Firestorm

by Monette Michaels

  Price had said the words earlier. Now she saw the words.

  As he left the room, tears of joy streamed down her face and her heart felt full.

  * * * *

  After taking Tara her beer and putting her meds with a glass of water on the bedside table closest to her, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Shucking off his clothes, he stepped into the steamy water and washed off, then took care of his hard-on. He wanted to hold Tara, not poke her with a constant reminder of the arousal that always simmered just below the surface whenever she was near. Only Trey had been ballsy enough to mention Price's inconvenient woodies during one of the firefighting training sessions. Later that same day, Price had been happy to beat the shit out of his brother-in-law during martial arts training in the SSI gym.

  As Price imagined Tara touching his cock, his orgasm swept over him like a firestorm. He clenched his teeth against the shout of painful pleasure, then leaned his forehead on the tiles as he worked to stay upright. Fuck, if just thinking about her touching him had him exploding that hard, coming inside her might just kill him.

  And scare the hell out of her.

  Her earlier nightmare had driven a crucial point home. No matter how calm Tara seemed on the surface, no matter how strong she was, Price would need to be alert to her past traumas rearing their ugly heads.

  The best plan going forward would be to use her healing wound as a measure to delay having sex. As she lived with him and healed, she'd get used to having him in her life and in—their—bed.

  His dick having been taken care of, he now wondered what he could do to handle the anger and lingering fear at seeing his woman fighting for her life.

  A knock on the bathroom door drew him from the torturous flashback.

  "Price?" Tara's voice was strained.

  "Come in." He checked her over. She was pale, but her cheeks were flushed. "You okay? Are you feeling sick? Do you need me to get you something?"

  Tara moved to stand in the opening to his glass-block-walled shower. Her gaze traveled over him and his damn cock went straight back to attention. "Wow." She looked at his face. "Do you need help with that?"

  Price shot a look of disgust at his dick. "Ignore the greedy bastard. I thought I'd taken care of him."

  Tara blushed even more and looked away. "Sorry. I shouldn't have come in here, but—"

  Price turned off the shower and reached for the towel hanging just outside and wrapped it around his hips, tucking the end into his waist. He willed his aching dick to go down as he stepped out.

  Keeping some space between them—his damn dick wasn't being cooperative at all and pointed straight at her as if saying "that's what I want"—he tugged on her hair, now in a long braid over her shoulder. "But what, sweetheart?"

  "Um," she peeked at him through lowered lashes, "I wanted to see you naked." She chewed on her lower lip. "I like what I see, píítaa."

  His cock twitched, the strutting little bastard.

  Price coughed. His voice harsh with his arousal, he said, "I'm glad." Mentally field-stripping his sniper rifle, he took several deep breaths, his gaze never leaving her golden one, and added in almost a normal tone, "Get back in bed, firefly. I'll be out in a second and then we'll get some sleep. That breakfast with your brothers and the others will come sooner than you think."

  "Okay." She turned and left the bathroom.

  "Fuck, shit, shit, shit." He considered taking another shower, this one cold, but was fairly certain it wouldn't work. His cock had a mind of its own. He toweled off and pulled on some boxer briefs. Then, at the bottom of a drawer, he located a pair of pajama bottoms his mother had given him one Christmas and pulled those on over his underwear, putting at least another layer of clothing between them.

  What he really wanted to do was to sleep next to her in the nude, but with his current state of arousal and his need for her, it wasn't a good idea. She was wounded—still recovering from fighting for her life. Then there was that nightmare. Her past traumas were too close to the surface right now.

  Rein it in. She needs your comfort, not your cock.

  Price walked into the bedroom and was glad he'd given himself the mental pep talk about sticking to his plan to take things slowly.

  Tara lay in his bed. Her face was once again leached of color. Lines of pain touched her forehead and pinched her lips. Her golden eyes had dulled to the color of burnt corn. She was in pain, dammit, but she'd bite her lip through before admitting to it.

