Once Burned (Firehouse Fourteen Book 1)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  The scar started at the base of her breastbone, thin at first, then turning into a thick mottling of puckered flesh as it ran down her stomach and angled to the side. The scar thinned again, smoother and faint until it disappeared into the waistband of her shorts. Nick swallowed hard. The scar was hideous, causing his stomach to sour and roll.

  But not for the reason Kayla so obviously thought. The scar was hideous because he had put it there. He was the one responsible for marring an otherwise perfect and beautiful body. For destroying a life so full of promise. His breath left him on a groan and he closed his eyes, unable to bear the evidence of his irresponsibility any longer.

  “Yeah, pretty disgusting, isn’t it?” Kayla’s voice was hoarse, the words harsh. Nick opened his eyes and saw the vulnerability in her gaze before she had a chance to hide it. He reached out, grabbing her hand to stop her from turning away.

  “No. No, it’s not.” His grip tightened on her when she tried to pull away. He stared into her eyes, not breathing, his mind racing to find the words to explain what he was thinking and failing. He closed his eyes again and dropped to his knees, resting his forehead against her stomach. Her breath hitched in her chest and she tried to pull away again, but he wouldn’t let her. With one hand still wrapped firmly around her wrist, he reached out with his free hand and gently traced the ragged scar with a trembling finger, surprised at its smoothness.

  “Nick.” Kayla’s voice wavered, his name an uncertain whisper that pierced the tension surrounding them.

  “Shhh.” He whispered the reassurance and lowered his head. Nick placed one gentle kiss on the scar, then another and another, dragging his lips across the marred flesh, trying to heal what couldn’t be healed. Her body shivered under his touch until she finally pushed him away and dropped to her knees.

  “Nick, don’t.”

  He looked into her eyes, saw the fear and uncertainty in their depths, saw the tears clumped at the edges of her lashes as she studied him. He shook his head to silence her, then reached up and gently traced her lower lip with his thumb before lowering his mouth to hers. She stilled under his touch, not giving in but not pulling away, letting him set the pace.

  He cupped her face with both hands and rubbed his lips lightly across hers. Gently at first, then more firmly as she responded to his touch. He deepened the kiss until her mouth opened under his and his tongue immediately, instinctively swept inside, meeting hers in a wild frenzy. Kayla moaned, a small sound that was lost between them. She leaned into him, meeting each thrust of his tongue with her own. Her hands wrapped around his neck, her fingers playing in the hair at the edge of his collar.

  With a harsh gasp Nick broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he dragged his lips along her jaw and down across her neck. His hands drifted across her shoulders then lower, to the heated flesh of her bare back. He hooked two fingers into the waistband of her shorts then dipped his hands inside, cupping her firm bottom and pulling her hips against his. Her body arched against him and she moaned again, a small sound of desperation as she hungrily kissed his throat.

  “Kayla, oh God.” Nick shuddered as her hands ripped at his shirt, freeing it from his pants until her fingers raked the bare skin of his back. She pressed more fully against him, her hips fitting themselves tightly against his erection, searching. Her breathing was raspy and harsh, an echo of his own. She was demanding too much too fast, her hands already fumbling with the zipper of his pants, reaching in and grabbing him in a desperate grip that made time stop. He clenched his jaw, his head falling backward at the intense sensation of her touch. Her frenzy was contagious, sweeping him along in an insane whirlpool of need and desperation.

  Biting back a curse, he reached between them and grabbed her hand, stilling it but not moving it away, not yet. He lowered his lips to hers again in a hungry kiss, taking as much as she was before he pulled away with a frustrated growl.

  “Not so fast, Kayla.”

  “Nicky, please,” she pleaded, her hand again moving between them, stroking him. He gave up trying to stop her, gave into the mindless pleasure her touch brought. His own hands slipped further down her hips, pushing the shorts lower, uncovering her until his fingers found her opening, moist and slick. She moaned and rocked against him, her teeth nipping at his lips. She fell against him, leaning and pushing until he toppled backward, her warm body sprawled on top of him.

  There was something wrong, something that niggled at the back of Nick’s conscience. Kayla was too frantic, too fast. Too desperate. Nick tried to pull back, to slow her down. “Kayla, easy, not so fast.”

  She ignored him, her touches becoming harder, frantic. He gritted his teeth and reached between them, pulling her hands away, holding them firmly in his grip. He wrapped one leg around hers, forcing her body to still as he kissed her, long and slow. Her body molded against his, her hips still searching, rocking. With a groan he rolled over, trapping her beneath him as he trailed slow kisses along her jaw and up to her ear.

  “Not so fast, Kayla,” he repeated, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I want to make love to you. Let me show you how sorry I am. Please.”

  Her body shuddered under his as he moved his lips down her throat and across her collarbone. Mindless seconds disappeared around them before she suddenly stiffened and pushed against him. Another few seconds went by before the change in her registered with Nick and he pulled away, looking down at her. Her icy stare met his, cold and emotionless.

  “Get off of me. Now.” Her voice matched the look in her eyes. Nick continued to watch her, confusion dulling his senses as he tried to figure out what happened, what changed. She pushed against him again, hard, and he rolled to the side, still watching her as she struggled to sit. “Get out of my house.”

