Fanning the Flames (Romance Firemen Series)
Romance Firemen Series Novella 1:
Fanning the Flames
By Amanda Perry
Copyright
Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Perry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without the permission in writing from its publisher, your name.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. We are not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table Of Contents
Contents
Romance Firemen Series Novella 1:
Fanning the Flames
Copyright
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
Cassie heard the car door slam behind her. She watched the taillights until the car was out of sight. With a sigh of relief, she slipped out of her heels and carried them. The sidewalk was cool and soothing under her aching feet. As she fumbled around in her purse to find her keys, she noticed the light come on in the upstairs apartment.
“Cassie!” her roommate called, leaning out the window. “You have so much to tell me, missy! Get up here!”
Suddenly Cassie felt light on her feet again. She skipped up the one flight of stairs and found Francine waiting for her in the doorway, a giant cup of coffee in each hand. They headed for the couch and Cassie collapsed, gratefully accepting the coffee.
“Well?” Francine said, flopping down beside her. “Was that a limousine? Is it his?”
“Town Car,” Cassie replied, reaching to open the box of donuts on the coffee table. “Shoot! We’re down to our last cruller! Split it with me?”
“Cassie!” Francine monaed. “Tell me about your date!”
Cassie grinned as she took a big bite of the pastry. “It was amazing,” she murmured. “And you should see that hotel! I never knew people really live that way. I don’t think I’ve ever been so far out of my element in my life! Thanks for loaning me the dress. I’d have been underdressed without it.”
“It’s not me you should thank,” Francine replied, nibbling the other half of the cruller. “It’s my Chanel-worshipping grandmother and her decision to leave a few things to her darling Enkelin. Besides, it matches your eyes. Although, if Oma sees you slouching like that and walking around without shoes while you’re wearing it, her angry ghost will come after you.”
“I had to take the shoes off. My feet were in agony!”
“You know the rules. A lady never admits her feet hurt.”
Carrie took the hint. She dragged herself off the couch and into her bedroom to change into a robe, Francine trailing behind her.
“So where did you go?” she pestered. “You said it was fancy, but you didn’t say where!”
“It was at the Four Seasons,” Carrie called through the door. “We have to go there some time!” Slate-blue silk slithered to the floor as she stepped out of the dress.
“Free champagne, amazing food. Not that I could eat any of it, I was too scared to spill anything on your Oma’s dress. And that ballroom! It was like something out of a movie. And I swear I was the only person in that room who’s never been in the local gossip column.”
She carefully hung the dress on its padded hanger and shrugged on her cozy blue bathrobe. “I would have swiped some hors d'oeuvres for you, but I didn’t want to get caught shoveling food into my purse.
I think Nick might have frowned upon me being escorted off the premises by security.” She stepped back into the hall and handed the dress to Francine, who stood still, waiting for more of the story.
“So…” Francine prompted. “What about Nick? Are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it. But I don’t think so. He’s a nice guy and we had a good time, but I’m sure he has a bunch of glamour girls around him – you know, the kind of girls who go to places like that all the time. I think if he’s looking for a girlfriend, he’s going to want someone more in his league. Now I’d better get some sleep. Who holds a benefit on a Thursday night?”
“People who don’t have to teach math or English the next morning.”
“Ha. Right. Just one more day until vacation!”
“Yeah. And then you have the first few weeks of summer to tell me every single detail about last night.”
Cassie lay in the dark trying to sleep, but her brain refused to let her rest. Over and over, she replayed the events of the last few days. What a week!
On Monday, when she went to work, she had been excited about the opening of the school’s new library. The kids would finally have access to a proper selection of books. Other than that, she had no idea what the day would bring.
She’d gone in smartly dressed and mentally prepared for a morning of polite smiling. Victor Mandeville, famous financier, was to bestow some of his riches on the school and make a lengthy speech in praise of his own philanthropy.
However, Victor Mandeville had come down with a head cold, so the man who stood in the gym addressing Stedman High was his son, Nick. He gave an impassioned speech about the importance of literature, and read aloud from The Catcher in the Rye, bringing a dusty school text to life through his vibrant delivery. The kids actually cheered at the end!
Cassie wanted to join in, not just because she shared his passion, but because he was exactly the kind of man she'd always been attracted to: tall and muscular, with a Roman profile and a slight wave to his obsidian hair.
A morning spent gazing at him seemed to Cassie like a morning well spent. The students adjourned to become familiar with their new library, and Nick Mandeville stepped down from the platform to meet the staff. Cassie tried to control her grin as he shook her hand.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Mandeville,” she said. “This is going to make such a difference to these kids. We’re all very grateful to your family’s foundation.”
“Glad to be of service, Miss…?”
