Suddenly-or maybe not so suddenly at all-it didn’t matter. She ached for his presence in her life, solely for Taylor’s sake now.

Yes, she still wanted a father who approved of her and what she’d done with her life. But she’d learned she was fine without that approval. Better than fine. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Actually, it was more than that.”

“I don’t understand,” she said slowly.

His voice was harsh. Gruff as ever. Irritated. “Can’t a man see his only daughter, as well?”

“Me?”

“You hard of hearing, Amber?”

There was no softening in his tough attitude. There came no words of apology or any request for forgiveness. She understood she’d never get that, but it didn’t stop her sudden smile. “No, of course not.” Amazement gave way to a tentative peace. “You can see us whenever it suits you.”

“Well, it suits me.”

It suited her, too, and after he’d hung up, Amber reflected on her life, where it was going, and she smiled again.

DAX KNEELED in the destruction and ash of the burned-out apartment building, taking notes. His investigation was in full swing.

But he was no closer to finding the arsonist now then he had been four days ago. Swearing to himself, he stared down at his pad, but he couldn’t see a single word. He’d worked himself to near exhaustion.

He’d had to.

The arsonist, whoever he was, was now wanted for more than starting the fire. He would have to be accountable for all the destruction he’d caused, and for the waste of human life.

Murder.

Finding him or her would depend on Dax and how good his investigation was. But damn, it was hard to keep his head straight when his heart hurt. He truly hadn’t expected to fall in love, it just hadn’t been part of his grand plan. But it was done, there was nothing he could do about it, except go on with his life.

He’d been at work so long his eyes were grainy. The fierce pounding in his head was probably due to lack of food; he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a meal. But if he slowed down enough to eat, then his brain would kick in again and he’d be back to ground zero, mooning pathetically over a woman he couldn’t have and missing the daughter he wanted to hug with all his heart.

Disgusted with himself, he lurched to his feet. He was doing no good here. He drove to his office, where he intended to read and reread all the reports until he could figure out what he was missing. Then he’d go to his mom’s and hold his daughter for awhile.

His office looked like a disaster zone, which was defeating. The desk was piled high with files and other reports, many of which had fallen to the floor, next to a bag of diapers.

For the first time in his career, he stood at the doorway, thinking about the job he loved with all his heart and felt…overwhelmed.

And hungry, damn hungry.

It wasn’t a stretch to use that hunger as an excuse to make his way to the kitchen.

There was always food in a fire station, wasn’t there? It felt good to be able to count on something, he thought in a rare moment of self-pity. But while there was food in the refrigerator, none of it was prepared.

He went into the connecting room, the “great room,” the men called it because of its size. There was a big screen television on its last legs, several couches-all of which had seen better days-a scarred but functional dining room set, and their pride and joy-a pool table.

“Hey!” he called out. “Who’s cooking lunch?”

The two on-duty men watching soap operas didn’t budge.

The two playing pool kept up their game. Through the open window he could plainly see two more men standing outside where they’d just finished washing their rigs.

No one answered, or so much as glanced his way.

Dax wasn’t insulted, he knew all too well why he was being ignored. They had a tacit agreement. It wasn’t necessarily a fair one, but it was simple.

He who got hungry first, cooked.

The last one to eat cleaned up.

Most people thought firefighters ate so fast because they were always trying to keep one step ahead of the fire bell. Not true.

They just didn’t want to do dishes.

“So nobody’s hungry,” he said dryly.

Nobody moved.

Of course not. If they answered in the affirmative, then they’d have to cook. If they said no, then they couldn’t eat whatever he cooked.

It was tricky, and if he’d been in a more generous mood, he’d have better appreciated the humor. But he had no humor left. “Damn,” he muttered and turned back to the kitchen. The laughter that broke out behind him made him swear even more colorfully.

But he cracked the refrigerator open again. He’d lost fair and square.

A nap might have better suited him than preparing spaghetti sauce for the entire gang, but he was stubborn as well as hungry. Cranking up the radio on the counter, he chopped up a green pepper and tried to stay in the moment.

