"Am I doing something wrong?" she whispered, working her way back up his body until her mouth was only inches from his.
"You mean besides making me crazy?" he grated before covering her mouth with his.
"That," she whispered between increasingly heated kisses, "is my intention."
She was sweet. She was soft. And she kissed like the very dickens, leaving him breathless and panting and so darned worked up he was about to burst.
"No more," he protested, his voice scratchy and deep. "I surrender."
"Hmm, I'm not so sure." She ran the palm of her hand lower until the golden down on his belly flared wide and turned wiry. "You still feel tense to me."
Judd sucked in hard, then let out the trapped air in an explosive rush. "That's not tension, Red."
She looked up at him with her most innocent expression, but her eyes were filled with soft, sweet emotion. "Feels tense to me." Her fingers closed around him with a heartbreaking tenderness. "Very tense. And, um, unusually hard." Her voice was rushed, as though she too were having trouble with her control.
Judd bared his teeth and fought for air. Sensations he'd never felt before were running through him, hot, urgent, sweet sensations.
"God, Red," he began, but just then her mouth replaced her hand and the rest of his words were lost in a long-drawn-out groan of hot, surging pleasure.
The alarm buzzed. Groaning a soft protest, Darcy quickly reached out a hand and fumbled for the off button.
It was almost five. Time for her to scoot back to the futon she'd rumpled to look as though she'd just left it, in case the girls woke in the middle of the night and missed her.
She'd been dreaming when the buzzer went off. In her dream, she'd been the one carrying twin sons, not Prudy. Big, strapping, blond boys with her blue eyes and Judd's beautiful smile.
As though privy to her thoughts, he stirred, muttered something unintelligible and then nuzzled her neck with his nose.
"Hmm?" she murmured in answer, even though she suspected that he was still deep in sleep.
"What time do they get up?" he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. She could have sworn he hadn't heard the alarm.
"Six, six-thirty."
"What time is it now?" His voice was drowsy, relaxed, making her smile into the semidarkness. He needed a lot of tender bullying, this big, strong, self-contained man. And a lot of affection in gentle, easy-to-handle doses.
Give him too much at one time, however, and he would close up. The hurt he'd endured must have seared terribly deep for such a strong man to be so skittish.
"It's only five," she whispered, trapped by strong possessive arms against the warm curve of his body.
"Plenty of time." He kissed her neck, then turned her to her back. The house was pleasantly still. It was cozy warm under the sheet, and the spicy scent of her hair was now on his skin.
"Judd, I have to go—"
"Sh, honey. I'll have you back in that silly little foam thing you call a bed before either one of those redheaded rascals opens an eye."
"But your knees—"
"Are my business. Right now, I'm more interested in seeing how many kisses it takes before you end up as wild as I was last night."
She ran her fingertips over the tawny whiskers covering the lower half of his face. "You weren't wild, just … uninhibited."
"Right. That's why I had to shove half your pillow in my mouth to keep from waking up the whole damn place."
Darcy giggled, but the warm rush of memory was having a decided effect on her pulse rate. His too, she could tell from the soft, sensual glow in his eyes.
"Feeling proud of ourselves this morning, are we, Red?"
"Uh-huh."
He trailed warm fingers down her neck to the neckline of the gown she'd never gotten around to taking off. "Maybe a little cocky?"
"Mmm." His fingers slipped under the thin white knit to cup her breast. She was finding it difficult to breathe properly, and her skin was tingling.
She tried to move, to escape the delicious torment he most clearly had in store for her, but he had her well and truly pinned, his big body too heavy, too dense of bone and sinew, to be budged.
"Now, Judd, think a minute," she said with a small, shivery tremble in her voice.
"I've already done that, when you were snuggled up so nice and close and I was wide-awake and wanting very badly to kiss you."
He buried his face in the hollow of her neck and slowly, lazily kissed every inch of the soft, moonlight-pale skin he could reach.
