Millie’s eyes are unfocused and heavy, and she chuckles. “You know that she was lying right?” Millie whispers and I have to fight to catch my heart from dropping.
“Lying about what?” I ask.
“She loves you,” Millie mutters half asleep and I am so still that I stop breathing altogether. “She’s always loved you. I can tell. She has a special voice only for you. I only hear it when she talks about you. She has a special look for you too. Her eyes change when you’re around.”
Her voice is barely audible and trails off into a soft snore.
I’m not sure how to process anything Millie said. I finally chalk it up to a hopeful little girl wishing her parents would be together, to love each other. There’s no way she could understand all of this so fully.
Real love is about more than soft words and passionate glances.
I had to believe that. Even though I so desperately want to side with Mille.
The night is cold, and the yard is dark except for the flood light set up outside Briggs RV. She’s tossing boxes through the door and I can see that she’s tense. The same cloud that’s hung over her since the moment she returned to Raston shades her light.
I pick up a box on my way and when she turns around, she startles, her eyes fearful for only a moment before they change. And I see it. For the first time and only because Millie pointed it out. When focuses on me her gaze softens, they narrow in and see only me. They are torn. Tortured.
A small blip of hope emboldens me to believe Millie. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Briggs still does love me somewhere behind all those walls.
“Need help?” I ask and her lip suddenly trembles like what I said meant something that had nothing to do with the box in my hands.
I set the box down and pull her into my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist, and we stand like that for a long time.
“I wish you’d talk to me Briggs,” I whisper into her hair and her shoulders heave with a sigh.
“I’m a terrible mother, Xan. How is this Millie’s first real birthday party? She’s ten years old.” Briggs’ voice is muffled against my chest, so I push her to arm’s length. The cold air sends shivers from her shoulders and tears that will never spill cling to her lashes. She tries to turn away and it breaks my heart that she’s never allowed to cry. Never allowed to show herself.
“Hey,” I say, gently tugging her shoulders square with me. “You are a great mother. She is an amazingly smart and intuitive little girl. She didn’t get that way on her own. No ten-year-old has had a fraction of the experience she’s gotten.”
Briggs lip trembles slightly, and I let my fingertips trail down her bare arms. She shivers again but this time I know it’s not because of the breeze, or clear cloudless sky.
“Thanks,” she sniffs and puts a hand on my chest, her fingers hooking slightly to dig into my shirt.
And there’s the voice. The voice meant just for me, like Millie said. How have I never noticed that before?
“I should go inside.”
Instead of letting her hand fall she drags her fingers down my torso, balling my shirt in her fist. I stare at the soft pout of her lips and she slowly pulls on my shirt until I have to take a step toward her. My body comes alive at the proximity, driven by this new sense of truth. She wants me like I want her, but she’s not letting herself have me.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” I say and the gravity of her draws me closer.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, but she licks her bottom lip and I want that lip between my teeth. “Like Pris said, we can’t make this about us.”
“You’re right. We really shouldn’t,” I reply reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. I stroke her cheek and press a thumb to her chin. “But it doesn’t stop me wanting it.”
She leans into my touch, a low hum in her throat that stirs up old memories in a new light. Those eyes. The look she had only for me. Trusting eyes. I always felt powerful under her gaze. Perfect.
She’s right though. We shouldn’t. Want or not. The idea of us has long since passed. Our strongest tie isn’t our love for each other anymore. It’s love for Millie.
Her whispered words about never thinking we’d be together again dampen my lust for her. I can’t get caught up in Millie’s girlish fantasies of a perfect little family. Perfect doesn’t exist. Not for people like me anyway.
I sigh and cup Briggs cheek, leaning forward and kissing her forehead gently. “Goodnight.”
My attempt to step back fails because she won’t let me go. Her fingers still clutch my shirt, her knuckles white with pressure. I have no idea how long we stand there locked in each other, chests heaving, minds spinning.
