Waltz into Fire

by L. J. Garland

  “Don’t you ‘honey’ me! I’ll have you know calf roping is damn hard. You have to have the timing down exact when you throw that lasso, never mind that you’re on the back of a horse at a full gallop, chasing that small cow.” She stalked toward him, intent on making him understand they didn’t just hand those awards out to anyone. She’d worked her ass off. “When you do lasso him, you have to jump off, run to the calf, flip him on his side, and tie three legs snug enough so he stays put—and those calves don’t always cooperate either. You and your horse have to be so in tune to each other that he knows every move you’re gonna make and vice versa.”

  Still laughing, Zane set the vegetables on the counter and gathered her into his arms. “I was kidding. I’m very impressed by all the trophies and ribbons. Don’t think I take anything you do lightly. You are an amazing woman.”

  “Sorry. Touchy subject, I guess.” She glanced toward the cabinet. “I loved it.”

  “Maybe you can try some of those moves on me.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d hate for you to get rusty and all.”

  She snickered and wrapped her arms around him. “You might be sorry you suggested that, big guy.”

  Kissing her forehead, he asked, “Why did you stop?”

  She shrugged. “The man I had just started dating didn’t think it was appropriate for his girlfriend to be traveling the state going to rodeos and hanging out with all those guys.”

  His brows furrowed. “And you let him stop you?”

  “Yeah, I guess I did. Looking back, I should’ve known better, but I thought we were going to have a life together and that, in a lasting relationship, compromises had to be made.” She pulled out of his arms and returned to the stove, setting the spatula on the spoon rest. Grabbing up a packet, she fumbled with the Mexican seasonings for the beef. “If I’d known he felt I should be the only one making compromises, I wouldn’t have. But at the time, I believed he loved me.”

  “What did he do?”

  She knew what he meant, and heat crept up her face at the predatory growl his voice held. “He was sleeping with a lot of different women for our entire two-year relationship. I figured it out when I found him in bed at the restaurant with one of my waitresses.”

  “Bastard.”

  The roughness of his voice grabbed her attention, and she shifted to meet his gaze. She’d expected pity, but, instead, something she didn’t understand flashed in his eyes before being displaced with the kind, caring expression he normally wore. “Yeah. Live and learn, right?”

  They finished making the tacos and sat at the kitchen table to eat. Zane demolished his first taco in two bites, and she was glad she’d cooked as much as she had.

  “So, anyway, my trip to Maine was for a long-lost aunt’s will. I didn’t even know she existed until last Friday. I got to the reading and learned I not only had an aunt I knew nothing about, but I have two brothers and one sister as well.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “I know, right?” She sipped her soda and then gestured at him with the glass. “And get this…we’re quadruplets.”

  “Damn.” His eyes widened with her announcement. Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. “I can’t imagine finding out something like that. I wish I’d been there with you.”

  She flipped her hand over and intertwined their fingers. “There were a few times I was wishing you were there. But they’re great people, and we had an instant connection. My aunt gave us all a piece of jewelry.” She lifted her wrist. “Mine is a bracelet.”

  His fingers slid to her wrist and over the bracelet in an intimate touch. “It’s beautiful, and it suits you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. The man left her breathless with just the touch of his fingers on her skin.

  Jerking away, he stared down at his hand. The part of his palm that had rested on her bracelet now held an angry, red burn mark. Grabbing his hand, she spread it open.

  “Oh my gosh. I don’t understand how that happened.” She glanced up at him. “Does it hurt?”

  “No. Just tingles.” He tilted his head and scrutinized the injury. “Weird. Probably just some kind of allergic reaction to the material your bracelet’s made of.”

  Fallon moved to stand. “Let me go get a wet cloth.”

  He snagged her wrist. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. I’d rather kiss you again.”

  In a smooth, swift motion, he tugged her to her feet and into his arms. Tightening his embrace, he stared down at her with such fierce possession her heart skipped a beat. Oh, my…. Those gorgeous brown eyes. Yeah, a girl could drown in that stormy, passionate gaze of his.

