by Lori Wilde
In my pants, Ranger thought, the snickered reply of fifteen-year-olds the world over. Lord, it had been too long since he’d had sex if that’s the best his addled brain could come up with.
“Just heading over to Ember’s,” he said.
“Ahh, so that’s where the fire is.”
Huh? What? How did Calvin know about his feelings for Ember? Belatedly, it dawned on him that Calvin was making a pun. Fire. Ember. Haha.
“Real Code Red, huh?” Calvin chortled at his own joke. Code Red, Ember the redhead. Hardee-har-har.
“Barn burner.” C’mon, why didn’t Calvin just give him the damn ticket already?
“There’s always a five-alarm blaze with that one,” Calvin said, nodding in the direction of Ember’s swiftly disappearing taillights. “You never know what she’s up to.”
“What are you suggesting?” Ranger tensed, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, and felt his neck muscles knot up.
“You know,” Calvin went on, clearly not picking up on the undercurrent of anger pushing through Ranger. He didn’t care that Calvin was law enforcement, nobody, but nobody dissed his woman. “She’s outrageous and outspoken and . . . just plain out there. Remember the summer before she started high school when she—”
“I’m out there too,” Ranger growled, the sound coming out low and deliberate, heading Calvin off at the pass before he started talking about that time when they were all fourteen and attending summer camp together.
A group of campers had snuck out of their cabins at midnight. In retrospect, Ember had been the instigator, organizing the girls to meet the boys down by the small mountain lake. A dozen of them had gathered on the dock and Ember had yelled, “Last one in is a rotten egg,” stripped down to her skivvies, and dove into the water.
Ranger must have sounded pretty threatening, because Calvin instinctively settled his hand on the butt of his duty weapon nestled in the holster at his hip, and in a clip, curt tone announced, “License and registration.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to get testy.” Ranger handed over his driver’s license and truck registration. “Knee-jerk reaction. Ember’s my best friend.”
“I know you’re as protective of Ember as if she were your sister.” Calvin dropped his hand from his gun and looked a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean anything by that ‘out there’ comment. Ember can be a handful, but she keeps things lively around here.”
“That she does.”
“I’m letting you off with a warning.” Calvin scribbled out the ticket. “But do us all a favor and slow yourself down.”
“Got it.” He jiggled his leg, waiting until Calvin went back to his patrol car before he pulled back onto the two-lane road.
By the time he arrived at Ember’s house, he was itchy with anticipation.
She sat on the porch swing, her creamy complexion aglow in the light of the rising moon. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He stepped onto the porch, the boards creaking underneath his cowboy boots.
“Ranger got caught speeding,” she said in a singsong voice, moving over to make room.
“That’s right.” He dropped down on the swing beside her. His pulse was a tiger, roaring through his veins, ravaging the jungle of his heart. “Speed Racer, I couldn’t wait to be alone with you.”
“Mmm.” Her cute nose tipped up, playing hard to get, but she was happy to see him and trying hard not to smile. “Why the sudden need?”
“Missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she whispered.
“I was going to bring flowers,” he said. “But nothing florally stays open late around here.”
“Nothing florally? You have two PhDs and that’s the best description you can come up with? And why would you bring me flowers?”
“I owe you an apology.”
She pulled her knees to her chest, hugged herself, rocking the porch swing, rocking him. “What for?”
“Ghosting you.”
“Did you do that?” Her tone was as mild as her smile, but he knew this woman inside and out. She was suppressing, and fibbing. “I’ve been too busy to notice.”
Normally, he was not the kind of guy who rattled cages. More the type to give people their space and clear out, but here, now, tonight, too damn much was at stake not to do some cage rattling.
He grasped the back of the porch swing with his right hand, used it as a lever as he planted his right foot on the floor and in one smooth move, he pushed up and pivoted his body over hers. Smacked his palm down on the other side of the swing, sandwiching her between his hands planted parallel to her shoulders.
He leaned in.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she drew her knees tighter into her chest.
“Bullshit,” he said succinctly.
Ember swallowed hard, her throat muscles jumping with the movement.
“You ghosted me first,” he accused. They were almost nose-to-nose over her drawn up knees, and he could smell her lovely cinnamon-and-anise scent.
She moistened her lips. “When did you pick up this macho alpha man crap?”
Operating on drive and instinct, and praying he wasn’t going too far, he growled and lowered his head. Another inch more and their lips would be touching.
Ranger stared into her eyes and held his breath. “You like it?”
“Hell, yes,” she said.
He breathed.
She sighed.
They both laughed.
And immediately they quieted; desert sounds suddenly loud in the silence—hoots, chirps, howls.
Their gazes were chained together. Locked shut. He couldn’t have looked away if someone had put a gun to his head. Still acting on instinct, hands holding the back of the porch swing on either side of her, Ranger opened his mouth and spoke his truth.
“I want you.”
Ember’s face blanched.
Ranger’s gut wrenched. Oh shit. Had he ruined things already? Her hands were trembling. Hell, his were trembling too. What did he do now? What did he say?
