Burning for Autumn

by Freya Barker

“Let me give you a hand.” Completely disregarding my question, he steps around me.

  Before I have a chance to react, he’s already recovered my basket and is picking my sheets off the floor. When he lifts up a handful of my undies, I jump into action.

  “I’ve got it.” I snatch up any stray bits of clothing as I go and yank my basket from his hands.

  Why is it, whenever I’m around this man, I feel discombobulated. Off my game—not that I have much of one to begin with. Rattled, I stomp into the laundry room and start stuffing things in the washer, taking a moment to settle myself down, and half hoping he’ll be gone by the time I get out.

  I know it was too much to ask for when I find him checking out the pictures I hung on the wall, just last week. Mostly vacation shots I took over the years—scenery—but some featuring friends, and even a few with me. Of course he gives close attention to one of the few childhood images I have left. In it, my hair is in pigtails and the glasses perched on my nose are far too big for my face. I’m about nine and I’m smiling. It was one of the last times I remember being happy and carefree. I have this particular photo on the wall to remind myself to focus on those sometimes all too rare moments of happiness. I’ve wasted too many years letting negative circumstances dictate the quality of my life.

  Having Keith scrutinize the picture suddenly feels like too much exposure.

  “Coffee?” I blurt out as a distraction, not thinking about the consequences until he makes himself comfortable at the kitchen table.

  “Sure.”

  Fuck.

  I turn my back and pour him a cup from the pot, still simmering over a warm flame on the stove.

  “Perfect,” he says, when I hand it to him without bothering to offer cream or sugar. For some reason, he strikes me as a purist. Something he confirms when he takes his first sip of my strong brew and appears to enjoy it.

  I sit down across from him. “So aside from rescuing my laundry, what are you doing here?”

  “Have you looked at your messages yet?” I answer his question with a snort. “Right,” he continues. “I figured that didn’t go over well, which is why I’m here.”

  “You couldn’t have called?”

  “I hate talking on the phone, much prefer texting, but I tend to shorthand everything. It makes me sound like an asshole.”

  This time I bark out a laugh and get up to fetch my phone. I find my latest entry and show the screen with his contact information to him.

  “I deserve that.” He chuckles, shaking his head when he sees ‘ASSHOLE’ in capital letters next to his phone number. “Give me a chance to redeem myself.” I shrug. Truth be told, I’m curious what he has to say. “I’d like to take you out for dinner. I was hoping for tonight, but since you fairly won the right to pick time and place, I won’t push it.”

  “And?” I tease, being a bit of an ass myself. He seems to consider my prompt for a second, but then he gets up and rounds the table.

  “Good morning,” he mumbles, lifting my chin with his finger and pressing a gentle kiss on my lips. “You look good enough to eat, but I’ll take dinner. To start.”

  His suggestive words, delivered in that dark rumble, have heat flush my body. Fuck, he could crook his finger right now and I’d strip naked. Which is exactly what freaks me out.

  “The only reason I’m agreeing to this is that I never back down on a bet,” I start, defenses firmly in place. “So I’ll go out for dinner with you, and I’ll even let you pay, as promised.”

  “Why do I get the sense there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

  “But, not tonight. Or tomorrow night, for that matter. In fact, I think I might have to put it off for most of this week.” I’m lying through my teeth, but I’m on a roll now.

  “Pushing your luck, Red,” he warns, squinting his eyes.

  I blink mine innocently. “I’ll need some recovery time. It’s been a busy few days.” He just shakes his head.

  “Walk me out. I have to get back to work.”

  “It’s Saturday,” I point out, but follow him anyway.

  “Aware of that, sweetheart. Unfortunately crime doesn’t take a day off.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He turns around at the door, and despite myself, I walk straight into his arms. His kiss is deep, wet, and so hungry I can taste it. It doesn’t appear to matter how many barbs I throw up, this man isn’t fooled for a second. I may not want to admit it, but he affects me as much as I appear to be affecting him, judging by the hard length pressing into my stomach. Yikes.

