by Romy Sommer
He cleared his throat. “So, you’re a sculptor?”
“Very clever, Sherlock. What gave me away?” Her cool gaze swept over him. “And you’re a famous TV star.”
“I’m just a talent scout who happened to get famous.”
“Now that’s an interesting career choice. Did you get out of bed one day and decide ‘I’m going to get rich off of other people’s talent’?”
He grinned. “What do you make your sculptures out of?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“No, I’m not.” He waved his arm around her studio. “You look at junk metal and see the potential for it to become something different, something more. I do the same with people. It’s a rare gift we share.”
Her eyes widened, as if surprised that he understood. Or perhaps surprised they had anything in common. “So what do you see in me?”
Not where he wanted to go. This was supposed to be a purely platonic date. Telling her she was the sexiest woman he’d laid eyes on in years wasn’t platonic. “We should go if we want to get good seats in the church. And yes, now I’m changing the subject.”
She pursed her lips to hide a smile and turned away. In the dining room she slid into a pair of heeled shoes in the same hot pink as her dress. Though the heels weren’t nearly as high as the ones most women he knew wore, she wobbled in them as she stood.
She crossed to the mirror hanging over the fireplace to pin a fascinator to her sleekly coiffed hair. She struggled with a pin and he moved to stand behind her.
“Let me help you.” He took the pin from her shaking fingers and carefully secured the simple arrangement of flowers in place.
Her gaze met his in the mirror, and this time they held. “Thank you.” She didn’t move. Her breathing seemed shallow.
He couldn’t move either. The scent of her perfume, a delicate floral scent, enticingly feminine, wove around him, binding him. He was the one to look away first. This was definitely not platonic.
His gaze settled on the framed pictures on the mantel beneath the mirror. “Is that you?” The central photograph showed a man in full firefighter garb with his arms around a child of about eight or nine.
“Me and my dad just after we moved here.”
“Where were you before that?”
“London.”
“You don’t miss it?”
“Miss what? I haven’t been back there since.” She broke eye contact and moved away.
His jaw dropped open. “You’ve never been back?”
She frowned. “It’s not like I’m some country hick. It’s just that everything I need is right here.”
“A village full of men who don’t even see you as a woman? Don’t you want a relationship? Marriage, family and all that stuff?” The stuff every woman wanted. Hell, the stuff even he wanted.
She shook her head. “I’m much happier without all that. At least this way I don’t have to wait for the axe to fall.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know, that inevitable moment when the person you’ve invested all your happiness in ups and leaves.”
His mouth quirked. “Are you always such a pessimist? Not everyone spends the entire relationship expecting it to end.”
She shrugged into a lacy jacket and lifted her chin. “Well, they should. And I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist. Now let’s get moving before we really are late for this wedding.”
Chapter Four
Sam hadn’t been inside St Peter’s Church since the day they buried her father. On the threshold, she sucked in a deep breath, and resisted the urge to grab Ryan’s hand for support. Though why she suddenly felt a need for support, she had no idea.
There was only one person she could look to for strength and that was herself. Other people always let you down. They left, they died. She would face the memories just as she faced everything these days—alone.
“Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice was low and surprisingly close.
She nodded. “Just fine.” She squared her shoulders and prayed she could walk the length of the aisle without tripping in these ridiculous heels. This girlie thing was just stupid. Why did women put themselves through this?
The usher inside the door turned and smiled, his eyes heading straight to her exposed legs. His gaze travelled slowly up her calves, like a caress, and rather than the indignation she should have felt, a rush of power surged through her. Oh, so that’s why women suffered this torture.
The usher’s gaze carried on up, his smile curving a little deeper as he reached her chest. Then his gaze touched her face. He choked. “Sam?”
“Hi, Ken. You remember Ryan?”
Ken nodded mutely. He finally managed to close his mouth.
“We’ll show ourselves to our seats, shall we?” She didn’t wait for a response or to see if Ryan was still behind her. She headed down the aisle, face on fire as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, and avoiding the glances burning in her direction. The conversation in the small church suddenly seemed muted.
Up at the front, Nick stood in conversation with the vicar and Daniel, his best man. As one, they turned at her approach. Nick whistled. “Look at you. You’re a girl.”
“Why is everyone so surprised by that? It’s not like I had a sex change or anything.”
The vicar’s eyes rounded. Nick and Daniel both appeared dazed. And beside her Ryan laughed out loud. “I sincerely hope not!”
She blushed again. “What I meant is, congratulations.” She shook Nick’s hand. “I know you and Lizzie will be very happy together.”
Seated in the pew, she finally let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She’d done it. Not only had she not tripped, but she’d just proved to her entire crew that she could do the girlie thing. And she’d stood right in the spot where her father’s bier had stood, without the slightest twinge.
A hand engulfed hers. She looked down, startled. A strong, masculine hand that sent a wave of warmth and support through her. She looked up into a pair of amused eyes the colour of molten metal.
