Siena had no idea how to respond to that. Did that mean he didn’t want to go? Then why was he? She let out a frustrated breath and set her purse between them. She needed some kind of barrier. As much as she wanted to stay away from him, she felt a stirring down low every time she looked at him. She turned and looked out the window. Better. Safer.
“Oh crap.”
She shifted her eyes to him.
“I’ve got to stop somewhere before I go to the bar. Why don’t you drop me off and I’ll meet you guys there?” He rubbed his hand nervously down his face.
“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard. If you don’t want to go, just say it. I don’t care. It’s not like you’ll hurt my feelings.” Her stomach clenched, and a twinge of hurt squeezed at her heart, causing her mouth to run a mile a minute. “It’s not like I want to go with you anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This bullshit excuse. Someplace to go. That’s as transparent as a girl saying she has a headache.”
His nostrils flared, and he fisted his hands. “Who are you to decide if I’m telling the truth or not? I don’t make up excuses. If I didn’t want to go to the bar, I wouldn’t go.”
So you want to go. Heat shot through her. “Right. Like you want to spend any more time with me than you have to.”
“You don’t believe me?” He leaned forward and gave the driver an address. “You’re coming with me.”
A command. Why the hell does it turn me on when you do that?
“I’ll show you who’s a liar and who’s not.”
“I’m not going with you on some fake errand that you made up to make yourself look better.” She crossed her arms over her chest to calm her racing heart.
“Fake errand?”
He leaned in close. So damn close she could smell the mint he’d eaten ten minutes before.
SIENA REMINGTON WAS the most frustrating woman he’d ever met, and Cash was done playing. With his lips an inch from hers, he whispered, “Unlike women, I never fake a damn thing.”
Her body visibly shuddered. Exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. That would shut her up.
“I’ve never faked a damn thing in my life,” she shot back. Her eyes darkened, filled with challenge.
I bet you haven’t.
“Can you stop at the florist on the corner first, please?”
He caught Siena’s confused expression and chose to ignore it. Vetta hadn’t been eating much lately, and he wanted to check on her. Flowers might just cheer her up if she was feeling sad or lonely.
The cab pulled over. “I’ll only be a second.” He looked from Siena to the cabbie. “Don’t leave,” he said to the cabbie. “I’m the one paying your fare.”
He returned to the car five minutes later with a bouquet of daisies. “Thanks,” he said to the cabbie.
Siena stared at the flowers. He knew she wondered who they were for. Good. Let her stew. He wished he’d had time to go to the grocery store even though Vetta had said she didn’t need anything.
When they pulled up in front of Vetta’s apartment, Cash’s eyes never left hers as he paid the driver. “Stay there,” he said gruffly to Siena.
He stepped from the cab and then opened Siena’s door for her. “You coming or what?”
“You just told me to stay here like a dog.” She stared straight ahead.
“I meant I’d open the door.”
She glared at him.
“You’re so fucking crazy. You can call me a liar, but I’m not going to let you make me into something I’m not in that pretty little brain of yours. I open doors. It’s who I am.” They stared at each other so long he thought the cabbie was going to charge him extra. “Are you getting out of the car?”
She huffed as she climbed out, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. She looked up and down the block. He headed into the brick apartment building. When he opened the door and held it without going in, she rolled her eyes and passed through.
“Where are we?”
He had no idea why he’d told her to come with him. Siena had pissed him off too many times. Cash was a lot of things, but a goddamn liar wasn’t one of them. He thought of his meeting with the chief and knew that telling the chief he’d get himself under control would be a lie. He had no control over what had become a need to take extra risks on the job—if only to prove that if he could help it, they’d never lose another life while he was on duty. He pushed away thoughts of the chief. The chief could wait until tomorrow. He needed all of his focus to make it through tonight.
