Wildfire Love

by Rue Allyn

  One tender nip at the fullness of her lower lip and she formed an O of surprise. His tongue seized her inner softness. She tensed at the intrusion, but a soothing hmm vibrated in his throat. His hands circled her shoulders, pulling her close, and she relaxed against him. He explored her mouth with knee dissolving thoroughness. One hand traveled from shoulder to breast.

  The heat begun with his kiss increased tenfold. Emotional lightning sizzled through the air. Sensation scorched her from top to toe and back, centering in her most private places. Moaning with pleasure, she could swear she heard flames crackle and snap.

  His lips trailed down her throat to the skin exposed by the loosened robe. She wanted more. Her head fell back to give him access. She was so very hot. Passion. Passion caused heat, right? It wasn’t very comfortable. Preoccupied with her breasts, Dutch didn’t seem to mind.

  She wriggled trying to edge away from the heat that engulfed her. Her movements brought her calf into contact with his lower leg. It burned sharply.

  Dutch chose that moment to jerk his head up. “Jehosephat, I never met a woman as hot as you are,” he said thickly. “I don’t know if I can handle you.”

  She looked up at him. His gaze smoldered. Thin ribbons of incense smoke drifted between them. She followed his stare downward to where his hand, dark and strong, covered her breast. Light flickered in the corner of her vision, and the smoke thickened. Her gaze lowered, and her jaw dropped.

  “Dutch,” she said hoarsely.

  “Hmmm?” He leaned forward, nuzzling her earlobe.

  “I think we’re on fire.”

  “Me too, Sugar.”

  “No.” She pushed at him, all senses now alert to danger. “I mean really on fire.”

  “Huh?” He lifted his head, his eyes dazed.

  She shoved him away and looked wildly about for something to douse the flames starting to lick up the side of his sagging trousers.

  Dutch shook his head at her frantic actions then looked down. “Yeow.” He bent to beat at the small flames. The hair on his hands singed. He shoved his pants down further and tried to kick them off. They caught on his boots. The flames grew larger. “Tsung!” he yelled. “Bring the fire bucket. Now!”

  Edith grabbed a teapot from the table, lifted the top, and tossed the contents at him. She missed the fire completely, but soaked his bent head.

  Dutch ignored her and managed to free one leg by pulling off his boot.

  Edith reached for the nearest container, a glass flagon of clear liquid.

  Dutch freed his other leg.

  “Look out,” she warned as she prepared to throw the fluid.

  Dutch looked up and froze. “No! That’s sake, rice wine,” he cried out at the same moment she emptied the flagon at the smoldering heap of his pants.

  A ball of flame wooshed upward and singed Dutch’s eyebrows before it spread to the pillows on the floor. The door separating the kitchen from the dining room blazed. Sparks settled on his shirt. Frantic, he beat his shirt to a smolder at the same time that he ran toward Edith.

  Smoke began to fill the room. Chinese curses sounded in their ears. Tsung had brought the fire bucket.

  “Fire bucket empty, Mista Dutch. Lijun run for help. Must leave house. Hurry!”

  He reached out, hefted Edith, and carried her toward the front door, grabbing Tsung by the arm as he ran.

  As the trio reached the door, lightning blinded and thunder deafened. At the same moment, the house beside his burst into flames, and a sparse rain began to fall. Edith prayed that a deluge would soon follow. Without it half of San Francisco would burn.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Edith’s feet touched the ground, but she clung to Dutch. Coughs constricted her chest, the spasms so great that she knew she’d fall to the ground without his support.

  But he peeled her arms from his shoulders and pushed her gently away.

  “Hold on to her, Tsung.”

  Edith lifted her head. “What are … ?” Another spate of coughing kept her from asking what Dutch intended to do. She fumbled for support and found Tsung’s narrow shoulders.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Where was he going? A crowd had gathered in the street. Voices shouted that other houses were burning. They needed water and a bucket brigade. There wasn’t enough rain.

  “No, no. Mista Dutch, you not go back in house.”

  “Nooo!” Edith croaked.

  But Dutch turned and ran into the fire.

  Whatever he was doing, Edith wasn’t about to let him die. She had to go in and get him out of there. She pushed away from Tsung, but the Chinese woman pulled Edith back.

  “I have to save him.” She forced the words through her raw throat.

  “No, no. Missee. Mista Dutch want you to live. Tsung want you to live.” The housemaid’s voice cracked.

  Edith saw the tears on her friend’s face and understood the pain there. Losing Dutch would leave a huge hole in both her life and Tsung’s. “I’m sorry. I have to go after him.”

  Edith lifted her blackened skirt and turned toward the house.

  She’d gone maybe five steps when, from behind, someone knocked her to the ground.

  A spate of Chinese crashed in her ears along with a roar of thunder mixed with blasts of sound and heat from the fire.

  Desperate to get to Dutch and beyond caring, Edith twisted to beat off her attacker. Her vision went red. She gouged and scratched, pulled hair, bucked, and used her knees to batter the person’s body.