  “Damn, I want you.” His voice came out a combination of a groan and a plea.

  His confession sent desire winding through her, all but turning her into a bundle of need. Fallon wrapped her arms around his neck and melted against his hard, muscular frame. God, he felt good. She ran her tongue up the side of his neck and nipped at his ear, reveling in the delicious, salty taste of him. When he shivered and tightened his hold around her, anticipation rippled along her nerves, heated longing for the man who held her.

  “I’m right here, Zane,” she whispered in his ear. “Take me.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than he scooped her up, pushed the dishes out of the way, and placed her on the dining room table. Plates and glasses tumbled to the floor with a crash, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the man next to her.

  In a heated frenzy, she tugged at Zane’s shirt, lifting it up over his head while he did the same with hers. Her gaze drank in his sculpted chest and the smattering of fine chest hair that disappeared in a line into his pants. Oh, yeah, that’s where this was headed. She swallowed, wanting to consume every inch of him, but knowing it would be so much sweeter to slow it down a little.

  Shifting her attention to his face, her breath caught at the intense baseness of his stare. He dropped her shirt to the floor and spread her knees, stepping between her thighs. She welcomed him, lifting her hands to trace the enticing hollow of his throat to his flat nipples. He was beautiful—taut and so male. She leaned in and trailed her tongue over the path her fingers had led.

  “Ah, Fallon.”

  Slipping a finger beneath her bra strap, he tugged the silk strip off her shoulder, releasing her breasts from confinement. The rasp from his calloused fingers brushing over her breasts sent fire rushing to her core. He devoured her with his gaze, and her breasts tightened under his inspection.

  “So beautiful.” Leaning in, he lowered his mouth over one nipple.

  Thrusting her fingers through his hair, Fallon dug her nails into his scalp, holding him closer while he feasted on first one, then the other breast. Nibbling at her tight bud, he transformed her body into a single, pulsating nerve ending. She wanted this man like she’d never wanted anyone before. His devoted attention pushed her beyond reason, and she moaned. So intense. She wasn’t going to last.

  On the fireplace mantel at the opposite end of the room, a matched set of candles lit, their bright yellow flames engorging to unnatural heights. Fallon jerked at the sight. What the hell?

  Zane moaned with her movement and slid a hand between her thighs. Tingles danced along her skin while his fingers rubbed against her heated need. She undid the button on her jeans, wanting to shed the barrier to her pleasure. Releasing the zipper, she wriggled the pants over her hips, Zane’s capable hands assisting. He kissed her throat and dragged his teeth up the side of her neck, demanding access to the tender spots that drove her wild.

  “So hot,” he growled.

  Grabbing his hips, she jerked his belt loose and sought to unbutton his chinos. God, she wanted him. Now.

  Somewhere, bells rang, the sound musical. She found the zipper of his pants and yanked.

  “What is…?” he murmured against her neck.

  “No-nothing,” she gasped while his mouth did things to her jaw that made her both sweat and shiver at the same time.

  “Do you…?”

/>   He slid one hand up her waist and palmed her breast, drawing torturous circles around her nipple with his thumb. The sensations triggered a delectable coiling low in her body. Ah, just to find release with him.

  Biting her lip, she whimpered. Her body sung beneath his touch. Opening her eyes, she stared over Zane’s shoulder at the candles on the mantle, the flames swaying in seductive time with her raspy pants. Was she doing that?

  The music persisted and through the haze of desire raging through her body, she realized the melody was the ring tone she’d set on her cell for the county dispatch.

  A fire. God, no. Not now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zane kissed Fallon’s neck, grazing his teeth over her tender throat, and she arched beneath him. Damn, she’s hot. He couldn’t get enough of her. She skimmed her hand over his bare chest, and he shuddered with the erotic heat of her palm touching his skin.

  She pushed against him.

  With reluctance, he backed off to look down at her, discovering a mixture of desire, regret, and worry in her eyes.

