Phoenix (Flames & Ashes Book 1)

by Carolyn Anthony

  I nodded to him. “Of course. Thank you, sir.” I rose from the chair, bowed to him with my arms at my side as a sign of respect and thanks. He cared and he didn’t have to.

  Who noticed shit this deep, this intense, except Kovov?

  When I arrived at my car, I rested my arms on the roof for a second before getting in. The streetlights cast a hazy glow around the empty lot and the wind whipped my hair across my face. It was one of those moments where I didn’t feel grounded. It was like everything stable in my world was tilting, and I couldn’t stop it from tipping over.

  12

  Jaxxon

  Saturday mornings at my regular coffee stop were slammed, but Valentina must have gotten here early, because she had a seat at the booths along the back wall and her computer up and plugged in. I’d thought she looked hot in gym clothes, but it was nothing compared to how she looked in street clothes. Her Trinity College long-sleeved, V-neck t-shirt was just tight enough to emphasize her defined arms and amazing rack. The small strip of her bare skin visible below the bottom of the shirt and the top of her low-riding jeans had me almost readjusting my shit in the middle of the damn coffee house.

  Black rimmed glasses gave her a sexy librarian look, styling her more like a college student rather than the big-time professional for a major publishing house.

  “Hey, you. Am I late?” I asked, checking my phone.

  “No. I’m early. Figured I’d get some work done until you got here. How was your trip?”

  I pointed to the seat next to her, instead of the one across from her. “Do you mind?”

  “No. Sit,” she said, scooting over as far as she could. When I sat, she shifted her body to face me, creating a little more distance. “You’re so damn tall, do we need to push the table out a bit?” she asked, with a nervous chuckle.

  Yep, something there . . . Damn. “Nah, the bench is lower than the chair, I’m solid.” Fuck. This woman struck me stupid. She barely wore any makeup. A little mascara, and some kind of tinted lip shit that highlighted what was fast becoming my favorite part of her body—at least the exposed parts. Her long hair hung in a single braid down her back, and I fought the urge to pull it over her shoulder.

  That’s right, she’d asked a question. Get with it, dick. “I hate traveling. Messes me up routine-wise, but yeah, it all worked out. How about you? How was your week? You miss me?”

  A red flush stained her cheeks and she fought a grin. “It was a rough week.” She sighed, glancing at her laptop, and then back to me.

  “So you didn’t miss me?”

  She laughed and nodded her head. “How can I not miss you? Nobody to spot, since, you know, I’m a professional now. Nobody to harass me. It’s boring without you.”

  “I’ll take it. What are you drinking? Looks like you had a head start. Refill?”

  “I’m okay right now.” She shifted around in her seat, putting her right leg under her and shoving her hands under the table, which if I had to guess, I’d say were shaking—her standard reaction to me.

  I scooted out from under the cramped little table and rested both hands on the edge of it, staring down into her insane green eyes. “Come on. It’s Saturday morning. I drag you here, I’m about to beg for your help, let me get you something.”

  Smiling up at me, she nodded. “Okay, then. Regular caramel latte, non-fat milk, please.”

  Just like my kids, another sugar addict. “You got it. Be right back.” I walked to the counter, ordered, and watched her through the mirrors.

  Pushing her glasses back up her nose, she closed her laptop and shoved it away from her. A second later, she unplugged it and packed it away, wrapping, unwrapping, and then rewrapping the cords twice until they were perfect circular coils.

  I started to feel bad about how nervous I made this woman. Time to get that shit out of the way and I only knew one way to do that—kill the big-ass elephant in the room.

  I came back with the drinks, moved hers in front of her, and sat back down.

  Valentina motioned up front with her head. “They seem to know you here. I’d have never pegged you for a local.”

  “It’s my stop on the way to work. Same thing, every day. Oatmeal and a regular drip with half and half.”

  Her soft pink lips parted in shock. “Oatmeal? You know the oatmeal here is probably horrible for you?”

