The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  It’s dark, but I can hear laughter behind me. I hope it’s Ivy. It sounds like Ivy. But she just doesn’t seem to be the laughing type. I’m hoping to change that.

  When we emerge from the cave, it’s raining, and we’ve slowed to a crawl. Some of the people on the tour grumble about the rain, but not Ivy. She lets her head fall back against her tube then she opens her mouth and looks like a child who wants to catch the raindrops on her tongue.

  I’m mesmerized just watching her.

  Someone bumps into her from behind and her eyes fly open as she sits up. I could swear I see tears spilling out of her eyes. Then again, it could just be the rain.

  We get separated in the next tunnel, and somehow, I end up in the front of the pack with Ivy in the rear. It’s hard to control the tube, but I try my best to let people pass so I can ride alongside her. By the time we reach the fourth cave, she’s caught up to me. And I’m glad, because in the middle of this cave, we are stopped and told to turn off our headlamps. It’s pitch-black as our guide tells us a ghost story, one that has Ivy reaching for my hand once again.

  I pull my hand away and remove my glove, putting my naked hand on her arm. She briefly pulls away from me and then places her bare hand into mine. And in the darkness, we hold hands. I wish I could see her face right now, but we’re enveloped in total blackness. However, I’m not sure I need to see her face to know what she’s feeling. The grip she has on my hand tells me everything I need to know. And when I caress her knuckles with my thumb and she gives my hand a squeeze, I smile. I smile in the dark because I know that little squeeze is the sign I was hoping for.

  And I wonder if all this time, through all my heartache, Ivy Greene isn’t just the woman I’ve been waiting for.

  Chapter Four

  Ivy

  As we pull back into the parking garage in Bass’s Jeep, I think about our experience. It was everything I thought it would be and more. The glances. The bumping elbows. The hand holding. The lingering touches. Those are all things I didn’t anticipate. Like the helicopter, the tubing excursion was another tough pill to swallow, knowing why I was there. But with Bass by my side, it wasn’t quite as painful. And I realize that maybe this was more than just me using him to forget.

  “Care to join me for lunch?” Bass asks as we get out of his car.

  “I don’t think so. But thank you so much for taking me tubing. It was a lot of fun.”

  He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Was it? A few times you looked sad and I wondered if you even wanted to be there.”

  “I may not have wanted to be there, but I needed to be. And you made it fun. So, thank you.”

  I think any other man would ask me to explain. But he doesn’t. He seems to get that I have something I don’t want to talk about. He seems to get me. I see it every time he lets his eyes burn into mine.

  He opens the car door again. “At least let me drive you home.”

  I pull my bag from the back seat. “That’s okay. I like to walk along the beach. It’s not far.”

  He walks me out of the parking garage and through the gardens that line the interior of his resort as we follow the path out to the beach.

  “Which one is yours?” I ask, looking around at all the buildings.

  He turns me around and points up to the fourth floor to a balcony overlooking the gardens and the pool. “That one.”

  I look over at the ocean and try to determine if he has a view of it.

  “From my balcony you can just see a sliver of ocean through those trees over there. I’m sure my ex’s parents paid an arm and a leg for the ocean view,” he air quotes.

  “Your ex’s parents paid for this trip?” I ask, surprised.

  “They did. And all the side trips, too. Hell if I’d be able to afford all this on a firefighter’s salary.”

  I’m amused. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  He laughs. “There is. How about I tell it to you over dinner? One of the workers here said I need to eat at a place called Kalapaki Joe’s just down the way. It’s a bar and grill that sounds right up my alley.”

  I think about it for a second, chewing on my lip as I stare at the water. It has been a nice change of pace to spend time with someone. It keeps me from going too deep in my head and getting lost there. That’s why my parents sent me here after all, to find myself or something.

  “I heard a few people talking about that restaurant when I was on the beach yesterday,” I tell him.

  “How about it? It’s close. I could walk to your place and then we could walk to the restaurant from there.”

  “I guess I could do that.”

  “Six o’clock?”

  I nod. “I’ll meet you on the beach. My resort is the one with the red roofs.”

  “I think I know where it is. I walked right by there this morning.”

  “You like to go for walks on the beach?”

  “I do,” he says with a sly grin.

  Maybe we have more in common than I thought. “Do you like flowers?” I ask.

  “I do now, Ivy Greene.”

  I can’t help my smile. I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk away. “See you at six, Sebastian Briggs.”

  His laughter trails behind me.

  ~ ~ ~

  I try to take a nap, but all I can think about are those intense blue eyes of his. And his hands. They are so big that mine practically got lost in them. I’ll bet he’s a good firefighter. He’s tall. And built. And protective.

  I think about the only man I’ve ever been with and compare the two. Eli’s hands are soft, like mine. Probably because he’s a school teacher and doesn’t need to use them to fight fires and save lives. And Eli’s height is about average. Good-looking, yes, but not gorgeous like Bass. Bass is one of those guys they put on a firefighter calendar. He’s probably Mr. January, or whatever.