  “Kayla—”

  “I said get out!” The words were angry and harsh, more so because they were whispered instead of shouted. Kayla pushed to her feet and rearranged her clothes, the movements jerky and uncoordinated. She bent down and grabbed her tank shirt from the floor and pulled it back on, her back to him. He frowned and slowly stood as well, tucking in his shirt and zipping his pants as he stared at her stiff back.

  “Kayla, what happened? Did I—”

  She whirled to face him, effectively cutting him off as she pointed a shaking finger in his direction. “I don’t need your pity or your guilt, so just get out!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just what I said. Are you going to deny this just happened because you felt sorry for me?”

  “No! I mean yes. I mean, Christ!” Nick took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, trying to understand what had happened. “What just happened has nothing to do with pity or guilt.”

  “Doesn’t it? ‘Oh Kayla, let me show you how sorry I am!’” She threw his words back at him, mocking and sarcastic. A coldness settled over Nick at the look in her eyes as she stared at him.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly.

  “No? Are you going to tell me you don’t feel sorry for me? That you don’t feel guilty?”

  She was twisting his words. Nick hadn’t meant for them to be taken the way she was taking them and he tried hard to understand how she felt. But his own anger simmered close to the surface, threatening to erupt. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pacing back and forth with short steps as he tried to think of something, anything to say.

  “Do I feel guilty? Yes, dammit, I do. How could I not and still be human?” He pointed at her, at her stomach. “Look what I did to you! I did that, nobody else. I was the one driving. It was my goddamn fault!”

  Nick’s voice broke and he swallowed, his breathing harsh in the silence around them. “I almost killed you, Kayla. There hasn’t been a single damn day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought about it. I’ve had to live with what I did for more than ten years, to live with the knowledge that someone I loved came very close to dying because of someth
ing I did. Guilt? Yeah, you better believe there’s guilt.”

  He paused again, staring at Kayla, watching her as she made a point of not looking at him. Was she even listening? Nick didn’t know. He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve dealt with the guilt for ten years, Kayla. Am I sorry? Yeah, and if I could, I’d tell you that every damn day. But this? What almost happened here? No, this had nothing to do with guilt. Or pity. Or being sorry. This was something else entirely, and I don’t mean just sex.”

  Kayla didn’t move, gave no indication that she was listening. Nick bit back a curse of frustration, knowing that nothing he did would do any good right now—nothing except him leaving. He straightened his tie and turned to leave, then paused. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he closed the distance between them and leaned down, placing a quick kiss on Kayla’s cheek. He wasn’t surprised when she turned away. He gently squeezed her shoulder then left without saying anything else.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The last day and a half had drifted by in a fog, flowing from hour to hour with no meaning or purpose. Mike wasn’t sure what she thought about that, if she should get used to it or if she should fight it. The only thing she could say with any certainty was that the fog beat the current alternative.

  Mike let out a deep breath and finished the whiskey and soda in her hand. The alcohol had definitely helped bring the fog on, but that wasn’t the main reason for it. The main reason for the fog was Nick. Or rather, to forget Nick. To forget his words and the instant inferno that had erupted between them.

  She leaned back on the overstuffed sofa and closed her eyes, trying to erase the memory, trying to erase the sensations. She had intended to throw her deformity in his face, thinking the scar would revolt him like it had so many others. But the plan had backfired on her. Instead of being revolted, Nick had dropped to his knees at her feet and caressed the scar, tenderly traced it with the tip of his shaking finger, with his mouth. The emotion in his eyes as he looked at her had been her undoing.

  Mike shuddered at the memory and sat up, squeezing her eyes against the slight spinning her quick movement caused. If he hadn’t muttered the word ‘sorry’, if he had remained silent, they would have had sex right there on her bedroom floor. She hadn’t cared. All he had to do was touch her, and feelings that had been held back for far too long broke free. She had been frantic to touch him, to taste him, to feel him.

  To have him inside her.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She had wished Nick dead so many times, had wished to never see him again because of what he had done to her. Because of the way he had just left her, never seeing her again, never even bothering to find out what had happened to her. That was what hurt her the most, though she would never admit it to anyone. Hell, she had a hard time admitting it to herself.

  And she still felt that way, the past so hard to bear sometimes, even though she knew she should be over it by now. It was far past time to forget, to move on. So how could she feel that way, wishing him dead, wishing she had never met him, and still want him like she did? Why did the memory of his touch send heat spiraling out of control through her?

  She sighed and put the empty glass on the table then, because part of her felt like continuing her self-torture, she leaned over and grabbed her phone and listened to her voicemails one more time.

  The first message was from Thursday night, several hours after Nick left. His voice immediately filled the room, hesitant but clear. He apologized again, but said he didn’t regret what had happened. If she felt like talking, she could call him.

  The next message was from yesterday—Friday. Nick’s voice again, not quite so hesitant this time, telling her he had been thinking about her, that he wanted to see her, to talk to her.