  When he releases my lips, a regretful moan escapes me.

  “Tomorrow night. Be ready at six,” he growls, and I don’t even have the fight to object. He kissed the starch right out of me.

  “Okay,” I meekly mumble, immediately irritated with myself for being a pushover.

  Another quick peck and he takes a last look at my disheveled appearance before grabbing for the door. I’m not sure I even want to know what he’s thinking, suddenly aware I never even brushed my hair and I probably have crusties in the corners of my eyes. The fact it would suddenly bother me has me bristle, but before I can lash out, he takes the wind right out of my sails.

  “Good fucking coffee.”

  “I know,” I agree without a hint of false modesty. If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s my coffee.

  My answer puts a grin on his face as he turns and walks out the door.

  “I’m going to be fifteen minutes late.”

  I’ve spent most of the afternoon fussing over what to wear. Not sure why it matters, when I usually don’t give a crap, but for some reason I feel the need to show Keith I clean up okay. At least I think I do. I’m a mess. So much so I just realized ten minutes ago I haven’t even figured out what restaurant, let alone made a reservation. I’m sweating buckets, and at this rate, I’ll need my third shower of the day.

  “You called,” I point out the obvious, blurting out the first thing on my mind. “You don’t like calling.” His deep chuckle curls my toes. Damn. I’m a disaster.

  “Texting wasn’t working out. Thought I’d turn a new leaf.”

  “You know we can do this another night. Or if you’d rather just forget about it altogether, I’m good—”

  “Fifteen minutes, Red. Be ready.”

  He doesn’t even wait for an answer, just interrupts me and then hangs up. The nerve.

  Fifteen minutes later, I have managed to get a reservation at what looks to be a nice restaurant, when there’s that sharp knock on the door.

  “Hey,” I mutter opening the door. He looks really good. The dark jeans make his legs look even longer, and his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, contrasts nicely with his dark skin. He’s even tied his hair back, accenting the sharp lines and angles of his face.

  Without losing eye contact, he walks me back into the house, closing the door behind him. One arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against his body, while his other hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair. I left it loose, which he seems to appreciate; given the tight hold he has on it.

  “You have reservations?” he asks, his face so close I can feel his breath stroke my skin.

  “The Ore House,” I tell him, my voice raspy.

  “Fuck.” He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me with this hair. And that dress should be outlawed.”

  “This thing?” I push back and look down at myself. Sure, the simple black wrap dress fits nicely, but it’s nothing to lose your head over.

  “That thing clings to every damn curve.” His voice sounds almost pained as he runs a hand from my waist, down over the curve of my hip. “What time is our reservation?”

  “Seven. When you said you’d be late, I—”

  “It’s fine,” he cuts in, backing me up against the wall. “We’ll have appetizers here.”

  I don’t have to ask what he means when his mouth takes mine in a voracious kiss. His hand slides up to cup my breast,
and my breath hitches when his fingers find the hard peak of my nipple through the sleek fabric. His knee inserts between my legs, and with his thick thigh he rubs along my core.

  “Jesus,” he mutters, pulling his lips from mine and dropping his head in my neck. “I can feel your heat through my jeans, and you have no idea how badly I want to explore that.” Catching my breath, I’m about to tell him to go right ahead, when he takes a step back and grabs my hand. “Let’s get you fed.”

  “Wait. I forgot to lock the cat door. I need to make sure the cats are all inside.”

  “Cats? As in plural?” He looks around, but my guys are probably in hiding. “How many?”

  “Five.” I chuckle when both his eyebrows disappear in his hairline. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

  He hesitates a moment before answering. “Not in the literal sense of the word.”

  Chapter 8

  Keith

  The Ore House is a landmark restaurant in Durango. She picked well.

