A Firefighter in Her Stocking

She blinked, then gave a haughty little tilt to her chin. “Because I’m not into men who sleep with so many different women.”

Were they back to that?

“I think you overestimate my prowess.”

She broke eye contact and laughed. “Nice try, Casanova.”

He watched her toy with her wine. “What type of men are you into?”

Not answering for several moments, she seemed to search for the answer in her glass.

“Ones who aren’t like you,” she finally said.

Although her response didn’t surprise him, he frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

“Sure it is.”

“How so?”

“It means I’m into men who aren’t adrenaline junkies, who have steady, stable jobs, who don’t feel the need to have the most notches on their bedpost.”

Her response gained passion with each word, making him wonder if she was trying to convince him or herself.

“You know, guys who aren’t like you.” She emphasized the last word.

Was that how she saw him? The same way the rest of the world did, no doubt. Still, her words stung in ways the words of a woman he’d technically only met that day shouldn’t sting. They had no relationship, had just lived next to each other since she’d bought the apartment next to his. Thank goodness he’d not bought the place as he’d considered to expand his own again, mainly to widen his view of the city. He’d hate to have gone through life without the pleasure of having met his neighbor.

“None of those things disqualify me,” he pointed out, taking in every nuance of her facial expression. “Because none of those things describe me.”

She didn’t look convinced at his denial. “You aren’t an adrenaline junkie?”

“No.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “A man who runs into a burning building?”

“I run into burning buildings because there are people inside who need help or when there’s a chance of putting out the fire and saving the building from total destruction.”

Emotion flickered in her gaze, like the shimmering of the sea. She didn’t break eye contact, just narrowed her gaze, as if she fought letting herself believe him. “You don’t get a rush out of fighting fires?”

“I didn’t say that.” He shrugged. “I get a rush when I save someone’s life, but not from the actual going into the burning building or risking my own life.”

Although doing so did make him feel more alive, more like the man he’d been before Nina had fallen for Charles and then died.

Maybe every time he saved a life he somehow felt vindicated that he’d not been able to save the woman he’d loved, that he’d turned his back on her and their friendship when he couldn’t have more. Not that he could have saved Nina. She’d chosen Charles, had died due to childbirth complications. There had been nothing anyone could have done. Had there been, Charles and Jude both would have given their lives for Nina’s.

Except when he fought fires, Jude had felt half-dead since the moment he’d cut Nina completely out of his life, lost his best friend, and destroyed the closeness he’d once shared with his cousin.

He didn’t feel half-dead now. Quite the opposite.

He didn’t recall ever feeling as alive as he felt at this moment, staring into the eyes of a woman who didn’t think much of him, but who was as intrigued by him as he was her, despite the fact that she didn’t want to be.

Which meant what exactly? He didn’t want a relationship, was no longer a relationship kind of guy. These days, he took women to his bed, not to his dining room to feed them a meal he’d cooked.

He sure didn’t long to take women on dates where he showered them with romance and attention to make up for every wrong they’d ever endured.

Yet, looking into Sarah’s eyes, that was exactly what he wanted. Hell.

“I think I’m more your type than you want to admit, Doc.”