Lauren pushed back from the table. “We’d better get going. Jake is on duty at six tomorrow.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s only 9:30.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on getting dropped off with a kiss at the front door, so we need a couple hours of padding.”
Jake shook his head as if he were exasperated, but there was no missing the smile on his face when he ducked his head. “Let’s go, then.”
While they were thanking Jill for dinner and exchanging hugs and handshakes, Isabelle tipped her head toward the door. She was ready to go, too, and Jill and Mary probably wouldn’t hate some time alone.
Tom and Mary had both arrived in town only three hours before, setting up for another federal case. This one was low-key. More of a precaution; and it was only the two of them in town.
One more bite of cake and several hugs later, Isabelle and Tom were out the door and walking into the summer twilight. They walked slowly, fingers twined together, and Isabelle assumed that Tom was enjoying the cool midnight blue that settled over them just as much as she was, but when he cleared his throat, she realized his arm was tense.
“I was thinking...” he said. That was it.
Isabelle’s heart dropped. She knew what was coming. He was going to go. Of course he was. They’d given it a shot, and she wasn’t good at this. She nodded, pretending to agree.
“I hit retirement in a year,” Tom finally said. “It’s a ways off, but I was thinking that things are going pretty well.”
“At work?” she asked.
“No. With us.”
Her feet stopped moving for a moment, but she forced them quickly on, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But he’d definitely noticed that she hadn’t said a word. He glanced at her, trying to study her face, but she kept it blank.
“You’ve stopped giving me an out,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You used to tell me I didn’t have to stay. After sex, you’d tell me I could leave if I wanted. Or you’d tell me I don’t have to stay at your place when I visit. Or that you could get a hotel room when you’re in Cheyenne. You finally stopped doing that. In Cheyenne, you asked if you could stay longer.”
“Oh. Was that...? Should I not have?”
“Isabelle.” He stopped and turned toward her, his hand sneaking into her hair, his mouth brushing a soft kiss over hers before he pulled away. “You’re so confident about everything. It kills me that you’re waiting for me to leave.”
Tears suddenly burned her eyes, her nose, her throat. She shook her head, trying to deny them.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked softly.
She could barely speak. “No,” she managed to whisper, terrified as she said it. If he wanted to go, she wouldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop a person from leaving.
“Good. Because I love you, and I’m going to stay, and if you didn’t want that, it would break me.”
One tear escaped her control and slipped down her face to his thumb, but she swallowed the rest of her tears. When she was sure she wouldn’t sob, she took a deep breath. “I love you, too. I want you to stay. With me.”
Everything inside her twisted up with terror that she’d said such a thing. But Tom just pressed another kiss to her mouth and smiled. He took her hand and they walked again as if she hadn’t just given voice to her most terrible hope.
“I hope you don’t regret saying that,” he said.
She did. She regretted it, but only because it was true.
Tom cleared his throat again. “Because I was thinking that I could retire in a year and move here. I can check into work at the sheriff’s department or maybe even the park service. They need a lot more law enforcement than you’d think.”
“Here?” she asked. “So we’d live together?”
“I’d get my own place. You’ve got your work. You need space.”
She did, but... It was easy with him around. Surprisingly easy. Sweet in a way she hadn’t expected. In a year...anything might be possible. But she couldn’t say that to him, could she? What if he didn’t want to move in? What if he was hoping she wouldn’t ask?
She looked at him, his face beautiful in the falling light, his eyes tight with worry when he glanced at her. What if she could just say what she wanted?
“It’s just an idea,” he said. “We’ve got a whole year to think about it.” He was giving her an out. He knew she’d been mapping out escape routes for fourteen years.
She didn’t want to escape from Tom. “I own quite a few acres, you know. I’ve always liked the idea of building a little studio.”
He frowned as if he didn’t understand.
“I could have my own space to paint. To be alone. But I’d only be a few feet away from the house.”
“Oh.”
They turned up her driveway, still strolling as if her heart hadn’t gone wild with panic.
“Bear might not approve,” Tom said, his tone still careful, but he was smiling now.
The panic slowly filtered from her blood, replaced with a relief that made her muscles ache. “He’ll have a year to get used to the idea,” she said.
“So will you.”
She wasn’t sure she needed a year. In fact, that seemed like an awfully long time. “I miss you when you’re gone,” she admitted.
“Yeah? I’m pretty lovesick when you’re not around, Isabelle.”
The twilight had erased the years from his face, and his smile was full of boyish chagrin. She could see what he must have looked like twenty years before. That sticky, scary love was a warm mess inside her.
“Come on,” she said, tugging him up the porch steps. “I have something that might make that better.”
“Oh?” The hopeful rise of his eyebrows made her laugh.
“It’s not a blow job. Not yet, anyway. Just come on.”
He didn’t balk when she led him toward her studio, which was good progress. He’d told her more about his brother’s death, about finding his body and being terrified but still unwilling to leave him alone. She warned him now when she was starting a new commission. He only needed the heads-up and he was fine, but she’d covered up her newest work, just in case.
