Fiona's Flame

by Rachael Herron

  She was babbling.

  At the door, Fiona stopped, key in her hand. Would he kiss her again? Or should she attack him like she had in the barn? Why were these questions so confusing? She was a grown woman, for God’s sake. Why was the man behind her – the quiet, stubborn man with the sun-creased lines at the corners of his eyes, with the gaze that seemed to see right inside her soul – why was that man making her into a woman who could hardly see straight, let alone make important decisions?

  It just wasn’t right. She was smart. She could do this. Sensibly.

  Fiona turned around. Yep. There he was, just standing there, hands in his pockets, a small smile as he watched her fight her internal battle.

  ‘Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Hell, yeah,’ he said in that low rumble.

  Easy as that. His voice felt like a caress and Fiona shivered inside.

  But she still had something that needed doing. ‘Okay. Wait here.’

  ‘What –’

  Fiona slid through the door and almost closed it behind her, saying through the crack, ‘Two minutes. I need just two minutes.’

  ‘Fiona –’

  ‘Minute and a half.’

  Inside, she became a whirlwind. The heaps of clothes she’d taken out, tried on, and left on the couch near the full-length mirror were shoved into the hall closet. She kicked old issues of Car and Driver under the sofa. In the kitchen, the dirty dishes she’d left in the sink went unceremoniously under it, next to the recycling. On the bedroom floor was the other half of her closet, and it took two armfuls to chuck them back in. A huge push convinced the groaning closet door to close. She made the bed by pulling the quilt up and over the bunched sheets. Looked good from the outside. Fastest tidying job ever. It wasn’t like he was going to come into the bedroom, after all.

  Right?

  Fiona didn’t know the answer. She couldn’t even tell if deep in her own heart, she wanted him to.

  Okay, that was bull. She wanted him in her room.

  She wanted him as close as another person could possibly get. And even thinking about it made her hands shake. He’d be able to tell, if he looked at her. In the mirror over her dresser, she saw the hectic flush on her cheeks. She pressed cool hands against them and paused.

  One breath in. Next breath out. That was the way she was going to get through whatever happened next. What was that phrase Hope had told her? Breath by breath, Eliza Carpenter had said.

  Abe must have thought she’d lost her marbles by now. She hurried through the house and flung open the door.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said on what turned out to be a gasp.

  Abe gave that sleepy smile again. His arms were crossed, and even in the dress shirt she could tell how heavily muscled his upper arms were. ‘No worries.’

  ‘So.’

  ‘You gonna let me in, Snowflake, or you just want me to kiss the hell out of you here?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Be brave. Everything can be fixed, given a crochet hook and enough determination. – E. C.

  Fiona opened her mouth but nothing came out. So instead, she stepped backward and motioned him in. Abe stepped forward with that long-legged stride. Fiona, still backing up, bumped into her couch. ‘So, this is the place …’ Her voice trailed off. Abe wasn’t looking around. He wasn’t looking anywhere but at her.

  And in a very specific sense, he was looking at her mouth.

  He reached forward with one hand and grazed her bottom lip with his thumb. ‘You have any idea how much this has been distracting me lately?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This.’ He swept his thumb across her mouth, so lightly it sent a tickle through her, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs.

  ‘The shape of it. This mouth was made to be kissed, Fiona.’ He paused. ‘By me.’

  Oh. Holy cats. As Abe leaned forward, Fiona kept her eyes open. She wanted to see him – she wanted less speed, less intensity this time. Maybe if they took their time, she’d have a choice when it came to controlling the kiss. She hated being out of control, and God knew Abe had taken the reins in their previous two kisses.

  His lips were firm. He used no tongue, but neither was the kiss chaste. No way. How could it be, when he was using his body like he was? One of his hands went to the small of her back, and he pulled her flush against him. He twisted the fingers of his other hand into her hair and pulled her head back lightly.