"You play dirty, lady," he murmured, concentrating now on the skin above the gown. His mouth was soft and warm, his mustache just rough enough to sensitize her skin without abrading it. "Seducing a man when his guard was down."
"Ha!" she managed, more of a sigh of pleasure than a protest.
"And now you're going to pay."
Her hands found the ragged ends of his singed hair, her fingers opening and closing like a cat's claws, her body filled with sensations like the purring of that same cat.
He shifted, slid one strong arm under the small of her back, lifted her as though she were feathers, and then her gown was somehow being whipped over her head.
Just the sliding of the material over the breasts his hand had already sensitized was enough to have her biting off a fevered moan. He then slid down her body to remove her matching lace panties.
By the time his leg slid between hers and she heard the crackle of foil being ripped and then discarded, she was floating, her breath coming in short, eager gasps and her hands in his hair urging him to hurry.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
It was a mantra, a swelling chorus of need so overwhelming she was awash. Never had she wanted to feel a man's rigid flesh sliding into hers, filling her to the hilt, the way she wanted to feel Judd's.
And then his hands were gliding down her bare sides, stroking, preparing. Writhing, out of control, she clamped her lower lip between her teeth to keep from crying out.
He wasn't teasing her now. His mouth, so soft and versatile only a few seconds earlier, was clamped into a hard line as though he too were feeling the need to keep the sounds of helpless hunger locked inside.
Just when she knew she would have to scream, he shifted, his body poised over hers. She braced for the first hard thrust, her fingers clenching his shoulders.
"Easy," he managed to whisper before his voice trailed off into a groan as he slowly pushed into her, then waited.
Her eyes were drifting closed in a spasm of ecstasy when she felt him go absolutely still. Lifting her lashes, she looked up at him. His gaze was welded on her face, his expression intense, his eyes filled with a very deep, very rare tenderness.
"Ah, Red," he whispered, his voice thick and strained. "I've missed you so much."
"I've missed you," she managed to answer through the sudden, aching tightness in her throat. "So much."
He bent to kiss her gently, moving inside her, slowly, deeply, the friction of his body against hers sending up ripples of pleasure.
He whispered her name, his breathing harsh, his movements faster.
She arched upward, helping him, needing to take all of him, needing him to fill her.
"Help me, honey," he rasped, "or…" At that moment, the pleasure filling all of her suddenly gathered in one spot, quivered in an ecstatic spasm and then exploded in a shower of lovely fireworks.
He moved one more time, his breathing tortured, his face convulsed. And then he was rolling her over so that his body was cushioning hers.
Floating, filled with air and a sweet, rich contentment, she turned her face into his sweat-drenched neck and nuzzled the thick damp hair plastered against his skin. He smelled of musk and soap and male passion.
"Judd?" she whispered.
"Mmm?" The sound was rich with his own kind of contentment and perhaps a bit of smug masculine satisfaction.
She smiled, then hesitated, afraid, yet knowing that the words had to be said. "Now I know for sure
. I love you."
Judd hadn't known he was heading for the river until he found himself on the path to the sheltered glade near the abandoned gravel pit.
The department shrink would have a field day with that, he thought as he slipped free of his crutches and lowered himself to a soft patch of grass.
The air was sultry and smelled of cut grass and heat. Overhead, a typical summer breeze rustled the leaves and cushioned a hawk circling lazily on the currents.
To the east, the South Umpqua River bent back on itself for a good five miles, and the land between the flowing water was some of the most fertile in the state.
He had forgotten how quiet it could be in the country. In the noise and dirt and bustle of the city it had been easy to forget, and he had gone for months at a time without thinking about this place. And Darcy.
Now it seemed that he did little else but think about her. The way she tilted her head and bunched her eyebrows just before she laughed. The way she giggled as freely as the children she so clearly adored, all four of them. And, God help him, the forgiveness she had offered him as surely and as freely as she'd offered her love. With no strings, no fuss, not even a lot of flowery words.