She turned on the lights and led him to the far side of the room. “Here,” she said, picking up a canvas that she’d leaned against the wall. “I want you to have it. She can keep you company for the next year.”
He took her old self-portrait from her, his eyes looking over the nude lines of her body in a way that made her smile. “I can’t take this, Isabelle. You said you wanted it for when you’re eighty.”
“I have a new one,” she said, gesturing toward the very last easel.
Tom glanced up and froze. Then his head tilted a little to the side. She looked at the painting, too, wondering if he liked it. She hadn’t shown his face, just the edge of his jaw angled to kiss her neck.
She was posed the same in this painting as she had been in the old one, but now Tom was pressed to her back, the straighter line of his naked hip visible just past her curves, and his beautiful arm around her, one hand splayed just below her breast.
She’d worked for days on his hand and arm, making sure to get the muscles beneath his skin just right, along with every freckle and scar and glint of hair. She loved his hands. She loved them on her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said softly. “You didn’t volunteer as a model.”
“Mind?” He stepped closer, reaching out a hand, but then he dropped it as if he were afraid the paint was still wet. “It’s amazing.”
She smiled. “You like it.”
“I love it,” he said. “It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
He shot her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? I’m in a sexy nude painting. With you.”
She laughed as he pulled her into a hug. She laughed because anything seemed possible now, here, with him.
“Are you sure I can’t take the new one ho
me?” he asked. “Not that I don’t love the first one.”
“No. If you want to see your hands on me, you have to come visit. That’s the deal.”
“It’s a good deal,” he murmured before he kissed her. This time his mouth lingered, tasting her for a little longer. “Thank you for trusting me with your painting.”
“It’s no big deal.” She smiled, trying to keep it light, but when his eyes grew serious, she looked away. His touch brought her face back to him.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
She took a deep breath. She wanted to say it was no big deal again. But it was a big deal. And he deserved more than a lie. “I love you,” she whispered. “Now come to bed and put your hands on me. And stay as long as you can. Please?”
He answered with his hands and mouth and heart. And Isabelle trusted all of them.
* * * * *
FANNING
THE
FLAMES
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
FIREFIGHTERS. THE BANE of her existence.
Shaded beneath the fading awning of the Jackson Town Library, Lauren Foster watched as Fire Captain Jake Davis jogged along the other side of the street, his eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed against the bright sun. It was one of the hottest days of August so far, so he’d shucked his shirt and wore only black shorts, the Jackson Fire Department logo bunching at his hip with every stride. His shoulders and chest were tanned from months of summer running.
The noise from the firefighters annoyed her every day, but the most torturous thing about the library being attached to the fire station was this: being exposed to Jake Davis’s beautiful body.
He crossed the street and moved closer, and Lauren watched a trickle of sweat slip down his skin to tangle in the salt-and-pepper hair in the middle of his chest.
God, she loved a hairy male chest. If she wanted to feel soft and smooth, she had free dibs on her own chest. No one else was using it.
Sighing, she frowned at Jake’s wide, taut shoulders as he approached the building. He looked up then, of course. She imagined the picture she must make: the spinster town librarian sitting primly on a bench with a book, frowning her disapproval over a man’s sweaty public nudity.
Lauren looked back to the book in her hands and frowned harder. No, she couldn’t even claim the cliché of spinster. She was just an empty-nester divorcée, counting down the years to menopause. She was in the single digits now and could feel the hot flashes looming over her, strobing in the distance like approaching lightning. Every time she went to that cute little boutique in town, she was more and more attracted to the wildly painted reading glasses with the beaded chains that let them hang around your neck.
And she didn’t even need reading glasses. Yet.
But a pair of new shades might do her good. Then she could truly enjoy the sight of Jake’s glistening chest as he jogged toward the fire station. Sharing the building made for a nice summer view during her lunch hour, but it was bittersweet, looking at what she could never have.
Lauren didn’t realize he was moving straight toward her and not the door of the fire station until he stopped right in front of her. She sat up straighter.
“Lauren,” he said in that familiar gravelly voice. “You wanted to see me?”
She blinked in confusion before remembering that she’d sent him an email. “Oh. Yes, but...” But not half-naked, she wanted to say. As she hesitated, another little rivulet of sweat trickled down his neck and made its eager way toward his chest hair. “Uh.” Jesus. Lauren gave herself a mental shake. “Your guys are playing music again.”
His brow tightened with momentary irritation. “Loudly?” he asked.
His irritation fueled her own and helped her get over his glistening chest. “Yes. Loudly enough that I can hear the lyrics in the library.”
“They’re working out. Give ’em a break. They only—”
“Earbuds. Check into them.”
Another twitch of his brow. Lauren stared him down.