  As Fiona’s breath quickened, so did Abe’s. He stroked her tongue with his own, earning them both a gasp. How could a man – just a guy, as far as Fiona could tell – taste so good? It wasn’t of mints or toothpaste, it was more real than that. His upper lip tasted of salt. The tip of his tongue reminded her of rye whiskey – sharp and shocking. And deeper? When he pulled her – yes, just like that – hard up against him, when he claimed her mouth, he tasted darker. Richer. He tasted like chocolate without the sugar.

  ‘Damn it,’ he muttered.

  ‘Wha …?’ Fiona took a step forward as he pulled away. Abe caught her with a hoarse laugh.

  ‘Easy there.’

  ‘I believe we were establishing that.’ Her voice was light but she wondered if he was going to pull away like he had on the beach. This time she couldn’t run – she was already home.

  Abe’s eyes darkened and he looked as if he might kiss her again, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a deep breath and grinned at her. ‘I swore to myself that I wouldn’t attack you if you let me in.’

  ‘Do you come armed?’ she asked lightly. ‘Or just these guns?’ She wrapped her fingers around his bicep, prepared to make another dumb joke, but as she felt the heavy, thick muscles leap and contract under her touch, she forgot what she was going to say. ‘Oh,’ was all she could mumble. Her heart lightened. He was here. That was enough for now.

  Abe cleared his throat. ‘Show me the place.’ Shoving his fingers into his hair, he took a deep breath. Then he looked around, clearly seeing it for the first time. ‘My God, Fiona, this is wild.’

  Fiona warmed even more than she already was. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Whoa.’ He ran a hand along the edge of the dining room table. It was made out of the hood of a car and had chrome edges. ‘What the hell? Did you make this?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said.

  ‘70s Benz?’

  She nodded in happiness. ‘Don’t you love the flatness of it?’

  ‘It’s unreal. When do you have the time?’

  ‘I made most of this stuff before the shop was doing so well – I had time then. I kept it all out in the yard, and I’d run up to the store when someone ran over the bell line. When Stephen first came, he helped me. He’s a much better art welder than I am now.’

  He ran his hand along the back of her low sofa. ‘The couches?’

  ‘Corvair bench seats, circa 1968.’ She was so proud of those. She’d fixed the broken springs, added padding, and welded the leather seats to thick iron legs. Matching pillows made of roof liner. The sofas were solid. Once she’d had a dinner party and Tim Snopes had ended up drinking too much. His wife Tina left him behind and he slept on one all night. In the morning he tried to buy it from her. He’d stopped upping his offer when she turned down eight grand.

  ‘And this?’ Abe went into the red and black kitchen. ‘The island?’

  ‘An old Formica tabletop put on top of a cabinet ripped from the Lawlors’ kitchen when they did their rebuild.’

  He touched the top of the island, running his finger along the Formica. ‘It’s funny. It looks just like the ones at …’

  ‘At Tillie’s. You remember when Old Bill put in the jukebox? About sixty years after everywhere else bought one?’

  Abe nodded.

  ‘He had to get rid of a table to make it fit, and I saw it in the back room through the kitchen curtain.’

  ‘He gave it to you?’

  ‘You kidding me? Have you met the man? Never met a dime he couldn’t polish. I had to bribe him as well as pay him.’


  ‘What did you bribe him with?’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘Sex.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Abe didn’t bat an eye. ‘How was it?’

  ‘Well. The countertop was a little cold and greasy …’

  Abe closed his eyes. ‘Please stop.’

  ‘You think I paid too much?’

  With a guffaw, Abe bent to look into her small, round fish bowl. ‘Fighting fish?’

  ‘A betta, yeah.’ The bright green and purple fish was the only pet Fiona had ever had and she was periodically shocked at how much she loved the little creature.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Tamale.’

  Abe raised an eyebrow.

  Fiona said, ‘He’s spicy and a little corny.’

  Abe sat in a dining room chair. ‘I’m not sure you should be allowed to name things.’

  ‘It’s a perfect name for him.’ Fiona wanted to brag that the chair he was sitting in was from a ’76 Firebird and that she’d broken her pinky finger (which had been such an annoyance for the next month) ripping it out of the vehicle at the U-Pick, but she didn’t.

