Total Rush (6 page)

She made her way toward him, hoping she wouldn't face another lecture on fire safety. Michael's timing couldn't have been better: He moved off to speak with another cluster of guests just as Sean scoured the crowd and happened to light on Gemma. Seeing the smile on his face as their eyes met, Gemma felt a joyful heat surging through her body, radiant and strong.

“Hi,” she said shyly, reaching his side.

“Hey.” He seemed genuinely pleased to see her. “Gemma Dante, right?”

She nodded. “You have a good memory.”

“It's not an easy name to forget.” He squinted slightly, studying her face. “Are you Michael's sister?”

“No, we're double cousins.” Seeing his puzzled expression, she added, “Our fathers were brothers and our mothers were sisters.” Then she changed the subject. “How do you know Michael?”

“Through, uh, the FDNY hockey team.”

“I was at the game the other night. The charity game.”

Sean looked curious. “So, what did you think?”

“I think it was fixed.”

Sean chuckled appreciatively. “The Blades probably could have played a little harder, you're right.” He took a quick sip of beer. Gemma watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed and thought it the sexiest thing in the world. “But it's all for a good cause.”

“I agree.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be great.”

“What's your pleasure?”

Better not answer that,
she thought. “A gin and tonic would be great.”

He smiled then, and it was killer. “Be back in a minute.”

She watched as he made his way to the bar. God, he was a looker. And his body—muscled thighs evident through his faded jeans, strong shoulders swathed in a blue-and-white-striped oxford shirt, sleeves casually rolled.
No wedding ring.

Taking her drink from him, she took a small sip, grateful for something to do with her hands. “Are you ever going to tell me your name, ‘Birdman'?” She knew, of course, but she wanted to hear him say it, wanted to hear his deep, sexy voice caress the syllables.

He ducked his head shyly. “It's Sean. Sean Kennealy.”

“Irish?”

“Just a bit.” He took a long pull off his beer, his eyes seeming to dance with mischief. “So, have you gotten a new smoke detector yet, Gemma?”

Gemma colored. “Not yet. But I'm going to, I swear.”

“Maybe I'll buy you one. As a present,” he teased.

“If that's your idea of a present a woman would enjoy, then I pity you.” They both laughed. “What does ‘Bird-man' mean?”

He looked uncomfortable. Gemma hoped she hadn't just put her foot in it. Suppose it had to do with sex? She braced herself.

“It's my nickname at the firehouse. I rescued these two birds from a fire and wound up adopting them. Ever since then, they've called me ‘Birdman.' ”

“Are nicknames big with firemen?”

“Huge. But not all of them can be repeated in mixed company. And since you're clearly a lady, I'll spare you.”

For some reason, his calling her “a lady” sent giddiness charging through Gemma.
Is he aware of how sexy he is?
Two big gulps of gin and tonic slid down her throat.

“I loved those photos in your bedroom,” he continued. “Are you a professional photographer?”

“Only in my dreams. In real life I run a boutique in the Village called the Golden Bough.”

His brow furrowed. “Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I don't run into too many businesswomen in my line of work. Unless their business has burned down.”

“What kind of women do you run into? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” He took another sip of beer. “Most of the guys' wives and girlfriends are regular working people: schoolteachers, housewives, nurses—nothing fancy like owning their own business.” He winked at her.

“It's not fancy. It's just what I always wanted to do.”

He raised his glass to her. “I hear you.”

“You too? You always wanted to be a firefighter?”

“Hell, no. I fought that for years! I've only been with the department for three years. Before that, I was a stockbroker.” He put his index finger to his lips. “Don't tell anyone. People hear that and all of a sudden they treat me like I'm Merrill Lynch.”

Gemma laughed. “I promise, I will never ask you for financial advice.”

Sean's eyes caressed her body. “You don't look like you need it.”

Gemma blushed, the bold compliment catching her off guard. She scrambled to keep the conversation going. “What made you switch careers?”

“Destiny. My dad was a ladder man and my granddad was an engine man. You can't outrun what's in the blood, you know?”

“But wasn't it hard? I mean, you must have gone from making a tremendous amount of money to—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I'm sorry. That's none of my business.”

“No, it's okay.” Sean patted her shoulder reassuringly. “I like the fact you say what most people think. And the answer is yes, I took a big cut in salary. But the money's not why we do it.” He eyed her curiously. “Enough about me. I want to hear about your store. Where is it?”

“In the Village. Thompson Street.”

“I don't know the Village that well,” he confessed.

“Oh.” Gemma was surprised. “Don't you live in New York?”

“Yeah,” he said evasively. “But I'm from Long Beach, originally.”

“New Jersey?”

“Long Island.”

Gemma nodded. She'd heard of Long Beach, but had never been there. Her only experience with Long Island was with her cousin Paulie's house in Commack.

“One of the guys at 35 Engine has an apartment right on the boardwalk,” Sean continued. “Sometimes we switch apartments for the weekend, especially in the winter. He gets to play in the city, and I get to wake up to the sound of the ocean for a few days.”

Gemma could picture it: the insistent cries of the gulls coasting on invisible currents of wind; the soothing rhythm of the tides; the sun dancing playfully off the surface of the waves, creating a kaleidoscope of diamonds. It had to be wonderful in the spring and summer. But the winter? “Isn't it lonely in the winter?”

“Are you kidding? Winter is when the beach is best.” His tone bordered on the rapturous. “There's no one there. It's glorious.”

She asked more questions, and he answered them all, though she got the sense he didn't really like talking about himself. Still, she learned that he was from a big Irish family and that most of them lived on Long Island. He'd been playing hockey since he was small, and one of his brothers-in-law—also a firefighter—was trying to talk him into learning the bagpipes. Sean was reluctant. Hockey took up enough of his time; he didn't need another hobby. When it was time to sit down for dinner, she was thrilled when he asked to sit with her. He ordered veal, then must have seen the disappointment in her eyes.