  "Is it okay if I sleep on this side?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

  "Yeah." He walked to the other side and slipped under the covers. Tipping out one of the pain pills Fee had left, he put a straw in the water glass and turned to her. "Take this, please." When she opened her mouth to deny she was in distress, he growled, "Nope, don't give me that shit, Tara. You're in pain. You need to sleep to heal. You won't be able to sleep if you're fighting it. So, take this, then we'll crash."

  The pissed expression on her face made Price snort, but she took the pill from his hand, popped it in her mouth, and allowed him to help her to sip the water.

  After putting the water back on his bedside table, he turned to her and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then lingered for a few seconds on her mouth. "Thank you. I can't stand the thought of you hurting."

  Tara nodded. "Thanks. I just don't—"

  "I know." Price lay next to her. "I hate being out of control, too. But tonight, I'll guard you. When I get injured, you can feed me pills and guard me. Deal?"

  "Yeah, deal. Will you hold me, please?" She turned onto her good side.

  "With pleasure. Let me do all the work. I don't want you to strain your wound." He spooned her, placing his one arm under her pillow. He placed his other hand on her hip and pulled her to snuggle into the curve of his body.

  She grabbed his top arm and pulled it to her chest and held it there. Then she sighed. "This is nice. Your scent surrounds me. You smell good. I like your shower gel."

  Price nuzzled the nape of her neck. "I like how you smell, too." It made him want to lick her up and down like a lollipop.

  They lay for several seconds. Just breathing. Just being. Just as he was drifting into sleep, Tara asked, "Do you always wear pajama bottoms to bed?"

  "No, but—"

  "Piítaa, I'm okay with you wearing or not wearing clothing to bed." She held his hand to her breasts covered only by his t-shirt. "I trust you to control yourself. You don't have the reputation of taking what isn't offered."

  He muttered against her shoulder. "Maybe I don't trust me. You're a temptation. So, until you're healthier," and more used to me, "I'll just wear bottoms to bed, okay?" He paused, then blew out a breath. "What have you heard about me…about my reputation?"

  Stiffening a bit, Tara hunched the shoulder under his lips, so he kissed it. "You've had a lot of women. You like sex. A lot of sex."

  He curled around her even more and was happy when she relaxed against his body. "You are not those other women. When I first met you, something clicked and I promised myself that you'd know who I really was and would trust me before I took you to bed. You are not a one-night stand or a casual, just-for-sex relationship."

  He brushed a kiss over her ear. "You are…" He nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. "…the one woman…" He placed kisses down the side of her neck. "…I want to spend my life with and…" He lightly teethed where her neck joined her shoulder. "…have a family with." He angled her head and took her lips in what he meant to be a gentle kiss.

  Tara sabotaged that. She arched into him and traced his lip with her tongue. He captured her tongue and she chased his with hers.

  Groaning, he rose so he could mesh their mouths more closely together, then plunged in and conquered her mouth, setting up a rhythm with his tongue that mimicked what he'd eventually do to her pussy.

  When she jerked and moaned with what he sensed was pain and not ardor, h
e pulled away. "Sweetheart, did I hurt you?"

  Her lips twisted with chagrin. "A bit. But it was worth it for a kiss like that." She grinned. "You need to know I'm positive that I'll like sex a lot—but only because it will be with you." Then her expression grew somber. "I'm positive you're it for me, too."

  There was the blunt honesty he'd come to admire from her.

  "I'm glad." He kissed her lips one more time. "Now snuggle in. You need to sleep. Ten o'clock will come faster than you think."

  "Price, about Miller and what happened." She heaved a sigh that made his heart hurt. "Someday, when it's not as close to the surface as it is now—I'll tell you about it."

  "Whenever you're ready, I'll be here for you." He nuzzled her neck. "And if you're never ready, that's okay, too. I'll still be here for you."

  She nodded, but he heard a little sniffle. Raising his hand, he felt moisture trailing down her cheek.

  He groaned and captured the tears with his fingers. "Don't cry, sweetheart. It makes me want to kill somebody."

  She snicker-snorted and then her breath hitched. "I'll try not to cry. So? About my brothers—"

  "Are they gonna kill me for keeping you from them?" he asked.

