Burning Kiss

by Jen Talty

  “And you made yours, and it wasn’t me.”

  He cocked his head, dropping his hands to the side. “That’s rich. I begged you to come with me.”

  “You ordered me, demanded I give up my education, and never speak to my family again. I loved you, but I love my family too. My sisters and brothers needed me. My mother needed me and I needed you, but you…” She poked his chest. “…acted like a spoiled brat, and when things didn’t go your way, took off.” Her insides still shook from the earth-shattering kiss. Memories of their love affair collided with the pain he’d caused his entire family when he’d cut off all communication, blocking phone numbers, going dark on the internet, making himself a ghost.

  But mostly, how he’d punctured her heart, leaving it with a gaping hole that no matter what she tried, she’d never be able to fill the space he left behind.

  His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Joining the Air Force and becoming a Fire Protection Specialist was the best thing that ever happened to me. I have no regrets.”

  “Neither do I.” She swallowed the guttural sob that lodged in her throat.

  “Good. Now get off my boat and go home.”

  She folded her arms, sitting back down. “I’m not going anywhere until you agree to come back with me.”

  “When hell freezes over,” he said.

  Dark clouds rolled in off the ocean. The smell of salty rain filled the humid air that clung to her skin.

  “I can wait,” she said defiantly.

  “Suit yourself.” He stepped into the galley, closing the door.

  She heard the click of the lock.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 2

  The wind howled as it brought the first few raindrops that pelted the fiberglass boat. It never rained long in Florida during the summer months, but when it did, it came down hard, fast, and with loud claps of thunder. The cruiser rocked with the reduced waves of the intercoastal waterways.

  Hunter lay on the king-size bed that took up most of the single bedroom, staring up at the portal on the bow of the boat. His stomach growled, but he didn’t feel like getting out of bed. It had been over an hour since he’d left Claire sitting on the deck. He assumed she was long gone by now, considering the storm that was coming. He ran his fingers across his lips. Kissing her had been stupid and he had no idea why he’d done it other than he wanted to know if she still tasted like honey.

  Which she did.

  He blinked his eyes, pulling up an image of his mother when he’d been a small boy. Her dark hair touching her shoulders. He had his mother’s whiskey, colored eyes. When he was a kid, he thought his mother was the most beautiful woman ever, always full of life. He couldn’t imagine what battling stage-four ovarian cancer was doing to her body.

  The evening sky lit up with multiple lightning strikes. Thunder clapped in the sky as the rain came down in a continuous stream.

  “Hunter! Let me in, please.”

  He sprung from the bed, racing from the room, though the main cabin, eating area, and the galley, finally reaching the door. He unlocked the latch. “What the hell are you still doing here?” He stepped back, helping a drenched Claire down the steps.

  “Waiting for hell to freeze over.”

  “Didn’t you see the storm coming?”

  She nodded. “I thought you’d let me in when it started to rain.”

  “I thought you’d leave.” He held up his hand. “Stay there, I’ll get you a towel.”

  He left her standing at the threshold, looking like a drowned rat. He should have known. The woman almost never took no for an answer. She had to be one of the most stubborn, pig-headed woman he’d ever met. Glancing out the window, he searched for a break in the clouds, but all he found was more darkness.

  After getting a towel, he ducked into his room and snagged a pair of shorts and a T-Shirt. She’d swim in them, but it was better than the wet dress she currently had on.

  “You can change into these.” He tossed her the towel and the clothes, making sure he kept a safe distance. His heart pounded against his chest, reminding him of how she’d destroyed it.

  “Thank you,” she said, ruffling her tangled blond locks with the towel as she breezed by, leaving a scented trail of honey and fresh pineapple. She’d been the hottest girl in high school, and the most popular and it wasn’t because she was rich.

  It was because she was as sweet as home baked cookies and had a big heart. He’d known her his entire life, having grown up at the same country club. As children, they took swimming lessons and played paddle tennis against one another. For the majority of their lives, they’d been friends. Not close friends, since they didn’t really hang out together outside of the club, but close enough.

  His stomach rumbled. “Claire, have you eaten dinner?” he yelled toward the bedroom.

  “No, but don’t go to any trouble.”

  “I have to eat, so I won’t.” He told himself he’d feed her while they waited for the storm to pass, and then he’d send her packing. He’d just have to make her understand there was nothing left for him at home.

  He pulled out all the ingredients he needed to make a pan seared sea bass with asparagus, which she hated and that made him smile. God, he was an asshole. He took the knife and started chopping the garlic when she stepped in the galley wearing his T-Shirt and shorts. They hid her perfect body with their bagginess, but she was still the sexiest woman on the planet.

  Razor shape pain tinged his finger.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, dropping the knife. He stared at his hand. A few drops of blood trickled from his index finger.

  “Let me do that. You always put too much garlic in anyway.”

  He wasn’t about to argue with her since all he wanted to do was get through the storm and send her packing. He should have been a real prick and not let her in. He cleaned up his wound, put a Band-Aid on it, and went about heating up the skillet.

