On Fire: A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Mia Madison

“They are?”

  “Yes. The landlord chooses them. Then you learn to live with whatever is on the wall. I'm very good at it.”

  He smiles then, the rain running off his face. “But what if the landlord let you choose?”

  The rain drips down my neck. I shiver.

  “Fuck! You're cold,” he says. “Come in and you can give me the benefit of your interior design advice somewhere drier and more comfortable.”

  I'm not sure comfortable will ever be a word that would apply to me being in the same room as him but I gather up my tools to put back in the van and, against my better judgment, I tell him I'll be around in a moment. Like I can stay away when he asked me in. But I need all the time I can get to calm down before I'm alone with him.

  CHAPTER 10

  Rory

  I grab a towel and a clean T-shirt and dry off a bit. I even have time to put the kettle on and there's no sign of Anna. Has she gone home? Why do I even care? There are always more women to date. One doesn't matter. Why doesn't that feel true anymore?

  In any case, it's a relief—a sure sign I'm in trouble—when Anna knocks on the front door a few minutes later. She's wearing a pale blue hoodie over her wet T-shirt. Pity! But the color brings out the blue in her eyes. I like that. I stand back to let her in and she follows me, looking around at the state of my hall. I've scraped all the wallpaper off here already. Those big cabbage roses had to go but fuck knows what I should put up there instead.

  “You can see how much help I need with the decor,” I say. “I haven't got a clue. Do you want a hot drink?”

  “I'd sooner get off home,” she says.

  Fuck! She can't just go. “No, you wouldn't.”

  “Why wouldn't I? It beats standing in wet clothes.”

  “Because you came back. You could have just gone off in your van.”

  “I still could”

  “Yes, you could.”

  She's looking at me as if she doesn't know what to make of me. That makes two of us because I haven’t a clue what to make of me either. With one step, she's in my arms and I'm kissing her like a man possessed. She kisses me right back, her sweet smooth lips opening up to me, her soft curves against the hardness of my body making me harder still, the faint scent of apple shampoo, fresh air and rain in her hair driving me crazy.

  So much for not looking too keen! And when a little moan comes from her lips, I'm lost.

  CHAPTER 11

  Anna

  “What do you think?” Rory murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of my ear, making the butterflies do the Paso Doble in my stomach.

  I'm wet from the rain, my hair is a mess, and any make-up I put on this morning must be long gone, but it doesn't seem to matter one bit to Rory.

  What do I think? I think I pretty much forgot myself there. And what's more, I don't care. I thought I was over men. It turns out, I'm not. One kiss from a hot firefighter! Honestly. Shame on me, but to hell with giving myself a hard time about it. I've been too miserable for too long.

  “Do you think I should go for something plain and conventional or something wild?” Rory asks.

  For a moment, I forget we were supposed to be talking about the room décor—I'm thinking wild—Rory running wild on the beach at Winbourne. It’s the perfect setting, a deserted cove, sea raging. I could get stranded by the tide on the rocks and he could rescue me in his firefighter's uniform, but maybe it's the coastguard who does that sort of thing, come to think of it.

  I have to snap back pronto to get my mind on his question. “I don't know. Maybe you should match your décor to how you want to feel when you're there. So, your hall should be welcoming. You should choose warm colors instead of cold.”

  “I know exactly what I want to feel in my hall,” he says. “But, let me just check.”

  He kisses me again, gently nibbling at my lower lip and planting a line of kisses along the side of my neck, the scruff of his face against my skin sending my insides to jelly. And then he’s back kissing me fully on the lips, his tongue flirting with mine, eliciting a murmur of protest from me when he stops.

  I can't help it. He's off the charts sexy the things he does with his mouth, how he holds me so firmly in his grip, the feel of his hard body against mine, the clean male scent of him, all of it.

  “Yes, that was it, that's the kind of welcome I want,” he says.

  “I'm not sure there's a color for that. Ask me about your Begonias and I'll have an opinion.”