  Abe touched her elbow and then took Fiona’s hand, tugging her down onto his lap. His arms were strong around her. Secure. ‘I kind of just want you to tell me about the way you use a blowtorch. But if you did …’

  ‘Then what?’

  He kissed her then, hard and fast, and there in his kiss was what Fiona wanted to know, what she’d been wondering.

  Abe wanted to stay. She could feel it. Hell, she could feel him now, underneath her thighs.

  Fiona had to make a decision. And it would probably be better to make it sooner rather than later.

  A reasonable person would rise and thank him for the date. Perhaps she’d say yes if he asked for another one. Good girls didn’t sleep with guys on the – what was this? Their second outing?

  But most girls didn’t come pre-stocked with a crush the size of a 1972 Chrysler Town and Country station wagon. They didn’t have to deal with a man who looked like the model other men wanted to be built on.

  But she liked him, too. She couldn’t help it.

  Did he get this all the time? Should she at least try to play the game, even if she had no clue what the rules were?

  ‘What is it?’

  Fiona jumped, and Abe’s hands, which had been on the sides of her face as he brought her down to kiss him, went to her hips. She felt him adjust under her and she squirmed to stand. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘No.’ He pulled her down again. ‘You’re not. Now tell me what’s going on in your head.’

  ‘What?’ Fiona’s fingers curled at his collar. The fabric was soft. Warm.

  ‘You were with me, and then you weren’t. Where’d you go?’

  Fiona leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. How long had those cobwebs been up there? Would he notice them?

  Abe waited as if he had all the time in the world. As if her weight wasn’t probably making his legs go to sleep.

  ‘Is this weird?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hell, yeah, it’s weird. I’ve only ever known you as the girl with the gas station. I never thought I’d be sitting in your kitchen, you making me all hot and bothered.’

  ‘Right?’ Relief flooded her. ‘What did you think about me?’

  ‘About you?’

  Gently, Fiona touched the crease that formed between his eyes. ‘Did you think of me at all?’

  He paused before answering, taking her hand in his own and helping her rub his forehead. ‘That feels good.’ She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his temple, then moving her breath to his ear.

  ‘Um, don’t start that,’ he said, ‘or I can’t be held responsible for my actions.’

  Impulsively, Fiona wriggled against him. She felt his thighs tighten and he shifted again.

  ‘Lord have mercy, woman,’ he said. ‘Stay still and I’ll answer you.’ His breathing was shallow, and Fiona felt a moment of exhilaration.

  He took another breath and then said, ‘Don’t be mad at me.’

  That didn’t sound auspicious, but Fiona nodded.

  ‘I … didn’t think about you.’

  Fiona realized the fingers of the palm she had propped against the wall were pressed too tightly into the wood, so tightly she was getting a cramp in her wrist. ‘Oh.’

  ‘You were Fee’s Fill.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Fiona said.

  ‘You wore that black cowboy hat all the time.’

  Fiona brought her chin up, ignoring the fact that her feelings smarted. He hadn’t noticed her. She’d been practically in love with the man, and he hadn’t even known her name. ‘I didn’t wear it tonight, did I?’

  ‘No.’

  She pulled her hair back, wishing for a rubber band. ‘I love that hat.’

  ‘And now I know that. You’re hot as hell in it.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t push your luck, buddy.’

  ‘I mean it. You look like … you look like you’re thinking a sexy secret when you wear it, all pulled down low over your eyes. Something you’re not going to tell anyone else.’ He paused a moment. ‘I think you hide behind it, maybe.’

  He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  Abe went on. ‘And now I also know you’re a beautiful, smart-as-hell, creative, talented artist who can do just about anything she wants with metal.’

  Only one word in the sentence stuck out. ‘Beautiful?’ Her voice was small, and she was embarrassed. But she couldn’t stop from repeating, ‘You think I’m beautiful?’