Up close, he was even better looking than on TV. Dark hair cut short, a strong face with chiselled cheekbones and designer stubble. He grinned. “Now that wasn’t so traumatic, was it?”
“How did you know?”
Ryan leaned close, his voice soft in her ear. “Because I know you.”
God, she hoped not. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest, warding him off. Not that it helped. Awareness continued to ripple through her, like after-shocks from his touch.
The bridal march began and she rose, pasting on a smile.
She didn’t need his understanding. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.
Chapter Five
Music thudded around them. With the meal cleared, speeches done, cake cut, there was nothing left to do but enjoy the party. Ryan leaned back in his chair and watched the bride and groom gyrating on the dance floor.
He turned to Sam. “Care to dance?”
“In these shoes? If I didn’t put a heel through your foot, I’d probably trip and pull you to the floor.”
“Now there’s a thought, but we’ll have to save that for later. In the meantime, take off your shoes and let’s dance.”
She had the prettiest blush, a slow, inexorable spread of heat up her cheeks. She didn’t reply, perhaps couldn’t, but she bent down and slipped off her shoes. He stood and held out a hand. The difference without the shoes was instantaneous. Sam relaxed, casting off the defiant slant to her shoulders. She smiled up at him. “I might still stand on your feet.”
“You can try.” He grinned. The mix of local draught, Cumbrian fresh air and her subtle perfume made him feel young and alive again. It made for a pleasant change from jaded and world-weary.
On the dance floor, he slipped an arm around her waist as they swayed to the music. Without the heels, she was grace in motion, fitting snugly against his body
and sending a wave of heat through him that made the balmy summer evening outside the hall pale in comparison.
“Why fire fighting?” he murmured in her ear.
She lifted her chin. “Most people ask why metalwork.”
“I’m not most people, and you haven’t answered my question.”
She smiled up at him, eyes burning bluer and brighter than the heart of a flame. “My father was a firefighter. It was his passion and he passed it on to me.”
“The danger doesn’t scare you?”
“There’s very little danger. Only calculated risks, and we do our best to minimise even those.” Enthusiasm lit her up. “Besides, fighting fires is the least of what we do.”
“Tell me.” He wanted to keep her talking, wanted to see that passion burn.
Instead, she pulled away. “I need a drink.”
He frowned. Clearly Sam wasn’t ‘most people’ either. Most people, when asked about their favourite subject, couldn’t stop talking. He wondered, as he followed her to the densely packed bar, if she ever talked about herself. And if she ever let anyone really know her.
He muscled into the space beside her and leaned against the bar. “Where is your father now?” Certainly not here, he was sure. He didn’t know why, but he was positive the girl in jeans and work boots had been Daddy’s girl, and she wouldn’t have worn a skirt this short with her old man around. This soft, curvy woman he’d held in his arms was a stranger not just to the people who knew her, but to herself as well.
“Six feet under.”
“I’m sorry. Did he die on the job?”
She shook her head. “He would have liked that. No, he died of a heart attack.”
#
Dad had often joked his broken heart would get him in the end. Sam swallowed pain that was still as fresh as it had been the day he died. As fresh as it had been the day Mum had packed a bag and said she’d be back soon. It had been two years before Dad accepted she wasn’t ever coming back. And then within weeks he’d quit his job at the station, moved them north, and joined on as an RDS firefighter.
Sometimes she could still remember the way he’d been before mom left. He’d smiled more back then, and laughed more. Where other girls had grown up playing with Barbies, Dad had her rolling hose or building bonfires in the backyard, and they’d been happy.
Afterwards, he hadn’t smiled so much, but it was still his smile she remembered better than anything else. He’d smiled as she’d climbed ladders faster than any of his other recruits, suited up faster, reacted quicker under pressure. She sometimes thought she had fire in her blood, and that’s why it featured so much in her artwork.
“Earth to Sam.”
She looked up into Ryan’s cool grey eyes.
“What are you thinking about?”
She shrugged. “That there are things in life more frightening than fire.” Now she really needed that drink. She waved for Tommy, the gangly student who also sometimes worked the weekend shift at the King’s Head. “Scotch on the rocks.”
“Make that two.” Ryan leaned in beside her, his elbow brushing hers, a sharp reminder of this inconvenient chemical reaction she really didn’t want to feel. “So you’re not afraid of fire?”
She shook her head. “I’m not stupid; I have a healthy respect for fire. But no, I’m not afraid of it. Dad always said it’s not fire that kills, it’s carelessness.”
Tommy set their drinks on the bar top.
“I’m guessing your father was a careful man.” Ryan paid for the drinks and raised his glass. “And I’m guessing you’re a careful woman.”
She matched his toast. “I take care I don’t get burned.”
Chapter Six
They spent the next hour on the dance floor, moving together, touching, flirting, yet no matter how hard he tried to get her to open up again, Sam’s shields were raised, impenetrable as any fire-wall. Her body might be willing, but her mind and heart were utterly closed.
