The Firefighter and the Virgin Princess Read Free

impact on the joint— cycling,
swimming..."
    She tuned the rest of it out as his voice
droned on.
    Eventually she got up out of the chair,
thanked him, took the prescription he handed to her and walked out
of his office.
    Her mind, which had been so busy for days,
was suddenly blank, empty.
    It was raining out, but she had no umbrella.
What did it matter?
    Lily stepped out onto the wet pavement and
stared dully at the midtown traffic. What now?
    Go on, of course. Go on just the same. She
could dance through the pain. No one else need know. The doctor was
not legally allowed to inform company management about her
problems. She was supposed to do that.
    But inside she was screaming in agony. Not
from physical pain, but from her dreams slowly dying. Seventeen
years-worth of dreams down the drain. That was worse than a
shattered bone.
    With trembling fingers she lit up a
cigarette.
    As she stood there, limp and soaked, a
large, fire-breathing dragon roared by, splashing her from head to
toe with filthy water from the bubbling brown gutter.
    She barely noticed, until someone shouted
and she turned her head to see a man leaning out of the fire truck,
waving. "Hey, sorry about that!" They had pulled over a short way
on, the fire truck's brakes wheezing to an abrupt halt. "Rookie
driver," he yelled. "Sorry!"
    Lily looked down. Her cream, mohair peacoat
— a birthday gift from her beloved grandmother two years ago—was
now decorated with a lavish coffee-colored splatter.
    Oh, well. Worse things had happened to her
today. Worse things would happen tomorrow. She'd get through it,
like she always did, by dancing. Eyes glazed over, she turned and
started down the street, wet cigarette wilting from her
fingers.

Chapter Two
     
    "Hey! Hold up!" He opened the door and
jumped down.
    "What ya doin', Joe? We gotta get back to
the fire house."
    "Yeah, yeah. Just a sec. The food will still
be there." He knew the crew were extra eager to get back for dinner
because his brother Mike was on the rota to cook tonight and they
were looking forward to his notorious Chicken Marsala. Turning, he
looked for the woman they'd splashed. There she was, walking up
ahead with a pair of legs that could have belonged to a
giraffe.
    "Hurry up, Joe. C'mon!"
    "Just wait, okay?" He was annoyed with the
rookie who had driven like an ass. Maybe the guy needed more
practice before they let him take the wheel again. The last thing
they needed was some hapless pedestrian getting mown down by an
engine truck in mid-town Manhattan. That would not be good for
public relations at all.
    Helmet under one arm, he
dashed after the splashed woman, leaping puddles in his heavy
boots. "Hey! Miss!" Maybe she was a
Mrs . "Hey! Ma'am!"
    She didn't stop until he dodged in front of
her. Two wide blue eyes looked up in surprise, as if she hadn't
even heard him trying to get her attention. Her mouth tensed
warily, eyebrows arched. Despite those long legs she wasn't tall.
They gave her the illusion of being so, until he stood beside her.
Then he realized she was probably no more than 5'5'' - just all
legs. And blue eyes.
    Lieutenant Joe Rossini forgot what he'd
meant to say. He stood like an idiot, gaping at the most beautiful
woman he'd ever met. She knocked him off his usually sturdy
feet.
    "What?" she exclaimed, blinking against the
rain. "What is it?"
    "Er...Sorry about your coat," he managed
finally.
    She looked down. "It's just a little mud.
It's fine. It'll dry."
    "Listen, let me pay for cleaning."
    A frown gathered her elegant brows together.
"Why?"
    "I want to. It was our fault."
    "It's really not necessary."
    "But we should. I should. That's a nice
coat. Expensive, huh?" Christ, why was he burbling like a teenager?
And he'd just made the monumental mistake of reaching out to touch
her sleeve. He couldn't stop himself.
    "Don't touch me!" She drew back at once,
avoiding his fingers.
    Of course he was sweating and grimy. He'd
just come from a call where he had to run up eight