  The genuine audacity was too much and I cracked a smile. “This coming from the woman who just ordered a caramel latte? Should I get you a maple scone with that? Slap some fudge on top for the hell of it?”

  “Point taken. Thank you.” She lifted the cup to me.

  “Anytime. So, before we get goin’ here, what’s your story?” I sat back and rested my arm over the bench behind her head, careful not to touch her.

  Snapping her face around to me, she studied me with furrowed eyebrows. “My story? What story?” Gripping her coffee with both hands, she glanced between it and me.

  “You.” I scooted a little closer to her, noting that she didn’t move away. “What’s your story?”

  She shook her head a little and stared at me wide eyed. “Why do you want my story?”

  I didn’t even try to stop the chuckle. I’d gotten used to her typical awkward and blunt skepticism. “Have you ever had coffee with someone you didn’t know before?” I joked.

  “Clients. Yes. When I have to. Why?”

  When she has to? The fuck . . . “No, I mean a man. Have you ever just sat down and gotten to know someone? Or is this nervous questioning thing just you?”

  “I haven’t. Is that what this is?”

  She was shitting me. Had to be. The girl was my age, maybe younger, maybe older, but I knew she’d dated before. “You serious right now?”

  “Yes. Why? Is that a problem?”

  I didn’t know what the fuck to say, and I always had a response. The genuine concern I read in her eyes, as if she’d done something wrong, had me scrambling to understand what the hell was going on here. She was dead serious. “Okay,” I said, trying to put her at ease. “I’ll start. I’ll give you what I think you need to know, because something about me makes you nervous and I can’t nail it down yet.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I do. It’s okay. We’ll get there. Full name, Jaxxon Alexander Reginhardt—Jaxx, as you know. You already know my age. Recently divorced after being married for fourteen years. Yes, I married young. Currently dating—no commitments or anything serious. No, I’m not dating anyone specific at the moment. I’m at work more than home. I have two beyond-awesome kids. I see them Wednesday nights and every other weekend, which pretty much rips my fucking heart out, but it is what it is. And I have a dog. Done. See, not too tough. Go.”

  She jerked her head back and laughed with a hand at her throat. “Seriously? That’s how this goes? That’s a lot. Well summarized, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Your turn.” I faced her, giving her my full attention.

  Taking a deep breath, she let it out on a small snicker. At last, she finally relaxed into the back of the seat and raised an eyebrow at me. “What the hell? Okay. You already know my full name. You refuse to call me what I go by. I married late, divorced ten years later. I did everything I could to make it work. He was younger than me and he left me for the much younger than him college student he got pregnant. Haven’t dated since. No kids and two dogs.”

  That explained a hell of a lot. “And how long ago was the divorce?”

  “Four years.”

  “Four fucking years? You’re shitting me?”

  Both hands flew over her face and her shoulders hunched forward. “Oh my God, you’re so loud. Please, please keep your voice down.”

  Putting my coffee down, I pried her hands away from her face. When I held on a little longer than necessary, she squeezed one of my hands before maneuvering them out of my grip.

  “Yes, four years,” she said, in a low voice.

  “Sorry, babe, but shit. Four years for someone who looks like you not to
date? That’s hard to believe.”

  She snapped her head around to me. “What do you mean, ‘someone who looks like me’?”

  Did she not own a fuckin’ mirror? “You’re gorgeous. How have you not dated since?”

  If I thought the blush was hot, it was nothing compared to the full on ruby-red that exploded across her face and disappeared under the deep vee of her t-shirt. “I—I just haven’t.”

  I whistled low. “That’s rough. The ex-husband part. I’m sorry to hear that.” Not really; she was better off. “He’s a dick, by the way.” The asshole hadn’t had the balls to break it off with her before getting some chick pregnant? Fucked. Up.

  She tilted her head, staring at me. Something flashed in her eyes, but was gone just as quick as it came. Guilt? “It’s okay. It’s not totally his fault.”

  Yeah, no. Not havin’ that.

