Burn for Me

by Lauren Blakely

  “It went so well. Everyone had a good time,” she offered with a cheery smile, forcing her brain to stay focused on the party itself, not what happened in the back of the bar as the event was winding down.

  “Glad to hear that,” he said, then asked with a wry smile, “Are you going to convince me to throw a party every month now?”

  “I just might do that,” she said. “But I do appreciate you letting me weigh in on things around here.”

  “Speaking of that, I have a meeting this evening. Talking to some of the other business owners on the town square. See how we can make the Spring Festival a success. If you have any ideas I’d love to hear them.”

  Her eyes lit up. She was glad to be able to contribute, and she admired that Becker was so focused on business. He worked late, he worked early, he worked a lot, and his brain was always ticking. She respected that about him.

  “More games,” she offered.

  “More games?”

  “Well, everyone loves to play Skee-Ball or Whac-A-Mole, so we just have to make sure we have as many of those options as possible.”

  “Whac-A-Mole,” he said with a straight face, as he wrote something in a notebook. Was he writing down Whac-A-Mole? Becker really did take serious to new levels. That kind of discipline was admirable. “Got it.”

  “I’ll think of some others as I’m prepping. We’ve got a wine tasting soon. I need to grab some bottles, but I’ll have on my thinking cap.”

  “Great. Can’t wait.”

  She stopped in the tiny office, dropped her purse on the chair, and then headed to the wine racks to consider the best selection. She was reaching for a pinot noir that had been raved about recently when she heard the back door open.

  She swiveled around. There was Smith, carrying a toolbox in one hand and a stack of wood planks on his shoulder. The way he held the boards made his white T-shirt rise up, revealing smooth, tanned skin and muscles she’d run her fingernails over the night before. Why did he have to have abs she wanted to lick and pinch and bite?

  Oh, right. Because he was the fireman women drooled over. He was the very reason there were fireman calendars, and fireman erotica, and let’s face it, fireman fantasies.

  And she was having one right now. A red-hot one about him pinning her against the wall. Saying naughty things. Bringing her there again. Oh lord, what had happened to her? Evidently, last night hadn’t cured her at all.

  It had only fanned the flames of her desire, and she was a twisted knot of emotions right now—wanting to feel nothing, but feeling so much for him. He might not be relationship material, but he sure was good-in-the-sack material. She didn’t want to risk her heart, but maybe there was a way to preserve it and satisfy these cravings. Rather than a one-night stand, perhaps she needed a one-week trip. Maybe that couple in her novel had the right idea. One week, no strings. And heck, with such a finite period of time, she could keep their friendship intact too.

  First things first, though. Before she proposed something crazy—she was going to have to play it like he would. Be cool, be easy, be casual. Make it seem like last night was no big deal.

  …

  His shoulders tightened when he saw her.

  “How’s Henrietta?” he said sharply, biting out the question. He hadn’t intended to sound harsh, not when he was also worried that he’d scared her off. But the fact was, he was annoyed too. Frustrated with the way she took off last night. He didn’t like being left, and he certainly didn’t enjoy being left after what they’d done. What they’d said. How they’d both admitted feelings for each other. To top it off, this damn construction job was taking longer than he’d wanted. Between her ditching him and the possibility of falling behind schedule, he wasn’t in his finest mood.

  “Well?” he asked again, lowering the wood and the toolbox to the unfinished concrete floor. “Is she okay? Because I saw her on my drive home last night having a nice late night walk with your sister.”

  Jamie swallowed and blinked. She tightened her hold on the bottle of wine, then finally met his gaze. But said nothing.

  “You didn’t have to walk Henrietta,” he said, staring hard at her. Waiting for a reply. He held his hands out wide.

  “I know,” she said, looking at her feet.

  “So you lied. What was that about? You just took off.”

  “Yeah. What of it?” she said with a steely-eyed coolness.

  Whoa. This wasn’t the Jamie he knew. Something was wrong. Something was off. Jamie was feisty, Jamie was sassy, but Jamie was never blasé. Jamie always cared. About everything from her job to her family to beating his ass in bowling when she could.

  Then it hit him. She regretted it. Whether because their night had tarnished their friendship, or because he’d come on too strong with his rough ways and his dirty mouth, when he should have started more slowly with her, taken his time. He had to rein in his annoyance over last night and over work and smooth things out with her. Say he was sorry for taking her against the wall, instead of taking her out to a candlelight dinner and wooing her properly.

  He walked over to her, letting go of the anger over her lying about the dog. He needed to reassure her. They stood inches away in the middle of the room. It was late afternoon, but the lights hadn’t been installed in this section of the bar yet, so there were shadows across the two of them. “I thought we were having a good time. Hell, I know I was, and you sure seemed to be too. So will you need to take off again if I ask you out on a date?”

  Her mouth dropped open. She stared at him as if he were speaking Swahili.

  “A date,” he continued. “That thing where two people who like each other spend more time together. You’ve heard of it?”

  “What kind of a date?”