The three she'd used were enough. I love you.
Simple enough, right? Right-down-the-line straight, like the deep, quiet section of the river just before it twisted back.
This time the rock he hurled at the surface skipped easily along the glasslike smoothness, leaving disturbed ripples behind.
"Much better that time." She was wearing moccasins, which was why he hadn't heard her approach. She'd also exchanged her church clothes for Bermuda shorts and a blue T-shirt that was an exact match for her eyes. "Church over already?"
"Uh-huh," she said as she followed the path to the spot where he was sitting. "I had a feeling you might come here," she said as she lowered herself to the grass a few feet away.
"Why's that?"
"Because this is where you always came when you felt like smashing something." She slid him a sideways glance. "Or someone."
"I had some thinking to do."
"About last night?" Her voice deepened, grew self-conscious. "And this morning?"
He made himself look at her. Some of the sparkle in her smile had dimmed, and a small frown had formed between her silken eyebrows. "Something like that, yeah."
"Why do I think I'm not going to like this?" She crooked one leg and rubbed her palm over her kneecap nervously.
"Cards on the table, Red. I can promise to share your bed and offer you my affection and my respect and my name. I'd be a faithful husband and as good a father as I know how to be."
Her smile was brave and sad and shook only a little. "But you can't love me, is that what you're saying?"
Unable to handle the shimmering pain in her eyes, he dropped his gaze to the scarred, misshapen hand fisted on his thigh. He would never forget the excruciating agony he'd endured during therapy twice each day before all of the burned skin had been debrided. The worse pain a human being can endure.
Yesterday, the day before, he would have agreed. Now he knew that the S.O.B. that said that was wrong. Dead wrong.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
He heard her breath catch as she took one shuddering breath and then another. "Thank you for being honest."
"It was easier when you hated me."
"Yes, I suppose it was."
They sat side by side, not daring to touch, staring at the river. A bird sang somewhere in the distance, and the water made tiny, rhythmic, lapping noises against the bank.
"The girls will miss you," she said, her voice terribly matter-of-fact. "All four of them. In fact, Prudy was asking me just yesterday if I thought you'd mind if she named one of her boys Judd."
He flinched, then let his eyes remain closed for a beat before he faced her again. "Tell her that I'd be honored."
The gruff tenderness in his voice brought tears to the eyes she raised to meet his. For an instant his face relaxed, allowing her a glimpse of the sensitive, lonely man behind the tough facade. Slowly he raised his hand and brushed his thumb over the abrasion made by his whiskers.
"I don't seem to be able to get the hang of making love to you without hurting you, do I?"
"It doesn't hurt."
Was that sheen in his eyes tears, or was it a reflection of her own? She didn't have time to figure it out because his face closed up and the light went out of his eyes like a flame suddenly snuffed.
He pried her hand from her knee and sandwiched it between his. In spite of the day's heat, her skin was ice-cold.
"Would it be easier for you and the girls if I left Grantley again?"
Would it? Darcy asked herself in a kind of benumbed fog. Which would hurt worse? Seeing him now and then and knowing that there could never be anything more between them than sex? Or would it be worse never seeing him again? Never knowing if he was safe or content or well. Never hearing his voice or seeing him work hard not to let his boyish smile sneak past the chief's dignified demeanor.
No! her mind cried, but she already knew her answer.
"Yes, it would be easier," she whispered.
Molly French glanced up from the carburetor she was adjusting on the old Ford pumper and grimaced. "I'd get down on my hands and knees and offer to have Dr. Armadi's children, if only he'll let the chief get rid of those crutches."
Monk gave the already spotless fender another swipe with the rag before stuffing it into his back pocket. "It's been a week."
"The week from hell," Molly muttered. "I never want to see another training manual or go out on another simulated run."
"I hear you. I haven't trained so hard since the academy." Monk frowned. "Come to think of it, we didn't even train that hard in the academy."