  I turned, giving her my full attention, resting one arm across the bench behind her and the other in front, almost touching her hand. “For the record, we make choices. He made a fucked up one, and that’s on him. Not you. We’ll leave it there. But what you left out was your age.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.

  “I’d guess late twenties, early thirties, but from your jaw-dropping reaction to my age a few weeks ago, I’m claimin’ older. Now I know you have history with a younger man, so I’ll just say, don’t judge us all by that dick.”

  She gave me a smile so genuine, it lit me up like a fucking floodlight. Jesus, if I could just keep her smiling, I’d be a happy man.

  “You’re a decade off on the late twenties estimation. I’ll be forty this Valentine’s Day.”

  “You’re a year younger than my ex. Lucky for you, I’ve got a thing for older women.”

  The smile turned into a full-on laugh. “Lucky for me, huh? Nice. And you’re the kindest thirty-four-year-old I’ve ever met, so touché. You may need glasses, but you’re kind just the same.” She turned back to her coffee to trace the plastic rim with her finger, but didn’t move away from me.

  I’d call that progress.

  A vision of her tracing a finger over my lips hit me, and thank Christ, we had a tabletop over my groin. At six-foot-seven, coffee house tables sucked, but they were great for hiding hard-ons. “That’s not very nice to say. Note to self: doesn’t take compliments well and has a vicious mean streak. I guess I’ll keep that whole ‘your smile makes my fuckin’ day’ to myself.”

  “Okay . . . ” She dragged out, shaking her head at me. “I’ve heard about your kind.”

  I leaned in closer to her, and now she inched back. Not as much as she usually did, so I counted that as a plus. “Sugar, you know nothing about ‘my kind.’ But you will . . . ”

  She rolled her eyes and scooted out of my space. “Why am I here, Jaxx?”

  I let her have her little retreat, because I planned on ending that soon, but all in due time. She needed time to get used to me, and she’d done pretty well today—she was more relaxed. Now I had some background, and it was fucked up, I’d have to handle this a little different.

  I didn’t lie to myself. I was fascinated with Valentina—her nervousness, her honesty, the awkwardness, all if it. She’d wormed her way into my system and I needed to get her out, so I was gonna have to take the lead, because she clearly wouldn’t.

  13

  Valentina

  The man was an absolute conundrum to me.

  All I knew was that the closer he moved to me, the stronger the pressure and fluttering in my lower abdomen got. I crossed and uncrossed my legs under the table, trying to do it without him noticing, but he appeared to catch everything.

  Looking at him too long was a huge problem. The heat in his eyes when he gazed at me was a shock. So on to business and then I could get the hell out of here before I started rambling like an idiot. “You mentioned your sister’s manuscript?” His sexy little snicker danced across my skin, raising the hairs on my arms.

  “All right, let’s get down to it. You did good, by the way. I appreciate the honesty.”

  What? I peeked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be honest with you? You were.”

  He shook his head as he smiled, but didn’t look at me. “You’re gonna kill me.”

  “Why would you say that?” Being honest was going to kill him?

  “Honesty is rare these days. So, my sister’s a literature professor, but she’s a closet romance junkie. Always wanted to write. After three kids, she’s decided to do it. For some reason, she trusts me to give her the ‘male perspective,’ probably because I’m no bullshit—”

  “Who? You?” I couldn’t help it. He’d definitely proved he didn’t sugarcoat a damn thing.

  “Smartass.” He chuckled. “Kind of hot, sweetness.”

  Why did I blush like a damn pre-teen when he called me that? I hated men who called women “sweetness,” but with him, it came out so . . . sexy. Focus! Back to business. “So you, being the good brother and all, offered to read it?”

  “I don’t remember the offering part. Older sisters. They kind of guilt you into things, throw shit at you, and tell you to get it done. I have a soft spot for my sisters, so I couldn’t say no. The problem, why I need you, is that I don’t know what to do with this thing.” He lifted a good-sized manuscript from his gym bag and dropped it on the table.