  I put my hand in the small of her back when the hostess leads us to our table. My hand has been on her in one way or another since she opened the door for me. Backlit in the doorway, she looked like some kind of siren: a halo of red hair and lush curves on display in that formfitting dress. A walking wet dream, and I can barely keep my eyes off her, even as we’re handed menus and order drinks.

  I spent most of the weekend working. Something I’ve been doing for the past eight months, in an attempt to stay on top of things. If I’ve discovered anything, it’s that I’m not cut out for the position of Chief of Police, no matter how much Stan Woodard wants me for the job. Dealing with committee members, wanting an update on plans put in place for the damn DPD parade float, had about done my head in. Shoving that aside I focused on trying to get a bead on whoever is setting fires around town, but we have little to go on.

  Tony interviewed Shannon Payne, the single mom, but she had nothing to offer. No bottles of laced liquor left on her doorstep, which might suggest a pattern for us to follow. That this may be someone who is looking for some recognition with each fire he sets has been eating at me. I finally pulled Tony aside this afternoon and shared Roman’s warning with him, only to discover the idea was not new to him. We spent a few hours behind the closed door of my office, making a list of possible candidates. All first responders, and all people we both know, making it all kinds of fucked up. It had been a relief to walk out of the station.

  “Holy shit,” Autumn stage-whispers, flipping through the leather binder. “I had no idea this place was so expensive. If I’d known—”

  “It’s fine.” I grab her hand and give it a squeeze.

  “We’ll go Dutch.”

  “Over my dead body.” Her eyes shoot up at my statement, and I can almost see the bristles go up.

  “I’m more than capable paying for myself, you know.” Her tone is snippy and I can’t help grinning. I’m slowly starting to figure out this woman, and every thing I discover only increases her appeal.

  That doesn’t mean I’m going to let her near the bill.

  “I have no doubt you are, but you won’t be tonight.” I don’t bother telling her, if she’s with me, she won’t be paying any other night either. She’ll find out and we’ll probably have another face-off over some bill, but I’m hoping eventually she’ll figure me out too. The small huff she responds with is cute.

  The waitress returns and we place our orders. I throw Autumn a sharp glance when she chooses the cheapest entree on the menu, but I’m not about to fight with her on it. I get the feeling there will be plenty to argue about with this woman, so I’ll pick my battles.

  Instead, I set out to get to know her better. “Explain to me what you do. I know you work at the new burn center but little else.”

  Her annoyance forgotten, a light comes on in her eyes when she talks about her work. Although interesting enough, I could’ve found that information on my own, but in listening to her talk about it I learn a shitload about who she is. For all of her sometimes thorny exterior, the woman has great empathy for the patients she works with and shows deep passion for what she does.

  I also learn she doesn’t like talking about her parents, who are apparently both gone, and she has no siblings. She doesn’t get out much and aside from the friends she left in San Antonio; those cats of hers are the only family she has. I would’ve much preferred those to be dogs—cats are arrogant assholes—but fuck, if they make her happy, I can handle a bunch of asocial felines.

  “All we’ve done is talk about me,” she semi-accuses when the waitress drops a small folder with the bill on the table. “I still don’t know much about you.”

  “We have to save something for next time,” I tease, checking the total and pulling out my wallet. “Besides, I like listening to you talk.”

  “Spoilsport,” she mumbles, as I slip a few bills in the folder and pull her up by the hand.

  “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  “Where are we going?” she wants to know, when I head up the mountain drive to Fort Lewis College.

  “Wait and see. You mentioned not having had much of a chance to see Durango, which gave me an idea.”

  It’s pretty chilly up on the ledge by the college, so I grab a windbreaker from my back seat and drape it over her shoulders. At nine forty-five at night, the sky is dark but the town of Durango below is completely lit up. It’s been ages since I’ve been up here just to enjoy the view.

  “Ohhh, I wish I’d known about this when Sophie and Roman were here. This is such a pretty spot.” I lead her to a bench at the edge of the lookout. Sitting down next to her, I drape my arm around her shoulder and tuck her close. “I’m not that cold,” she says, as if that would be the reason I want her close. “Your jacket keeps me comfortable.”