  Her gaze cut toward the living room. “I….”

  He sighed. “Phone.”

  “Sorry,” she said in a husky voice and extricated herself from his embrace. She slipped her bra straps over her shoulders, covering her luscious breasts while she padded across the carpet to the couch. Jesus…the sway of those hips.

  Zane squeezed his eyes closed and gripped the edge of the table, attempting to lock down the lust surging through his veins. Damn cell phones. Gritting his teeth at the absence of her warm softness, he turned to see her listening to a voicemail, the candles on the mantel flickering behind her.

  He eyed the dancing flames. When had she lit those?

  Fallon frowned, her brow knitting. The tapers guttered and snuffed out, wisps of gray smoke curling toward the ceiling.

  “I’ve got to go,” she announced and dropped the cell back into her purse. “There’s an apartment fire across town.”

  Zane snagged her shirt from the floor and carried it to her. “Do you want me to drive in with you?”

  “No, they’re already en route.” She zipped her jeans and donned her top, the thin material clinging to her ample curves. Grabbing her shoes, she sat on the couch. “I’m meeting them there. My gear’s in my truck.”

  He buckled his belt while she picked up her purse and stood. Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll get the dishes. You go.”

  A smile curved her lips, and she slipped her hands onto his hips, snugging herself against him. He groaned, need flashing through him again, hot and demanding. He brushed a black lock of hair behind her ear and sowed his fingers along her scalp, cupping the back of her head. Lowering his mouth to hers, he drank in the sweet heat that was Fallon.

  When the kiss at last ended, she looked up at him with glazed eyes, her wet and swollen lips parted a little. The sight of her triggered base instinct to slam through him. Oh, to throw her to the floor and bury himself deep inside her….

  “You don’t have to do the dishes.”

  “I know,” he murmured. God, he wanted her. Taking her by the shoulders, he set her back. “You better get going.”

  She took a couple of steps backward, her gaze locked on his face. With a sigh, she straightened, her whole demeanor shifting to professionalism. “Meet me later at the Engine House.”

  He grinned. “To cook?”

  “Absolutely.” She opened the front door and smirked, her eyebrow arched. “Why else?”

  He laughed. Damn, she’s sexy. “Get out of here.”

  She tilted her head toward him. “Nice tat, by the way.”

  The words jolted through him, and Zane glanced at his upper biceps. He sucked in a breath, realizing the mark on his skin lay in plain sight. He looked up, an explanation on his lips, but the door clicked shut behind her. A moment later, the sound of her truck starting filtered to his ears, the deep, rumbling engine fading as she drove away.

  Anger usurped the lust that had raged through him, and he pivoted toward the dining room to snatch his shirt from the floor. Yanking the tee over his head, he then set about gathering the broken dishes and chunking them into the garbage. She hadn’t seemed too distraught when the dinnerware had been shoved off the table, but he still planned to replace them.

  He strode into the kitchen, grabbed the frying pan from the stove, and set it in the sink. After turning the faucet on hot, he squirted a healthy dose of liquid detergent into the pan. The scent of sour apples pervaded the air. While he waited for the sink to fill with the soapy mixture, he glanced out the back window at the simple patio furniture and well-tended lawn.

  Zane slammed his fist against the granite countertop. What the hell was he doing here? He was down to twelve days before his life ended—less than two weeks. What, did he think they’d have? A damn barbeque or something? Yeah, right. Invite all the neighbors. Great fucking send-off.

  Regret twisted through him, mutating to rage. His chest tightened, and he gasped for air. Shaking his head, he growled and squeezed his eyes closed, knowing the inevitable would steal him away in a handful of days.

  He needed to end their relationship. Had to stop seeing her. Had to quit torturing them both.

  But he’d never met anyone like Fallon. She was amazing—smart, sexy, a firefighter who saved lives. She was the whole package, everything he’d ever wanted and more. She drew him, a balm to his condemned soul. She offered him a moment of respite from destiny.

  And what the hell did he offer her?

