah.”

      A rush of emotion dampened my eyes and I blinked quickly. “On Monday, I’ll put you in touch with the Big Sibs people. There’ll be paperwork to do.”

      “Hate that stuff. You ever think how much would get done if it wasn’t for paperwork?”

      I stared him in the eye. “You ever think how many kids would be abused if that paperwork wasn’t done properly?”

      He winced. “Sorry. Yeah, there’s a point to it in this case. Besides, I’ve probably gone through most of it anyhow, to be a firefighter.”

      A man who could admit he was wrong. I was liking my faux fiancé more and more. “I’m sorry for misjudging you. I’m not used to people being so impulsive.”

      His face lightened and he stepped closer, into my personal space, so I could feel that energy he gave off. “I have good impulses. As a matter of fact, right now I’m having an impulse to take you inside and find a room with a door that locks and—” He reached for my waist.

      I stepped backward. “Quinn!” There were kids around, not to mention colleagues. I wasn’t going to jeopardize my job for the sake of sex. Even spectacular sex with a man who was handsome, warmhearted, complex, and damned near irresistible.

      “Relax, I’m teasing. I’m just saying, I can’t wait until we’re alone.”

      “Nor can I.” I no longer had any second thoughts about enjoying another round in bed. The more I saw Quinn, the more I wanted him. He’d behaved perfectly today, saving his teasing for when we were alone. He had a generosity of spirit and an ability to get along with almost anyone. Even the dark side—the death of his brother and parents and his own fierce commitment to fighting fire—added to his appeal.

      He made his dimple flash. “How much longer?”

      “Can you be good for another hour?”

      “Yeah, but I’m going to be even better when that hour is up.”

      8

      We walked down the quiet street toward my car, decorously hand in hand, but the sexual tension between us was like the electrical energy in the air during a thunderstorm: building, ready to explode. Quinn opened the driver’s door for me; then as I started to swing in, he yanked me roughly into his arms. “Crap, I can’t stand it any longer.”

      We kissed with all the pent-up fervor of an afternoon of watching, touching, teasing. Our hands roamed greedily, tongues thrust with more passion than finesse, and both of us panted for breath. His erection rubbed demandingly against my belly, and my pussy tingled with moist heat.

      “Damn it, Jade, I have to—”

      “Way to go, man!” “Get a room!” The taunts came from a couple teenaged boys on bikes.

      I jumped away from Quinn, cheeks burning, and slid into the car. “How embarrassing.”

      Quinn climbed in beside me. “They’ll have wet dreams tonight.”

      “Eeyew!”

      He chuckled. “Girls don’t get it.”

      “Thank God. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a penis. Especially at their age, when it’s so uncontrollable.”

      He grabbed my hand and placed it on his distended fly. “Mine’s not so controllable when I’m around you.” Then the humor left his face. “I want you, Jade.”

      “I want you too. Let’s go to my place.”

      “How about mine this time?” His eyes glinted as if he had a secret.

      Curiosity made me agree. I headed back to Fairview Slopes where I’d picked him up, a condo-intensive area that lined the south shore of False Creek. It was late afternoon, not far past the longest day of the year, and the sun was high in the sky as my little convertible buzzed along. Lots of people were out, most in shorts. Even in summer, Vancouver’s