  She stood next to him, slicing and dicing before reaching across him and dumping the onions, garlic, and other seasonings in the pan with a dash of olive oil. Her hair brushing his shoulder. In college, when they had lived together, they enjoyed cooking together. They moved in the kitchen much like synchronized swimmers cutting through the water with precision.

  “I’ll finish up. Why don’t you go sit down at the table?” He needed to put some distance between their bodies and clear the teenage hormones from his brain. Over the years, he’d run through various potential conversations he might have with her and none of them included cooking fish together.

  “Do you have any white wine?”

  “There’s a bottle open in the fridge and more in the cooler.” Wine was a mistake and he knew it, but since he checked his prick personality at the door, he might as well enjoy a good meal. “Glasses are in that cabinet to the right of the sink.”

  A loud clap of thunder boomed through the night as more lightning brightened the inside of the boat.

  “I love a good thunderstorm,” she said, placing a wine glass down next to the stove.

  He ignored the tightening in his muscles and the tingling sensation crawling across his fingertips, itching to dig into her soft curves. The fish sizzled as he flipped it. He focused on his growling stomach and sipped his wine, not wanting to go sit at the table and continue to pretend this wasn’t the most awkward situation either one of them had ever been in.

  “My father really asked you to come?”

  “He said you hadn’t returned his phone calls, except for a few random text messages that work was to hectic for you to get away.”

  He placed a plate of food in front of her and joined her at the table.

  “Imagine my surprise when I get here and find out you’re on a week’s vacation.” She looked to the ceiling, pressing her forefinger to her temple. “And today was the first day.”

  He disregarded her revelation. “My dad texted me yesterday and said mom had maybe a month left and that at this point she refused all treatment
except for pain medication.” He gulped his wine. He’d actually bought a plane ticket to go back to Kent Island, Maryland, leaving tomorrow morning at seven, but he’d decided not to go. It wasn’t just that he had struggled to forgive his mother, or that he’d become estranged with his siblings and father.

  No one could deny how much he’d been hurt, or what it had done to see his mother adjusting her clothing as she and Mr. Thompson stepped from the master bedroom. Hunter might have been an adult, but that would fuck up any young man.

  “It’s not just your mom who wants to see you.”

  Hunter picked at the food on his plate. The first few years he’d left home had been fueled by anger. He dealt with it by becoming the best Fire Protection Specialist and ignored his past, including his money, but then he wanted this boat, so he tapped into his trust fund and that’s what triggered an onslaught of messages from his father.

  His sister, Emily, had sent him a nasty gram a few years ago, telling him to get his head out of his ass. His brother constantly sent him pictures of family gatherings. He knew more about them then they did about him.

  Not that there was anything to know. He worked. He fished. He worked.

  “I don’t know about that. What little correspondence I’ve had with Emily and Miles has been tainted with resentment.” A sentiment he understood and had held onto for years. They hadn’t been the one to catch their mother, nor the one who had to break the news to their father, but they both seemed to blame Hunter. Not for the break-up of their parents’ marriage, but for hurting their mother.

  He chugged his wine, before pouring another hearty glass.

  “I’d go easy on that.”

  “I’d mind your own business,” he said, wishing he could take back the harsh tone.

  She leaned back, folding her arms under her breasts.

  This is so not the right time to consider her naked body under his T-Shirt, though it was a very nice distraction from pondering if he should grant his mother her dying wish, or hold onto anger for the rest of his life. He’d wrapped himself in a bubble of resentment, which protected his heart, but walled him off from having any meaningful relationships, even with his brothers in arms.

  He swallowed that revelation.

  “You’re a piece of work,” she said, shaking her head. “All you have to do is show up, say hello, and then you can go back to hiding out on your boat, pretending you have a life, when really, all you have is a lot of nothing.”

  “All right, you win. I’ll go home.”

  ***

  Claire fluffed the pillow Hunter had given her and tried to get comfortable on the sofa. Why she’d insisted on taking the couch when he’d offered her a nice, plush, king-size bed, she had no idea, other than she was brutally stubborn.

  A trait that got her in trouble.

  Often.

  The first year he’d been gone, she tracked his whereabouts and a half a dozen times, she booked airline tickets to go see him. But every time she got to the airport, her shyness prevented her from taking the trip. She cringed, remembering the amount of money she’d spent that year.

  She pulled the soft, 600 thread count sheets to her chin. The wind and rain had died down, but the boat rocked gently in the water. She’d had a crush on Hunter since she could remember. At school, he barely gave her the time of day, but at the club, she had his full attention, except for when he was on the golf course. The first time he’d made the cut for the club championship, at the ripe old age of sixteen, she’d offered to be his caddy. The only time she ever golfed had been with him. He’d always told her she should take up the game, but it was only fun if she played with him.

  It wasn’t until after he’d won the club championship that year that she told him she liked him more than a friend.

  She smiled, remembering the stunned look on his face after she’d kissed him. He’d blinked a half dozen times and opened and closed his mouth a dozen more until he wrapped his arms around her and bruised her lips with a burning kiss.