“It’s a library, Jake. Come on. Our whole shtick is silent contemplation. When your sirens aren’t blaring, we need it to be quiet. Plus, your guys have terrible taste in music.”
His face finally relaxed into something that was almost a smile. “All right. I’ll give you that. Their music sucks.”
“Just remind them of the library’s hours, okay? They can blast music as loud as they want after closing.”
He ran a hand through his short hair, and another drop of sweat slipped down his neck. This time it curved over his shoulder and disappeared down his back. “They’ve got earbuds, but listening to music together is bonding. It’s good for team cohesion.”
Lauren took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, hating the stereotype she was becoming. “Do you really think I want to be the uptight middle-aged librarian asking the young guys next door to turn down that terrible rap music?”
When she opened her eyes, she thought she saw his gaze rise, as if he’d been looking at her body, but maybe that was just her own wishful thinking.
“What?” he asked.
Lauren sighed and stood. “Take pity on me and don’t make me ask again, okay? I don’t enjoy being the nagging house mother.”
He was frowning again, but he at least offered an unenthusiastic “Sure,” as she turned to open the library door.
“Thank you, Jake.”
His hand appeared above hers to pull the door open, and there was no mistaking the scent of his clean sweat as the air moved around both of them. It hit her hard, drawing something tight deep in her belly, and Lauren considered it a triumph that she didn’t turn and lick him before moving inside. He smelled the way a man should smell when he was in your bed and working hard for it.
The door finally whooshed shut behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief that all she could smell now were paper and Windex.
Her thirties had been a fairly dry decade, what with her failing marriage and then her divorce. But her forties? God. Her body clearly wanted her to get busy humping any man who caught her eye before all her eggs dried up. What her body didn’t seem to understand was that there were plenty of healthy-egged young twentysomethings who were attracted to men like Jake Davis, too. She couldn’t compete with them. But honestly, she wouldn’t mind a few hopeless tries.
Why had it taken her four decades to realize how beautiful the male body was? And how very much she wanted more of it? She’d never once thought about tasting a sweaty male chest in her twenties. Now she wanted to lick Jake Davis clean.
Sneering at her own absurd thoughts, she headed for the privacy of the tiny office to the side of the circulation desk. “I talked to Jake,” she said, collapsing into the chair next to her best friend Sophie.
Sophie looked up from her computer. “Oh, you talked to Jake, huh?”
“He said he’d have a word with the guys.”
“Yeah? Did he also say, ‘Oh, Lauren, it’s so hot I can’t wear a shirt when I run. I hope that’s okay with you’?”
Lauren’s face felt as if it burst into flames. “What?”
“I saw him when I was driving back from lunch. That is one hot fire captain.”
“I didn’t notice!” Lauren hissed, ducking her head and opening her own laptop.
“Liar! Oh, my God, you’re beet red.”
“Shut up. I mean it. Having those stupid firefighters right next door is a damn work hazard.”
Sophie shrugged. “They have their uses.”
Lauren tried to shove her curiosity down and keep her mouth shut. She and Sophie had been friends for two years, but despite their frequent joking, Sophie rarely divulged concrete details about her own love life.
This time Lauren was going to nail her down. “Exactly
how many firefighters have you used?” Sophie was the picture of modesty, always wearing knee-length skirts and button-up shirts with her sensible heels. But she wasn’t as innocent as she looked. Once you got a drink in her, she could dish about blow-job techniques with the best of them.
Sophie shot her a wicked grin, but she didn’t answer.
Lauren crossed her arms and refused to let the girl off the hook this time. “Spill it, chick. How many firefighters?”
“Only one.”
“Jake?” Lauren asked, a stone dropping into her stomach from thin air. She didn’t want to picture him with her cute friend. She couldn’t deal with that.
But Sophie laughed. “No, not Jake! A guy who doesn’t work there anymore, thank God. The fire station is a little too close to home for me. In a town this size...”
Lauren nodded in understanding and tried not to let out the sigh of relief pushing at her throat. It hadn’t been Jake.
Sophie poked her arm. “But you need to ask him out.”
“Who?” Lauren asked, her heart already speeding up to belie the question.
“Jake.”
“You just said it was too close to home. And it is! If he said no, I’d have to see him every day. And if he said yes, even worse.”
“Lauren, ask him out. Good God, you two have been pretending not to eye each other for at least a year.”
On her part, it’d been more like two or three, but his wife had died only four years before, so he’d probably still been grieving then. Which made her a terrible person. Even more terrible than the fact that Jake and her ex-husband were good friends. “You know why I can’t.”
“Oh, my God, your divorce was eight years ago! As long as you don’t have sex with Jake on your ex’s dining room table during Christmas dinner, I think you’re ethically okay.”
Lauren just shrugged, but she knew it wasn’t okay. That was probably why Jake had never asked her out. That or the fact that even forty-six-year-old men didn’t typically date forty-three-year-old women. Stupid youth culture.
Flirting with Disaster & Fanning the Flames Page 25