  “Something you’d like. I can take you out to dinner. We can go to a bookstore and browse if you want,” he said, trying hard to latch onto something that would win her over. Her lips quirked up as he asked her, but then she quickly reined it in and fixed her mouth in a straight, impassive line.

  “I don’t know if we should date, per se,” she said, then let her voice trail off, and there was something almost suggestive in her tone. As if she were inviting him in for more. But he didn’t want to read her the wrong way. So rather than assume, he decided to be direct.

  He reached out and brushed a strand of blond hair away from her neck, trying for softness. He’d scanned through a few romance novels on his smartphone last night; the heroes were always brushing hair off a woman’s face, neck, or shoulder. Maybe emulating those sensitive dudes would help him. “I’m sorry. Was I too rough?”

  She tilted her head and shot him a questioning look. “Too rough?”

  “I should have been gentler, right?” He was damn near ready to kick himself for letting his dirty thoughts get the better of him last night. He wished he could rewind the last twenty-four hours and try again with her. Court her properly, like a gentleman. He’d never been good with sweet words—love and romance. He certainly hadn’t seen that from his parents—more like vitriol when they’d split, though he’d tried hard to keep them together.

  Nor did sweetness fit his life these days. Fighting fires, tending to drunk driving accidents, as well as his regular construction job—well, they weren’t conducive to bringing out the poet in him. Teasing, joking—those were easier ways to deal. When it came to women, he was much better off when he didn’t try to be the sweet, sensitive guy.

  But he was going to have to work harder for her. “You don’t want to try again? Give us another chance? Because I thought we were pretty good together last night when we were making love,” he said, hoping using sweeter words might work on her.

  A smile danced across her lips again. “We were,” she said.

  Okay, so they were getting somewhere. “I’m so glad you agree,” he said running his hand down her bare arm, and enjoying the way she shivered in response. “Do you want to try again?”

  “It’s just I thought we could try something else,�
� she said, and she seemed to be taking her time, trying to figure out exactly what to say.

  He was dying to know what she wanted to try, so he jumped at the invitation. “Try what?”

  She was about to answer when Becker walked in. “Jamie, your sister’s here. And she seems kind of upset.”

  The look in her eyes changed in a nanosecond to one of deep concern. He swore he could hear her heart beat fast, and the worry pound through her veins as she swiveled around, looking for her sister. He understood needing to talk to someone when times were tough; he hadn’t had that luxury when he was younger and watched his parents’ marriage sever. He had to give her some space.

  Jamie turned to him and started to explain. “My sister. Her divorce has been hard on her.”

  “Yeah, I know. That sucks,” he said, and smiled sympathetically. Whatever she wanted to try needed to be tabled. He knew her sister had to come first. “Go talk to her. She needs you.”

  Chapter Five

  Asking Smith to have a no-strings-attached affair was like trying to speak underwater. She couldn’t get the words out clear. She’d barely been able to manage the word try. But she shoved all thoughts of him aside for the time being.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She pulled out a chair for her sister at the table in the back alley near a small oak tree. Diane plopped down in it, her shoulders sinking. Her heart ached for her sister and all she’d been through in the last year. Her ex had put her through hell and back.

  Diane shook her head and sniffled. Jamie reached into her pocket for a tissue, handing her one.

  Diane wiped her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re such a nut about carrying tissues everywhere you go,” she teased.

  “You know me. I like to be prepared for anything,” she said, because you simply never knew when you might need one. What if a public restroom, for instance, had run out of toilet paper? What if it was windy out and your eyes watered? Or what if someone you cared about needed to shed a few tears?

  Diane blew her nose, a loud honking sound. “I found out there were more women,” she said through broken sobs, and Jamie rubbed her back as she cried. It was supposed to be the other way around. An older sister taking care of a younger one. But, in their case, Diane was the one hurting. She then went on to detail the affairs she’d just learned of—apparently he’d been messing around with someone he used to visit during his shifts at the firehouse, among other extracurricular conquests. “But here’s the worst part. He screwed my favorite barista at the coffee shop down the road. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good latte? And now, thanks to my ex, I need to search for a new coffee shop.”

  She was trying so hard to protect herself with anger, but Jamie knew how much this really did hurt. And not because Diane had placed the cafe on her blackball list, and with good reason. But because each new revelation of her ex-husband’s infidelity must have made her feel like her already-broken marriage was shattering yet again. Like being kicked in the gut when you’re already down.

  “Well, then I am just going to have to learn to how to make the perfect mocha.”

  “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course. You know I’d do anything for you. I’ll sign up for barista classes or get myself one of those fancy silver machines from Bed, Bath and Beyond this weekend just for you,” she said, and that earned her a sliver of a smile.

  “Well, here’s the one thing I want you to do,” Diane said, back to the big sister role.

  “What is that?”

  “Don’t make my mistakes, promise me?”

