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He did, half the bottle gone in one pull. Water dripped down his chin, and before I could think better of it, I swiped it away with my hand, his beard scruff rough on my hand. He didn’t flinch. He just watched me, gray eyes hard and unreadable, the scar cutting sharp in the overhead lights.

“You okay?” I whispered.

Up close, I could see the tired set of his shoulders, the way he carried the weight of the long day in every line of his body. His stance never faltered, but when I touched his arm, the muscle beneath felt taut with fatigue. He let me keep my hand there, just for a moment, like it steadied him more than he’d admit. His skin was hot under the soot, his muscles trembling with exhaustion.

“I’m okay,” he said, voice rough as gravel. “Were you worried about me?”

“Of course I was,” I grumbled, then felt bad. And exposed. One side of his mouth tipped up in a tired smile. His teeth flashed very bright in the darkness of his sooty skin.

I didn’t let go until he straightened again. He gave a short nod, the kind that said more than words, then moved toward his crew. But his eyes flicked back once, like he was making sure I was still there.

Later, when the firehouse had settled again, I wandered down a hallway looking for a quiet spot. Or looking for him, maybe. That’s when I heard it—the faint singsong murmur of his deep voice.

Curious, I pushed open the door to a small office with his name on the door. A bed was on the far side of the room. A box sat in the left corner, lined with a folded blanket. Inside, curled golden and tiny, was the kitten that had been trapped in my engine. Jack was sitting on a chair, leaning in and stroking the little cat.

My breath caught. He’d said he’d take it to the shelter a week ago. But here it was, safe and sound.

“You kept him,” I whispered.

Jack looked up and winced, like he’d been caught. Then he half smiled.

“Shelter’s full,” he said gruffly. “Figured I’d hold on to him until they had space.”

But the kitten was fed. The blanket was clean. A litter box had been set up in the corner of the big box.

I looked at the kitten, then up at him, and smiled. “You couldn’t let him go.”

His jaw ticked, like he wanted to argue. Instead, he shrugged. “Guess not.”

The kitten purred louder, stretching in its little nest. The sound filled the quiet room, soft and steady, and for the first time since the fire started, my chest loosened.

This was the man behind the scar, behind the orders. The one who rescued kittens and let a stranger steady him when he sagged. The one who cared more than he wanted anyone to see.

And standing there, I knew my heart was in big trouble.

“You’d better get some sleep, Jack,” I murmured.

He rocked back in his chair, and a yawn overtook him. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I think you’re right.”

Even though I wanted to stay and watch him stretch more, I moved to the door. He needed to rest while he had the chance.

I glanced back at him. Jack was staring at me. Then, holding my gaze, he pushed up from the chair, circled the desk and walked toward me.

I glanced down his body, and my gaze caught on his bare feet. They were strong and masculine, a fine dusting of hair on the tops of his toes. They shouldn’t have drawn my attention like they did. But, in my mind, bare feet meant the beginning of a strip down.

I drew in a hard breath and dragged my gaze away.

Those strong, bare feet stopped in front of me. I could see them in my periphery. Gentle fingers reached out and moved my chin around. Reluctantly, I looked directly into his eyes.

“What put that look on your face?” he asked, tucking some hair behind my ear.

I cleared my throat, wishing I could sink through the floor. “Well, if you must know, it’s your sexy feet.”

Jack barked out a laugh, and glanced down. He wiggled his toes. “Seriously?”

I shrugged, smiling slightly. “Bare toes lead to other bare things.”

Something hot flared in his eyes, and he moved his mouth. “So, it’s the same as my imagining your hair down out of the braid. Maybe covering your bare breasts.”