  “Is she good?” I ran my hand over the cover. God, I missed working with hard copies.

  “Babe.” His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “It’s fucking erotica—some kind of graphic, dark shit that my damn sister wrote. I’m a dude. We have the internet for a reason. We don’t need to read it.”

  The genuine horror on his face that his sister wrote erotica was priceless, and I pressed my lips together to stop the laugh. He was . . . fun. While his reaction was stereotypical male, his audacity was kind of sweet. I didn’t have siblings, but I could understand a brother not wanting to read his sister’s erotic novel. And if she wrote anything like the queries I’d been receiving for the new line, cardiac arrest wasn’t out of the question.

  “Well, has she sent out any query letters to editors or agents?” I tried to keep my amusement in check, but amusement turned to something . . . heated the second his eyes locked on to my mouth and he smirked at me.

  “She’s too paranoid. Doesn’t think it’s good enough. So . . . ” He lifted his eyes back to mine. “I’m the one she wants to make the call, but I don’t know shit about it.”

  I shouldn’t have accepted, but I honestly felt sorry for him . . . and I did have my own little problem I needed assistance with. But did I have the courage to ask him? “I can’t promise I’d have it back this week, but if you give it to me, I’ll take a look at it. Be warned, Jaxx. If I do this, I will be honest with you regarding her options.”

  “I’d expect nothing less, and I’d be in your debt.”

  Perfect. And yet I still feel like an evil cougar . . .

  I nodded to him. “Okay, then.”

  The warm smile and ease in his facial features was almost hypnotic until he tilted his head at my computer bag, then the manuscript. “Hardcopy okay, or would you rather have an emailed document?”

  Business. Right. This didn’t make my head hurt as much as staring at him did. The tension in my shoulders eased and I leaned back against the cushions once again. The heat of his arm behind my head warmed my hair, but I forced myself to stay still, because honestly, I kind of liked it there. Besides, if I moved any farther away from him, I’d fall off the damn seat and land on my ass. “Since I’m just reading, I’ll take the hardcopy with me.”

  He nodded. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “No problem. I wouldn’t want your world rocked knowing your sister probably thinks dirtier than you do.”

  “The fuck she does.” He laughed.

  Men. I shook my head. “Why is it men freak out when women express themselves sexually? Writing provides an outlet for some women. If you ask me, men should read romance novels. They migh
t learn a thing or two.” I smiled so he knew I was joking with him—kind of—but oh, was that the wrong move.

  He leaned in and covered my hand with his. “First, we’re talking about my sister expressing herself sexually, so yeah, no. Any woman not related to me, I’m all about equal rights on sexual expression. Second, I’m going to ignore the huge fuckin’ generalization on men, because I’m inclined to agree with you about a good majority of the tools out there. That said, some of us are just born with a gift.” His eyes dropped to my lips.

  I might’ve actually stopped breathing.

  “No romance novel, manual, or how-to-book required.”

  Wretched hell! I deserved that for teasing him. I needed a distraction—fast.

  Quickly, I took my hand back and dug through my purse. I pulled out my cards, completely ignoring his little speech, which while cocky as shit, I’d have bet my house was close to gospel, in his case. Dear God, please don’t let my hands sweat.

  “Here’s my card. After I read it, if your sister wants to talk to me, I’d be more than happy speak with her.” I pointed at him. “No promises, though. Just hold on to it for now, please.”

  “Yeah. Of course, I appreciate it. Between us.” His fingers caressed the tops of mine when I slid the card over to him.

  I didn’t immediately pull my hand back, but slowly eased it over in front of me again. The heat of his soft, yet callused fingers lingered on my skin like when the sun initially burns, but then dulls to a comforting warmth. His hands were mammoth, and they felt like he’d done manual labor at some point. One of his hands could definitely hold both my wrists . . .

  Jesus! Where did that come from? Slutty much? Way too much erotica talk . . . My heartbeat drummed through my head . . . and lower.