“Oh, fuck it all to hell,” she hisses, yanking my shirt so hard I stumble into her body. I need no direction to find purchase and her soft lips are on mine, already parted and ready.
It’s a desperate and messy kiss at first, rusty as we find our groove, but my body hasn’t forgotten her. My palms fit on her hips, fingers sneaking up the hem of her shirt to bring her flush with me. She nips at my lip, wrapping her arms around my neck and I guide her up onto the steps of her RV. Me on the ground and her on the first step puts us at a more equal height, her body more in line with mine.
She threads her fingers in my hair and gasps for air as my kisses trail her jaw, down her neck to that spot on her collarbone she loves. She moans, her body getting heavier as she melts into me and needs me to prop her up. The sound makes my dick so hard it hurts pushing against my jeans. I inch my hand further under her shirt until my fingers cup over the soft mound of her breast and when I realize she isn’t wearing a bra that’s it. All my restraint is gone.
“Inside,” I say sharply, and she doesn’t hesitate. She jogs the next two steps and I take them in one long stride, yanking the door closed behind me.
I barely turn to her when she crashes into me and I lift her by the ass, her legs around me, her lips on me, her sounds echoing through me. She frantically yanks at my shirt and I set her on the small counter so she can let go of my shoulders to remove the material from my body.
The sight of her taking me in could sustain me for life, her fingertips lightly graze my shoulders, down my bare chest and trace my stomach. She makes her way back up to my shoulders, my neck, and touches the scruff on my face. She strokes my lip with her thumb while locking her gaze on mine.
“I’ve never wanted anything like I want you,” she whispers and pulls us together again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BRIGGS
The only place I’ve ever felt like I belong is in his arms they wrap me up now, strong and warm. He’s different, yet the same. His jaw rubs my skin raw, his body is stronger, his movements are more sure.
He moves slower and more deliberately than when we were young and desperate. He takes his time kissing long my skin, teasing me under my shirt before gently peeling it from my body. He leans back taking me in, sitting braless on the counter. He squeezes my thighs with strong palms, massaging up my legs and I let my head fall back.
“Are we doing this?” He asks. He always asked. It embarrassed me as a teenager, to always have to say yes, to say I wanted him. I used to think it came from insecurity, that he needed my reassurance. Now that I’m an adult I know it came from respect, that he needed my consent.
To answer him I sneak my fingers in the waistband of his jeans and pinch open the button.
“We are doing this,” I whisper, sliding the zipper down and letting the denim hang open, I drag my finger along the dip in his hipbone to the bulge of his cock, ready for me.
He lifts me off the counter with one arm, the other clears the bed of jewelry debris in one swoop. The clatter of beads and clasps hitting the walls and floor is deafening in the dark silence of the night. He settles me in the center of the bed and hovers over top.
“You are so beautiful,” he says, lowering to kiss me gently before travelling along my jaw, down my neck and over the swell of my breast. H
e flicks my nipple with gentle warmth, and I bite my lip hard. He works the button and zipper of my jeans one handed, and his fingers disappear underneath soft blue lace. He knows my body, after all this time he knows exactly where to go, exactly what I need, but something is different.
Time.
Time has given him a sure touch, firm kiss, more command.
He captures my moan with a kiss as he reacquaints with my body, tracing slow circles over my clit.
“Get those pants off,” he demands against my lips and this new part of him I haven’t ever met before reignites the fiery need for him. I lift my hips and he helps me shimmy my way out, eventually moving to the end of the bed to rip the material from my legs and settle between them. He kisses my stomach and hips and makes his way down my hips and over my pubic bone. The moment he presses his tongue to my clit I let go of everything holding me back.
I’m consumed by how it feels to be under his touch. How I missed this, how I crave this.
He slips his palm up my torso, rolling my nipple between his fingers and new levels of electric energy pulse through me. I rock against his mouth and fist the sheets beside me.
