Tasting Fire
Page 23
“My dad used to always say ‘Life is serious. Give it your very best.’”
“It’s not a bad life philosophy,” Cash agreed. “But it’s a guiding principle, not a commandment for every action you take. And to a Type-A person like you, it sounds like one. Give yourself some room, Em. To make mistakes, to lean on other people.”
Emmy heard what he left unsaid. He wanted to be the one she could lean on today and every day in the future. Maybe that was truly possible now that she was starting to see that she’d been living her life based on the advice of a ghost. Maybe if her dad had lived, he would’ve imparted other life lessons. Ones that encouraged her to enjoy and embrace life instead of marching through it. “I want to do that. To have room for you and all the wonderful things you bring into my life.”
Cash smiled and cradled her neck to press a kiss to her forehead. “Then make room for one day of rest. You need it. And with the scare you gave me—gave my heart—last night, I need it, too.”
He was right. They needed to regroup. Get their feet under them again. “Then show me the best napping spot in the house.”
25
After striking their deal, Emmy had actually allowed him to tuck her into his bed, and he’d stretched out beside her until she drifted off to sleep. Then he’d made a couple phone calls—one to Captain Styles, since he’d never stopped by her office, and one to the arson investigator.
And although Cash’s thoughts and feelings were now as dark and sticky as blackstrap molasses, Mother Nature had served up a bright spring day.
So he was out in his privacy-fenced backyard, giving some attention to his own grass and flowerbeds, which limped along like the cobbler’s children most of the time. Although he didn’t grow any vegetables—didn’t need to with his inside track to Kingston Farms—he’d inherited his dad’s green thumb.
The flowerbeds around his house were filled with hardy species that didn’t need to be coddled. Swamp roses, wild pansies, leather flowers. He stomped a trenching shovel into the ground to plant a royal catchfly he’d had patiently waiting in his small greenhouse.
Guys at the station gave him hell when they found out about the greenhouse and his pretty little yard. Started calling him Daffodil. That had stopped when they found mulch made from pine bark, partially composted eggshells, and horse shit in their beds.
He didn’t handle the royal catchfly gently, just popped it in the hole and scooped backfill into the empty space around the rootball.
“Hey.”
Cash turned to find Emmy standing on his back porch, wearing a tank top and boy shorts panties and holding two glasses of what looked like iced tea.
“You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She stepped off the porch and her breasts bounced, making it abundantly clear she wasn’t wearing a bra under that shirt.
He started to say something about it being too cool for her to be parading around in what amounted to a bathing suit, but he stopped himself.
Dude, when did you turn into a dud instead of a sex-seeking missile?
His own thought brought a smile to his face. Wanting sex wasn’t the problem. It was just more complicated with what he felt for Emmy. Protect or pounce?
“You look happy,” Emmy said suspiciously as she approached and held out a glass.
Was he? Could he be, after all that had happened the past few days?
Yes, because Emmy needed one day without the cloud of danger that had hovered over her since she returned to Steele Ridge.
“You make me happy.” He set the tea on a wooden fence post and stripped off his gloves. Then he set his hands on Emmy’s hips, enjoying the feel of rounded female flesh under his palms.
Enjoying even more the way her nipples tightened under her shirt at his touch.
“I brought that tea so you could drink it.”
“Oh, with you walking out here dressed like that, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna need a cool drink more in about half an hour.”
“Is this your idea of foreplay?” Emmy sniffed. “Because you smell like backyard.”
“I’ve only planted one thing. You’re making excuses.”
“Fine. You smell like sunshine and sex.” She took a drink from her glass and when she lowered it, a drop of liquid clung to her upper lip. With the tip of her tongue, she caught it.
His stomach muscles tightened. Which caused tightening a few inches to the south.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her, trying to be a caretaker instead of a man holding the woman he loved. The woman he wanted.
“Throat’s still a little scratchy, but other than that, I’m fine. I forgot to ask about Stella Grace. Grif and Carlie Beth took her to the ER for a fever. Do you know if she’s okay?”
“I should probably paddle your butt for letting Grif leave your place. But it turned out she was a little dehydrated and needed some fluids.”
“Then that means everyone is safe and sound all around.” Smile still on her face, she skimmed the lip of her tea glass down the side of his throat and around to where his shirt was partially unbuttoned. It made his nipples do an impression of hers.
“I would’ve given anything for a cadaver like yours when I was taking anatomy and physiology.”
He chuffed out a laugh. “Don’t know how to take that.”
“It’s just so damn perfect.”
Heat rolled up the back of his neck. He kept in good shape and knew he was a decent looking guy, but perfect? Nah.
“Take off your shirt,” she said, softly but with steel behind her words. And damned if they didn’t go directly to his dick.
“We’re outside,” he reminded her.
“Shouldn’t waste such a pretty spring day. And it’s not like anyone can see us. Your nearest neighbor is what, half a mile away?”
“If we start this out here, we won’t finish it inside.”
She looked up, eyebrows raised and a wicked look in her eyes. “I was going to do you on the hood of your truck the other day, but we got interrupted.”