  "I'm here, right?" she said.

  "Yep." He ran a hand over her. "Feels like it."

  "Smart ass." She laughed and pinched his thigh.

  His dick jerked.

  Tara massaged the area she pinched. A few inches over, his cock surged to life. Bad Price. Down, boy.

  "If the boys were really upset with the situation, you'd be unconscious and I'd be halfway back to Montana." She snuggled her butt against him and yawned. "They're in wait-and-see mode."

  "So, I'm on probation?" he asked.

  "Yep." She angled her head and looked at him with sleepy eyes, a look of worry in the golden depths. "Price—"

  He frowned at the distressed note in her voice. "Yes, firefly?"

  "Please don't leave me alone tonight."

  "Not leaving you." He smoothed his fingers over her silky braid. "Not even your badass brothers could budge me from your side."

  "Okay, that's good. Thanks."

  "No thanks are necessary. I'm right where I want to be. Now, rest." He used the controls on his side of the bed to shut the automated blinds and turn off the lights. Then he lay down and took Tara back into his arms.

  "Night, píítaa." She snuggled into him, nudging his erection. "We'll take care of this in the morning." Then she went slack, straight into sleep.

  It was a long, uncomfortable time before he could calm down enough to follow her into sleep.

  * * * *

  After climbing down out of her Warthog, Tara pulled off her flight helmet as she walked across the tarmac, rehashing the mission with her fellow A-10 pilots. The sun had reached an angle that it reflected off the Hindu Kush mountains to the north of the airfield. Her shamanic sense tingled. An attack. She ran even before the first mortars struck the tarmac. "Take cover."

  She found cover. Under a rock overhang and shimmied under it.

  No, that wasn't right. She'd dove under a maintainer's humvee, dragging a severely wounded Airman Sneed with her.

  The mortar attack now morphed into a sniper and a lousy one, at that. Price covered her body with his. Crazy man. Now his ass was hanging out. She liked his ass.

  Dreaming, she was dreaming. Why couldn't she dream about kittens and good things like Price telling her he loved her? Fucked-up subconscious.

  Rousing slightly, Tara turned, then moaned as she pulled on the wound in her side. Okay, that was real. She definitely was in Idaho, not Afghanistan. She was safe in Price's house, not clearcutting on the SSI perimeter. Letting out a sleepy sigh, she burrowed into Price's warm firm body. She hadn't awakened him. Good. But somehow he must've sensed her disquiet since he cuddled her closer.

  That was also good. His hold felt…right. She smiled and slipped back into sleep and focused on good things like her SSI friends.

  Ma's was busy. Tara had lucked out getting the booth the SSI crew favored. She'd barely sipped her beer when a man, Brown-and-Brown, approached. He made her hackles rise.

  She was now in a dark place. A shack, tied to a filthy cot. No, no, no, that was before. She escaped. This is now. Wake up.

  Tara moaned and slid deeper into the nightmarish world.

  She was in the parking lot outside of Ma's. Stupid, stupid. She needed her gun, then she'd go back inside.

  But she couldn't. Someone was stalking her. Was it Miller? No, Aidan just called her. Miller couldn't be here.

  Her heart pumped like crazy and she tried to control her breathing. Her father always told her when being stalked, "Go quiet. Calm your breathing. Conserve your strength. Watch for an opening. Then spring like a panther and strike hard and make it count."

  The stalker moved away. She followed. She'd head inside, get Ren and Tweeter. Then she spotted him under a light. Him? The masher from the bar. Brown-and-Brown, no, Horner's his name…but she didn't know that…yet.

  Mad as hell, she followed him. Dumb. She'd confronted him. Dumb. She'd disarmed him. She fought and was doing well…then she found her. Poor broken woman. Dead, dead, dead, lying in her blood. More bodies around her, in the belly of a ship. Dead and dying. Hell on earth.

  "No," she moaned, kicking at whatever covered her.

  Arms, warmth, soothed her. Price. She burrowed more deeply. So tired. She yawned and slipped back into the darkness.

  Horner tackled her, took her to the ground. Where in the fuck were kittens when you needed them?