He knocked on the door, keenly aware of Siena’s angry breathing beside him. He heard the click of the dead bolt, the slide of the chain. Cash drew in a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back. His eyes slid to Siena. Tension lines gathered around her beautiful eyes, across her forehead, and framed her sweet, pouty lips. The click of the last dead bolt drew his eyes back to the door.
“Oh, Cash, you brought my favorite flowers.” Vetta pulled the door open and was startled when she spotted Siena. “Goodness. You’ve brought a friend.”
Siena’s eyes shot to Cash; then her lips lifted to a practiced smile and her face softened. “Hi, I’m Siena Remington.”
It was all he could do not to call her on her ability to morph from Modelzilla to sweet Cinderella in the blink of an eye.
“Siena Remington. I knew a Remington once. Please, come in.” Vetta moved slowly toward the living room.
Cash held out a hand, guiding a path for Siena to enter before him.
“I’m Vetta Miller. Please, sit down.” She settled into the chair, leaving the sofa for Siena and Cash.
“I’ll put these in a vase.” Cash headed into the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator, noticed the spaghetti hadn’t been touched, and closed it again.
Vetta spoke quietly, but not quietly enough for Cash to miss what she said—and Siena’s answers.
“Siena, how do you know Cash?”
“I…We…”
Cash stilled his hand from arranging the flowers, listening intently.
“I ran my car off the road the other night and he rescu—helped me.”
Rescued. I rescued you. Was she too stubborn to admit he’d rescued her, or did she dislike him too much to give him credit? His gut tightened at the latter.
“Ah. You’re the one he told me about. He’s a nice man.”
He held his breath, waiting for Siena’s response.
“Is he?”
Am I? What kind of response is that? He shoved the flowers in the vase and took a step toward the living room, then stopped at the sound of Vetta’s voice.
“Oh yes. He visits me several times each week, brings me dinner, fixes things.”
Cash closed his eyes, waiting for the bomb to fall. He killed my husband.
“He’s a dear.”
His eyes flew open. A dear? A dear.
He waited another beat, but when neither said anything further, he cleared his throat and came into the room, setting the vase on the coffee table.
“Now, those brighten this room right up, don’t they?” Vetta gazed up at him with a kind smile. “Cash, won’t you sit down?” She pointed to the vacant seat beside Siena on the small sofa.
He didn’t trust himself next to Siena. His body reacted to her in ways he couldn’t control and she tweaked his last nerve, causing him to be even gruffer than he normally was.
“I’m good. I’ll stand.”
“You should sit,” Siena said, patting the seat beside her with a smirk on her lips.
You know just what you’re doing to me.
“Yes, Cash. You’re making me nervous.” Vetta nodded toward the sofa, and he reluctantly sat beside Siena. The scent of her sweet perfume wrapped around him, and when she leaned toward Vetta, so close to his lap that she was practically on it, every muscle tensed.
“Vetta, you said you knew a Remington?”
“Yes. A Joanie Remington. She used to bring crayons and paper to the kids in the pedi
atric ward where my husband worked. It was ages ago.”
“That’s my mother.”
“Oh, isn’t that a coincidence. I wonder if she would remember my husband, Samuel.” She looked up at the photo on the wall and sighed.
“Is he…?” Siena glanced at Cash.
Cash felt the air leave his lungs. Here it comes.
“Oh, he passed a few weeks ago. Heart attack.” She reached for Cash’s hand. “Cash has been checking on me ever since.”
Why are you doing this? Just tell her. Get it over with. He could barely breathe.
Siena searched Cash’s eyes, and he drew them away, sure she could see the guilt that haunted him every second of the day.
“Really?” Siena said quietly.
“Oh, yes. He’s quite a gentleman.”
“Okay, this is a little uncomfortable for me.” Cash rose to his feet. “I just wanted to stop by to see if you needed anything before I headed out for the night. I noticed that you haven’t touched the spaghetti I brought last night. Was something wrong with it? Do you want me to get you something else? I have time. I can go get something now.”