  “So, what color should my Begonias be?”

  “Red hot,” I murmur because he's kissing me again and I don't want him to stop again.

  “Hey,” he says when we break apart. “You're still wet.”

  I look down. My wet T-shirt has created two embarrassing dark circles on my pale blue hoodie where I have been pressed so hard against him.

  “I'll get you some dry clothes,” he says and takes my hand, leading me into the living room which is still full of packing boxes. He pulls a T-shirt right off the top of one of them. “I haven't got around to unpacking everything yet. A crate is very convenient storage. Maybe it will catch on.”

  I'm probably getting a chill from wearing wet clothes but I feel anything but cold. I need to shake myself out of this state and stop getting carried away but somehow, I don't want to. This feels real. It doesn't matter if I'm being stupid, if this guy is a player, if I'm walking into something that will hurt big time, in the long run, I can't stop how I feel right now.

  He hands me the T-shirt. “Bathroom is that way. On the other hand, I could help you with that.” He looks at me, searching for answers and tweaks the metal pull on my hoodie and when I don't protest, he slowly eases it down and I gasp. Am I letting him do this? Fuck! I am.

  He eases the hoodie off my arms and lifts the hem of my T-shirt and as he pulls it up, I put up my arms and he lifts it over my head. I wish I'd worn something sexier for him, but it’s too late for that. A girl doesn't wear her sexiest underwear to pull out weeds and prune shrubs. He kisses me long and deep until I forget about what I'm wearing.

  “You know, I think the main problem, the thing that's making you wet, is this,” he says, running his finger along the top edge of my plain white bra.

  He's not wrong. His fingers doing that are definitely making me wet but it has nothing to do with my bra and everything to do with how he's touching me, and the fact he’s now removing it. And then he takes my cold still-damp-from-my-bra nipple in his hot wet mouth and sucks any misgivings right out of my head.

  “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You're so beautiful.”

  And beautiful is exactly how I feel right at that moment. Beautiful and not thinking for one second about what I'm getting myself into, what I'm letting him do with hands and his dirty hot mouth.

  CHAPTER 12

  Rory

  This girl is so unexpected. Unexpected that she turned up in the garden next door, unexpected how she's right here half-naked in my house with me, unexpected how soft and warm and gorgeous she is. I don't think I'll ever have enough of this, enough of her.

  She's so much younger than me but she holds her own and gives as good as she gets. I like that. She's not the clingy type. A shudder runs through me at the thought of that and I hold Anna again, keeping her warm in my arms and kiss her hair still damp from the rain, pulling out her pony-tail tie so her hair falls around her bare shoulders.

  I run my finger around the waistband of her sweatpants. “I think these should come off too.”

  “Here?” She colors, her blue-gray eyes wide.

  I like that she's only questioning where we are now and how carried away she must have been to let me take off her bra. I doubt anyone can see through the windows from the garden. We're at the back of the house, the rain is still thudding down and I haven't switched on any lights. “No one can see you. Just me. And I want to look at you.” I kiss her again, reassuring her and she moans against me.

  But Murphy's law says whenever you don't want the phone to go off, it fucking
does. I can't ignore it when I'm about to go on duty.

  It turns out Tony wants a lift into work. His car has given up the ghost. What can I say? He'd do the same for me if I needed a ride and he'd save my life and I'd save his. Same as any of the fire crew. We all have each other's backs at the station. That's the way it is.

  I'll see Anna again. Besides, the call reminded me it's time for work soon. I have no time to take this where it needs to go, where I want it to go. My first time with Anna is not going to be a quick thing slotted into a few minutes before I have to rush off. All night will not be enough for what I want to do with her.

  “Sorry, that was Tony from the station. Bad timing but I have to get to work.” I slip my T-shirt over her head and kiss her. I love the way she hugs my T-shirt to herself and smiles at me. “I can't wait to see you again,” I reassure her, caressing her nipple through the thick cotton of the T-shirt and she sighs.

