All He Wants for Christmas Page 5

  She was working a small fire caused by a toaster while Dustin treated the young woman who’d attempted to put it out by herself only to fall on her butt, knocking the air out of her.

  “I can’t be in a cast for Christmas,” she wailed, holding her bottom in both hands. “Not this year.”

  “I don’t think they cast your ass,” Cristina said helpfully from where she stood near the toaster. She winked at Dustin.

  Winked.

  “I can’t have any bandages, either, my boyfriend’s coming to town.” The woman tried to get up and gasped in pain. “Ouch, ouch, ouch…Do you think it’s broken?” As she asked this question, she turned and yanked down her pants, revealing a quite perfect tightly toned ass. “Anything?”

  Dustin stared at it, then lifted his gaze to find Cristina looking at him, eyes amused, brows raised. Oddly enough, given that he’d been pouting all morning, the air crackled between them. “I don’t think it’s broken.” He cleared his throat. “You look…fine.”

  “Fine,” Cristina mouthed, and rolled her eyes.

  Afterward, outside, she sidled up to him. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he said, and to keep that crackle at bay, he went light. “Need me to look and see if your ass is broken?”

  She flashed a smile and almost blinded him. “You just want to see my ass.”

  True enough. After all, it was world-class.

  “Little tip, ace.” She patted his chest, voluntarily touching him outside of sex. “Next time a woman pulls her pants down for you, find a better description than fine.”

  “I’ll work on my adjectives,” he said, hoping despite himself that it was her ass he saw next.

  “Um, Dustin? You want to have a picnic sometime?”

  He stared at her. “Huh?”

  “You have a hearing problem? I asked if you wanted to have a picnic.”

  “Like a date picnic?”

  “Yeah. A date picnic.”

  “A date,” he repeated. He wouldn’t have been more shocked if she’d asked him to marry her.

  “Well, if it’s that stupid—” She started to turn away but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back around.

  “I’m sorry. You surprised me, that’s all. I’ve asked you out before and been shut down.”

  “You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything about anything.”

  “Cristina…” He shook his head. “You drive me crazy.”

  “I realize I tend to have that effect on people.” Again she tried to pull away and again he held her.

  She looked at his hand and then up into his eyes. Something was happening between them, the same odd phenomenon that always happened between them, and it was heat, pure heat.

  “Mostly it’s in a good way,” he said a little thickly. “The driving-me-crazy part.”

  “Mostly?” Her voice was husky, too.

  “Yeah. Well, you do have your moments.”

  She stared at him for a long beat. “You say the nicest things.” A small smile flashed. “And you’re funny.”

  “I’m a keeper.”

  She paused, suddenly looking as though she’d been struck, then touched his chest. “I know.”

  The air felt changed, his heart too full. “Cristina—”

  “But I’m not,” she whispered. “A keeper.”

  And with that, she turned away.

  “Cristina.”

  She kept walking.

  “So…no picnic I’m guessing?”

  Still walking…

  Okay. Shit. Once again he’d gotten his hopes up but no more. He couldn’t do it again. This had to be it, he had to be done bashing his head into a wall. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything, but it wasn’t healthy. Shaking his head, he pulled out his cell and called Jason. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  He let out a shaky breath. “Let’s sell. Go big.”

  “You’re outta there then? You’ll give the new project the time it’ll need?”

  He leaned back against the wall and nodded, until he realized that his brother couldn’t see him. “Yes and yes.”

  “Hot damn. I have a real estate agent on hold right this minute who says she can sell the house, and already has a list of properties for us to look at.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you after work.” Dustin shut the phone and turned, nearly running into Cristina.

  She slapped his clipboard against his chest. “You left this inside. What are you selling?”

  “My house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the time’s right.”

  “You mean, the market?”

  “That, too.” And then, for the first time ever, he walked away from her.

  * * *

  THEIR PATHS crossed again later, at a duplex fire in an older part of town. The building had been undergoing renovation; now flames were taking care of the reno, and at least fifteen construction workers were unaccounted for.

  Cristina and Blake were on scene, as well as Aidan and Zach and the others, putting their own lives on the line.

  That was their job.

  Dustin knew it as he stared at the inferno, his gut pinched, but he never got used to it, never, so he concentrated on the victims as they were pulled out, rather than wonder exactly where Cristina was and if she was safe.

  He had to believe she was safe.

  Eddie and Sam came barreling out of the fire, a big guy between them, hunched over. Dustin ran toward them, meeting them just beyond the porch and barely out of the smoke from the fire. The guy slumped to the ground just as above them they heard screaming.

  “I’ve got him,” Dustin told them. “Go!” He dropped to his knees next to the victim, who was over six foot four and close to three hundred pounds.

  And out cold.

  The heat was overwhelming. Only a moment ago Dustin hadn’t been able to see the flames from here, but now the entire front wall of the duplex had started to burn, and just to his right, one of the windows exploded.

