Page 8 of Feastin' with Fire
She hasn't noticed me yet. She's looking up at the engine, giving me a moment to collect myself and really look at her. She'sstunning. Not in that artificial, made-up way of the women at the Rusty Nail, but in a way that makes my hands itch to trace those curves, to see if her skin is as soft as it looks.
I need to get a grip. This is a woman who just lost everything, not some fantasy for me to drool over.
"Ms. Anderson?" I call, finally moving toward her.
She turns, and a smile breaks across her face. The bruise on her cheek and the bandages on her hands should detract from her beauty, but somehow they just make her seem more real. More touchable.
But a woman like her would never look twice at a man like me, not romantically anyway. I'm too old, too damaged, too set in my ways. Still, looking is free, and right now I'm getting an eyeful.
"Mr. Sullivan," she says, stepping forward to meet me. "I hope it's okay that I came here. The nurse said you'd be on shift, and I wanted to... well, I didn't want you to go out of your way to pick me up."
"It's Jimmy," I correct her. "And it wouldn't have been out of my way."
"Lily, then," she responds, her smile widening slightly. "And still, I wanted to come thank you properly. Clear-headed this time."
Up close, she's even more beautiful, and I have to force myself to maintain eye contact instead of letting my gaze drop to the way that yellow dress hugs her hips.
"How did you get here?" I ask, realizing she couldn't have walked from the hospital in her condition.
"The nurse was finishing her shift and offered me a ride." She gestures vaguely toward the street. "She also... well, she gave me this dress. Said it was better than hospital scrubs."
That explains the yellow dress. Something about knowing it's borrowed makes the sight of her in it even more affecting. She's literally wearing the kindness of strangers.
"It looks..." I swallow hard. Nice doesn't begin to cover it. "Really good on you."
A slight blush colors her cheeks, and my cock throbs in response. Jesus, I'm acting like I've never seen a beautiful woman before.
"Thank you." She looks down at her bandaged hands. "I've been thinking about your offer."
Here it comes, I think. The polite refusal. And why wouldn't she refuse? What sane woman would accept an offer to stay with a strange man she barely knows?
"If it's still open," she continues, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her eyes, "I'd like to accept. Just for a few days, until I figure things out."
I blink, surprised. "Of course it's still open."
"I can't pay you," she says quickly. "Not yet, anyway. But I can cook and clean. I won't be a burden."
The image of her cooking in my kitchen, moving around my house in that yellow dress, sends another jolt of heat through me. Fuck, I need to get these thoughts under control.
"That's not necessary." The idea of her feeling obligated makes me uncomfortable. "It's just a spare room that's sitting empty anyway."
Before she can respond, Chef Mike—we call him that sometimes because before becoming a firefighter, he ran a restaurant—walks in from the kitchen area, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes widen slightly when he sees Lily.
"Everything all right here?" he asks, looking between us.
"This is Lily Anderson," I explain. "From the flower shop fire yesterday."
Recognition dawns on his face. "Ah, yes. How are you doing, Ms. Anderson?"
"As well as can be expected," she answers softly.
I clear my throat. "She's going to be staying at my place for a few days. Until she gets things sorted."
Chief Mike raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment on that. Instead, he says, "You know what, Sullivan? Why don't you take the rest of the day? It’s Thanksgiving, and we're overstaffed anyway with Jake coming in early. It sounds like Ms. Anderson could use some help getting settled."
"You sure, Chief?" I ask, surprised by the offer.
He nods. "We've got it covered here. Go on, take her home. We'll handle any calls that come in."
