Consumed by Fire (The Fire Series)

by Anne Stuart

  “Speed is of the essence,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She took another sip of the Scotch, too big a one, and began coughing. She felt him take the glass out of her hand and set it down on something as she choked, and since he was sitting in front of her, he pulled her against him to pound her back. All polite and necessary.

  “I told you not to drink too fast,” he said in her ear.

  She closed her eyes, breathing him in. Clean, fresh skin, rainwater, Scotch, a heady combination. It was dark, there was no one to see, not even James, not even her. She put her face against his bare shoulder, burying it against his skin, wanting to disappear into him. She wanted everything to go away, everything to stop, she wanted to stay in this thick, warm darkness with him forever, no matter what lies he spun her, no matter what game he was playing, no matter whether he cared for her or whether she was some demented charity case. She didn’t even realize she’d slid her arms around him, that the sheet had come down to her waist and her breasts were pressed against his warm flesh.

  She half expected him to pull back, set her gently away from him. He was being so kind, so polite, so understanding. Such a gentleman, such a tender, vanishing lover, and her impervious, stone heart was breaking.

  She was the one who pulled away from him, staring up at him in the darkness. She wasn’t going to let him disappear. She slid her hands up, cupped his face, and dragged his mouth down to hers for a hard, desperation-tinged kiss.

  He caught her hands and stopped her, and she wanted to scream, to weep. She tried to yank away, tried to kick him off the bed so that she could curl up in a miserable little ball, but he held on, subduing her quickly.

  “Stop it!” he snapped, his Scotch-sweet breath exploding on her face. He shook her, just slightly, and his fingers were digging into her upper arms, so tightly there’d be bruises, and she was glad of it, glad she’d have something of him for at least a little while longer.

  “Angel,” he said, and there was desperation in his own voice. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fucking you and disappearing.”

  “Then don’t disappear.”

  The moment was endless, breathless between them. “If I touch you I might hurt you. I won’t be gentle. I can’t. Not if I’ve killed someone.”

  She understood. “Then don’t be gentle. I don’t break.”

  She heard his deep intake of breath. “No, you don’t, do you?” He pushed off the bed, and she thought he was going to take off the rest of his clothes and come to her. Instead she heard him heading to the door.

  “Where are you going?” She shouldn’t have asked; she shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Away from temptation. I’m as bad for you as you are for me and you know it.”

  She heard the determination in his voice, heard the door open, and she was out of the bed, reaching him, shoving the door shut before he could leave.

  He leaned against the door, keeping very still. “Why?”

  “You know why.” She wasn’t going to put it into words. She’d told him she loved him, so many times in so many ways, and had it thrown back at her. That his motives had been honorable didn’t change things. “You seem determined to do the right thing for me. Why don’t we do the wrong thing for a change?” She put her hands on his chest, sliding them up his shoulders, his warm, sleek skin, and she wanted to drown in him, devour him, die in him. She moved on her tiptoes, brushing his mouth with hers, softly, luring him. She kissed his hard jaw, his throat, moving down his chest to lick across one flat nipple. She felt the shudder run through his body as he tried not to react, and then she went for the other one, letting her teeth brush across it.

  “Angel . . .” he groaned, not touching her, his hands fisted at his sides.

  She kissed his hard stomach, rubbing her face against him like a contented kitten. And then she sank to her knees, her hands in either side of his waistband, and she pulled his shorts down, letting his erection spring up, and she felt him freeze.

  She put her hands around him, the thickness of him, letting her sensitive fingers run along the silky flesh, the thick veins that bulged along the side, and a fierce hunger ran through her, from her mouth to her sex. The thought of this had always disgusted her, but now she wanted the taste of him more than anything in the world.

  She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his flat stomach, his hard-on brushing against her, and then she put her mouth around the head, tasting the salty sweet liquid there.

  “Jesus!” he groaned, and he put his hands in her hair and pulled her away. She wanted to scream at him in her fury at his denial.

  “You don’t want to do this, Angel. I know you don’t. It won’t make any difference.” His voice was bleak.

  She stayed on her knees in front of him as she reached up and pulled his restraining hands away from her. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know shit about me?”

  “You mean you learned to suck dick after I left you?”

  She wanted to cringe at his deliberately crude words. “No. I mean that right now there’s nothing I want more than to take you in my mouth. And you know as well as I that I’ve never willingly done it before. Never wanted it before.” She leaned forward again, grasping him, trembling, and took him into her mouth.

  She heard another curse in the darkness, but this time he didn’t push her away. She let the length of him slide into her throat. He was much too big to fit, so she wrapped her hands around the base as she took all of him that she could, savoring him, closing her mouth around him.

  “Angel,” he said in a choked voice, but she ignored him once more, drinking in the taste of him, the texture, the iron-hard erection beneath the strangely soft skin, and she wanted so much more. She wanted to pull him in so deep her face was against his stomach, she wanted him to pour himself into her mouth, she wanted to swallow him, keep him.