“Say that again,” she whispered.
Did he dare?
No risk, no reward, right? Ranger gulped. In for a penny, he might as well go for the gold. He’d been pussyfooting around for far too long. “I want you.”
Ember cocked her head and studied him so intently it stole his breath. What did she see in front of her? Her longtime friend or the lover he ached to be?
“Do you mean you want me, want me?” Her voice was strong, but he heard the faint quaver of fear that anyone else would have missed.
“What else does it mean when a man tells a woman he wants her?” He growled again, deeper, longer, trying to get his point across. Baby, it’s you.
“I dunno. It could be anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, for instance, it could be I want you to come hold the stepladder while I screw in a lightbulb.”
“Sparky,” he murmured, and lowered his eyelids. “I’m not the least bit interested in screwing lightbulbs.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yeah. Oh you.”
“You want to have sex?” She put a hand to her chest. “With me?”
“I do.” He also wanted to tell her that he was in love with her and not just as her best friend, but he remembered Dawn’s caution and he held back his rush to say the L word.
“I’ve wanted to make lo . . . have sex with you for a very long time,” he said.
“Really?” she squeaked.
“You know how I always said Harry in When Harry Met Sally was wrong?”
“Yes.”
“I lied,” he confessed. “Harry was right.”
“How long have you wanted to jump my bones?”
“Since the summer we turned fourteen.” He pressed his forehead to hers, stared at her until his eyes crossed. “When you stripped down to your bra and panties and jumped into the lake. I still remember your bra was pink and your panties were turquoise. They didn’t match and you didn’t give a damn.”
He backed off so he could see her, gauge her reaction. “I thought it was hot. I thought you were hot, and I wanted to smash in the other boys’ faces for staring at you.”
“I got kicked out of camp for that stunt.”
“I know. I left in protest.”
“Why are you just now getting around to telling me this?” she asked, arms folded tightly across her chest, accidentally pushing up her creamy breasts, showcased in the moonlight.
His mouth watered. “What can I say? I’m a late bloomer and a cautious man . . . most of the time. You, however, bring out the Speed Racer in me.”
“I had no idea.” She pressed a palm to her chest, and he could tell from the awe in her eyes that she meant it.
“Question is, do you want to have sex with me?” He searched her face; his gut wired and tangled.
She hauled in a deep breath, her gaze latched tight to his, and slowly nodded.
Ranger felt as if he’d been plugged into a light socket, indigo blue and shocking, thought of a Walt Whitman poem “I Sing the Body Electric.”
“If we do this . . . what does this mean for us?” she asked, and the thin high note in her voice yanked his heart into his throat.
His spunky, scrappy best friend—the same one who’d pushed down a bully on the playground for taunting Ranger about his mother running out on him the day he’d returned to school after being out for several months—was scared.
Rarely had he heard her sound rattled.
Good.
She needed to think this through. He needed to think it through. Once they had sex, they could never undo it. Personally, he didn’t want to undo it, but if going to bed together killed their friendship, he would never forgive himself.
“Do you want to know what’s in my mind?”
Ember gave him a look that said she wanted to roll her eyes but was restraining herself. “No, I want to know what’s in Einstein’s mind.”
He grinned at her, his sharp-witted friend. He wanted to tell her that in his mind he saw sex and marriage and more sex and babies and more sex and love, love, love. But what if she wasn’t feeling the same way? Yes, she’d acknowledged she wanted to have sex with him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be anything more than friends with benefits.
“In my mind,” he said, weighing his words, “we’re going to have a hell of a good time.”
Her smile faded a bit, and her eyes turned stormy, but she quickly patched up her defenses and said, “Then what are we still doing on the front porch?”
Sex.
She was about to have sex with Ranger. Her womanly parts were very happy about that, but her heart, well, that was another story. While most everything below her waist sizzled and tingled, everything above her neck moped and sighed.
Sex was great, fabulous, sweet, sick, awesome, whatever superlative you wanted to tack onto it. But Ember, well . . . it’s just that she’d been hankering for more.
Did she push him to define the perimeters of their evolving relationship, or did she just go with the flow and see where things went? She wasn’t by nature an overthinker. She left that to Ranger. Normally, Ember jumped in with both feet.
So when he held out his hand, she took it, the very air rippling between them as Ranger led her into the house.
Don’t look down. Just make that leap.
The moment, loaded with meaning and promise, would have been dead sexy, except Samantha met them at the door, mewling loudly, wanting to know why her dinner was late.
“Sorry,” Ember apologized, dropped his hand and headed to the ceramic cookie jar where she stored the cat food. “It’ll just take a sec.”
“Take your time,” he said, going over to open the drawer of her hutch and pulling out some scented tea candles. “I’ll set the mood.”
Pros of sleeping with your best friend? He knows where the candles are kept. Ranger carried the candles and lighter to the bedroom.
Cons of sleeping with your best friend? He makes himself right at home.