  One hard slap followed another on her cheeks. She froze.

  Rain soaked her clothing.

  Tsung’s bleeding face swam into view. “Missee stop.” Tsung stood, freeing Edith, who lay in the dirt, stunned. A circle of sodden Orientals surrounded her. The Tsang family had arrived to help. Another spate of Chinese came from somewhere in the circle. Several hands extended to help her up.

  One glance showed flames consuming the house. Despite the drenching rain, houses up and down the street were burning. What had she done?

  Tsung appeared with a dry cloth and dabbed at Edith’s face.

  “Thank you.” She took the cloth from her friend. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tsung sorry, too.”

  Falling timbers crashed from the house. “Dutch, he’s still inside?”

  “He not come out yet.”

  Tears mixed with raindrops streamed unchecked down Edith’s face, obscuring her vision. She hugged Tsung. The housemaid hugged back.

  “Look at that!” A faceless voice shouted above the crowd.

  Edith lifted her head and swiped at her eyes.

  Dutch stood framed in the front door of the flaming house. Burdened with a large object, he ran for the porch stairs while the building collapsed behind him.

  “Help him!” Edith ran, not realizing she shouted.

  The Tsang family swarmed past her, reaching him first.

  Tsung kept pace with Edith. The tiny woman pushed, shoved, and harangued her family out of the way.

  They reached Dutch as he dropped his burden and collapsed into the street.

  Edith went to her knees beside him, using the cloth to wipe his face. There was so much soot that all she did was spread the stuff around. She gave up, grasped his head in her hands, and kissed him.

  “Mmmpfh.”

  She lifted away. “Are you all right? Let me check you for burns.”

  Shaking his head, Dutch hacked and coughed. His hands restrained her. “I’m fine,” he rasped.

  “You could have died.”

  He shook his head again and waited for a coughing fit to pass. “I doused myself in the horse trough before I went in.”

  “You … you … ” Unaccountable fury seized Edith. “You frightened the wits out of me.”
She stood up while he got to his feet. Tears, hot, furious, and fearful spilled unchecked. She leapt at him and started pounding him. “What kind of crazy fool thing did you think you were doing? I thought you were going to die. I thought you wanted to die. All I could think was that it would be my fault. My fault you were dead. My fault I’d never get to make love with you. My fault I’d never get to tell you how I feel.”

  Dutch caught her arms and stopped the fists battering his chest.

  She struggled, but he managed to draw her to him and wrap his arms around her.

  Her arms circled him. “You scared me.”

  He stroked her hair and crooned. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to die. I sure as heck didn’t want to go back into that house.”

  Edith lifted her head and stared at him. “Then why?”

  He smiled down at her. “First tell me how you feel about me.”

  “I … I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  He sighed. “I guess you don’t, but a moment ago you wanted to.”

  “That was a moment ago, when I was angry at you and feeling … ”

  “Yes?” He nodded helpfully. “How were you feeling?”

  “Guilty, damn you. Guilty because I caused that fire, and you were going to die.”

  He grinned again.

  “This situation is not funny.”

  His grin faded to a smile before he kissed her long and lingering. When he finally broke the kiss, he studied her and said solemnly. “No, I don’t think burning down half of San Francisco is funny. But the idea that you caused the accident all by yourself is pretty amusing.”

  Her hand fisted and she struck his shoulder. “Oaf.”

  “Ow. What’d you do that for?”

  “For laughing at me, for scaring me witless, and for putting yourself in danger.”

  “But I did it for you.”

  He pointed at the object he’d carried from the house.

  Edith looked closely at it for the first time. “My trunk? You went back for my trunk?”

  She stared at the metal-bound box then back at Dutch.

  “And these.” He bent to throw the lid open.

  “These what?”

  “These kittens.”

  “Kittens.” She peered into the trunk. Three yeowls, three pairs of yellow-green eyes, three soft furry bodies emerged from her folded clothing. She scooped the cats into her arms.

  They mewed in protest against her soggy embrace. “You rescued the kittens. You hate the kittens.”

  “But you don’t.”

  She looked at him. He was dirty, singed, and soot-blackened. No one had ever appeared more handsome in her eyes.

  She put the kittens back in the trunk and walked into his arms. “I love you, Dutch Trahern. Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You said the words I thought I’d never hear. I’ll contact Father Conroy tomorrow to arrange a church wedding, and we’ll tear up that annulment agreement.”

  “But … ”

  He placed a finger against her lips. “No buts. I insist.”

  She didn’t want to argue with him, especially right now. “I’ll think about it, and we’ll talk in the morning.” She might love him, but she had no desire for a husband; be it Dutch or any other man. She would allow no man that much power over her life.

  Dutch eyed her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I disagree. But for now, we have to find a place to sleep, and with half of San Francisco on fire that might be difficult.”

  “You’ve got a point. I think I know a place we can find shelter for tonight, perhaps longer.”