“Come for me, Babe,” he hums, and the dirty talk sends me over the edge. I’m dizzy and floating when he crawls up for a kiss. I tear at his pants hanging on his hips and he laughs at my frantic pushing. It takes him less than a second to strip down to nothing and I marvel at the changes in his body. I watch him grip the base of his cock and gently slide the tip against me. He lets go of himself and scoops his hand under my ass as he enters me, angling my hips to take him all the way.
He groans and lets his head fall to my shoulder. His body stills, his breath is slow and measured, he’s fighting something inside. I drag my fingers along his sides. Slowly I kiss the side of his head and nuzzle him until I have access to his earlobe. I know he likes this. I know it’s a button for him, so I nip the flesh and his breath speeds up. I suck the lobe into my mouth with a pop and whisper in his ear.
“I want you to fuck me now, Alexander,” it comes out more breathless and wispier than I mean it to. Like a plea rather than an order. He shifts back to admire me, his vision clearing of whatever clouds had shadowed them.
He slowly pulls out and thrusts back in a smooth measured groan that matches my breath as I relax into him, him into me.
“God, I missed how good you feel,” his admission is followed by a hard kiss and I have no chance to respond. He unleashes on me with his full power and I cling to every good thing he gives me as we pick up exactly where we left off ten years ago.
Completely lost in each other.
#
Xan sleeps quietly beside me and I tuck into the warmth of his body. He stirs and shifts making a low noise in the back of his throat. I haven’t been able to fall asleep around the tumbling thoughts. Sex with him was magical, emotional, and raw. He is more experienced and forward, he commanded my attention and drove my lust for him with expert precision.
It frightens me now that the effects of him wear off and reality settles back in. My body screams for him, but I know it’s not practical. I know it’s not what we’re supposed to do.
He startles next to me and I watch him with curiosity. He must be dreaming, the way his eyes dart beneath his lids and his brows twitch. The noise comes again, higher pitched. His arms twitch, his legs tuck up and I have to scoot farther back so he doesn’t knee me.
It sounds like he’s having a nightmare, so I reach over and lightly touch his arm. “Xan,” I whisper but his whimpering grows louder. Words begin to form, or what I think are words.
No. Don’t leave. Keep breathing. Come back.
His muscles tense and the words turn to cries, turn to a scream and it scares me.
“Xan!” I call loudly and his eyes spring open. They’re clouded. Filled with tears and grief, he buries his face in the pillow and yells, the muscles in his neck about to snap.
When he stops and his shoulders heave with shaky breaths, I am finally brave enough to go to him. I know this is about his crew. I know this is about the firefighter who died last fall in the Creston Ridge fire. I also know Xan and his drive to protect everything and everyone around him.
But who protects Xan? My heart aches for him, like it always has. The boy with no one.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, touching his shoulder. His face is still pressed into the pillow. The moment my fingers press into his warm shoulder they begin to shake. I’ve seen Xan cry before, but I’ve never seen him this torn up about anything. “I’m so sorry.” I repeat and without looking at me he crawls across the bed and wraps his arms around my waist, and I fold myself over top of him to hold him until he stops shaking.
It only takes a few minutes for him to settle and gather himself.
I want to say something to make him feel better, but words don’t come. Instead I take a full breath in and something odd tickles my nose. I see the smoke before I place the smell and I gasp.
“Xan,” I yank him up and he’d bewildered at the light coil of smoke billowing out from under the bench seat. In an instant his entire being changes. His shoulders square, his eyes are glassy but alert, a calmness washes over his body while I begin to slowly descend into panic. My motorhome is on fire.
Xan hurries and puts his pants on, throwing my shirt at me.
“Get dressed, Briggs. We need to get out. Where’s the extinguisher?”
I flicker my gaze to the fridge. It’s beside the fridge but I don’t say that. I don’t have to. He follows my gaze reaches around and grabs it.
I see the flames outside the window now, smoke is getting thicker and I don’t know what to do. I’m frozen with my shirt in my hand and a cough sitting on my lungs.