  He dropped over the victim, protecting him. Above him, flames leapt out of the huge gaping hole where the glass had just been, enraged by the new burst of oxygen. As he watched, horrified, the flames coalesced in a ball, heading right for him, and he thought, ah hell, I’m done. Toast, burnt toast—

  But he didn’t die, so he opened his eyes and realized the flames had been abruptly held back by a long line of water, coming from a hose—

  In Cristina’s hands. “Get back!” she yelled.

  In the movies, their gazes would have met and in hers Dustin would have seen love and fear for him, but she didn’t take her gaze off the fire. Dustin got behind his unconscious victim, sliding his hands beneath the guy’s arms, and tugged, hard, not looking back.

  He didn’t have to. He didn’t need the movie stare to know Cristina had his back, she always would. He could trust that.

  But in spite of their chemistry, he couldn’t trust her with his heart. That had finally settled in his head. It was why he was getting out, cutting his losses. For self-preservation, he had no choice.

  He and James left the scene with two of the victims in their rig, heading to the hospital. By the time they got back to the station, the shift had ended and Cristina was gone.

  He showered and changed before heading out to look at houses with Jason. Afterward, he drove to Cristina’s place…to say goodbye.

  She opened the door and looked at him in surprised relief, and also anticipation.

  That hummed through him, so instead of saying goodbye, he decided to show her how he felt. He stepped over the threshold, pushing his way in past her.

  “What—”

  That was all she got out before he got his hands on her, spun her around, and pinned her to the door.

  “Dustin—”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “This.” And he kissed them both stupid.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CRISTINA PULLED BACK to stare into
Dustin’s unbearably familiar face because she had to see him. She’d been standing in her living room, worked up at how he’d put his life on the line today.

  If she hadn’t been right there with her hose—

  But she had been and he was okay, she told herself. But her? Not so okay. She’d been wondering what the hell was wrong with her that she couldn’t just go for what she wanted, when the one thing she wanted had knocked at her door.

  And then he’d said he couldn’t do this anymore. They should discuss that, but this was not her mild-mannered EMT geek. This was a pissed-off, frustrated, on-the-edge Dustin, tough and implacable in his resolve.

  He’d stepped all over her personal space and was kissing every single brain cell out of her head. “If you’d gotten hurt today,” she murmured, “I’d have killed you.”

  “You really are the most annoying woman on the planet.”

  “I think it’s time that we start annoying other people.”

  “Later.”

  “I mean it, Dustin.”

  “I believe you.” His eyes darkened. “It’s why I’m here. Saying goodbye.”

  Her heart caught. “Oh. I…see.”

  “I’ve got to, Cristina. You’re killing me.”

  Right. She knew that. He was killing her, too. As was her own inability to figure out what to do about that. “I don’t want to kill you. I like you alive.”

  “You just don’t like me close.” He was still holding her against the door, her hands held in his on either side of her face. Eyes narrowed, mouth grim and tight, he stared down into her face with an expression that said I’m pissed, frustrated and worked up. And I want to take you right now, right this very minute.

  God, the man made her forget she had knees. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Me, too.” He let out another breath. “But I want you to know how much it meant to me that you were there for me today.”

  She stared at him, the words I always will be stuck in her throat, because she could feel that goodbye to the very corners of her soul, and knew he meant it. “Forget the thanks. Get back to the goodbye, which I was so enjoying.”

  She needed to keep this light.

  Very light.

  Or she’d fall apart, and she didn’t allow herself to do that, ever. So she lifted her mouth to his and he met her halfway, going back to ravishing her mouth as if he were a man starving after a two-week fast and she was a twelve-course meal.

  She felt the same. She needed to fill herself up with him. Straining against his leanly muscled form, she ran her mouth along his jaw, impatient at not being able to reach any of the good stuff. “My hands, I need my hands to touch you.”

  “You touch me with your eyes. You touch me with your voice. You touch me with your damn heart, you just can’t admit it.”

  Stung by what was undeniably the truth, she went still, but he tilted her face up to his, stared into her eyes, swore roughly and kissed her again. “You touch me every time I look at you,” he managed gruffly when they both came up for breath. “Or when I think of you. Hell, I dream about you. It pisses me off, Cristina.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Damn right, but I did. I came to say goodbye.”

  “What does that mean exactly? Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving the station and going back to what I wanted to do in the first place. It might take me a little time to get it all in gear, I still have to sell the house, but I wanted you to know.”

  Her heart had stopped at the words I’m leaving the station. She tried to turn her head away to blast him with some more words, words that would scare him off, make him get the hell out, but he wouldn’t allow it. He took her mouth with his, nipping at her resistance with hot, hungry bites until, with a moan of surrender she arched closer, clutching at him, giving in to everything, anything, he wanted of her.

  It was insane, this surging swell of need and hunger she felt. It flooded her, nearly blinding her, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d torn her hands from his and yanked at his pants, desperate to get them open, even more desperate to get him inside her. While she fought his zipper, he had her jeans down completely and a condom out of his pocket. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he commanded in his low, rough whisper, the one that had her shivering and rushing to do what he asked.