  I find myself getting all worked up just thinking about him, and before I know it, my hand is underneath my panties and I’m touching myself. I think of his eyes. His hands. His short, sexy hair. He’s strong, that’s for sure. He’s the kind of man who can pick you up and carry you to bed. He’s the kind of man who makes fantasies come true. And he’s just down the beach. Alone. Asking me to dinner.

  It’s been so long since I’ve had the energy to even think about a man, let alone bring myself to orgasm over one. Yet, here I lie, rubbing myself harder and faster until I throw my head back on the pillow and call out his name.

  Then, as I lie in silence, I’m overcome by enormous sadness. How can I allow myself these moments?

  Immediately, I feel guilty. Guilty for feeling. Guilty for wanting. Guilty for living.

  I shut my eyes and try to sleep it away. But I know I’m kidding myself. There is only one face I see when I dream.

  ~ ~ ~

  His eyes take me in as he walks toward me. They start at the top of my head, stopping to appreciate the makeup I carefully applied, moving down to the cleavage my sundress reveals, and continuing to my tanned legs only to finish at my bare feet before he works his eyes back up to my face.

  “Wow,” he says. “You look fantastic.”

  I can’t help my smile. I feel more thoroughly bedded after his perusal than I did hours ago when I made myself come. “Thank you.”

  He smiles back. “I knew you’d have a great smile.”

  I feel myself blush.

  I had wanted to cancel and just hide away tonight. But his reaction gives me confidence that I made the right decision.

  He nods to my shoes on the ground beside me. “Want me to carry those?”

  “That’s okay, you’ve got your own to carry. But thanks for asking.”

  If I’ve learned anything about Sebastian Briggs in the past twenty-four hours, it’s that he’s chivalrous. He opens doors for everyone. He’s always concerned about others. He’s very outgoing. He can hold a conversation with anyone. And he doesn’t take no for an answer.

  Okay, so maybe I know more about him than I thou
ght I did. And I’m about to find out a whole lot more. He got left at the altar? That’s got to hurt. I can’t imagine. But he said it was nine months ago. I wonder why it took him so long to take this so-called honeymoon.

  I wonder if he expects me to tell him my story. No way will that happen. The only people who know my story are the people who lived through it with me. It’s still too hard for me to even think about my story, let alone say it out loud.

  Because I do. Think about it. Every damn second of every damn day.

  But then I turn and look at Bass and realize that for a moment today, when we were on the tubes in the dark tunnel, I wasn’t thinking about my story. And on the beach last night when I watched him play guitar I wasn’t thinking about it either.

  So, no, I won’t tell him my story. But I will use him to try and forget it. Not the whole thing, of course, because there are so many beautiful parts. Just the bad parts. The parts that rip my heart out and put it through a grinder.

  “Nice day,” he says, as we slowly make our way to the restaurant.

  “It’s always nice on Kauai. There hasn’t been a bad day since I’ve been here.”

  “I thought Dustin, the pilot, said it rains more on this island than anywhere in the U.S.”

  “It does. But not always on the coast. And sometimes it will only rain for ten or fifteen minutes and then turn perfectly sunny again. Most of the rainfall occurs in the mountains. In fact, they had so much rainfall here last spring that they had to close off part of the island to traffic, which was difficult seeing as there is pretty much only one main road that goes around three-quarters of Kauai. I’m glad the road is open again. I might want to take a trip to the north side.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the island,” he says.

  “I do.”

  “Did you research it before coming?”

  “You could say that.”

  I sense him staring at me as we walk. “You don’t give much away, do you, Ivy Greene?”

  I have the urge to smile when he uses my full name. But I can feel myself fighting it.

  “Oh, look,” I say, seeing a familiar face up ahead. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I introduce Bass to Erma and have her tell him all about the monk seals that like to sunbathe on the beach.

  “I’m sorry you just missed them,” I say as we bid Erma goodbye and continue on our way.

  “Maybe we should come out earlier tomorrow and try to catch them.”

  My insides flip over at the thought of spending more time with him. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

  “Look at the waves breaking over those rocks,” Bass says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Then he pulls me over next to him, turning our backs to the rocks.

  He holds his phone at arm’s length and snaps a couple of pictures. He looks at them, apparently unhappy with the way they turned out.

  “Wait,” he says, getting his phone ready to take a picture as he watches the next set of waves come in. “Wait. Here it comes. Ready? Okay, now.”

  We spin around, and he snaps the photo just as a wave breaks over the rocks behind us.

  He shows me the picture. I stare at it far longer than one usually stares at selfies. I stare at it because what I see is most unusual.

  I’m smiling.

  “Can you send it to me? My family would love to see it.”

  I think that maybe seeing a picture like this—me smiling, and with a man—will get them off my back for a while. I’m so tired of the daily texts and phone calls. I swear, between Holly, Alder, and our parents, one of them is always calling or texting me. They call it being supportive. I call it suicide watch.

  “Sure. Give me your number.” Then he elbows me. “But I have to warn you that once I have it, I might just ask you out every night. I mean in a charming and not-at-all stalkerish way.”

  I laugh. Oh, it feels so good to laugh. Then I give him my number. Because in this moment I realize I want to see him every day. I want to see him every night. Because he numbs the pain. He’s better than drinking. He’s better than drugs. I should know. I’ve tried both over the past six months.

