Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  He ran his hand down the length of her hair. Her compassion and strength amazed him. “That’s the important thing.”

  Greta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Yes, it is.” The seriousness in her tone gave him pause.

  Family had always meant the world to him. Whether it was the one he had grown up in, or the one born of friendship. He’d do anything to protect what was his, or so he’d believed in his youth. By her response, he had to wonder if he still held onto that belief.

  Unable to stop himself, he touched her hair again. The silken weight of it grounded him in the here and now. He became very aware that he sat in the near dark with a beautiful woman in his arms, sharing a very intimate moment. His body hardened and softened at the same time, and he pulled her a fraction of an inch closer. They were connected by a memory of sorrow, and Trey wanted a link of something good.

  “Tell me about our first kiss.”

  “Wow.” Her brows rose. “You change gears quickly.” Her soft chuckle made his breath hitch and his fingers tightened where they had landed on her hip. He was pleased when he felt an answering shudder race through her.

  He shrugged. “I’m curious about you. About us. I want to hear about something happy.”

  “You think our first kiss was a happy memory?”

  “It wasn’t?” How could it not have been?

  Greta threw her head back and laughed long and hard. Her hair rippled down her back and her shoulders shook as he stared at her with both confusion and amusement. It was the first time he had earned a genuine smile from her and he wanted to do it again.

  “Our first kiss.” She sobered and bit her lip as her gaze focused inward. This time when she laughed it was with a low and husky purr. It poured over him like syrup and pooled in his groin. “We’d been dancing, and you were trying to convince me that I was your girl. You pulled a macho move and planted one on me as I was trying to walk away. It was the funniest thing ever.”

  “Why was it funny?”

  “Because it was all soft and lippy and really wet. I was surprised that the great love-’em-and-leave-’em Trey Armstrong was a piss-poor kisser.” She giggled.

  “That can’t be right.” He looked away in disbelief and shifted in his seat. “You must be remembering it wrong.”

  “You’re questioning my memory?”

  “Well, yeah.” He didn’t recall having any troubles where the ladies were concerned. She must be playing with him. “I couldn’t have been that bad. You obviously stuck with me.”

  “I had to retrain you.”

  Retrain him, huh? “Was I a quick study?” he smirked.

  Her expression took on a dreamy quality that had him thinking of hot summer nights tangled in crisp cool sheets. “Yeah, you were.”

  He leaned in close, close enough to smell the wine on her breath. It was impossible to take his eyes off her succulent lips. “Do you think I still remember how?”

  Greta’s eyes widened at the unspoken request in his query. “You’d have to tell me,” she whispered.

  He dipped his head ever so slowly. Watching, waiting to see if she’d pull away. Her gaze fell to his lips, making them tingle in anticipation until he pressed his mouth to hers. Remembering her “soft lips” comment, he kept his touch firm. When he felt her smile in response, he slanted his mouth over hers and coaxed her to open for him.

  She gasped and melted in his embrace, her arms slipping around his neck to hold on tight. She tasted of wine and spice, and he wanted more. Her little whimpers pushed the need to claim her to the breaking point, twisting and twisting until he thought he would snap.

  Hot damn. Her kiss burned him to the core. If he could, he’d crawl inside her and not leave for days. His shaft throbbed and reminded him that it had been awhile since he had engaged in any vigorous activity. Since he couldn’t remember the last time he had had a taste of her body, it felt how like he suspected he had the first time with her, hot desperate and completely out of control. Which was why he needed to stop. Now.

  The need to take her slow, then fast, then slow again was strong. But the need to have her trust was greater. She was holding back. He felt it. Any information about their relationship he’d had to coax from her like getting a newborn calf to accept a new mama. She hadn’t refused to answer his questions, but she hadn’t elaborated, either. For some reason she was hiding something, and that bothered him.

  With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he tore away, leaving them both struggling for breath.

  Her lips were swollen and wet, her eyes dazed as she blinked up at him. “Yeah, you remembered,” she said as she exhaled.