  “I never did get your design advice,” I say. “Can I take a rain check on that?”

  “Yes,” she says. “And I need to ask you about what kind of garden you want. But we can take a rain check on that too.”

  “That's easier than paint colors. I want the green kind of garden with grass and plants. Is there any other kind?”

  She laughs. “Philistine! I need to know what you're going to use it for, what do you want to grow? That kind of thing.”

  “I don't know. Something that looks okay from the house—a garden where small children won't get lost or drown for when Sam comes to visit. And somewhere to sit on a nice day and watch the view.”

  “The view?”

  “Of next door's garden. Some days the view is better than others. The same days your van is parked outside. And especially fine in the rain.”

  She rolls her eyes at that and laughs, grabbing her wet things. “I'll come up with some plans.”

  I kiss her again and wave her off in her van. I'll probably not see her until Monday. But what I need to know can't wait until then. It never bothered me with other women. I didn't care with them. They could take it or leave it. I just hope Anna doesn't back out after she gets my texts.

  CHAPTER 13

  Anna

  When I tell Jenny that Rory is taking me to some place called Berry's, she just about drops her phone.

  “You've heard of it?” If Jenny has heard about it two hundred miles away in London, where there are Michelin-starred restaurants every square mile or something it must be good.

  “Hasn't everyone heard of it?”

  “No. I thought it was probably a burger place.”

  “Honestly, which planet are you living on? Your new guy must be rolling in it to take you there,” she says, “or besotted.”

  “He's never said anything about being my guy. It's far too soon for that. It's just a date and he's a firefighter not a millionaire.”

  “Wow! Firefighter! You said he was hot, right? So, we'll go with hot and besotted. You need to pull out all the stops. Get glammed up. Dirt out of your fingernails at least.”

  “Very funny. I wish you were here, though. You could do my make-up and I could borrow something stunning. What am I going to wear?”

  “Your blue dress. He'll love that.”

  “That dress is too low at the front. He'll get the wrong idea.”

  “That kind of wrong idea is exactly what you want. It's about time you had some fun. But if it all goes to shit, look out for Raymond Berry and get a selfie. That's Plan B. The evening rescued.”

  Typical! Jenny gets all the gossip magazines. She knows the name of every celebrity and who they are married to, how many children they have, their names and ages and what they had for breakfast. She's incorrigible! But I miss her to bits. It's late before we finish catching up and say bye.

  I didn't tell her Rory booked a room. I didn't want to make him look bad, for her to hold it against him even though it annoys me too how he assumes I'll go along with everything - his blackmailing dinner invitation, his kisses, his hot mouth and his fingers on me. The trouble is I wanted to say yes to all those things too. Otherwise, there would be no way I'd have let him get away with that.

  Maybe I'll say yes to the room too. How would that be? It makes my insides clench in anticipation, my heart thud. One hot night with Rory? No regrets? Can I do that? I'm pretty sure I'll regret that somewhere along the way. But I want it too. More than I ever thought I'd want any man again.

  Do I want to wear the blue dress for him? It's made of soft jersey that skims my body, simple and sexy and it's the best dress I've got to show off my curves. When I think about how his kisses, the looks he gives me, make me feel, I know it's the right dress to wear.

  He's only ever seen me in my gardening gear and I want his eyes to light up when he picks me up on Monday. I want him to struggle not to touch me in public. I want to make him instantly hard. As hard as he was against me at his house. I smile to myself. Hard and impressive.

  My phone buzzes with a text.

  “Quiet night at the station. What's your address for Monday? Rory x”

  My heart lurches at that little kiss at the end of his message and I text him back my address and add a kiss too.

  “Going to send you something. R x”

  “???”

  “You'll have to wait. Patience. Sorry, got to go. R x”

  I'm intrigued. And I'm still puzzled when nothing comes in the mail the next morning, but I'm disappointed too because there won't be any mail the next day. Not on a Sunday. Maybe something will get delivered on Monday morning before our date.