  “There. Done,” he says, sending me the photo. “Penny will freak when she sees it. She’s been dying for a picture ever since we spoke on the phone earlier.”

  He points to a restaurant through the trees. “Look, here we are.”

  We go up the walk and are seated immediately by the back wall, which is all open-air windows overlooking some tennis courts, and beyond that, the ocean.

  “Are all the restaurants like this?” I ask. “You know, open windows with a great view?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know. But I think we should find out. I’ll let you pick the place we go to tomorrow night.”

  “Is that so?” I say with a smirk.

  “Yup.” He waves his phone in the air. “I have your number now. You have to say yes, or I’ll hunt you down and find you.”

  “But in a charming and not-at-all stalkerish way, right?” I joke.

  The waitress comes by and takes our drink order. Then Bass shows me a text on his phone.

  Penny: She’s beautiful. You make a good couple. Tell her I said hello.

  Bass taps around on his phone and shows me a picture. “She knows what you look like. It’s only fair you know what she looks like.”

  She’s very pretty. About my age. Brown hair. Slender. And she’s standing next to a very attractive man. It must be her fiancé.

  “She said her name is Aspen. But you call her Penny?”

  “Yeah. We met when we were both freshmen at Juilliard.”

  She raises a brow. “You went to Juilliard? But you said you’re a firefighter.”

  “I am. I dropped out of Juilliard after two years so I could focus on getting trained as an EMT, then as a paramedic, and finally as a firefighter.”

  “And Penny? Er … Aspen? Actually, what should I call her?”

  “Most people call her Aspen. Her brother and I are the only ones who have nicknames for her. Well, and her parents, but they both passed away.”

  “That’s horrible,” I say.

  “They died in a car accident shortly after she started at Juilliard.”

  “I can’t imagine being without my parents.”

  “Me neither. They are pretty much the only family I have. I’m an only child. Do you have any siblings?” he asks, just as our drinks get delivered.

  I take a sip, wondering just how much personal information I want to divulge. But talking about my siblings seems benign enough. “Two. Both older. Alder is thirty. He’s married to Christina. They run the shop on Long Island. Then there’s Holly. She’s twenty-eight. I guess you could say she’s my best friend. Holly and I run the shop in Brooklyn. Well, mostly she runs it. Especially lately. And my folks run the one in Manhattan.”

  “Alder? Holly? Ivy? Your parents really are into horticulture, aren’t they? And a chain of flower stores. That’s cool. What are they called?”

  “The Greene Thumb,” I tell him.

  “Of course they are,” he says, smiling. “I think I’ve seen your shop in Brooklyn before. Wasn’t there a fire in the business next to yours a few months back? I vaguely remember having to cut through the wall to make sure it wasn’t smoldering.” He stares at me. “But I don’t recall seeing you there. I definitely would have remembered you.”

  “I, uh … I haven’t been working there much lately. But yeah, we had to repair a lot of drywall.” I fidget with my menu. “So, you work at a firehouse in Brooklyn?”

  “Engine Company 319.”

  “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asks.

  We place our order and then a band begins playing Hawaiian music. It’s lovely and we sit and listen. I welcome the break in conversation. It was starting to get a bit personal.

  A few women get up from their tables and start dancing. I’m mesmerized. Their movements are soft and fluid and beautiful. And each dance tells a story to go along with
the song that is being played.

  One of the women sees me admiring them and she comes over and invites me to join them.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I don’t know how.”

  “I’ll teach you,” the short, stout, Hawaiian woman says.

  “Uh … okay,” I say, reluctantly following her over to where the band is playing.

  I look at Bass with what I’m sure is terror in my eyes, but he just nods encouragingly. And for the next ten minutes, I’m all too aware of him staring at me as I fail miserably at learning how to dance in a way I’ve never danced before.

  I must look ridiculous compared to the native women dancing next to me, but the moves they are teaching me are sensuous. And the way my body is moving makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. It makes me feel sexy.

  And if Bass’s heated stare is any indication, I’d say he thinks so too.

  Suddenly, it’s like a fire has sparked in my belly. One that was put out years ago. I wasn’t sure it would ever be ignited again. This feels like more than just a moment I can use to forget. And as I stare at Bass across the room, I realize I’m not at all hungry for the food that’s just been ordered. But at the same time, I’m a starving woman.

  Chapter Five

  Sebastian

  Dinner was torture. The whole time, all I could do was think about how Ivy looked dancing to the traditional Hawaiian music. The way she moved, it was damned sexy. And it made me want to write a song just so she could dance for me. In private.

  On the way home from dinner, I reach out and grab her hand. She lets me. Together, we walk and watch the last of the day’s die-hard surfers.

  “I’d like to try that sometime,” she says.

  “Really? I could teach you. I’m no expert, but I grew up in Florida so I surfed a lot. I’ve taken a few lessons myself over the past two days, just to get back up to speed.”

  “There is a creepy guy at my resort who keeps asking if I want to learn how to surf. But the thought of his hands on me …”