But Ryan was not a man who gave up when he wanted something. The same instincts that made him a good talent scout also made him a killer agent. He never backed down when he was onto a good deal, and Sam was the best deal he’d found since... forever. He’d been hot for women before. He’d seduced his way into more hearts than he could count. But he’d never wanted someone like he wanted this cool, calm and collected woman who burned with fire inside.
The music turned soft and soulful, and Sam pulled away. He followed her off the dance floor. Many of the guests had already left. A few couples still clung to each other on the dance floor, including the bride and groom who seemed oblivious to the rest of the world. The bachelors, those firemen not on call tonight and who hadn’t already left with the bridesmaids, grew increasingly rowdy around the bar.
“It’s pumpkin hour.” She wrapped the lacy jacket around her shoulders and faced him. A few strands of hair had worked loose from her chignon, brushing tantalisingly against the bare curve of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, but aside from that one drink she hadn’t touched another drop.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“No need. This is probably the safest village in England.”
He grinned. “I’m sure it is. I’m also sure you’re quite capable of taking care of yourself.”
She smiled at that.
“But I’m still walking you home.”
A light breeze had arisen, and she shivered as the cool night air hit them. Ryan handed her his jacket.
“Thank you.”
They walked down Church Lane in silence, and when they reached the low wall surrounding the graveyard, Ryan paused. Beyond the silhouette of the church lay the woods, dark and foreboding. It was perhaps the darkest place he could ever remember being. And with the sky clear tonight, it was also the most magical place he could ever remember being.
“Look up,” he instructed.
Sam looked up, frowning. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“The stars. Each and every one of them is a ball of fire. Some burn hotter and brighter than others. Some are still new, and others are already dead and we just don’t know it.” A movement caught his eye and they both held their breaths as a shooting star flared and burned a trail across the velvet sky. “None of them are going to last forever, but can you imagine a world with no stars at all?”
He could only pray she knew he was talking about way more than basic astronomy.
A curtain twitched in an upstairs window of the nearest cottage. Sam turned away. “That’ll be Mrs Cromaty. She’s a daft old biddy, but if we hang around here much longer there’ll be some very interesting gossip going round the village tomorrow.”
“Would that be so bad?”
She shrugged. “You won’t be here tomorrow. I will.”
He grinned. “I think the bridesmaids will have provided enough gossip to keep the rumour mill busy for a few weeks. Your reputation should be safe.”
They turned into Back Lane. The fire station was almost in sight. Ryan took her hand, and felt rather than heard her breath hitch. He smiled, enjoying the connection between them, the promise of so much more.
#
They reached her front door too soon for Sam’s liking. After an evening of delicious sexual tension, her body hummed with newly awoken needs, and she didn’t want him to go. She wasn’t ready for the night to end yet.
She hovered on the doorstep, fumbling with her latch key. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”
“I would love to, but I won’t.”
The rejection burned swift and deep. Had he been playing with her, the sad loser who couldn’t get a date? Had the evening been nothing more than a joke to him? Tears stung the back of her eyes and she blinked them away. It certainly hadn’t been a game for her.
Ryan took her free hand in both of his. “You’re right. I won’t be here tomorrow. And I suspect that’s why you’re inviting me in. You think I’m going to be a no-risk one night stand and you’ll never have to see me
again.”
How did he do that? How did he know what she was feeling when even she herself wasn’t ready to admit it?
“That’s not enough for me.”
Her gaze flashed to meet his. His cool gaze burned, setting her alight inside. Not a game at all. But then, why did it have to end? She swallowed against the sudden wave of fear rolling through her.
“I want to be worth the risk for you, Sam. I want you to stop hiding here in Coombethwaite and I want you to come to London and take a chance on this working out for us.”
She shook her head slowly. “I can’t do that, Ryan.”
He leaned in close and pressed his lips to hers. It began as a mere brush of lips, a gentle taste, but like a spark on dry tinder, the flame fanned and the kiss became fierce and wild. He cupped her head, deepening the kiss, and her limbs turned molten. She clung to him for support.
When they broke apart, both breathless and wild-eyed, she took a step back into the solid, unyielding front door. She shook her head again. One kiss wasn’t going to change anything, even if it was earth shattering. He asked too much of her.
His smile, so calm, so confident, pierced her. “You’re braver than you think, Sam. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Chapter Seven
Ryan’s offices were housed in a bright, shiny new building in Canary Wharf, surrounded by trendy coffee shops and scurrying, smartly dressed people. Sam rode the ten floors up, ignoring the lift mirrors and forcing her breathing to stay even. The doors slid open onto a large reception area, grey-carpeted with red and black furnishings.
The secretary barring the door to the inner sanctum was everything she’d expect for a man like Ryan. With a striking figure, and looking as if she’d just stepped from the pages of Elle, the woman looked over her designer steel-rimmed glasses at Sam as if she smelled bad and looked worse. And she’d even made an effort today. She’d left the work boots at home.
