Bring On the Heat

by Eden Bradley

  What sort of transformation would he have to go through before he could break through those old walls? If he was even willing to try.

  No, he would have dumped her sooner or later, and the longer it took, the more attached she would have become, until his rejection would have been unbearable.

  It was nearly unbearable already.

  She turned to look out the living room window at the cityscape she had always loved. But it looked bleak and lonely to her now. As empty as she felt on the inside.

  The only other thing she’d done other than huddling under a blanket was drawing—she’d been drawing him all week. The table in her tiny kitchen was littered with sketches in charcoal and pencil. She’d tried to capture the musculature of his big body, the details of his strong hands, the flawless lines of his tattoo. Mostly she’d tried to draw his face. But she couldn’t seem to get the eyes right. And every time she tried she’d start crying again.

  Finally she’d set up her easel in the living room close to the bay window and painted, just a series of strokes in burnt umber and highlighted with white. The result wasn’t very good. But it captured him a little better than the flatter sketches did. Still, his eyes refused to come alive for her.

  She didn’t think she’d ever feel Adam again, alive and warm and commanding her heart as much as her body.

  Never again.

  What had happened to forever? Had that ever been more than fantasy? An illusion she’d only ever hoped for in those fleeting moments when she’d dared?

  Shit.

  She dropped her gaze. She still had paint under her fingernails. She hadn’t bothered to give her hands a good scrub. Hadn’t bathed in a day or two. She wasn’t really sure how long it had been since she’d done anything more than throw on an old pair of paint-splattered jeans and a warm thermal top, twisting her long hair up into a loose ponytail. She felt like a mess, inside and out. And she couldn’t get warm no matter how high she turned up the furnace, no matter how many layers of clothing she put on. The cold came from deep inside her, like an internal stratum of ice.

  So this was what a broken heart felt like. She didn’t much like it. In fact, it was fucking awful.

  She pulled a pillow to her body, telling herself to pull it together. She had a gallery show next month and she was behind in her work. But she felt completely devoid of inspiration. She could paint nothing but him.

  Adam.

  She sighed, shook her head, and jumped at the knock at her door. Her heart leaped in her chest as she moved across the living room into the hall, and opened the door.

  “Hi…um…are you Skye Ballard? I think I got your mail.” A gawky young man with dark-framed glasses and a Charlie Brown sweater stood there, several envelopes in his hand.

  “Oh, yes, that’s me.” Why did her heart drop into her stomach? Had she really expected he would come after her? It would more likely have been Esme trying to drag her out of the house again. “Uh, thanks.”

  She took the mail, turned, and swung the door behind her. It didn’t close.

  She could smell him. She’d know his scent anywhere. She whirled around, her legs going weak already, and he was there. Adam. She could hardly believe it.

  The mail dropped onto the wood floor, but she didn’t care. What could he possibly want? And why did he have to look so damn beautiful, making her head spin?

  Oh, God.

  She put a hand to her hair self-consciously.

  “Skye.”

  Even the sound of his voice made her quiver all over. She had to get a hold of herself. “Adam…What are you doing here?”

  “I had to see you, talk to you.”

  She couldn’t figure out what to say, so she stepped aside and let him in. Her pulse was racing with fear, with a yearning so strong she could hardly stand it. She led him into the living room, gestured for him to sit down, but he went immediately to the painting by the window.

  “It’s me.”

  She bit her lip. “Yes.”

  “You’re very good.”

  “It’s awful. It’s not…I can’t get it right.”

  When he turned his gaze was full of emotion. Shocking, to see his face like that. She was shaking. “No, Skye. You had it right all along.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Two long strides and he was right in front of her. He took her shoulders in his hands and held on tight. Her heart felt as though it would pound right out of her chest. She was going weak all over from his touch, his scent, from the nearness of him.

  His eyes were pure, smoky blue fire as he gazed down at her, and she had an overwhelming sense of his height, the breadth of his big body. The pure power of his commanding presence. And the emotion on his face. For the first time in her life she understood what it might mean to swoon.

  “Damn it, Skye, all the way over here I knew exactly what I needed to say to you. But now I’m here and…you’re so fucking beautiful, I’m speechless. That’s never happened to me before.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but she had to laugh. “I look like hell.”

  He shook his head, his brows drawing together. “You look perfect. That’s why I’m here. You are perfect, and I’m an idiot to pass that up. You are perfect for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Her pulse ran hot in her veins. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

  “That last night…everything you said was true. I knew it. I was just too damn stubborn to listen. And what did that get me? A fucking miserable week without you.”

  “It’s been eight days,” she said quietly.

  He nodded. “Eight long days with me driving myself crazy thinking about you. Needing you. Fucking needing you until I thought I would explode. Needing to touch you, to kiss you, God damn it. But just as much to talk to you. But I spent a week being stubborn. Being stupid. I know I’m an asshole, Skye. I’m sorry, I truly am sorry. And I know we hardly know each other. But we do. I’ve talked about it before, the intensity of connection in the BDSM life. I’ve been on panels speaking about it, even though I’ve never allowed myself to go there with anyone. But I get it. I always have. It’s like the time is condensed for us, magnified by the things we do together. By the trust that’s implicit in these acts. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes. I know exactly.”