  She felt his hands on her head, his fingers threading through her hair, but now they were soft, caressing, not pulling her away, and she responded to his subtle guidance, changing the rhythm as he wanted, letting his soft instructions curl in her stomach with a fierce heat. “Relax your jaw,” he whispered. “That’s better,” when she did, and found she could take more of him. “Harder now. Harder.”

  She accidently let her teeth graze against the side of him, and if anything he seemed to grow even bigger in her mouth as he shuddered with pleasure. She reached beneath him and cupped his balls. They were drawn up tight to his body, so she knew his orgasm was close at hand, and she gloried in it, so turned on she thought she might climax without touching herself, without being touched, just from the sheer eroticism of his cock in her hungry mouth.

  “You like it.” His voice was soft. It was the only soft part of him, and she could feel the pressure build within him beneath her tongue, her deep, sucking gulps, and then suddenly he yanked her head away from him, setting off a deep wail from her.

  “No!” she cried, reaching for his hips, trying to get him back. “I want it. I want it all.”

  “Next time,” he said, lifting her up and turning her till she was up against the door, her feet dangling down. “I need to be inside you.” He drew her legs up around his hips and slammed into her, so hard and deep that she yelped and then climaxed with a deep shudder. Her entire body was on fire, shaking, as he thrust into her, over and over again, until his own climax set off a another round of powerful convulsions, and all she could do was cling to him, her eyes closed tightly in the inky darkness.

  They stayed that way for a long time, and then he moved, still holding her, swinging her around to the bed, and she realized with shock that he was still hard inside her, despite the heat of his ejaculate. The mattress was beneath her, he was on top of her, with short, sharp thrusts, then longer, slower, deeper ones, as it built once more. She dug her fingers into the sheets beside her, rocking against him, and then su
ddenly he reared up, pulling her with him, sitting back with her astride him. She clung to him, and his thrusts were different, hitting different parts of her, filling her so deeply that all she could do was hold on to him, shaking, until she came apart in a soundless scream.

  He held still while she convulsed around him, cradling her gently, and when the spasms finally slowed, he laid her back down on the bed again, pulling out. He was still hard, and she responded to his loss with a cry of distress, until his mouth closed over her breast, sucking it in deep, his teeth a sharp delight of pain and pleasure, and she cradled his close-cropped head, unbelievably wanting more. He pinched her other nipple between his long fingers, and she made a sound of mindless pleasure, and then his hand went to the slippery wetness between her legs, the mixture of both of them, as he sucked long and hard at her nipple, his tongue playing with her. She could feel the desire, so recently sated, rise again, but she was overwhelmed.

  “Please . . .” she gasped, as he rubbed her clitoris, her entire body vibrating with frustrated need. “It’s too much.”

  He let go of her breast with a sucking pop, and unbelievably the sensation brought another sharp stab of desire. “Nothing’s too much,” he growled, pulling back. Before she realized what he was doing he’d flipped her over, pulled her onto her knees at the edge of the bed, and he pushed into her from the back, past her wet, swollen tissues to the very heart of her, so deep, so deep, and she buried her face in the sheets that smelled of their sex, clinging to them, panting. He pounded into her, over and over, driving out his demons and hers, and she went past desire, past pleasure and pain and love into some dark, wonderful place where there was nothing but the rutting need between them, and then she was gone, past anything but the climax that finally ripped her into pieces, shaking, sobbing, lost.

  Until she felt his body wrap around hers, his mouth on the back of her neck, the tightness of his muscles as he emptied himself into her, the hot flow of his semen, claiming her as nothing else could.

  She let out a soft cry when he pulled out of her, then came back down on the bed with her tightly in his arms. He turned her until they were lying face-to-face, their sweat-slick bodies plastered up against each other, and he was holding her, suddenly tender, his fury past, kissing the tears from her face, tasting them.

  IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou was a mantra in her brain, and she knew she should struggle to find something of herself once more, but there was nothing left. Only her love for him, unspoken and soul-crushing. She didn’t want to sleep. This would be the last time she lay in his arms—in a few hours he would hand her off and she’d never see him again, and she needed to feel his heart pounding beneath her head, needed to face his raw gasps as his body finally settled down. She wanted him to sleep so she could lie in his arms and store up every memory, every sensation, for the long cold nights ahead of her.

  But James didn’t sleep. He lifted one hand, brushing back her hair that clung to her tear-damp face, gentle, tender, and she felt his lips against her forehead.

  “Sleep,” he whispered. And she did.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It felt as if her eyelids were glued shut, Evangeline thought, as the bed rocked and rolled beneath her and the rumble of an engine filled the air. She tried to sit up, but the motion threw her back on the mattress, and she felt a blazing heat at her back, fiercer than the sun.

  She pried her eyes open, and the world was oriented once more. She was back in the camper—he must have carried her out to it while she slept—and the vehicle was moving at breakneck speed away from the fiery conflagration that had once been the farmhouse.