Not that she minded that, not really. It’s just that now that this long-dreamed of moment was about to happen, she needed reassurance that their friendship was not going to implode. The last several days of avoiding each other had been weird indeed. She couldn’t handle more of that.
“Range?” she asked, leaving Samantha munching away in the kitchen and trailing down the hallway after him.
“Uh-huh?” he mumbled as he set the vanilla-scented tea candles along her dresser and lit them one by one.
“We need to set some boundaries.” Boundaries? Why had she said that word? That’s not what she meant. Boundaries sounded so distant as if she didn’t want him coming close when, in fact, she wanted the exact opposite. Wanted him so close there wasn’t a millimeter of space between them.
His eyebrows shot up and a crafty smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You mean like a safe word?”
“Good Lord, man, we’re best friends. Do we really need a safe word?”
“Point taken. If we had a safe word it would be . . .” In one simultaneous breath, they said, “Pocketknife.”
Laughed.
Pros of sleeping with your best friend? He’s familiar with all the skeletons in your closet.
“There’s just one tiny thing I need cleared up before we . . .” She inclined her head toward the bed, felt her pulse skip a beat. “Do this.”
He straightened, sauntered toward her. “And what is that, Sparky?”
Just staring at his lips started her head humming.
Cons of sleeping with your best friend? He makes a terrible racket in your head. Or maybe that was a pro. It was a really soothing sound, but it was heavy with significance.
“I need clarification on your status with Dawn. I can’t . . . we can’t do this if you and Dawn are hooking up. I’m sorry. Call me a serial monogamist. I’m just not wired for dual ongoing relationships.”
“Dawn and I are just friends,” he said easily.
“The way you and I are just friends?”
He stepped closer, his eyes sultry and half-lidded. “No, Ember, not even close.”
Her pulse did that skipping thing again, and she swallowed back her fear. “I have something to confess.”
“What’s that?”
She sank a hand on her hip, tried to look in control, figured she failed because he launched himself onto her mattress, landing butt first, and stretched out. Turning onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow like a Playgirl centerfold and grinned at her.
“All ears,” he said.
A lump lodged in her throat, and it took her a minute to gulp it down. “I . . . I went up to the observatory to surprise you the other night and I . . . I . . .”
“Yes?”
Shoot from the lips, Alzate. Just say it. “I saw you kiss Dawn.”
“Did you?” His voice dropped to that deep scholarly tone he took on when he was about to tell you why you were wrong about something.
“Yes, Professor,” she said, trying to keep it light. “I did.”
“Are you sure about what you saw?”
Was he going to lie to her? A cold chill splashed down her spine. “I peeked in through the laboratory door. You two were bent over a microscope—”
“Looking at meteorite dust,” he finished for her.
“So you’re not going to deny it?”
“Nothing to deny. We were definitely looking at meteorite dust.”
“And then you took her goggles off her face and set her down on a stool and leaned in to kiss her—”
“Did you actually see my lips touch hers?”
Ember shook her head, unable to speak; the humming was growing louder and louder. If it was this potent just looking at his lips, not even kissing him yet, what was going to happen when they made love?
She shivered. Not make love. He never said that. Sex. They were going to have sex. It mig
ht lead somewhere, or it might not. She would not put any expectations on tonight. If indeed, they even got as far as sex.
Who knew? Either one of them could bail out at the last moment. Hit the eject button, pull the rip cord.
“If you’d stuck around, you would have seen that Dawn had something in her eye and I was getting it out for her.”
“Oh.” Ember’s hopes chugged up to the top of the roller coaster. Really? “That’s all it was?”
“That’s all it was.”
“So you and Dawn—”
“Never kissed.”
“But you were so chummy. Touching each other, hanging out . . .”
He grabbed a pillow, bunched it up underneath his head. “I’ve got a confession.”
Down with the roller coaster of her stomach. Up with her fear. That sounded ominous. “What is it?” she whispered, standing as far away from the bed as she could get.
“I asked Dawn to pretend to be interested in me.”
Her chin wobbled. “Why?” she asked, hearing cloudy bewilderment in her voice.
“To teach you a lesson.”
“A lesson?” Irritation flared inside her. “Who are you to teach me a lesson?”
“The man who knows you the best. I wanted you to knock off the matchmaking. You kept trying to stick me with Fiona when she wanted Palmer, and you tried to hook Palmer with Chriss Anne when Zeke wanted her. You were sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong because you got the crazy idea you’re unlucky in love, and the only way you can experience romance is by living vicariously through the matches you made.”
“I never matched people up for that reason!” She glowered.
“Are you sure?” he challenged.
Was she?
Her ego certainly got stroked when people told her what a good matchmaker she was. Had matching up others helped her ease the sting of her own marital mistake? Was she sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong? But no, all she’d ever wanted to do was help.
“I’m not saying this to hurt you.” Ranger’s tone was gentle. “Just pointing out that for some crazy reason, you’ve closed yourself off to lo . . . romance.”
“So you’re not in any way shape or form interested in Dawn?” she ventured, her hopes on tiptoes, ready to twirl.