  A few days of sex, maybe some laughs, but after that? Nothing.

  He couldn’t do that to her. If she felt a portion of what he had started to feel for her….

  He finished cleaning the kitchen, his decision made. He wouldn’t meet her at the Engine House tonight. Yeah, she’d be pissed, but that was a far sight better than the alternative. He would do his best to steer clear of her for the next twelve days. After that, it wouldn’t matter.

  He dried the frying pan and set it on the stove. He moved to the sink to drain the dirty dishwater, but the doorbell rang, distracting him. Dishtowel in hand, he unlocked and opened the front door.

  On the stoop stood a young boy, probably six or seven years old. The kid lifted his angelic face, blond hair shining in the fading sunlight. He stared up at Zane, his blue eyes widening, and said, “I-is Fallon home?”

  Zane forced a gentle smile. “No. Not right now.”

  “She have to go fight a fire?”

  “Yeah, kid. She did.” He glanced around. Where’s the boy’s mother?

  “Okay,” he said on a sigh and turned to leave.

  Zane closed the door and headed toward the kitchen to finish wiping any evidence of his presence away, but he stumbled to a stop in the dining room.

  The blond boy stood in the kitchen. He smiled, his mouth far too wide for his small face. “Zaaane,” he rasped in a deep growl.

  Zane staggered back, his heart jackhammering into his sternum. But before he could react, the kid flickered and vanished. Zane blinked and sucked in breath after breath, his brain struggling to process the impossible. What the hell?

  A child’s giggles sent him twisting left and right in search of the source.

  “Miiiine.”

  The whispered word shuddered through him, and chills riveted his skin. Is this what his future held, the evil that lay in wait for him in a dozen days? He pivoted, intent on getting the hell out of the house. But before he reached the front door, the angelic boy flickered into existence, blocking the exit. Zane reared back in horror, his breath jamming in his throat.

  The child turned a black gaze on him and grinned, revealing row upon row of pointed teeth. Spit foamed at the corners of his mouth, and he snarled. “Your whore will burn.”

  The air seemed to compress, holding Zane rigid in place. A feral roar shredded the air, the sound clapping against his eardrums. The pressure released, and he dropped to his knees, covering his ears against the pain. Removi
ng his hands, he discovered blood on his fingertips. Shit.

  Shoving to his feet, he wiped his hands on the dishtowel he still clutched. The demon had vanished, but his words echoed in Zane’s mind. Jerking open the door, he sprinted to his Jeep. Could he get there in time?

  As he slammed the gearshift into reverse, a ragged whisper pushed through his lips, “Fallon!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Fallon stared at the two-story building, dark fingers of smoke creeping from beneath the eaves and curling up into the night sky. She shrugged on her air tank, latching the strap across her chest and bulky turnout gear. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been wrapped in Zane’s arms with wild desire raging through her. But now—home less than twenty-four hours—she was already back on the job. Sighing, she faced her new partner, Stan, gave him the thumbs-up signal, and together they entered the apartment complex.

  “Top to bottom,” she said into her mic. “Captain said they think everyone got out, but we need to make sure.”

  “This ain’t my first rodeo, sweetheart,” he said, his tone sardonic. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Fallon frowned. Five weeks still remained before her regular partner’s broken leg healed, and then he would go on light duty. But, oh, how she missed Ryan’s sense of humor, his corny jokes. He kept tense situations positive and always watched her back. She’d forgotten Stan had a bit of an ego that needed stroking now and then. He was good at the job—structural firefighting and rescue were complex skills and required a great deal of training, coordination, expertise, equipment, and more than a little luck—but his demeanor didn’t often mesh with her own.

  They followed the hose man up the stairs to the second floor, the light from their headlamps guiding the way through the heavy smoke.

  “Sorry,” she said, climbing the concrete treads behind Stan. “Guess I’m a little stressed tonight and used to Ryan letting me take the lead. I know you’re one of the best firefighters we have.”

  He grunted. “No problem, Fallon. Just letting you know I got your back.”