  “I’m not gonna lie to you, Greta.” His throat was so raw it hurt. “I want you. Want you something fierce. From the moment I first saw you, you called to me. My head might not remember you, but my body sure does.”

  His fingertips traced a path down her cheek to settle around her throat. Her skin felt like silk against his callused palm, and her pulse beat in a frantic rhythm. Her lips parted with a startled gasp at his possessive touch, and her breasts pressed deeper into his chest.

  .

  “As much as I’d love to set you up on that railing there and fly us both to the moon, I’m gonna do my damnedest to restrain myself. I have the feeling the man I am today isn’t the same man I remember being. I think we both need a little time to adjust.”

  Her sharp intake of breath and sudden stillness confirmed his suspicions. He hated the possibility that he had hurt his woman. Somehow he was going to make it up to her. “Now tomorrow, I’m not making any promises about tomorrow. Why don’t you go on and get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a bit.”

  Seconds passed while she gazed into his eyes. He stared back, his thumb stroking over her collarbone. He wished he knew what she was looking for and wished even more that she’d find it.

  “Okay,” she said. The muscles in her thighs flexed as she prepared to stand, but she shifted and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re back,” she whispered in his ear.

  Trey hid his smile while he watched her walk away on shaky legs. As soon as the door closed behind her, he doubled over and pressed his hand against his throbbing erection.

  “Geez-us,” he groaned. No wonder why he had married her. A woman who could cook like an angel and kiss like a demon should not be left unclaimed.

  One kiss, one scorching kiss, and he was ready to come long and hard. How would it be when he finally had her naked and underneath him? “I’m in deep shit,” he muttered.

  For half a second he considered rubbing out a quick one, but only for half a second. With his luck, he’d get caught by one of the hands, or worse, Greta, and that would be sad.

  He stood on his own wobbly legs and took a slow walk around the house, twice, before he ventured back inside.

  Greta was exiting the bathroom just as he entered the bedroom. She wore a satin tank top and matching shorts in bubble gum pink. The material cupped and hugged her curves in all the places his hands itched to cover. She looked fresh, tousled, and sexy as hell.

  “Enjoy your walk?” Amusement flirted around her lips.

  “Get under the covers before I break my promise,” he warned. He liked this sassy side of her, maybe a little too much. Her smart mouth had the blood rushing back to his groin. With her hips rolling in a seductive sway as she walked to the bed, their bed, he was never more tempted to break a promise than he was right then.

  He couldn’t watch as she crawled onto the mattress. If he saw her bent over with her satin-covered ass in the air, he would be on her in a heartbeat.

  Trey snatched up a pair of shorts and escaped into the bathroom. Safely away from temptation, he tried to cool his blood by splashing cold water on his face.

  He turned the water off with a rough twist of his wrist. “Ah, fuck it.”

  In seconds, he was stripped and in the shower.

  Trey swore he heard her laughter coming from the other room as the stinging-cold needles of water sluiced over him. When
he was numb from the neck down, he got out and briskly dried off. He had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the feel of the cotton against his over-sensitized skin.

  In the bedroom, Greta left one light on in welcome. She had followed his directions and was already in bed. Her dark hair spilled over the pillow like molasses. The thought of it covering his chest the same way had him shaking his head to clear the desire away.

  He turned the light off and dove under the covers to spoon behind her. He said he wasn’t going to have sex with her, but that didn’t mean he would miss the opportunity to hold her all night long.

  Trey slid one arm under her head and the other around her waist. His broad palm rested along her belly, warming the fabric of her top with his heat. The effects of the cold shower vanished at her nearness. He didn’t bother trying to fight it anymore. It was too exhausting. Instead, he pulled her closer and let her feel his hard length against her back. Greta tensed as if waiting for him to cop a feel. He was her husband. He had every right to at least try to make a move, but he’d made a promise. It was a stupid promise, but it was still a promise. He needed her trust, and he needed her to share. She probably knew him better than anyone, and that connection would help him find his way back from the void.