Yeah, that image exploded behind Cash’s eyes. Emmy stretched out on his truck, sun shining down through the tree branches to flirt with her dark hair, her naked skin. It might work on one of those hot rod magazines, but he had to laugh at Emmy’s optimism. “Seriously?”
“I figure your custom bumper would provide plenty of leverage. Don’t you?”
Well, hell. Now he’d have to figure out a place to park and take that challenge. Since his carport was open air and in sight of anyone who drove down his street, that wouldn’t work. Not unless he and Emmy wanted to share a jail cell for public indecency.
But for now, they had this private spot. This private time.
Cash unbuttoned his shirt, let it hang open so Emmy could scratch her short nails down the center of his chest. She pushed the fabric off his shoulders and he caught it before it hit the dirt. Tossed it over the shovel stuck in the ground.
“Why does looking at a beautiful male body bring out the desire to bite it?”
“Marking instinct? To warn off all the other cavewomen on the hunt?”
“How many do I need to warn off, Cash?”
“None,” he said rawly. Honestly. “You’re the only one in the picture.”
“Then maybe I don’t need to bite you.” She walked around him, trailing her fingertips over his biceps, along his upper back, and across his spine. Lingering there, she drew tiny figure eights, proving to Cash that the human back wasn’t given the credit it deserved as an erogenous zone. When she circled back around to his chest, she flicked a nipple with her thumb, almost sending him to his knees in the dirt. “Or maybe I’ll bite you all over just because I want to.”
His jeans felt like he’d washed them in hot water and then tossed them in the dryer on high. He wouldn’t have been surprised to look down and see they’d shrunk ten inches. Because his dick was currently taking up about that much space behind his zipper.
God, he loved her.
If he said those three words right now, would she step back? Insist on distance between them that he couldn’t hope to bridge?
“I never said thank you,” she said softly as she pressed her lips to his left pectoral muscle. Placement coincidence or symbolism? “You saved my life. Saved your sister and my family.”
“It was a joint effort.”
“No one in that department has the heart you do, Cash. Yes, some of them love their jobs. Some just love the power trip. But you… Everything you do is because you care about people. Do you realize how rare that is?”
“Why else would someone run into a burning building?”
When she pressed her cheek against his heart, it just gave up. Flopped over like a dog waiting to have its belly scratched. “The fact that you ask the question makes my point.”
“You do as much, or more, to save people as I do.”
“My original motivation had nothing to do with helping people and everything to do with making my dad proud. I did it to somehow try to balance the scales. To make his death mean something. To make him proud of me. That’s not selflessness.”
Cash tightened his hold on her. “How many lives do you think you’ve saved over the years?”
“I have no idea.”
“And when will it be enough?”
Her face turned up to his. “What do you mean?”
“When will you have saved enough people to make up for the fact that no one saved your dad?”
She was silent.
“Because you’re trying to even up something that’s not a scoring game. And by doing that, you’re setting yourself up to lose. Every damn time. Tell me something, Em. Do you even like tactical medicine?”
Surprise flared in her eyes. “I love it.”
The immediate rebound of her answer told Cash she was speaking the truth. “Then that was his gift to you. That’s the gift his death gave to the world. Tactical and emergency medicine became a passion for you.”
“You’re telling me that I should take that and leave all the other baggage behind.”
“As much as I might want to sometimes, I can’t tell you what to do. You have to look into your heart. Into the brave, fierce part of you for the answer. You can’t let the grieving little girl make all your life decisions.”
“God, Cash, maybe you should’ve been a shrink.”
“Thanks, but I’ll leave that to Tessa.”
“He would like you, Cash. My dad. Maybe he’d even agree with you. That I need to let that little girl go. The scared and sad one.”
“You get to choose, Em.”
His words trickled through her like cool spring water. She got to choose. Her life. Her way. “I choose being enough, just as I am,” she finally said, hearing the wonder in her own voice. “I choose joy and fun and play. I choose hard work and passion, even if I fail sometimes.” She slid her hands up his torso to cover his cheeks. “And Cash Kingston, I choose you.”
Forget belly scratches. If she’d commanded that he sit, stay, and roll over, he would go belly up, no questions asked.
“I…ah…think those are some good choices.”
“And I’m staying in Steele Ridge. Whoever isn’t happy about me being here isn’t going to bully me into giving up what I’ve found here.”
“And what have you found?”
“Purpose, meaning, friendship… love.”
Cash closed his eyes to ward off the sharp bite of painful hope in his chest.
Emmy’s lips brushed his, stopped the breath in his lungs. “I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay years ago, but—”
The painful hope transformed into a bright ball of sunshine. The past didn’t matter anymore. Only how they felt about one another now.
He hauled Emmy off her feet and carried her into the greenhouse. With one arm, he swept away a trio of terra-cotta starter planters, barely hearing them scatter to the ground and shatter. Without ceremony or gentleness, he plopped Emmy onto the teak potting bench. He braced his hands on either side of her hips and looked into her eyes. “Say it again,” he demanded.