  “Yeah, like that,” he ground out. “God, just like that.” Lifting her up against the door, he pushed inside her.

  As she cried out in sheer, unadulterated pleasure, her head thunked back against the wall and she gripped his shoulders for all she was worth. She had no idea how she could want him like this, but she did. “Dustin—”

  “I know.” Sliding a hand up her back to cradle her head, protect it from the door, he began to move. “I know.” Leaning into the door, he pressed her between the hard wood and his equally hard body, thrusting into her over and over again, until her toes curled, until she was panting out his name like a mantra in mindless plea as he kissed her, using his tongue in a matching rhythm to his body.

  Within moments, she burst, and he was only seconds behind her, and for long ragged breaths they were both gone. Then his knees wobbled, and with an oath, he slapped a hand back on the door to hold them upright, his muscles still trembling. But instead of letting her go, he turned his face into the curve of her neck and nuzzled there, softly kissing her damp flesh.

  “I can’t feel my legs,” she gasped.

  “I’ve got you.”

  And wasn’t that just the thing. The terribly confusing thing. “I…need to feel my legs.”

  Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes as he let her legs slide down his body. When her toes touched the floor, her legs nearly buckled, but he caught her, his jaw against hers, his breathing—still uneven—disturbing the hair at her temple.

  “I’m good.” Proving it, she stepped back, coming up against the door, but holding her hands up to show him that she was fine.

  Dustin just stared at her. “What the hell was that?”

  “Some damn amazing goodbye sex.”

  “Yeah.” He turned in a slow circle, shoving his hands through his hair as he came back around. “I really don’t want to do this, to say goodbye.”

  “Well then, don’t. Don’t say it.”

  Stepping back, he shook his head. “I want more.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “And you still don’t,” he said quietly.

  “Dustin—”

  “Goodbye, Cristina.”

  She was standing there, mouth open when he walked right out the door.

  * * *

  ON DUSTIN’S next shift, his unit was called out just as he set foot in the door of the station.

  Just as well. He needed to keep busy, because after this shift he was giving his typed resignation to the chief, and he didn’t want to think about it.

  At midday they met up with Cristina and Blake’s rig outside a small grocery store on the corner of Main and Third. Inside there’d been a brawl in the liquor aisle over the last of the peppermint schnapps, leaving the manager with a black eye and a customer headed for a night behind bars.

  “I guess that guy really needed that peppermint schnapps,” Cristina said.

  “Maybe he should have gone for a beer instead.”

  She gave him a tough-girl stare. “Sometimes, you just have to have what you have to have.”

  “Yeah?” Knowing he was stepping into the frying pan, he shifted close. “And what is it that you have to have?”

  She paused, then sagged a little, losing the attitude. “That’s the problem. I always figured it was one thing and now I’m thinking it’s another entirely.”

  Just then Blake called her away. Dustin had to restrain himself from yelling, “What the hell does that mean?” after her.

  They met up again several hours later, outside a small house. “People are so stupid around the holidays,” she said.

  He happened to agre
e. People were stupid around the holidays, as evidenced by the fact he was loading a guy into the ambulance minus his fingers, which he’d cut off with his new turkey carver, right into his kitchen sink. Earlier he’d had a guy who’d fallen off his roof putting up the Christmas lights, and a woman who’d accidentally electrocuted herself when she had stuck too many strings of lights into one socket and then touched it with wet fingers.

  Yeah. People were stupid around the holidays. Including himself.

  And then came the defining moment of stupidity. He and James were called back to the grocery store from earlier that day for another unknown injury.

  “The call came from the deli,” one of the clerks in the front told them as they came through. “Someone’s down.”

  “I’ll go get the stretcher,” James said.

  Blake and Cristina entered, as well. “They said they might need a fire unit,” Blake told them. “What’s up?”

  “Don’t know yet.” Blake radioed dispatch for more information while Dustin headed in, extremely aware of Cristina at his side. At the back of the store, a wide-eyed clerk peeking out from a swinging door behind the deli counter waved them over. “You’re just EMTs, right?” she whispered frantically. “No police?”

  “What’s happening?” Cristina asked her.

  “No questions!” The clerk grabbed Dustin’s arm. “He said no questions! Oh, God, you have to hurry, or it’ll be too late!”

  Dustin went with her, with Cristina right on his tail. They both looked at each other, nonplussed, when the clerk locked the door behind them. “He said just two EMTs.”

  Dustin opened his mouth to correct her that Cristina was a firefighter, but Cristina stepped on his foot. “It’s just us two,” she said quietly.

  “Okay, good.” The clerk gulped in air. “Because if I let anyone else in, he’ll kill all of us. Hurry!”

  Kill?

  The back area was empty, except for two people—the manager they’d met earlier, down on the ground, still sporting his black eye, but now holding on to his shoulder, as well, which was bleeding all over the floor.

  And the customer from earlier, who stood over him.

  With a gun.

  “Well, it’s about time,” he said, tightening his grip on the gun. “This idiot made me shoot him.”