Tried to stay out of his past.

Tried to stay out of the part of his brain that hurt.

The loud, hard, pulsing rock blaring from the radio helped. So did all the food he popped into his mouth instead of into the pot.

But he kept coming back to one thing…Amber had asked him for more time, for some space. It was all she’d ever asked of him.

And he hadn’t given it.

The selfishness of that, the pure greed of it, had him stopping in his tracks, a forgotten knife in one hand, a mushroom in the other.

When had he become so rigid, so unyielding?

Disgusted with himself, he chopped more vegetables with a vengeance, nearly slicing off a finger.

He would give her what she wanted, and while it was all fresh in his mind, he yanked the telephone off its hook and dialed her number to tell her so.

When he got her machine, he hung up, frustrated. Fine. She could have her damn time. But he wouldn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go.

His ears played a cruel trick on him then. He thought he could hear her voice. To block it out, he cranked up the volume on the radio.

He could still hear her.

Another vicious crank of the dial helped, barely. His ears rang. The floor vibrated with the beat. The windows rattled.

In unison, he heard the guys bellow for him to lower the volume, but he ignored them and had to smile at the irony.

He could still hear her.

One last touch to the radio and he had the volume maxed out.

Ahh, he thought…peace. Finally. Maybe now he could get some damn food into his gnawing gut.

Satisfied, he grabbed a tomato and froze.

She was standing there, or at least he was dreaming that she was. Rubbing his eyes ruthlessly, he blinked the gritty exhaustion away and looked again.

She was still there in the doorway of the kitchen, hands braced on the jamb on either side of her as she looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

His heart stopped, then kicked in again with a painfully slow thudding. The clothes she wore were unlike her, softer, more feminine, and incredibly, unwittingly sexy. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. The long, flowing, flowery dress was tight in the bodice and flared gently at her hips before falling nearly to her ankles. There was a row of tiny, dainty buttons down the front, starting at the mouthwatering spot just between her full breasts.

She’d never looked so lovely.

God, he wished she was his.

15

DAX TOLD HIMSELF to cool it. She was probably here to go over something about Taylor, and he wondered how he would live through all the time he’d vowed to give her.

She sent him a tentative smile and raised her eyebrows at the music.

With a flick of his wrist, he turned off the radio. The silence was nearly as deafening as the music had been. “Taylor-?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Amber said quickly. “She’s with your mom.”

He nodded, then said gruffly, “I miss her.”

She clasped her hands together, but other than that, remained perfectly still. “I know. I…wanted to talk to you.”

Great. How was he going to keep from grabbing her and holding on tight? He realized he still held the knife and a tomato, and he set them both down, wiping his hands on a towel because he had to keep them busy. “I’m making lunch.”

A smile flickered across her firm, unpainted mouth. Had he ever seen her without lipstick? Yes, he remembered with a violent reaction in his lower body. She’d been sleeping in his bed at the time, a satisfied, cat-in-cream smile on those naked lips.

“I didn’t realize you could cook,” she said. “Or that you’d…” She trailed off, her voice steady enough, but he could see the telltale sign of a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Interesting. She didn’t seem so in control now. “Or that I’d what?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Look so good doing it.”

Unfortunately, sweet as that admission was, it only made his ache more pronounced.

The awkward silence settled again and Amber took a step toward him. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I haven’t been able to reach you.”

“Yeah. About that…”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said quickly. “I know you’ve been busy.”

Which wasn’t exactly the reason he hadn’t called or gone by to see her. “Yes, I’ve been busy,” he said carefully, stepping around the counter to face her. “But I’ve also been a jerk. I should have gotten back to you, but frankly, I was too busy being selfish.”

“Selfish?” She laughed at that. “You? I doubt that, Dax.”

“I promised not to push, I promised to be patient, and I couldn’t do either. I can do better. I can give you your time and space.”

“Dax-”

“But I can’t let you go. You should know that up front.”