  “Maybe I’m cold,” I tease her. “Or maybe I just really like the feel of you against me.” Her eyes flit to mine, and a hint of a smile plays at the corner of her mouth.

  “I’d have to agree with option B.” Her right hand slips behind my neck, tugging me close as she drops her head back against my arm.

  I willingly comply, lowering my face close to hers. I pull her bottom lip between mine, sucking at the plump flesh before giving it a nip with my teeth. The tightening of her hand on my neck tells me she likes a little pain with her pleasure. Instead of taking her mouth, as she’s expecting, I slide my lips down the exposed column of her neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot right by her shoulder. Pressing kisses all the way down to the swell of her breast, I use my free hand to pull the fabric of her dress and bra to the side, and lift her to me.

  Her skin is delicate, almost translucent, and garnished with freckles. She smells fresh, light, something vaguely citrusy. Her pale pink nipple is tight and darkening with her arousal when I bend my head, taking her in my mouth. A deep moan rewards me when I pull hard, pressing the tip against the roof of my mouth with my tongue.

  Her taste, soft skin, and open responsiveness has my cock straining in my jeans, weeping precum. I let her slip from between my lips and slide down the bench, kneeling in front of her, easing her legs apart as I push up her dress.

  She looks fucking beautiful and wanton—one tit exposed, her white thighs splayed open, black underwear peeking from under the bunched up skirt—but most stunning is her face with the deep flush staining her cheeks and lips, and those shimmering green eyes burning into mine.

  “I’m exposed,” she says, although she doesn’t seem in the least bothered with her partial nudity.

  “I know,” I mumble, my lips finding the tender flesh on the inside of her thigh. I inhale the scent of her arousal, and I feel it’s warm evidence when I pull the gusset of her panties aside with my fingers, craving her taste.

  “Keith…”

  Spurred on by the plea in her voice, I press my face between her thighs, lapping at her slit with my tongue. Her legs spread even wider and her hands land on my head, holding me in place as she rolls her hips. Christ, this
woman is going to make me blow. I slide first one, and then a second finger inside her, while my lips and teeth work her protruding clit. The moment I feel the ripple of her walls clamping on my fingers, I lift my head to watch her climax.

  It’s only then I notice the familiar pitch of sirens in the valley below.

  Almost immediately my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.

  Autumn

  Fucking hell!

  What was I thinking?

  Slouched on that bench with my business hanging out everywhere—Keith’s mouth and fingers making me forget my own damn name—anyone could’ve come by. Jesus, someone may have and I wouldn’t even know.

  I thought at forty-two I was pretty much in tune with my body. Knowing my own likes and dislikes and with a decent grasp of my sexuality, but tonight I surprised even myself. I would never have pegged myself as a closet exhibitionist, but shit…even though I hate to admit it, there’s something to say for the added heat the possibility of discovery brings. I don’t think I’ve ever come that quick or that hard before, and I haven’t even seen his cock yet.

  My body is still humming when Keith drops me off at my door, a quick hard kiss that still carries my own taste my only goodbye, as he runs back to his vehicle. With no small amount of regret, I watch his taillights disappear, only to admonish myself for being selfish. From what I could gather from his side of the few brief phone calls he made, there’s another fire. One more in what apparently is a chain of them. Perhaps another person injured, losing their property, or God forbid, their life.

  I can’t imagine the pressure he must be under. The frustration he must feel.

  Jack is meowing, getting my attention. He’s standing by the small cat gate built into the back door off the kitchen. A small perk I didn’t even see until I had moved in. The previous renters had a small pup, so it’s technically a doggie door, but not in my household. I flip the small latch and Jack pushes outside, Panda close on his heels. I’m sure the others will follow. All my cats are free to go outside. They like to roam around, but they always come back for their meals. Back in San Antonio, they had that freedom day or night, but here I’m a little more cautious, locking them in overnight.