  She caught hold of the railing, noticing the bandages that were wrapped around her wrists before hauling herself up, and Merlin rose from his place on the floor to nuzzle her happily. “What is going on?” she cried, forgetting that she’d meant to keep away from him as best she could until he abandoned her in New Orleans. They’d said and done everything last night—or was it this morning?—and she wanted to keep that memory with her, not let him ruin it.

  “Lie down!” James snapped, the lover gone. Forever. “I can’t worry about you being knocked around the place. We’re going to have a hell of a time crossing the river after last night’s storm, and I don’t want you distracting me.”

  She slid off the bunk onto the floor, cradling Merlin for a moment. “What happened to the house?” she persisted, crawling forward as carefully as she could while the RV lumbered back and forth over the rocks and small trees. She didn’t want to distract him from his intense concentration, but she wasn’t going to hide back there. She wasn’t going to hide anymore. “Did Claude come back?”

  “Claude is dead. I had orders to set the house on fire,” he said, never taking his eyes from the road. “We’ve got to get out of here before someone alerts the local fire department. Not that it’ll do any good—there’s no way a normal fire truck could cross that river now, and as far as anyone knows, it’s a deserted building that’s going up in flames. But they might come out to take a look, and we can’t be seen.” He shoved the engine into a lower gear. “And for future reference, don’t ever try to sneak up on me. I tend to attack first and ask questions later.”

  She stopped her stealthy approach. “I didn’t want to distract you,” she said, feeling foolish. She really didn’t want to talk to him, to look him in the eye, not when she remembered that the last time she’d looked up at him, he’d been looming over her, inside her, and she’d been lost in such a dark, crazed pleasure that even the memory of it made heat flood her cheeks. But she wasn’t going to stay back there and risk being swept to her death without seeing exactly what they were doing. Not without being beside him.

  “No one could sneak up on you, particularly not me,” she added in a deceptively calm voice, hauling herself into the passenger seat and putting the seat belt on. It was only then she realized what she was wearing—a huge flannel robe made for someone twice her size. He must have pulled it around her before carrying her out.

  She felt sticky, sore, and embarrassed. She’d never lost her soul so completely, even on their so-called honeymoon. She would have done anything he told her to, had done anything he wanted, and most shameful of all, she’d initiated it. He’d been trying to leave her, and she’d gone up to him and . . .

  She made a mortified sound. She remembered exactly what she had done, the feel of him in her mouth, and she started to unfasten the seat belt when he slapped his hand over hers.

  “Leave it,” he said sharply. “You chose to come up here in the first place, you can stay put. I can’t be worrying about you being bounced all over the inside of the camper because you’re suffering from a case of postcoital regret. Frog in a blender, remember?”

  She turned her face away to hide her expression, staring back at the burning building. Trust Bishop to put it right out there—everything she wanted to keep still and sacred in her heart. Next thing she knew he’d accuse her of raping him.

  “Merlin, down,” James said in a voice of unshakable command, and Merlin immediately dropped down, putting his head on his paws. Evangeline turned back to the path ahead of them and let out a strangled cry of horror.

  The shallow patch of river where they'd crossed was now a raging torrent, carrying tree limbs and debris in its wake. “If you’re going to scream then go lock yourself in the bathroom,” James said coolly, idling the engine for a moment while he surveyed the flooding water.

  “We’ll drown.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” he mocked. “I can drive through this blindfolded.”

  “Please don’t.”

  He glanced over at her, the engine idling, revving. “I told you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t think you’re much good at controlling forces of nature.” She managed to keep her voice from shaking, but just barely. She was terrified.

  He grinned, and she realized with a kind o
f dazed wonder that he was enjoying this. Bastard. “Trust me, Angel.”

  She wanted to tell him never in this lifetime. She wanted to laugh in his face at the absurdity of it. The words came out before she realized what she was saying. “I trust you,” she said, and she knew it was the truth.

  His smile vanished as he looked at her. “I actually believe you do.”

  “Then get moving. You’re not Charlton Heston and this water isn’t going to part like the Red Sea.”

  Without another word, he gunned the motor and they went flying, hitting the rushing river with a huge upsurge of spray. She could feel the tires slip, feel the camper begin to lift in the water, the back end swaying.

  Evangeline covered her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming, as James managed to move the vehicle forward, somehow, some way. And then suddenly the huge box of a vehicle found purchase again, and a moment later he had pulled them onto dry land. The dusty road they’d followed to the farmhouse was now a muddy track, but mud was more manageable than water, and after a few minutes they were on blacktop, heading south as siren-screaming fire trucks passed in them the oncoming lane, heading for the ball of flame they had left behind.

  Evangeline realized she’d been gripping the sides of the seat so tightly her fingers were cramped, and she had to force herself to loosen them. She sank back, shaking in relief.

  “Good thing you trusted me,” he said dryly. “Think what kind of shape you’d be in if you had any doubts.”

  She unfastened the seat belt and started to head toward the back in silence when the edge of her robe caught on something and fell open, giving James a full view of her body.

  “Not right now, dear,” he drawled. “You’ll have to wait till tonight for me to take care of your needs.”

  “You asshole,” she said, anger flooding through her, wiping out the lingering tenderness.