  The final message was from this afternoon, from Nick again. Not hesitant, but not entirely sure of himself, either. He had just called to talk, to see how she was doing. And to let her know he was playing tonight, in case she felt like seeing him, that he hoped to see her.

  The voicemails ended, plunging the dim room into a deep silence. Mike swung her legs over the side of the sofa then leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. With a muttered curse she picked up the glass, stood and walked to the kitchen, playing her voicemails one more time.

  She opened the freezer and grabbed two ice cubes, dropping them into the glass with a clink, then grabbed the whiskey bottle off the counter and poured amber liquid into the glass until it was half-full. Mike tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin then leaned against the counter and sipped the drink, listening to Nick’s voice in the background.

  “Dammit,” she muttered. She took another sip and shook her head in disgust. If she was smart, if she had any common sense at all, she would lean over and just delete every single one of Nick’s messages. Then she would go take a shower and get to bed early. Tomorrow was the first day in of her normal two-day, two-night trick. There was no reason for her to go out tonight, no reason to even think about going to the club where Nick was playing.

  But she was thinking about it, and she didn’t know why.

  Scratch that. She did know why. It had nothing to do with wanting to see Nick again because she didn’t want to see him, absolutely not. What she wanted was to let him know that he had no effect on her, that she had her own life and it had nothing to do with him. Nothing. She had moved on, moved away from her past—a past that included Nicky Lansing.

  So the smart thing to do would be to erase the messages and not show up. That should give Nick the message, loud and clear.

  Mike took another sip, thinking. Yeah, ignoring him would be the smartest thing to do. Except she had never been smart when it came to Nick. Never. From the first time she had met him when she was fifteen, to almost a year after the accident when she was barely nineteen. Even then, throughout that entire horrible year, after everything she had been through, she had kept waiting for him to come back. Hoping for him to come back. No, she had never been smart when it came to Nick, not even as recently as Thursday afternoon, when he had knocked on her door and she had let him in.

  Yeah, she was normally an intelligent human being, except when it came to Nick.

  “Dammit,” she repeated, because she knew she was going to be stupid again. She drained the rest of the drink, put the glass in the sink, and walked back into the living room. Mike tapped the screen of her phone, her thumb hitting her favorites list without even needing to look. From the other end came the sound of ringing. Once, twice, three times. She almost hung up when a breathless voice answered, “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Mikey. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Tonight? I have a date. Why?”

  Mike paused in surprise. It wasn’t the answer she had expected. Jay never had ‘dates’, he had ‘encounters’. To Jay, dating was too big of a commitment, not quite on the scale of marriage but close.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Huh? Yeah, I’m here. You caught me off-guard, that’s all. I don’t think I remember you ever having an official date before.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still not sure how it happened. So, what’s up? What did you need?”

  “Uh, nothing. It wasn’t important. Never mind.”

  “You sure? I can cancel if it’s important.”

  Mike knew that, which was why she said nothing. She had no business interrupting Jay’s personal life because she was planning on being stupid. She just wouldn’t go, that was all. It was for the better, anyway.

  “No, it was nothing, don’t worry about it,” she assured him. They exchanged more small talk before Mike finally hung up. Jay had a date, which meant she would, for once, be smart when it came to Nick Lansing. She would have gone tonight in a heartbeat if someone—if Jay—had gone with her. But there was no way she would go by herself.

  Absolutely no way.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The club was crowded. Huge and crowded.

  Of course it would be,
though. It was just after eleven on a Saturday night, the perfect time for a large crowd at a nightclub. And wasn’t that the whole purpose of going to a club? To blend in with the crowd, to meet new people, to mingle?

  Mike wasn’t too sure about that last part, since she wasn’t accustomed to going to clubs by herself. She had never been into the crazy club scene, which was the main reason why she frequented smaller bars like Duffy’s in the northern portion of the county. No noisy crowds, no unwelcome attention. No need to dress up.

  She pushed her way further into the throng, grateful that she didn’t look out of place wearing black jeans and a black-and-white print sleeveless turtleneck. Or maybe she did stand out, if some of the glances thrown her way were any indication. Careful to keep a neutral expression on her face and not make any eye contact, she continued through the crowd, following the sound of the music.

  A large bar conveniently sat in the middle of the club and Mike made a beeline for it, edging her way to the front of the crowd surrounding it. Minutes went by before a bartender came over to take her order for a soda. A plain soda. She could probably use something stronger, no doubt would wish she had opted for something stronger, but she was driving. She might not have been smart enough to stay home, but she wasn’t completely stupid, either.

  Drink in hand, she stepped away from the bar and edged closer to the dance floor. Singles, couples, groups—they were all out there, moving to the music, some with rhythm and some definitely without. Mike sipped her soda and looked around, trying to see over the heads of the crowd, to get a closer look at the band. She hadn’t paid much attention that night at Duffy’s, but the band sounded different tonight. Rock had been the primary choice in Duffy’s but the music here was more Top 40. Maybe they changed their routine with the crowd.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled around in surprise. A young guy in his early twenties was standing behind her, a slight smile on his lean face. He leaned in closer, raising his arm and propping it on the wall behind her. She stared at him expectantly, waiting but not encouraging. His smile faltered for a split-second then resumed.