  Little by little, he felt her muscles ease until she fell asleep in his arms. Only then did he relax and sink deeper into the pillows. He stuck his nose in her hair and inhaled. Jasmine and vanilla. This was what he wanted his bed to smell like every night.

  Unable to resist, he lifted her hand and stared at the ring on her third finger. A tiny diamond winked at him in the moonlight streaming in from the window, a good indication of his financial status at the time of his proposal. The braided gold band was a delicate counterpart to the masculine version of his ring. A matched set.

  “What’s this?” he mumbled and leaned forward for a better look.

  While he had been admiring their rings, Greta’s was a little loose and had slipped up her finger, exposing an area of skin that was the same peachy color as the rest of her hand. He wiggled his own ring and the pale area of flesh beneath the metal practically glowed white in the dim light. The lack of a tan line on Greta’s finger wasn’t necessarily a portent of bad news, but he couldn’t scratch the itch there was a deeper meaning hidden there.

  Did he want to know what it was?

  6

  Trey woke up the next morning hungry, horny, and alone. The hunger and horniness he expected, but he was saddened by the alone part. Greta’s side of the bed was stone cold, suggesting that she’d been gone for a while. What time was it? The bedside clock flashed eight o’clock. Mid-morning by ranching standards, but not slacker late.

  He stretched out his limbs as far as he could reach. His toes and fingertips touched all four corners of the king-sized bed. The muscles around his shoulder protested the movement, making him grimace. He was sore and achy, but felt fully confident he could accomplish any task he needed to, however, he’d take it easy, just like he promised. The hospital had given him the creeps, and he didn’t want to risk going back because he felt he had something to prove.

  Rolling over, he buried his face deep in her pillow. Greta’s scent lingered, sending the blood rushing through his body. It was even better than the smell of cows.

  Greta and…bacon?

  “Oh God, she’s cooking,” he groaned. His mouth watered with anticipation.

  In a flash, he was up and out of bed. He dressed and ran out of the room so fast he was still tucking his blue work shirt into his jeans when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  The deep rumble of voices drifted down the hall. Judging by the sound of laughter, it appeared his men were happy and in high spirits.

  As he approached the kitchen, a feminine voice chimed in and hardy male laughter responded. He stopped in the doorway to observe the scene before him.

  When this was his mother’s kitchen, she had had two shabby refrigerators and worked her tail off to feed eight hungry men. Since then, the equipment had been upgraded to commercial grade, with shiny, stainless steel appliances and gas-fueled ranges. The same giant table that sat twelve dominated the right side of the room, and Greta whisked and twirled from counter to table with a grace that spoke of years of practice.

  She also appeared more at ease than he’d seen her in the last two days. The smile on her lips and the light in her eyes mesmerized him. Like a bloom on a cactus, she was the beauty on the prickly testosterone-laden men in her company.

  Before he knew it, his feet moved him further into the room. All talking and the clank of utensils on dishware came to a halt as his presence was noticed. Mark sat at the table along with four other men who stopped, some in mid-bite, to stare at him.

  Trey wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting, the curious stares or the fact he only recognized one other man at the table.

  “Good morning, Trey.” Greta’s greeting broke the silence. “Have a seat.” She turned back to the counter and placed a third waffle on a plate.

  “Morning,” he murmured. He tilted his head from side to side, stretching the muscles in his neck to ease some of his tension, then took a seat at the head of the table. The effort to relax was more difficult to achieve than he thought with four pairs of eyes watching him as though he had mange.

  “Trey, you remember Ben?” Mark indicated the man seated to Trey’s left.

  “Oh, yeah.” Trey nodded at the big barrel-chested man, then shook his hand. “It’s good to see a familiar face. Keeping us in line like always?”

  “I do what I can. Plus, who could give up Greta’s cooking?” His smile was friendly enough, but his dark eyes stared into Trey’s, much the same as Greta’s had the night before, searching for that elusive something.