French wiped the last of the carburetor oil from the metal, then let her lanky body slide down the long shiny hood until her feet hit the ground.
"Let me tell you something, Lieutenant. You might know forms and policies and procedures, but I know men. And our new tough-as-nails chief has the look of a man who's about to explode."
"Well, I wish he'd get it over with, because I'm tired of hauling files down from the attic for him to frown over all hours of the day and night."
French closed the pump's hood with the gentleness of a doting mother tucking her toddler into bed. "What's he looking for in those dusty old things, anyway?"
"Hell if I know. He never did talk much, not from the first day he was here, but now all he does is grunt at me."
"Maybe Frontier Days will lighten him up."
"I sure as hell hope—"
A door banged open. "Monk, get in here!"
"Right away, sir," the lieutenant shouted.
"At least he's doing more than grunting," French said, stifling a laugh.
"From the sound of his voice, I think I liked it better when that's all he was doing." Monk tossed off the words before he took off running.
Judd was scowling at the phone he'd just returned to the cradle when Monk knocked once, then slipped through the half-open door.
According to Tom Billings's secretary, Tom and Ann were on vacation in Las Vegas for ten more days, and Judd's already rotten mood had just taken a nosedive.
"More files for me to get, Chief?" Monk asked, only slightly out of breath.
Judd shook his head. "Have a seat."
Monk practically groaned aloud. From the thunder in the chief's dark eyes, he was in for it. "Yessir."
"You signed the report on last year's fire at the Emporium." Since the chief had the open file in front of him, Monk figured it wasn't a question.
"Yessir. I was in charge of that one. Went three alarms before the roof blew and we lost it."
Judd's gaze narrowed, pinned him. "Says here the fire flashed."
"Yessir, it was the damnedest thing. Came at us like a blowtorch turned the wrong way, only a few seconds before I could have sworn we had it controlled."
"Any idea what
happened?"
Monk's usually direct gaze skittered to one side and then the other. "Uh, not really."
"Think about it a minute. See if you can come up with something, no matter how off-the-wall it seems."
Monk bit his lip, then leaned back and met Judd's eyes again. "Chief Kerrigan accused me of snorting my lunch when I mentioned what I saw."
"Try me."
Judd sat quietly, letting Monk make up his mind whether or not to trust the man the guys called "a cold-blooded, stubborn, demanding S.O.B." behind his back.
"Well, sir, it sure looked like that fire found itself a whole lot of fuel all of a sudden, and the only way that could happen was if there was some kind of leakage. Gas from the furnace maybe, or maybe from the old line that ran through here for the old gas lamps they used to have in those old buildings along Main and Myrtle and Melrose."
"Sounds logical," Judd commented. He'd already thought of the old gas line, but the records in the courthouse indicated that they'd been dug up long ago and replaced by electrical conduits.
"Uh, does that help, sir? Or do you think I'm nuts like Chief Kerrigan?"
Monk's tone was laced with self-deprecating humor, but there was a kernel of worry there, too. "No," Judd replied, "I think you just may be the best fire fighter we have in this company, maybe in the whole department."
"I, er, uh, thank you, sir."
"Welcome. Now get the hell out of here before I find something to complain about."
"Yessir." Monk jumped to his feet and headed for the door.
"And close that door behind you."
"Yessir." Monk was still nodding his head and grinning when he went to find French.
Judd swiveled his chair to the side and stared out the window at the late afternoon shadows striping the fire-house lawn. Outside, the heat had turned sticky, and without a breeze, the flag hung limply from the pole. Inside, the air-conditioning was blasting from the vents in the ceiling full force, making his knees ache.
He hated what he was thinking, but the pieces he had were beginning to fit. The article written sometime in the thirties about the leaking gasoline tank, the absence of any records in the city attorney's archives about the threatened lawsuit that the reporter had cited, the corresponding absence of any mention in the files of the Department of Public Works, the series of explosive fires.
FIREBRAND Page 19