“Oh, no, thank you. When you get up in age, hunger doesn’t hold as much of a priority.”
“Are you sure? I mean if you need to see a doctor, or need different foods…”
“No, no. You’re such a doll, Cash. I’m fine, really. You kids run along. I’m fine.” Vetta pushed to her feet, and Cash reached a hand out to her lower back and kissed her cheek.
“Lock this behind us, please.”
“I always do,” Vetta said with another smile.
He opened the door for Siena, and after she walked out of the apartment, Vetta touched his arm.
“Let her see you like I see you,” Vetta whispered. Then she nodded and gave him a little shove out the door.
He joined Siena in the hallway. She tilted her head to the side and looked him over with an assessing gaze, as if she were seeing him for the first time. The energy rolling off of her had changed from sharp to soft, as if she were looking at a big stuffed teddy bear and thinking, Aw, aren’t you cute.
Had everyone in the world lost their minds?
Chapter Seven
THE BRISK NIGHT air stung Siena’s cheeks as they headed to NightCaps. She didn’t know what to make of the angry and arrogant man Cash Ryder appeared to be as he walked beside her in silence, or how that part of him fit in with the empathetic, gentle giant she’d seen a few minutes earlier. She had so many questions, and she knew she shouldn’t care about any of them. What did it matter how he treated an old woman who had lost her husband? Or that he’d brought her flowers or fixed her stuff? He wasn’t that man around Siena, and that should be enough to send her hightailing it in the opposite direction. But she couldn’t turn away. She was intrigued.
She stepped over the curb, and he grabbed her arm and held her still. She shot a look over her shoulder.
“You didn’t even look for cars,” he snapped. His eyes narrowed, and the muscle in his jaw bunched up.
The angry man is back. She’d been hoping to hang on to the softer side of him for a little while longer. Maybe only little old ladies got that pleasure. “I did, in my peripheral vision.”
He lifted his chin to the illuminated red hand on the crosswalk sign. “See that?”
“Yes, but there are no cars coming.”
He shook his head, still hanging on to her arm, his body pressed against her side. She couldn’t pull away. She didn’t want to. She liked the feel of him against her, the way he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her and yell at her all at once.
She yanked her arm out of his grasp. What is wrong with me? He is so not the man for me. He’s mean, testy, unpredictable. She thought of the way he’d looked at Vetta when he’d kissed her cheek, the flowers he’d brought her, the concern in his voice when he’d asked about the spaghetti. He made her spaghetti?
“Fine. Walk out there. Kill yourself. Just don’t expect me to rescu—help you.”
“You’re so…so…” She turned away and shoved her hands in her pockets before stomping across the street—after the crosswalk sign flashed the image of the person walking. She felt him behind her, felt his elbow touch her back when she slowed to walk around a couple.
“I didn’t lie,” he seethed.
She didn’t outwardly acknowledge the truth of it, but inside she was still warm with the knowledge that he’d delayed their trip to the bar to check on Vetta. Most men wouldn’t let anything steal a second of their time when they were with her, and most women would love that. Siena found herself even more attracted to him for having delayed their evening. She chanced a look at him, his eyes focused on the people walking toward them on the sidewalk. He was obviously aware of his surroundings at all times. She guessed that was part of his whole being prepared thing. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. His cheeks had darkened since he first arrived at the photo shoot and were now peppered with evening stubble that she desperately wanted to touch. Stop it.
You’re not a liar.
But you are an asshole.
Sort of.
Sometimes.
He held the door to the bar open, then pulled out a chair for Siena when they found the others at a table near the bar.
Okay, so sometimes you’re a gentleman. The realization stilled her mind. She scrutinized him as he shrugged off his coat, looking way too hot in a tight fire department T-shirt and jeans that hugged his thick, powerful thighs. She swallowed against the attraction that coiled in her belly.
“What’re you drinking?” he asked gruffly.