“You don't eat meat?” he asked.

“My rule is to never eat anything with a face.”

Sean shot her a look. “I'm not touching that one.”

 

 

Dinner flew by.
They talked about hockey, the beach, animals, and photography. After dessert Gemma excused herself to search for Domenica. Come hell or high water, she was going to cuddle that baby before the night was through. She found mother and child sitting on the battered old couch in the restaurant's business office.

“Someone needed her diaper changed,” Theresa explained as Gemma came toward them. “And someone else needed a few moments of peace and quiet.”

Gemma held out her arms. “Hand her over.”

Theresa smiled proudly as she passed her daughter to Gemma.

“She's gorgeous.” Gemma cradled the baby in her arms. Domenica's perfect, rosebud mouth was closed, but her big green eyes were wide open and curious, framed with the longest lashes Gemma had ever seen. “She's going to be a stunner.”

“Don't let Michael hear that. He'll get on the Internet and order a chastity belt now.” Both women laughed, and Theresa stifled a long yawn. “Sorry. I'm exhausted.”

“You must be.”

“Miss Thing here likes to sleep all day and stay awake all night.”

“You should have named her Vampira.”

“Can you suggest herbs or anything?” Theresa asked seriously.

“For you or for her?”

“Both. I'm tired, and she's gassy.”

“She's a true Dante. Michael and Anthony used to have farting contests when they were small.”

Theresa sucked in her cheeks, mildly appalled. “Thanks for sharing that, Gem.”

“My pleasure. You should take ginseng for energy. As for Princess here”—she brushed her lips against the velvety soft perfection of Domenica's forehead, reveling in her gorgeous baby scent—“there's a tonic called Baby's Bliss Gripewater. You can find it in any good health food store. It's got fennel and ginger in it, which should relieve stomach pain.”

Theresa looked grateful as her body slumped farther down the couch. “How can I ever repay you?”

Gemma's mouth turned up into a sly smile. “Tell me everything you can about Michael's adorable firefighter friend, Sean Kennealy.”

Theresa snorted. “Michael's friend? I'm the one who invited Sean! I've known him for years.”

Gemma blinked. “But he said he knew Mike through the fire department's hockey team.”

“Well, maybe he does, but he knows me from the building. He's been living in the apartment above mine—now yours—for years.” She looked baffled. “I thought for sure you guys already met. You've been chatting away all night like bosom buddies.”

Gemma gingerly handed Domenica back to her mother and edged quietly toward the door. “Can you excuse me a minute? I just remembered something I was supposed to tell Anthony.”

“Sure.”

Leaving the office, Gemma's mind turned to Sean Kennealy.
That devil!
she thought, not without affection. Beginning to put two and two together, she went back out to join him at the party. Sean Kennealy didn't know it yet, but his feet were about to be put to the fire. Only this time, it wouldn't be in the line of duty.

The Dante family
reminded Sean of his own.

They were large, close knit, and obviously enjoyed each other's company. They also knew how to have a good time, if the free flow of wine and spontaneous bursts of song were any indication. But while any friction in his family was subterranean, with the Dantes it was right out in the open. Michael and Anthony were shouting at each other one minute, hugging the next. And despite pointing her out to him, Gemma hadn't spoken with her mother all evening.

Gemma. Gem-ma Dan-te.

Her name sounded musical to him. Lyrical. They'd spent almost the entire party together, and he was seriously attracted to her. She seemed gentle and sweet, a genuinely good person. A bit New Age-y—he was skeptical when she suggested some herb for the carbon monoxide headaches he got from eating smoke. Meditation, herbs, vegetarianism—they weren't his thing. He was a man who liked steak for dinner, aspirin for headaches, and when he wanted to relax, he read Alan Furst or watched the History Channel. But she was just trying to help. He liked how she looked, too. She was petite.
Five foot three,
he thought.
If that.
Yet she wasn't small. She had curves in the right places. Soft, that's what she was. Soft.

Best of all, she'd never dated a firefighter, wasn't related to a firefighter, and seemed to know nothing about firefighter culture. She was different, new, interesting. How that would go down with his buddies, he wasn't sure. He could already imagine the comments he'd get for dating a woman who probably made three times what he did. But that was putting the cart before the horse. First he had to get her to go out with him. And then . . . Sean drained his beer and ordered another. Just thinking about making love to her made him throb. That long red hair, those plump, curvy hips . . . God she was sexy.

“There you are.”

A thrill shot through him as Gemma sidled up to him. He'd been sitting at the bar listening to her cousin Anthony, who was expounding on ricotta while puffing on a fat cigar.

“I thought smoking was banned in restaurants,” Gemma said.

“Not when you own the place and it's a private party,” Anthony declared.

Gemma shook her head. “It's bad for you, Ant.”

“Listen to Miss Incense over here. All of a sudden she's the Surgeon frickin' General,” he cracked to Sean. He snuffed out the offending stogie nonetheless. “There. Happy?”

“Very. And so are your lungs.”

“
Madonn',
you're worse than Angie, I swear to God.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “I'm being a bad host. Sean, this is my cousin Gemma. Gemma—”

“We've met.” She smiled at Sean sweetly. “Sean and two of his buddies tricked me into thinking someone had called the fire department to complain about my incense.”

Sean spit up beer. “Excuse me,” he rasped, turning away to cough into a napkin.
Damn. Busted.
He had planned to come clean with her at the end of the evening, preferably while they were alone, driving back to the city together.

“I don't understand,” Anthony said thickly.

“It's a long story,” Sean muttered.