  She was beginning to loosen up all over, to warm up finally. The heat started where his hands slid down onto her arms, spread down into her belly. It was the intensity of the physical chemistry between them—there was no denying it. But it was something more, too. She could see it in his face. Felt it in every beat of her heart.

  “Tell me what this means, Adam?” she asked. “Please.”

  “I don’t know—not exactly. This is all new to me. But I want to find out.”

  She watched the transformation as his features went soft, making her heart surge. She saw pure, raw emotion there for the first time. Saw the gentle gleam in his eyes as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, bent down and kissed her. His lips were the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. And his hands holding her face felt warm. Safe. Her breath came out on a sigh laced with gentle tears.

  She pulled away. “I’ve been so mad at you. And you’ve been so stubborn.”

  “Yes. Stubborn. Stupid. Fucking scared. And I’m sorry. I am. So damn sorry I put us both through this.”

  She held onto his shoulders—because she needed to touch him. Needed something to hang on to. “I’ve been scared, too. And I know I’ve had my walls up. But you made me tear them down. I haven’t even been able to fight it. I was mad that you could.”

  “Not really. But I put on a good show, didn’t I?” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “That’s kind of my specialty.”

  “Don’t ever do that with me again,” she said fiercely, her fingers digging into the heavy muscle of his shoulders.

  “Baby…” His expression grew more serious, his brows drawn together as he studied her face, kissed her lips softly, pulled back. “I won’t. At
least, I’ll try not to. I’m counting on you to call me on it if I do. If we’re going to be together, I need a woman who can do that. Who can stand up to me as needed. Who wants the kink, but isn’t always the submissive. I want a woman who can think. I want a woman like you.”

  “Do you? Tell me again. I need to hear it.”

  He bent his head until his forehead rested on hers. He said quietly, “I want you, Skye. I want to be with you. I need to be with you. Fucking need to. It’s that need that forced me to push through the resistance I’ve built up all my life because I couldn’t risk…losing someone again. But I need you more than I want to avoid all that shit I thought I’d dealt with. I still have a ways to go, but I don’t want you to ever doubt it again. I won’t be the kind of man you’ve always been afraid every man would be.”

  “It’s true. It was…unfair.”

  “No, I understand it. And I almost was that man. But I couldn’t let myself be. Because I need you, my beautiful girl. Because I love you.”

  A sob escaped her. “Adam…”

  His hands wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. He whispered, “Is it not what you wanted to hear? Because I can’t fucking help myself. Maybe it sounds insane, but I love you, Skye. I just do.”

  Tears pooled, blurring everything but the sensation of his body pressed against hers, every plane, every muscle, every beat of his heart held tight against her.

  “This is exactly where I want you to be, Adam. Exactly what I needed to hear. Maybe we’ve both gone crazy, because I love you, too. I do.”

  His arms tightened, until she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. He kissed her hair, pulled back to kiss her cheeks, her neck, then finally her mouth, over and over, until her head was swimming, her heart bursting.

  “I love you, my baby,” he murmured against her mouth. “And I need you now.”

  He moved her to the sofa, laid her down and undressed her slowly, his touch almost reverential. He took a few moments to take his clothes off, to take a condom from his pocket and sheathe himself, his gaze never leaving her face as he lowered his body over hers. He was kissing her again, his tongue doing lovely things to her mouth, sending heat lancing through her body. She held his face in her hands, needing to keep him close, loving the soft scratch of his goatee under her palms. Her breasts filled, ached, and when he crushed her naked body to his she wanted nothing more than to be right there, with him.

  To be his.

  She broke away to tell him, to demand of him, “Touch me, Adam. Be with me.”

  “That’s all I want, Skye,” he murmured, raining kisses over her shoulders, her breasts, her belly. “To be with you.”

  This was new to her, too, allowing herself to feel this way about a man, wanting him to feel the same way about her. Even though neither of them knew exactly what the hell they were doing, they would explore the possibilities together.

  He raised himself up until he was poised over her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her thighs, opened to him. Completely.

  “Touch me the way I need you to, Adam. Come on.”

  He pulled back and grinned down at her as he pinched one nipple between his strong fingers. She arched up, her body suffused with pleasure through the pain.

  “Is this what you’re asking me for, my beautiful girl?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  “I’ll always try to give you what you need. Always. That’s what I want with you, Skye.”

  “Adam…”

  She blinked away a tear. She wouldn’t cry anymore. Not now, when she was seeing her heart’s desire come to life. A desire she’d never even known she had until she’d met him.

  “What does that mean when you say always?”