“Oh! Powell. Cassie Powell. I teach English. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Charmed, Miss Powell. I believe I’m supposed to be taken on a tour of the school at some point. Could I persuade you to be my guide?”
Cassie had protested at first. She was certain the principal would be furious. However, Nick was insistent, and Mrs. Maguire was determined that he should have whatever made him happy.
Cassie spent the rest of the morning stumbling over small talk while she led him from one classroom to the next. He said little, but smiled engagingly, listening attentively as she told him how rewarding it is to see her students' interest in reading growing.
Finally, as she was running out of stories about the students, they arrived in the cafeteria and the tour came to an end.
“Thank you for such a personal introduction to your school, Miss Powell,” said Nick. “My father hasn’t handed many of these events over to me, but I have done a few. I usually hear achievement statistics and stories about the founders, but after your thorough tour, I feel like I actually know the kids you teach.”
; “Sorry,” said Cassie. “I guess I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I’m a little…star-struck.”
“By me? I’m flattered. But there’s really no need to apologize. Your tour was wonderful. I’d like to offer to buy you a drink, but I’d prefer it wasn’t chocolate milk." He smiled. "I’m attending a benefit for Literacy America on Thursday evening at the Four Seasons. Would you like to be my date?”
Cassie stood dumbfounded, blocking the aisle between the tables, oblivious to students pushing past her with their lunch trays. Stop gaping, Cassie! she thought. Get a grip on yourself and answer the man.
“I’m free Thursday night,” she replied, with all the composure she could muster. “I’d like that.”
“Great!” Nick reached into his jacket pocket. “Here’s my card. Text me your number, and I’ll call you with the details.”
Cassie fought to contain her excitement as Nick said goodbye and disappeared through the double doors.
As soon as she got home that evening, Cassie poured the whole story out to Francine, who immediately set about making Cassie date-ready. In all the years they'd been rooming together, Cassie had always trusted in Francine’s sense of style.
“Your look is cute,” Francine would usually say, glancing critically at Cassie’s jeans and tank tops and the pencil stuck through a twist of her long chestnut hair. “But it’s not sophisticated. For a date, you want glamour.”
Then she would throw open her closet and rifle through it, effortlessly selecting something that would look sensational. She would sit Cassie down at her kidney-shaped dressing table with the triple mirror – another thing that Francine had inherited from her Oma – and begin the process of transformation.
This wasn’t just any date, though. This was a date at the fanciest hotel in town with Nick Mandeville! For something this important, Francine wasn’t going to let Cassie get away with anything other than a complete overhaul.
Within thirty seconds of hearing the news, she was on the phone with her favorite salon, booking Cassie for a haircut, mani-pedi, and waxing.
“Waxing?” Cassie exclaimed as soon as Francine had hung up. “Are you crazy? It’s the first date, I’m not going to–“
“I know, I know! You don’t sleep with guys on the first date. Or the second. Or the third. But Cassie, this isn’t about him, it’s about you. If you’re being taken out by some super-rich playboy, you deserve to feel glamorous, and that means taking grooming to a whole new level. Trust me!”
Cassie did. Francine had never let her down. Even though Cassie preferred to keep her daily routine simple, she had to admit that for special occasions, Francine’s style tips did make her feel better. She submitted to her friend’s instruction and spent the next few evenings allowing herself to be beautified.
It was Francine who picked out the slate silk dress and deftly pinned it to Cassie’s small, petite frame, who lent Cassie the strappy high heels and elegant choker, who styled Cassie’s hair into a loose chignon with a few tantalizing tendrils left free to frame her face.
It was at Francine’s insistence that Cassie arranged to meet Nick at the Four Seasons rather than allowing him to pick her up. “You’re an independent woman!” she hissed as Cassie dialed Nick’s number. “You are perfectly capable of getting a cab, and he shouldn't know where you live until you're sure he’s not a total psychopath!”
So on Thursday evening, Cassie found herself stepping out of a cab and gliding up the steps into the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel. The doorman bowed as he let her in, and she smiled at him as if she did this every day.
Nick was already in the lobby, lounging on a leather couch. As soon as he saw her, he jumped to his feet and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“You look beautiful.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
He led her into the most spectacular room she had ever seen in her life. Chandeliers dripping with crystal, wealthy women dripping with diamonds, a chamber orchestra playing Brahms.
Within a moment, she had a glass of champagne in her hand and a tuxedo-clad waiter at her side, proffering a tray of blinis with wild salmon .
Cassie noticed that her date had been intercepted by a stunning woman wearing earrings that must have cost more than Cassie’s annual salary. They had a rapid conversation, punctuated by laughter, about things Cassie couldn’t quite hear. She tried not to hold her glass in front of her in that typically defensive, I-don’t-know-anyone-at-this-party pose.
