Crazy Hot Love (Dirty Dicks 2)

We’ve always had a connection—one I’ve forced myself to ignore—but it’s hard not to touch her when she’s this close. A couple of seconds later, my IV pump beeps, and Claire jolts awake, dislodging my hand.

Damn machine.

Her eyes dart around the room, as if she’s trying to remember where she is, and when they land on mine, the first thing I notice is how exhausted she looks. Dark circles tell me that besides the little nap she just had, she probably hasn’t been sleeping.

“Hey,” she says, scooting her chair closer to my bed.

“Hi.”

We do that awkward staring thing for a few seconds, and then Claire clears her throat. “I knocked earlier, but you didn’t answer, so I waited a few minutes and decided to let myself in.”

Well, shit. Now I’m wishing I’d let her in. Maybe I could’ve spent the last couple of hours talking to her rather than sleeping.

“I was sleeping.”

“I noticed.” She smiles. “I’m surprised I fell asleep with all the snoring you were doing.”

“Me?” I laugh, pointing a finger at myself. “You were the one snoring. If you were tired, you could’ve climbed in the bed with me. It would’ve been much more comfortable than that chair, and I certainly wouldn’t have minded.”

I shoot her a wink, and she rolls her eyes, and just like that, we’re right back to our old selves.

“Good to know your injuries haven’t hindered your personality.”

“What injuries? A bump on the head isn’t enough to keep me down,” I say, holding my hands out to the side. “Now, why don’t you tell me what really brought you by, because I highly doubt it was to take a nap.”

“You’re right.” Claire reaches across the bed, resting her hand on my arm. A familiar jolt of electricity races across my skin. It’s the same sensation I felt last time we touched. I thought it was a fluke, but I was wrong. I look at Claire, curious if she felt the same thing. Judging by the odd look she’s giving her hand, I’m going to go with yes. She watches her fingers glide over my wrist and tangle with mine, and there we go, blurring those lines again.

Swallowing, she looks at me.

I could get lost in Claire’s eyes—big, green, and always full of so much life. The long strands of her hair are piled on her head, and when she tucks a flyaway behind her ear, my eyes follow the movement. I can’t stop staring. She seems just as taken by me, her gaze roaming across my face as if she’s seeing me in an entirely new light.

Then she breaks the spell when she says, “You saved my life.”

You saved my life.

She might as well have tossed a bucket of ice water over my head. Every firefighter loves to hear those four words. Except me, from her, because this changes everything. I’ve always known Claire was off limits, and despite my wavering lately, this seals the deal. I don’t date victims I’ve saved, and that’s exactly what she is now. She isn’t holding my hand out of affection toward me, but out of obligation. I pulled her from a burning building, and now she feels like she owes me something, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing.

“I had no idea it was you who came in for us until I woke up and Mo told me.”

If it weren’t for my last name spelled across the back of my coat, I’m not sure my own mother would recognize me in my turnouts. Add copious amounts of smoke, and it would be even harder.

“It’s fine, Claire.” I pull my hand away from hers.

She furrows her brow, looking down and then back up. “I’m so sorry, Trevor. I’m sorry you got hurt trying to save me. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to you.”

Her words frustrate me. “Don’t.” I shake my head. “I was doing my job, Claire, and you didn’t have to come here and apologize for that.”

I don’t know what she was expecting me to say, but the pinched look on her face tells me it wasn’t that. I’ve always hated when victims of a fire feel the need to apologize as if they’ve somehow inconvenienced me, and it’s so much worse coming from Claire. Not only was I doing what I’m trained to do, but I could pull Claire from a hundred fires and still not make up for the pain I caused her and her family all those years ago.

My body stiffens at the memory of what I did. I should be the one apologizing to her, begging her to forgive me, not the other way around, and that makes me even more angry.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. It was foolish of me to run into a burning building, and I put you and Mikey in a tougher spot because of it. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I hate hearing her talk like this. I can see on her face that she’s hurting. There are so many emotions racing through her eyes that she can barely contain them. I want to be the person to coax those feelings out and help her work through them, and I know she’d let me if I tried.

We’re connected in a way most people will never understand, but it’s a connection I’d prefer not to acknowledge—or to have at all.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have gone back in. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” My words come out a bit harsher than I intend. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I’m frustrated, and it needs to be said. Her dad was a firefighter. She knows better than to run into a burning building, no matter the circumstances.