  But the nightmare wouldn't go away. They never did. She'd have to let it reel out as it would. She was safe. It was over. No, it was never really over. But it wasn't the fuck real. Damn subconscious.

  Okay, whatever.

  The gravel of the parking lot dug into her back as she fought the killer. He was going to rape her. She bit him. Headbutted him. She hurt him. Good. She fought harder. It was dark, so dark.

  No, that was the other time. The parking lot had lights. There was music. Someone would come.

  He was so heavy and he'd hurt her. She bled. The pain was all she felt.

  "You rejected me, Squaw. Big mistake." She looked into Miller's crazed eyes and—

  "No!" She screamed and fought the restraints on her. She had to get away.

  "Shh, firefly. Wake up. It's a dream." The male voice was familiar. His touch didn't hurt. "Sweetheart, it's me, Price. Your píítaa."

  "Píítaa?" She went still. Her breaths were harsh and hurt her throat. Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. "Price?" She looked up and winced. "Did I hurt you?" She touched a red mark on his chin. "Sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "Shh. You didn't hurt me. And there's nothing to be sorry about. Nightmares happen. Hell, firefly, after the past few days you've had, I'd be more worried if you didn't have them."

  She nodded. "Yeah, my therapist said my subconscious needs a release valve and dreaming is the result. Hate it, though."

  "Yeah, right there with you, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead. "We both have pasts that will rear up and bite us on the asses now and then. So no apologies. We'll just deal. Okay?"

  "Okay." She kissed the bruise on his chin. "Did I head butt you?"

  "Yep, good thing I was moving away at the time." He looked into her eyes. "Can you talk about it?"

  Could she? She looked at Price. All she saw in his expression, all she felt in his touch, said she could trust this man with her heart, body, and soul.

  "It was a mish-mash of my greatest hits." She sighed and struggled to sit up. "I need to be sitting up for this. And I need caffeine. Diet Pepsi?"

  "You'll have both. You really tossed and turned and I need to check your wound," Price said as he gently assisted her in sitting up and fluffing the pillows behind her back.

  Or attempted to fluff the pillows behind her back. She snickered.

  "What's so funny, fire
fly," he asked as he moved to the other side of the bed.

  "Your pillows."

  "Hmm." He gently pulled up her t-shirt and smiled. "Wound looks okay. Changing the dressing can wait until later this morning. So, my pillows are funny?"

  "Your pillows are hard as rocks. When we go to get my clothes and stuff later today, I'll be replacing some of these pillows with mine," she warned him. "I can handle hard beds, but I draw the line at hard pillows. Reminds me too much of camping out when I was a kid or the coyote camps." Hotshots often just dropped and slept where they could if they couldn't make it back to the main camps during a really bad fire. "You okay with that?"

  He chuckled. "Yes." He smoothed some hair that had escaped her braid off her cheek. "I'll go get us some drinks. Then you can tell me about your mish-mash of a nightmare while I hold you. You okay with that?"

  "Yes." As Price exited the room, she watched his tall, leanly muscular body and sighed. Despite her wound and her nightmares, she felt good, centered, and it was all because of Price. He "got" her and her messed-up subconscious. He didn't look at her as if she were crazy as one of her post-Miller, post-therapy, metrosexual hookups had.

  She wasn't alone anymore. Together they could take on the world, past and future, both real and imagined.

  Tara didn't just think she loved him, she knew she did.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday morning, June 2nd, The Lodge

  As soon as she and Price sat down in the breakfast nook off the Lodge's kitchen, her brothers began again with their cross-examination regarding her and Price's relationship. Obviously, the cease-fire of the night before had ended.

  The audience for the embarrassing interrogation included Ren, Trey, and Tweeter, their wives, plus Ren and Keely's almost one-year-old son Riley. Scotty popped in and out, refreshing the buffet set up on a sideboard near the large eating area. Riley was the only one who wasn't all ears since he was too busy shoving oatmeal in his mouth—with his fingers.

  "You look like hell, Tee." Flynn eyed her up and down. "Did you get any sleep?"