  Ugh. Those days were long gone and they were both very different people.

  The light from his room seeped out into the main cabin. “This is ridiculous. That sofa is the most uncomfortable thing in the world. The only thing about this boat that sucks.”

  “I’m not going to ask you to give up your bed. Besides, I lived in a third world country for three years on a foam bed topper. This is like the Ritz, comparatively.”

  “You did what?” He stepped into the room wearing nothing but boxers and muscles.

  “You didn’t know I was in the Peace Corps after college?”

  “No, but I was either in basic training, fire school, or deployed for the first four years. I did hear you worked for the Peace Crops, though.” He scratched the back of his head.

  She thought about asking how he’d heard, but she was too hung up on the fact he had no idea she’d lived in South America.

  He’d really gotten over her.

  Quickly.

  Of course, she dealt with her grief over their break-up by disconnecting as much as possible.

  But it hadn’t helped to erase the love she still felt for him.

  “Come on.” Standing at the side of the sofa, he held out a hand.

  “I’m not kicking you out of your room.”

  “It’s a king-size bed. We’ve slept in smaller.”

  She raised a brow as her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “Yeah, you are. And the key word is sleep. Not sex. We used to sleep in that double bed all the time and not have sex.”

  “We’d wake up and have sex.”

  “That’s true.” He leaned over, taking her by the hand. “But I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re out here on this. I can promise I won’t even think about it, much less touch you.”

  “That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear when a man is wooing her to bed.” She stood, sliding her hands from his, snagging the pillow.

  He raised his arms. “I’m trying to be nice and respectful here, but I also want to make sure we both get some sleep.”

  “I get the right side,” she said. Good grief, what the hell was she doing agreeing to share his bed? Did she have some sadomasochistic tendencies she didn’t know about?

  Or had she just lost her mind?

  “You’re still particular about that?”

  “Aren’t you?” She held the hem of his shirt down, making sure it covered her ass. She should have kept his shorts on.

  “About what side I sleep on? God no. Then again, I generally don’t have women in my bed.”

  She stopped at the doorway.

  “Umph.” He bumped into her.

  “Generally? What does that mean?”

  He pressed his hand into the small of her back, nudging her forward. “It means I’m not seeing anyone and haven’t in awhile.”

  That statement sent her insides on a rollercoaster ride. The downhill turns were filled with jealousy over anyone woman who’d had him after her. The uphill twists were all about the fact he hadn’t been with anyone in awhile.

  The only question was: what constituted awhile.

  She mentally berated herself as she pulled back the sheets and slipped onto the soft, but firm mattress.

  The bed shifted as he sat down, his back to her. The pitter patter of light rain drops echoed off the boat. As he twisted, the outside light gleamed through the porthole like a ray of sunshine on the heart tattoo. Without thinking, she reached out and traced the letters inside the heart. “I can’t believe you didn’t change this.”

  He rolled to his side, propping himself on his elbow. “I honestly never thought to change it. Besides, I like it.”

  “Your father was so pissed when you got that.” Mindlessly, she continued to run her fingers on his shoulders.

  “I remember being upset with you for not getting a matching one.”

  “Back then, it scared me too much.”

  “Does that mean you have one
now?”

  “I’ve got a couple of them,” she admitted, jerking her hand away. “We should get some sleep.” As if she could relax enough to doze even for a short period of time. As soon as he drifted off, she planned on sneaking out, which was stupid. She didn’t have to stay in his bed and she certainly didn’t care if he thought her rude for not taking him up on his sort of chivalrous act.

  “Where?” he asked, rolling to his back.

  “Back of my neck and lower back.”

  “Of what?”

  She tucked her hands under her cheek and closed her eyes. “On my lower back is a set of butterflies.” Taking in a deep calming breath, she searched for the courage to tell him.

  “You always did love those insects.” His chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern. “And the other one?”

  “The same one you have on your biceps.”

  Chapter 3

  “Are you serious?” Hunter bolted upright, ripping the covers from their bodies. He reached across her and flicked on the reading lamp. “You’ve got this on your neck?” He tapped the tattoo he’d gotten right before they graduated from high school. The intention had been that they would both get the tattoo, but after watching the needles dig into his arm, Claire had chickened out. He couldn’t blame her. It did hurt and the smell of burning flesh was an acquired taste. “When?”

  “About seven years ago.” She sat up and rubbed the back of her neck, her hair flowing over her shoulders. “I’d finished my initial service for the Peace Corps and extended my stay. I went home for a week for a family wedding and I found of box of stuff from high school. The drawing we took to the guy who did yours was there and I remembered the promise I made. So, I got it.”

  He opted to ignore the fact that the wedding she referred to had been his mother to her father. A thought that still weirded him out on so many levels. “Can I see it?” His pulse raced faster than the first time he’d run into a burning building. Of course, the second he’d crossed the threshold, he didn’t notice his heartbeat and his training kicked in.