“I. Love. You.”
Something inside him snapped. Just pop. He grabbed the hem of her tank top and ripped it over her head. Next came those sexy little shorty shorts. Out from under her ass, down her legs, and off her bare feet. “Lift up.”
“What?”
“You’re sitting on wood.”
She rocked one side to another, and he shoved her tank top under her butt. Then he yanked her forward, pulling her off balance so she was forced to hold on to him. His hands gripping her amazing ass, he kissed her.
No gentle love song kiss. But a full-on heavy metal I-want-inside-you tongue fest.
All the want and desperation and fucking fear poured from his mouth to hers. He understood her desire to bite and mark. Something, anything to stake a claim that could not be erased.
Even as he ravaged her mouth, Emmy stroked a tender hand over his hair. It didn’t soothe the pounding need inside him. She loved him.
But…
He drew back from her mouth, panted out his sudden realization. “My wallet’s inside the house.”
Emmy smiled—right into his eyes—and lifted his palm off her butt to kiss it and curl it directly between her legs. A spot so soft and hot that Cash’s brain blinked off. “Remember,” she said. “Clean and on birth control.”
“Thank Christ. Same here. Well, not the birth control, but…”
“Cash,” she said, stopping his rambling. “Love me.”
He pressed against her hip and she leaned back on her hands, giving him access to all the places he wanted to touch, mark, claim.
Love.
He needed to show her. Now. He manhandled his fly and pushed down his jeans and boxers.
She watched him with a heavy-lidded smile as he opened her wider and pushed himself inside.
“Do you hear it?” he panted out.
Emmy blinked. “What?”
“Angels singing.”
Her low laugh was the sexiest, sweetest thing he’d ever heard. He bent over her and looked directly into her eyes.
No hiding. No holding back.
“I love you, Emmy. I want you. And I want to build a life with you.” Jesus, if he’d ever been this vulnerable, this open, he couldn’t remember it. Even his botched proposal hadn’t made him feel this exposed.
“Then maybe we can talk about ditching the birth control sometime soon.”
Such a practical exchange shouldn’t be this sexy, but it electrified Cash, made his dick harder, made him hotter. “Full discussion on that later,” he said. “For now…”
He withdrew and slid home again, into the center of her loving heat. Emmy moaned and arched her back, offering up her breasts. Cash took one nipple between his teeth and gently bit down until Emmy’s hips jerked against him.
A sob tore from her throat as she tried to get closer to him, pull him deeper inside her body. Tried to take what she needed. What he would give her.
Cash gripped her hips and drove into her with a singleminded rhythm that had his heart booming to escape his chest. The sheer emotion in her eyes drew him to her, and he took her mouth with the same intensity as he was taking her body.
Sweet and pretty it wasn’t. It was a desperate desire. A natural need. A passionate plea.
It was so incredible that Cash found it hard to keep their rhythm steady. And when Emmy dragged her lips from his, gasping for breath and saying, “Cash, please. I’m… please,” he gave up the pretense of control.
Her body squeezed around him, pulling, pleading, needing. Her eyes went wide and unseeing with her orgasm. Her heart called out to his.
And Cash let himself trust. Allowed himself to free-fall for Emmy McKay.
26
As lovely as it had been to spend th
e day in Cash’s potting shed and bed, when Emmy woke the next morning, it was time to go back to the real world. Return to all the weird things happening around her.
She found Cash in his kitchen, wearing half-buttoned jeans and flipping an herb-studded omelet. Hugging him around the waist, she said, “All this and breakfast, too? You are a keeper.”
He twisted around to look down at her, his expression unusually serious after the laughter- and passion-filled hours they’d spent together. “Em, promise me you won’t ever say things that you don’t mean.”
Feeling emotionally slapped out of her good mood, she tried to step back, but he just moved with her. “Why would you say that?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt from bleeding through her tone.
“Things have been unsettled around here. I don’t want you to mistake that instability for… something else.”
Emmy worked to shake off her immediate reaction. This wasn’t Cash taking a swipe at her. It was the uncertainty she’d planted and he’d allowed to grow for years. “I wouldn’t and I’m not.”
“How can you be sure?”
She couldn’t blame him for questioning her. After all, she was still sorting out her own feelings about so much. But one thing she knew was how she felt about him. “I get that we’ve experienced some high-emotion situations together recently. And I’ve been damn impressed with how you’ve handled all of them. But in my book, adrenaline alone does not lead to love.”
“What does?”
“Heck if I know. Maybe it’s a hodgepodge of things—respect, desire, trust, lust, admiration, need. Like a spice blend.”
“The twenty-one seasonings of love,” he mused. “You might be right.”
Emmy rose to her toes and kissed him. Warm lips and honest affection. “I’m not leaving this time,” she assured him. “I know who I am and what I really want now. I’m done listening to old recordings in my head.”
“Does that mean you’ll go to the next Kingston family potluck with me?”
“As your girlfriend?”
“How about as my future baby mama?”