  “That we can be together,” he answered, his voice rough. Raw. “If that’s what you want. That we can try this. But with that intention. Permanency. I think it’s the only way we can go into a relationship. And that’s what I want with you. I want you to be mine. To be my girl.”

  “I want that, too. To love you.”

  His features shifted once more, and she saw everything he was feeling. And it reflected her own emotions, surging in a wild tumble in her chest.

  “I fell for you, Skye,” he said, his voice soft with wonder. “Fell so damn hard. I never thought this was possible. But it’s happening. You brought me here. And I’m grateful. I’m damn grateful.” He stroked her cheek softly, bent to brush a kiss across her lips. In that kiss she felt all that he was saying. Felt again the chemistry buzzing between them. The connection that was both implied and intensified by their naked bodies pressed together.

  “I think I fell the moment I saw you,” she told him. “I want this. I want you. I want to be yours.”

  “You are mine, Skye,” he murmured as he pushed himself into her. “Mine.”

  He wrapped his arms around her body, holding her tight as he began to move, as she began to move with him, their bodies in perfect synchronicity. She was lost in his embrace, in Adam, in who he was, in everything he was to her already. For the first time in her life, she allowed herself to be.

  Adam had been right in their very first conversation. She’d had to give up control, to let it all go: her history with her father, her fear of intimacy that experience had created. She could see it all so clearly now, in the light of love. She’d had to give up control to allow herself to let someone in. Finally, she’d found the way. With him.

  ~ * ~

  CAUGHT

  by Cassandra Carr

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  ~ * ~

  ONE

  They’re really taking this politically correct thing too far.

  Callie had been invited by old friends to attend this party, and as she stepped into the living room, a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner drew her attention. She scanned the room, and on the mantel, a lit menorah burned, candles flickering as partygoers jostled for position in the already-crowded room. This was a boisterous gathering, with many guests already drinking like it was New Year’s despite the actual Christmas holiday not having yet arrived. Advancing farther into the room, she noticed the Kwanzaa decorations and rolled her eyes.

  Pick a holiday and go with it, people. You can’t please everyone.

  She wasn’t surprised her friends had tried for political correctness. They were two of the nicest people she’d ever met and had made her grad school days much more enjoyable. Now, Callie sought them out and said hello, handing over the obligatory “thanks for inviting me” bottle of wine. They chatted for a bit to catch up before she grabbed a cocktail and made her way toward the dining room in search of other former classmates and some food.

  The smells of various delicacies wafted by and her mouth watered in anticipation. She had just gotten into town after driving several hours in bad weather and was starving. Plopping a slice of cheddar cheese onto a cracker, she stuffed it into her mouth and then looked up.

  Jack was there.

  Her blood pressure skyrocketed so fast she saw stars.

  With a beer hanging from his long fingers, he leaned against the wall, casual as can be, while her world tilted on its axis. He looked good—still the same tall, well-muscled body, still the same olive skin, black hair, and full lips. His Italian ancestry lent him an air of exoticness, and she’d always been a sucker for that.

  Callie’s stomach roiled. The cracker caught in her throat, cutting off her airway. As she began to cough and sputter, he turned and their gazes met. His eyes went dark with heat and recognition as a fierce blush rushed up her chest, through her neck, and into her face. With suddenly cold fingers, she touched her burning skin, expecting it to sear her fingertips.

  He brought his beer to his lips and took a long pull, his tongue sneaking out to catch a
stray drop from his top lip. Her gaze followed the movement. His never left her face. Even when his companion, a man Callie didn’t recognize, said something to him, he merely nodded and kept the whole of his attention on her. She took a fortifying sip of her vodka and cranberry juice, then another, longer gulp, trying to recover from the mortifying cracker incident. And still he stared.

  And Callie did the same damn thing she’d done three years ago when she’d gotten scared by his demands, his power—she ran. Even as she cursed herself for her cowardice, Callie wove her way through the crowd with the finesse of a bull in a china shop, setting her drink down on the nearest available surface as she rushed past. But before she made it to the front door, a hand curled around her arm and she froze. Alcohol-laced breath fanned over her cheek. “Long time no see. Leaving so soon, Callie?”

  Pulling her around to face him, he then backed her against the wall in the foyer. With him this close, with his touch and his smell and his sheer size surrounding her, her body betrayed her, just like it always had around him. Her nipples tightened, her pussy ached, and her breath quickened. “What are you doing here?” She sighed at her own stupidity for asking something so obvious.

  “These are my friends. A better question to ask is—what are you doing here?”

  “I came back to town for the holidays, and I wanted to see some of my old grad school buddies. I guess I…” Callie chewed the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t think about the possibility of you being here.”

  “Is it a problem?”

  “No,” she answered too quickly.

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  Dammit! Why can’t I stop talking?

  “I still want you. I want to touch you. I need to touch you. May I?” At her silent nod, he lightly rested his hand around her throat. Not hard enough to cut off her airway, but enough to establish his dominance over her.

  Like he needs to establish that. How could I possibly forget who and what he is?