She pushed to her feet. Cash settled his hand on her shoulder and gently but firmly pushed her back down to her seat, sending a shiver down her spine. A hot iron leaving its mark. She sensed Willow’s eyes tracking their every move.
Cash pinned her to the chair with the same heated stare he’d stilled her with in the truck. Damn, he could pin her anywhere he wanted with those eyes.
“It’s who I am, remember?” he asked sternly.
Everything he’d done since they left the studio had thrown her equilibrium off. Siena wasn’t used to not being in control, especially not with a man. She arched a brow and in her most seductive voice said, “I’ll have a screaming orgasm.”
His Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. His fingers curled around her shoulder, gripping it tightly.
“Maybe two,” she added before turning her attention to Willow.
SHE’S FUCKING WITH me. Cash tried to stifle the rush of desire that burned through him as he ordered two rounds of screaming orgasms for everyone at the table. Maybe two. He scoffed. Hell, one night with him and she’d be screaming for more.
He set the drinks in front of her.
“Only two?” He shook his head. “I had you pegged all wrong.”
He doled the rest out to the others, sensing her eyes on him.
“You’re not really my type, but I’ll take it.” Mike was married with a three-year old daughter whose harmless flirting had never gotten him into trouble. He fluttered his dark eyelashes and flashed a crooked smile. He ran his hand through his military-short black hair.
“Well, he’s definitely my type,” Willow said, lifting her shot glass. She winked at Siena.
“Damn, I was hoping I was your type,” Joe said, pulling his lips into a frown.
Willow leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek. “Baby, you’re all my type.”
Siena rolled her eyes.
Cash sat across from her and lifted his glass. “To screaming orgasms.”
The others mirrored his toast and sucked down their drinks. Siena held his stare, then tossed her head back and swallowed the shot.
“Hm. Not quite as good as I remember.” She arched a brow.
He felt his lips lift into a smile. You wanna play? He knocked back his second shot, slammed the glass on the table, and locked eyes with her again. “Sometimes it takes a few before it hits the spot. But if you can’t keep up�
��” He shrugged.
Willow tossed back her second drink. “Oh, we can keep up, all right. Mike, get a few more rounds.”
Siena’s eyes never left his. She licked her lower lip, leaving it wet.
Damn.
“I usually get it right the first time. The rest is just for good measure.” She tossed back her drink. “Ah. That was a little better.”
Mike brought two more rounds to the table. “Yeah, baby. Now we’re talking.” He glanced around the table. “I figure I have another fifteen minutes or so before I need to head home.”
Cash’s pulse raced. The challenge in Siena’s eyes was more than a drinking game. He knew lust when he saw it—and when he felt it.
Siena stood. Cash did the same.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
“I’ll walk you.”
She kicked her hip out to the side and leaned across the table. “Suit yourself.”
Cash felt as if he were walking in a path of fire as he followed her through the bar and down the steps. He tugged his collar away from his neck as his feet hit the floor. Siena cast a glance over her shoulder, ran her eyes slowly down his body, then sauntered into the ladies’ room.
He followed her in.
“It wasn’t an invitation,” she said coldly.
He pushed open each of the stalls, confirming that they were empty. Two steps brought him to her, his nerves tight, his body hot. She looked up at him without a word. He took a step closer. Her back met the wall; his hips met hers. Christ, she felt good. Too damn good. She was breathing as hard as he was. Her breasts lifted and fell against him. She had to feel his hard desire against her. He leaned forward, his lips a breath away from hers, and rested his forearm on the wall beside her head. Her lips parted, her eyelids hung heavily, seductively, as he drank them in; then he lowered his gaze to the pulse point on her neck, which was beating fast and hard. He dropped his eyes lower, lingering along the line of her collarbone, then the dip of her chest as it disappeared beneath her shirt.
He licked the sweet alcohol from his lips and lowered his cheek to hers.
“Careful,” he whispered. “You’re playing with fire, and I’m a master at controlling the flames.”
Flames of Love Page 6