Xan flings the door open and strides to the bed yanking me to the edge and easily lifting me to my feet. He leads me outside where the night air blasts immediate shivers along my skin. I hurry to put the rest of my clothes on.
The back of the motorhome is licked with flame and I wrap my arms around my middle to keep out the cold. Xan is focused and clear and sends short bursts at the base of the flame with the extinguisher.
“We might need more. Briggs go to the house. Grab another extinguisher.”
I react quicker this time, sprinting up the steps and slamming through the door. I flip on lights as I go to the kitchen. I know there’s one in there. I yank it off the wall in the pantry and run back out. Xan has made quick work of the small fire and we switch cans.
The lights flicker on from the spare room and I see my dad glance out the window.
The smoking charred side of my motorhome hits me square in the gut.
“What happened?” I ask as Xan inspects the fire damage. He suddenly straightens up and spins around slowly.
“This wasn’t an accident, Briggs. Someone started this fire. It smells like gas.” He crouches down to a patch of burnt grass and touches it lightly.
My bones turn to ice.
“What’s going on?” My dad hollers from the porch and suddenly they’re both looking at me. Both sets of eyes trained on me as if I already know exactly what’s going on here.
Which I do.
Someone is trying to kill me.
And it’s time to say something.
Chapter Twenty Five
BRIGGS
The fire is out, and my father is sitting across the kitchen table glaring at me. Angry concern I haven’t seen on his face for ages is the cause for my fidgeting fingers.
Xan bangs through the door and Dad glares harder. He’s not happy about our sleep over but right now there are far more important things to think about. Like the person who violently shifted from online harassment and prank phone calls to full blown stalker.
“The trees are clear. I found tracks out by the creek but in the rain, I couldn’t make out size through the mud. Went to the road. I’m guessing whoever did this parked on the highway and walked through the trail. So, it’s someone who knows your property. Someone who knows your
trails.”
He plops down beside Dad and I feel like I’m being interrogated. Good cop bad cop over there with disappointed glares and deep wells of concern.
“Start talking, Brigitte.” Dad is sharp and I wince at his tone, but I don’t blame him.
I sigh and lace my fingers around my tea mug, the steam offering soothing peppermint to calm my mind.
“The real reason I agreed to come back to Raston is because someone was cyber stalking me.”
“I’d say they’re for real fucking stalking you now,” Xan spits and Dad elbows him.
“I have almost a million followers for my Wild and Free design. I sell exclusive custom sourced natural jewelry and am out of stock in under ten minutes every time I release a new line. A lot of people on the internet love me.” I pause to sip my tea. “A lot of people hate me. Mostly because half of the allure of my work is my devotion to anonymity. I never post my face, never talk about Millie, and never stay anywhere long enough for people to find me. They try though.”
“What do you mean they try?” Dad asks.
“There’s multiple Facebook groups dedicated to figuring out who I am. Most of their theories are completely impossible, and I used to join the groups as me to laugh at the absurdity of it. Most are harmless. Women just having fun and being nosy. Some of the groups are not so whimsical. They want to find me because they want me to know how much they hate me, my work, and my existence.
“It became overwhelming to monitor and moderate the comments and hate mail I get on my newsletter, so I hired a Virtual Assistant and it stopped for a while. Leslie is my first line of defense, deleting and blocking. I basically forgot about it. Until I started getting phone calls.”
“How did they get your number?”
“They couldn’t have. The calls were unrelated. From a man I went on a date with. I rejected him and he didn’t like that. I changed my number, twice. I talked to the police, but they couldn’t do anything because it wasn’t threatening. He was calling me and breathing heavy and hanging up. He’d call in the middle of the night. Over and over. It was affecting my work. I was more sensitive to the trolls online. I couldn’t source, I was becoming afraid. Then one night someone smashed my window while Millie and I were sleeping. I knew he found me. I knew it was him.”
Wildfire Page 15