  Jamie’s heart sputtered, and she felt as if Diane’s big sister radar was so sharp she knew what had happened last night. And while last night was only a fling, the warning was loud and clear. Only get involved with someone reliable, serious, steady. She glanced at her hands so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. What would her sister think of her if she knew what had happened with Smith? Worse, if she knew she’d been contemplating going there again with him just for sex?

  “I mean it,” Diane said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “Don’t fall for someone because he’s fun and friendly, like my ex. I was all hook, line, and sinker for that carefree, happy-go-lucky man, and now look at me. Only give your heart to someone you can depend on.”

  Jamie crossed her heart, the gesture as much for Diane as for herself. “I promise.”

  “I should let you get back to work now. And I need to stop by the winery to sign forms for the new employees. We just hired some part-timers and they’re working out well,” she said, referring to their parents’ winery that she managed.

  “That’s great to hear. I’m glad it’s all working out. Want me to come over later? I’ll get some ice cream and we can watch Anchorman again,” she said, since that was her sister’s favorite movie, and she was pretty sure Diane needed a Will Ferrell–induced laugh tonight.

  “Yeah. That would be great.”

  Anchorman would help Jamie keep her mind where it belonged, too. Smith might be thoughtful, he might be fun to play Skee-Ball with, and he certainly could deliver mind-shattering orgasms, but he was also a recipe for late-night cries in a tub of ice cream.

  What a difference the last twenty-four hours had made.

  Her sister was feeling a smidge better from the double comfort of Ron Burgundy and Ben & Jerry’s, and Jamie spent the next morning rereading some of her favorite Robert Browning poems to recalibrate her heart. Because she wanted a relationship like poetry, like her parents had. She was heading over to their house on Pine Crescent Road later this week for a regular dinner. Her sister and niece would be there, too. A nice family gathering, one where they all turned off their cell phones and were present in the moment.

  Now, she walked from her little house to the nearby town square to pop into the local bookstore. She was an ereader gal, but she also loved the feel and smell of real pages for poetry and for children’s stories, so she was a regular at An Open Book, directly across the wide grassy square where the festival would be held. She passed The Panting Dog, spotting Smith’s truck a block ahead, a flashy silver number with the name of his construction company in bright red. He’d mentioned his business was booming and that he needed to expand. She wondered if he’d gotten around to finding help yet.

  She headed straight for the kids section to grab the newest Skippy Jon Jones picture book as a gift for her niece.

  After she paid for the book, she spotted Smith…in the frigging kids’ section of the bookstore? She stopped in her tracks and knitted her brow, as perplexed as if she’d just seen him walking on his hands through the town square. “Um, hi?”

  He swiveled around and flashed that all-too-familiar grin. His hands were full, and she didn’t even pretend not to look. She raked her eyes over the bookstore bounty—Mad Libs.

  “Something to keep you busy at the firehouse on a quiet night?”

  “It’s for the Burn Center, actually.”

  Her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your volunteer work. I think it’s amazing that you give them so much time.”

  “I’m not offended. I like Mad Libs,” he said, and she had to fight back a smile. Because—Mad Libs. That was adorable.

  “What do you do when you volunteer?”

  He’d once told her that was why the calendar mattered to him so much. As a fireman, he’d seen firsthand why a hospital needed a burn center, and all the proceeds from the calendar went to support it. But she didn’t know the specifics of his volunteer work.

  “I do Mad Libs,” he said with a straight face. “With the kids. Some of the other patients, too. Often helps take their minds off what’s going on. And let me tell you something. Use monkey as much as you can in a Mad Lib and you get everyone laughing.”

  “I can picture that perfectly,” she said, and the image was a nice one. She was willing to bet that Smith had a way of making the patients forget about their woes for a while. She could see him
, kicking back in a blue vinyl hospital chair, reading off silly stories made by inserting nouns, verbs, and kinds of animals in the most random ways. He had the right disposition for that—someone who didn’t take himself too seriously could be perfect to help kids feel better.

  “But that’s not the only reason I’m here,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? What’s the other reason?”

  “I bought you a gift. To say I’m sorry.”

  What on earth did he have to apologize for? She was the one who’d walked off. Stormed off, actually.

  He showed her a small hardback book of poems on the top of the shelf where they stood. “I picked it up before I came over to this section. Maybe you have it already, but I know you like your poems, and well,” he stopped, looked down at the white and red book, and then back at her, “You probably already have Shakespeare’s sonnets, huh?”

  Her heart fluttered, and her hand flew to her chest. She hadn’t expected this from him, neither the Mad Libs nor the gift. But she found she liked both. A lot. Maybe her idea would work after all. Besides, he’d been volunteering at the Burn Center for as long as she’d known him, and for the first time, she realized this showed something about him she’d never given him credit for—he could remain committed. That didn’t mean she was ready to sign up for a long-term deal, but it made her feel better about her plan for a week-long tryst.

  “For me?’ she asked, wanting her nerves to stop skipping with some kind of high school excitement, but damn, she was about to cartwheel. He’d given her a gift, and she’d been…well, she hadn’t been straight with him about anything.