  Abe smiled. His eyes smiled in a way that melted something cold, hidden deep inside Fiona. ‘Once – and only once, might I add – I wasn’t paying attention on my dad’s sailboat when he was coming about. The boom busted me in the gut. Felt like I couldn’t breathe for a week. That’s how I feel now. When I look at you.’

  Fiona started to speak, but then realized she didn’t know what to say.

  So she just said, ‘The bedroom’s that way.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Sometimes it’s good to know the specific names for the stitches we use. It’s not necessary – you certainly don’t need to know a name to make a connection with a stranger – but it helps. It’s nice to know your ssk from your k2tog. – E. C.

  Fiona was lighter than a parachute dry fly. He could have carried her all night, and when they got to her bed, the only thing that made it okay for him to let her go was the bed itself.

  ‘What the hell …?’ Abe reached out and touched the grille – the grille! – of the bed frame. ‘What is this?’

  Fiona bit her bottom lip. ‘It’s a 1969 GMC C1500 station wagon. Or it used to be.’

  The footboard of the huge bed was as shiny as the day it had come off the line. The bed’s sides were hubcaps held together with what might have been tension struts. And what should have looked like a child’s car bed looked more like something that would be installed at a museum. ‘It’s fucking amazing.’

  Fiona’s face broke into a pleased grin. ‘You like it? No one’s really seen it.’ She caught herself and said, ‘Well, not many … I mean … Oh, God. I don’t know what I mean.’

  Was that shyness on her face? Was she nervous? ‘I’m not sure there’s much you can’t do.’

  She held out her hands and looked at them critically. ‘My fingers are strong. I’m good with metal.’ Her smile slid sideways. ‘It’s all the other stuff I’m not always that good at.’

  He knelt on the edge of the bed, still admiring the way the chrome gleamed in the low light of her bedside lamp. It would be too much if he told her what he was noticing, that the sparkle of the metal actually matched that same shine in her eyes. So instead of embarrassing himself with that, he kissed her.

  As his mouth covered hers, he felt heat slam the pit of his stomach, a twisting, falling feeling that made him dizzy, the way he felt when an unexpected wave dropped his boat into
a trough. She kissed him back like she was on fire and he was the only thing that could cool her – or maybe it was the other way round, fuck, he had no idea about anything anymore. Whatever it was made him lose track of where he was, where she began, and he only knew that damn it to hell, he wanted this woman more than he could remember ever wanting anyone before.

  He was fast, moving his hands to his belt buckle, but she was faster. She unzipped his fly for him and helped him shove down his jeans.

  Fiona said, ‘Damn, Abe.’

  And he had to admit, her admiring voice felt almost as good as her hands did, touching him, caressing him in a way that was bound to drive him crazy way too fast.

  ‘Slow down there, Snowflake.’ He stilled her hand. ‘Let’s even the odds here, what do you say?’

  Fiona looked up at him, a triumphant gleam in her eye. She released him with what seemed like reluctance. ‘Yeah? How would you suggest we do that?’ She grasped the grille at the foot of the bed and Abe thought his heart might stop. Kicking off first one, then the other cowboy boot, she straightened and turned slowly, displaying her back and the zipper that dipped low below her shoulder blades. ‘Help a girl out, Sailor?’

  Her words were bold, but Abe heard a vulnerability beneath them. Slow. He’d move slow with her. He had all the time in the world for Fiona.

  Abe swept her hair off her neck and pressed his lips to the bare skin at the top of her spine. Then he tugged the zipper, slowly – so slowly – running it down to the small of her back.

  Something in his chest stuttered and then almost stopped when he saw the clasp of her black bra. How did something that lacy do any job at all?

  Fiona hunched her shoulders slightly, as if she knew what he was thinking. ‘I like pretty things …’

  ‘It’s astounding. You’re astounding.’ He leaned to kiss the side of her neck, and then, moving as gently as he could, he slipped the right shoulder of her dress off, then the left. The dress slithered to the ground. ‘You know how your bed frame shows off your bed?’