“Amen to that.”

“Dustin, I-”

But his hands were busy skimming over every inch of her, wrenching a heartfelt and appreciative deep groan from his chest. It tugged at her, from loins to the tips of her hair, and she kissed him. She meant it to be a sweet kiss, a prelude to the I-love-you speech she’d prepared, but his hands swept down her back and cupped her bottom, nudging her closer until he let out a hiss and went still.

“Careful,” she gasped. “I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You’re killing me.” But he wouldn’t let her pull away. Rolling to his back, he urged her over on top of him until she straddled his waist.

She understood. It was her move. If she wanted him, wanted them, then this one was on her. No problem there. Her fingers curled around him. He was ready. She reached for the condom she’d brought.

“You came prepared.”

“In many ways-” She broke off to put it on him, leaving them both gasping by the time she was done. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. When you-Oh, yeah,” he managed on a rough breath when she sank down on him. Their twin moans mingled in the night, and she dropped her forehead to his, swamped with emotion. “Dustin.”

“Much as I want to be the macho guy here and show you a good time, I can’t move. My leg-”

“I’ve got you.” And for once, she did. She cupped his face and breathed his air and repeated it softly. “I’ve got you, Dustin.” Heart and soul…

When she began to move, it seemed as though her entire world moved along in sync. For the first time she felt completely transformed, transfixed, beyond herself. He gripped her hips in his hands and let her ride him, and just when she began to go over, he stroked her where they were joined, making her his…except she already was.

His.

She let herself fall, and one stroke later, he fell with her.

It took her a long time to recover. Still breathless, she rolled off him, shocked at the depths of what they’d just shared. “How was that for a first move?”

He reached for her hand, bringing it to his mouth. “Nice.”

“I have more. First moves, that is.”

“You’re going to have to give me a minute.”

“No,” she said, and laughed. Rolling over, she lay on his chest, looking through the dark to find his eyes glittering with interest. “I meant a different first move.” Her smile faded, replaced by nerves. “I’ve been an idiot, Dustin. A stubborn, closed-minded idiot.”

His lips quirked in silent agreement, but he didn’t respond. His hands though, they moved, up and down her naked body, producing a set of anticipatory shivers. He had the most amazing touch.

“And also-” She paused. “Okay, this is the hard part because I’ve never said this before-I was wrong.” God, those hands. And now his mouth got into the fray, too, nibbling at her shoulder, over her collarbone…“About me being able to be in a relationship. About us. About so many things-” His fingers were driving her crazy. “Are you listening?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He sounded laid-back and sleepy-eyed and sexy as hell, and she breathed him in. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious. It’s just words. Three words.” She drew a breath. “I love you.”

His hands went still and he stared at her. “What?”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, but as you know, I have a few issues.”

His eyes were bright, warm and filled with love for her even as his lips quirked. “I love you and your issues.”

“I know. And that’s my own miracle, believe me.” She shot him a shaky smile. “I want you, Dustin. EMT or whatever it is you want to do-I don’t care. I just can’t imagine you not being in my life.” She held her breath for his reaction, but he merely smiled, too, a slow beautiful smile that stopped her heart.

“About time,” he murmured, and pulled her close.

BRADLEY GRIFFIN closed his locker at the firehouse and breathed a sigh of relief that his stress-filled twenty-four-hour shift was finally over. After picking up his duffel bag, he waved goodbye to the guys polishing the pristine red ladder truck. He hoped their shift would be quieter than his had been, but he doubted it-the Christmas season always proved busy for firefighters.

Fires and emergencies were always difficult, but they just seemed much more so to him at this time of year, when good cheer was supposed to prevail. In his mind’s eye he could still see the soot-and-tear-streaked faces of the family whose house had burned last night. The parents and two young children had made it out alive, thank God, but their home and all their belongings, including the Christmas presents stacked under their tree, were lost, leaving them with nothing except each other. How many times over the last seven years had he seen that same heart-wrenching combination of terror and desolation in people’s eyes? Too many to count. Yet, he still wouldn’t trade jobs with anyone. Wouldn’t trade those moments when a life was saved, a loved one brought back from the brink. That family last night…they’d clung to each other and the fact that they were alive to rebuild. Unfortunately not everyone was so lucky.

He walked toward the open bay doors, the sight of the bright California sunshine a welcome relief after the smoke-blackened dawn sky he’d stood beneath only hours earlier. He pulled in a deep breath, loving the smell of the firehouse-the lemony cleaning fluid the guys used to keep the place spotless, combined with a hint of what he called automotive potpourri, mixed with a whiff of the salty breeze blowing off the ocean. Through the doors he caught sight of the sparkling blue Pacific running onto the sandy beach. Lots of skaters, walkers and joggers already out and about this morning, he noticed. A beautiful sunny day like this always brought the crowds to Ocean Harbor Beach, the laid-back surfing town where he’d lived his entire life. And now that he had forty-eight off, he couldn’t wait to join them. Two days to regroup. To put the pressures of the job behind him. To concentrate on happier things, like Christmas. Which was only a week away. Which meant it was about time he started Christmas shopping.

“Yo, Brad.”

Brad turned at the familiar greeting. His best friend and fellow firefighter Jim Ballard exited the station’s kitchen and loped toward him. Jim had come on duty an hour ago and clearly it was his turn to cook; he carried a spatula and wore an apron that advised in bold print: Firefighters Do It With Heat. Brad sent up a silent prayer of thanks he was off duty. He loved Jim like a brother, but he was the station’s worst cook.

He gave Jim’s black-and-red-stain-splattered apron a skeptical glance. “Soot and…ketchup?” he guessed, hoping it wasn’t blood. “Doesn’t bode well for the morning meal.”

Jim looked down at the apron then shrugged. “Had a little mishap with the huevos rancheros. Nothing a few handfuls of jalapeños won’t fix.”

Brad’s stomach clenched in sympathy for those poor bastards polishing the truck. “What’s up?”

“Been looking for you. Found out something you might find interesting.” Jim lowered his voice. “About Antonia Rizzo.”