  • • •

  Edith woke as her feet touched the floor. Dutch still had his arms around her, but they weren’t in the wagon with the Tsangs. The two of them were in a chair in one corner of a large room. In the center of the room stood a huge four-poster bed.

  “Where are we?”

  “The house belongs to my business partner, Marcus Smiley and his wife. This is the spare bedroom.”

  “Oh.” Dazed with exhaustion and the aftermath of fright, she could think of nothing more to say.

  “Your trunk is over in the corner.”

  The box rested beside a small desk. She moved to the trunk and sat on it. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Smiley?”

  “They’re visiting her folks.”

  “Oh.” She looked at the bed. “Won’t they mind if we stay here?”

  “Marc and I are good friends. I keep an eye on the place when he’s out of town. Besides, I’m expecting them home any day now.”

  “Oh.” The information scarcely registered.

  “I’ll get some water to wash up with. You go ahead and get out of those clothes.”

  “But … that is … well, you shouldn’t return if I’m in my nightclothes.” She eyed him. Somewhere he’d found a pair of loose Chinese trousers.

  “Did I say anything about nightclothes?” He smiled, walked over to her, and kissed her forehead. “Now that annulling our marriage is no longer an issue, I want to stay with you tonight and every night. When I was in that fire, looking for those kittens, I thought I might never have a chance to make love with you, so I don’t want to wait until after the church ceremony.”

  “But the annulment is an issue that must be discussed. I’m not certain we should make love until we come to an agreement.”

  “I agree to talk about it in the morning just as you said. Tonight, I don’t want anything — conversation or convention — to separate us. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

  Edith nodded then swallowed. She understood all too well. She was finally going to get those memories she wanted but at what cost? She stalled. “I’m just not sure this is the right thing to do.”

  “Trust me, Edith. I want to stay married you. This is the right thing.”

  Was it? In the heat of the moment she had confessed her feelings, feelings that frightened the daylights out of her, because she didn’t want to stay married, or did she? Of course he never said he loved her. That being the case, could she justify spending the night in bed with him? Because, married or not, she was leaving as soon as she knew where to look for Kiera, and if Dutch did love her that would hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him. She studied his face and saw the same want, need and vulnerability she felt. How could she refuse when they both wanted this so very much? For tonight that was enough. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

  “All right.”

  “Wonderful. Leave the door open. I’ll be back soon.”

  Edith stared at the wooden panel for a long minute. Then she shook her head and attacked the buttons of the ruined dress. Dutch wanted her out of her clothes, but she wouldn’t sit here naked waiting for him. She would change her clothing and do everything she normally did to prepare for bed. The routine would help steady her nerves because she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for what Dutch had in mind.

  • • •

  A towel over his shoulder and balancing a large basin of water in his hands, Dutch paused in the bedroom door. “Lord Almighty.”

  Edith stood on the far side of the room with her back at an angle to him. One trim foot propped on a wide slipper chair, she unhooked her garter and rolled a stocking down her curvy leg.

  Dutch shifted, trying, without success, to ease the ache in his groin. Water sloshed over his hands and onto the floor.

  “Ahem.” Searching for control, he paced into the room and put the basin in the dry sink of the dressing table. “Let me help.”

  Her hand still on her thigh, she lifted her head. Eyes wide, a tiny, surprised gasp pursed her lips.

  God please help me make her do that again. Holding her gaze, he extended his hand. />
  She swallowed.

  At least I’m not the only one who’s nervous. Nervous or not, he would have her, and she would know she was his. She stirred his blood. So much that he wanted to howl and rut mindlessly, throw her down to the floor, and pound himself into her. But he wanted more — much more — so with restraint he didn’t feel he asked, “Please?”

  Her thoughts hid in the clear, green eyes that darkened as he watched. She removed her foot from the wide seat of the slipper chair. Standing, she straightened.

  The seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity. “Please.”

  Lifting her other foot to the chair, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod, then lifted the hem of her nightgown.

  Dutch reached for the garter at her thigh. A minute tremor shook his hands. His finger slipped between lacy cloth and silken skin. He tugged on the bow, and the garter fell away. His palm opened, smoothing a circle of comfort where the knot had rested.

  He heard her soft inhale of breath, watched her gaze go lambent, felt pleasure shiver through her as the caress widened. He encompassed her entire thigh and flirted with the curls that teased the ruffled edge of her loosened pantalettes.

  He beat back the urge to ravish and slowly removed the delicate cloth.

  Reaching for him, she swayed. “Dutch,” tumbled from her lips.

  He caught her, crushing her to his chest, and slanting his mouth across hers. His hands pulled and tugged to free her from the nightgown.

  She nipped at his lower lip.

  He opened his mouth.

  Her tongue took possession, sweeping pleasure into his body and swamping his senses.

  Dizzy, he sat, pulling her onto his lap. He shoved the gown over her head and on to the floor, then palmed her breasts.

  Her legs grasped his hips.

  Lord, she was soft.

  And firm.

  He didn’t know how he could wait, but he had to. He had to impress on her that only he could provide the kind of pleasure that would lift her beyond this world and back.