  Mark went around the table for the rest of the introductions, “This here is Jack, and Steven there is our college man.”

  Each man shook Trey’s hand with a firm grip and an open curiosity that made him want to shout at the top of his lungs that it was really him.

  A young man with skin so tan his blond hair appeared platinum-white held out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Armstrong.”

  Trey blinked in surprise. Mr. Armstrong? “Thanks, Adam. Hey, I remember you! You’re little Adam Maguire.”

  Adam smiled a crooked grin and nodded. “Yes, sir. But I am twenty-two now. Can we drop the ‘little’?”

  “Sure, sure.” Trey grew lightheaded with the exhilaration of a new memory. “What are you doing working here and not on your dad’s ranch?”

  He rubbed his chin. “He’s got my five older brothers there to help. And I wanted to work someplace where I wasn’t ‘little’ Adam Maguire.”

  “I can appreciate that.” Trey looked around the table and laughed. “Adam, huh? Ben and Adam.” He chuckled and slapped Mark on the arm. “That’s pretty funny, huh, Hoss?”

  Jack dropped his fork, the clatter echoing in the instantly silent room. All eyes were on Trey as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

  Maybe they weren’t Bonanza fans. “What did I say?”

  Steven was the first to recover. “Nothing, it’s just…well, I’ve never heard you laugh before. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile— Ow! Mark!” The young man backed away from the table and rubbed his shin.

  “Coffee, Trey?” Greta placed a steaming mug of dark brew before him.

  “Yeah, uh, sure.” He eyed Steven with a circumspective stare. What the hell did that mean? Never smile? Him? That couldn’t be right. His mother had often accused him of not being serious enough. He would have questioned it further, but everyone hunkered over their plates and shoveled food in like it was going to walk away.

  Trey sat back and took a sip of coffee. It was good, but it burned like acid when it hit his belly. “Can I get some cream?”

  Greta blinked at him with wide owlish eyes. “Cream?”

  Why did she sound as if he was speaking another language? “Cream. For my coffee.”
/>   “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, you just usually drink it black.”

  “Is it bad that I want cream?” The high of experiencing an earlier memory crashed and burned with the reminder that his memory wasn’t all back.

  She gave a little laugh. “It’s just cream, Trey. It’s all right.”

  “How’s the shoulder?” Mark asked around a mouthful of bacon.

  “Fine. A bit sore. But good.” Greta set a plate of waffles in front of him along with a bowl of slightly mashed blackberries. “Thanks, magpie. This looks great.” She beamed at him before turning away. A second later she peeked over her shoulder and gave him another shy smile. A bolt of electricity raced up his spine, seeing the effect of his compliment.

  With Greta’s smile bolstering his spirits, he turned back to his breakfast and loaded his plate with toppings. The tender waffle melted in his mouth, the berries were sweetened to perfection, and the cream was whipped just right.

  As Trey closed his eyes to fully appreciate the party in his mouth, Mark interrupted with a heavy sigh.

  “Some coyotes dug under the fence and killed a calf last night. Colby is out in the field right now making sure there aren’t any more. I wouldn’t be concerned, except it’s the second time this week.” He paused when Greta set the carton of half-and-half in front of Trey.

  She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead before walking around to take her seat at the other end of the table.

  He tried really hard to concentrate on Mark and the discussion about the coyotes, but for the life of him, he could not tear his gaze away from his wife. She wore those jeans he was beginning to love, and a bright red T-shirt that clung in all of the right places.

  Steven said something to her, and she laughed with a toss of her hair. The lyrical notes of her laughter hovered above the rumble of male voices in a soothing melody. The strained look she wore the day before was gone, and he hoped that he had something to do with that.

  But the joy of her radiance was distorted at his end of the table by the impenetrable duo of Ben and Jack. Neither man said a word, but they watched him with brooding stares that made him feel as if he were being measured and weighed, and judgment about his worth had yet to be determined.