Eventually, the glamorous woman kissed Nick on both cheeks and glided away in a cloud of expensive fragrance.
“Sorry about that, Miss Powell,” he said, turning his attention back to Cassie. “An old family friend.”
“It’s ok!” Cassie replied with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’m not expecting you to babysit me. I’m sure there must be a lot of people you need to talk to.”
“That's true,” he said, steering her toward a table in a prime location at the other end of the ballroom. “But I invited you. I would hardly be doing my duty as your escort if I kept abandoning you. So I’ll try not to.”
Escort? Cassie thought. Funny choice of word. More personal than 'host,' but less personal than ‘date.’ Guess it’s business then. They stop-started their way across the room as people – mostly young, attractive women – greeted Nick and failed to register Cassie’s presence at all.
Presumably, I’m the latest in a line of interchangeable dates then. Maybe he makes a habit of bringing charity case teachers to benefits, just rotating them based on location and subject.
She smiled to herself at the idea of Nick using schools that had benefited from Mandeville generosity as cruising grounds. Based on the number of women salivating over him in this room, he certainly wouldn't need to.
They eventually arrived at their table. Nick pulled out Cassie’s chair for her. He sat just as a flurry of waiters appeared bearing trays of appetizers. Cassie picked at her goat cheese and beetroot salad, self-conscious under the intensity of Nick’s gaze now that she had his full attention.
He asked her about herself diligently, thoroughly, in a manner that could have been indicative of genuine interest, or could have simply been the mark of a good escort. Unsure which was the case, Cassie wracked her brain for the best and most entertaining anecdotes about her life.
“How about you?” she asked when she felt she’d said enough. “What do you do when you’re not opening school libraries?”
“I write, mostly,” Nick replied, nonchalantly sipping from his champagne flute. “I travel for family business and do a bit of travel writing on the side.”
“That sounds amazing,” said Cassie. “I'm sorry. You must get this kind of reaction all the time, but it sounds like such a great job. What are your favorite places?”
He was thoughtful. “There are so many. I have a special place in my heart for Marrakech, and Kyoto is fantastic. As cliché as it sounds, though, London may be my favorite city. It may well be the greatest city in the world.”
“I’d love to go there someday. I’ve never been anywhere in Europe, but I’m saving for a trip. My roommate is going to Warsaw later this summer. She's going to teach there for the year. I’m so jealous! She has family there, so she’s been back and forth all her life. Do you get tired of all the flying?”
“Not really.” Nick smiled. “I find planes are excellent places to write, especially poetry. That’s my passion. Everything else just fills the time.”
“Are you published?”
“A few pamphlets, and my first book came out last year. I recently finished my second book, and now I’m looking for a publisher for it. Well, my agent is. I’m just waiting for him to sell it and looking for inspiration for the next one.”
“Where do you find your inspiration?”
“In people, mostly. Some of my work is observational, things I see around me. But for the most part, I form my poems around my relationships with individual people. I write about the person, how they make me feel, even
ts that pass between us, that kind of thing. ”
Cassie longed to ask more questions. Who had he written about? What kind of reception did the poems get? How had his book sales gone? But she worried that her questions might be too personal, so she kept quiet and listened.
Nick told her about the writers who had influenced his work. He loved the Beat poets, especially Kerouac. Cassie mentioned that her favorite poet of all time is Tennyson, which made him laugh and confess that he hated poetry written before the twentieth century, especially the unending epics in which Tennyson specialized.
As dinner continued, she learned a lot more about Nick’s likes and dislikes, his triumphs and disasters, and his fraught relationship with his family. His ambition to be a great poet was a disappointment to his father, who had expected his son to take over the running of the family’s multinational corporation.
Instead, the CEO’s chair was now filled by Nick’s brother-in-law, who had been steadily working his way up the ladder when he married the boss’ daughter, Nick’s younger sister. Nick’s attempt at making a family-approved marriage had ended after less than a year, when his wife had left him for another man.
It seemed that he was about to tell Cassie more about his ex-wife, but by that time dinner was ending, coffee was being served, the string quartet had given way to a full band, and dancing had begun.
“I’ve never learned this kind of dance!” Cassie whispered urgently as Nick led her onto the dance floor. All around them men were sweeping their partners into starting positions for ballroom dancing.
“Don’t worry,” Nick reassured her. “It’s just a waltz. Relax, let me lead, and you’ll be fine.”
He was right. Cassie surrendered to the supreme confidence of his leading, allowing her movements to match his.
She began to enjoy being swirled competently around the floor, safely held in place by well-tended, long-fingered hands. She barely noticed as the dances grew more complex, trusting Nick to guide her and murmur occasional instructions in her ear.