  But when I open the front door of my house on Sunday to go for a walk, there's a brown paper parcel sitting there, the size of a shoe box, tied with a blue ribbon and all thoughts of my walk are forgotten. I pick it up. It's very light. Did he deliver it himself to make sure it arrived on time? That idea makes me smile.

  I take it inside and pull off my coat. The ribbon and paper are off in a flash. There's an envelope taped to the lid of the box with my name on it and a card inside.

  “Wear a dress for me tomorrow night...” it reads. What did he think I'd wear? Coveralls? Honestly! Bossy for no reason. But then I turn the card over. It says, “...and only what's in the box. Rory x” with the word “only” underlined.

  And then my heart thuds. I don't know whether to be mad he's telling me what to do or turned on by his demand because it hits me then why the box is so light. It must be empty.

  On top of all that, I'm disappointed like a kid at Christmas expecting a toy and getting novelty socks, though I can't deny the thought of him telling me to wear nothing under my dress sends a tingle right up my spine. How would that feel to sit with him in a fancy restaurant with us both knowing what was going on?

  But when I pull off the lid, I find something nestling in tissue paper inside—the most beautiful white orchid. And I don't know whether to laugh because he sent me something after all or to stay mad because of his bossy ways. He still means me to wear nothing under my dress. He can forget that for a start.

  I send him a text. “Thanks for the flower, Bossy. Anna x”

  I'm going to let him stew about whether I'll comply with his request, but he must be on another planet if he thinks I'm doing that no matter how it made me feel to get that note.

  *

  As I put on underwear under my blue dress on Monday, I almost feel guilty for not doing as Rory asked. Almost but not quite. And I'm not sure what to do with the orchid. Pinning it to my dress will make me feel like I should be going to a prom or a wedding. In the end, I attach it to my bag with double-sided sticky tape. That will have to do.

  Sitting in my tiny living room, waiting for him, I can't help fidgeting with the neckline. It drapes loosely at the front and I'm convinced it's too low. Should I get changed after all and wear my black dress with the high neck that makes me look like I'm going to a funeral?

  But it's too late now. The bell goes.

  At least my nails are scrubbed clean, make-up on as best I can,
hair loose and tumbling down in waves (thank you curling irons), legs shaved. What the hell am I getting into? I asked myself that several times as I got ready. I don't want to think what it means that I put a toothbrush and spare underwear in my bag along with my phone and make-up.

  I'm probably getting into something right over my head with a guy who makes the kind of demands he does even before a first date. But I open the door anyway with a smile.

  He scrubs up well. Far too well, for my peace of mind, looking as he does like a male model in a suit that fits his body perfectly. And he looks at me as if I might be the dinner itself rather than his date before he kisses me on the cheek and I get a faint scent of clean soap and whatever cologne he uses, a sharp reminder of our last encounter that sends a wave of desire to my core.

  “Beautiful dress,” he says, a glint in his eye. He doesn't say a word about what I may or may not be wearing under it. I'm even more pleased I didn't comply with his stupid demands. He was just playing with me and that could have been embarrassing. I grab my bag.

  He opens the car door for me and guides me inside, his hand on the small of my back. Every touch sends a tingle through me. Being with him is making me unusually tongue-tied. Everything I think about saying seems to lead back to a topic I think I'd better not go into.

  Fuck it! This is ridiculous. I'm just going to enjoy myself whatever happens. I'm going to ask what I really want to know and to hell with the consequences.

  “So, Rory. Do you tell every woman you take out to leave her panties at home?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Rory

  If I'd expected Anna to ask anything when we first set off to the restaurant, it wasn't that.

  “Are you always so direct? What's wrong with. Hello, Rory how was your day? Put out any fires lately?”

  “Do you always avoid questions you don't want to answer?” There she is, challenging me again.