Kiss of Fire (St. James Family)

by Parker, Lavender

  “Hey O'Donovan, how goes it?”

  “Eh,” O'Donovan grunted, shrugging.

  “Jameson?” Murph asked, used to the monosyllabic response. O'Donovan nodded and Murph poured him a quick glass. He turned his eyes to the football match on the TV, but it didn't hold his interest. His eyes drifted to the clock. Only fifteen minutes had passed since he last checked. He shook his head in disgust with himself. He hadn't been this hung up on a woman since Gwen, eight years before when he'd first met her. He was such an idiot about women. His mother had always told him he was a romantic like his father, but he just took that to mean he was a bigger idiot than most. Again, he ran through his checklist of his perfect mate. He made sure he added 'knows how to cook' to the list, because he couldn't remember if he'd included it before. Take that, Toni, he thought.

  “O'Donovan!” he heard a female voice to his right and glanced over his shoulder. Brigid O'Reilly stood there, in jeans and a low-cut green shirt that brought out the blue in her eyes. She looked surprised to see him, but then she smiled. “I should have known I would see you here.”

  “Where else would I be?” he asked, motioning to the stool next to him. She slid into it and plopped her bare elbows on the bar. Murph's eyes lit up and he practically ran over.

  “Hi, Brigid,” Murph said and then cleared his throat. “How have you been, sweetheart?” He asked, his face overly concerned. Christ, she'd been cheated on. She wasn't diagnosed with cancer, O'Donovan thought as he rolled his eyes.

  “I've been fine. Just fine.” Brigid looked down at the bar, her smile gone. The last thing she needed to be reminded about was the dumb bastard who'd fucked around on her, so he gave Murph a dirty look and nudged his shoulder against hers.

  “What do you want, babe? Drinks on me.”

  “Guinness is good,” she said, her smile returning.

  “You heard the lady, Murph,” O'Donovan said, giving his friend a pointed stare. Murph backed off, pouring the beer.

  “You need anything else, you just let me know,” Murph said, setting her drink on a napkin and then slowly retreating to the other end of the bar.

  “That guy's a real fucking moron, you know that?” O'Donovan said, shaking his head.

  “He's alright,” Brigid said, sweeping her hair off of her shoulder.

  “So you're back in the neighborhood?” he asked.

  “Right down the street, on Skillman. I found a cute little pre-war two-bedroom. I'm happy to be back. Manhattan never feels like home, you know?” O'Donovan grunted in agreement and she went on. “Growing up, I always wanted to get out of Queens. But the older I get, the more I want to be home.” She ran her hand down the condensation on the glass. “And I miss old friends that I never get to see anymore.” She gave him a side glance. They sat in silence for a moment and then she turned in her stool to look at him full-on.

  “You know, I think you look good, O'Donovan. Really good.” He glanced at her, surprised. She was the second woman to tell him that in less than a month. He had to be careful, or he'd start believing them.“I mean it.” She narrowed her eyes, studying him. “You've grown into yourself, if that makes sense.” O'Donovan didn't know how to answer that, so he stayed quiet. She took a sip of her beer, biding her time. “Do you remember that Fireman's picnic as well as I do?” she said, leaning in.

  “Yeah, I think I do,” he said, dipping his head to hide his smile. She laughed lightly.

  “I was so into you after that, but I never told you,” she said, shaking her head. “I figured it was for the best that we never hooked back up.”

  “I don't think Captain would like that,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Yeah well,” Brigid shrugged. “He just wants me to be happy.” O'Donovan nodded. She took another sip of her beer and leaned closer. “You got divorced too, didn't you?”

  “Yup. I did.”

  “It fucking sucks, doesn't it?” she asked, laughing. He laughed, too, because yeah, it had fucking sucked.

  “But it was for the best,” O'Donovan said, knowing now more than ever that Gwen leaving him had probably been the best thing that ever happened to him. Brigid shrugged, like she wasn't completely convinced. “I wish I never fucking married her.”

  “Yes! Exactly. I wish an angel would have appeared from on high and told me to run in the other direction.”

  “Would you have listened?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. If someone had told him not to marry Gwen, he would have told them to go fuck themselves. In fact, his brother had told him not to, at his bachelor party. They'd both been sporting black eyes the next morning. Brigid laughed again.

  “No way,” she said, shaking her head. “I was convinced he was Mr. Right.”

  “That's where we both went wrong. Too bullheaded,” he said, finishing off his Jameson.

  “When I get it in my mind to do something, I'm full steam ahead,” Brigid agreed. “No looking back.”

  “But here's the thing—” O'Donovan held up a finger. “We're too old for that shit now. Now we have to think about how to get what we really want.”

  “Right,” she nodded. “So what do you want?” He looked up a the TV, thinking of Toni. He wanted her. For now, he reminded himself. “I know that for the long term, I want to get married again and maybe have some kids,” Brigid continued, following his gaze to the TV. “But in the short term, I want to have some really good sex.” Then she dropped her eyes to meet his.

  Shit.

  He could only shake his head and smile. When it rained, it really poured, he mused. “Those are some good goals,” he said. Then he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, signaling a text. He knew who it was before he even looked at it. It was like his dick had ESP. Toni. Speak of the devil.

  “I think so, too,” Brigid said, shrugging nonchalantly as he fished his phone out of his back pocket.

  Toni: Come to Lincoln Center. Keep me company.

  O'Donovan let out a slow breath, his sudden erection making it hard to form a decent though. “Listen, babe, I have to go,” he said, standing and tossing a few bills on the bar.

  “Okay,” she said, looking a little disappointed. He was almost to the door when she called after him. “O'Donovan?” He stopped and turned back, impatient. “Think about it, will you? Those goals,” she added, her eyes shining.

  “Yeah. I will,” he said, and then got the hell out of there.

  ***

  “You sit right down there,” Toni said, leading O'Donovan to a chair she'd pulled to the center of the room.

  “Why?”

  “I have something to show you,” she said, suppressing a smile. She skipped over to the radio in her pointe shoes, clacking across the worn wood floor. She clicked through her Iphone until she found the song she was looking for. When she pressed play, Pink Floyd's Us and Them blasted out of the speakers. She saw a grin spread over his face and she threw her head back to laugh. When she composed herself, she began to dance, choreographing as she went along.

  “What are you doing?” Toni asked, stopping in the middle of an assemblé, her arms bowed above her head. O'Donovan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his phone trained on her.

  “Nothing.”

  “You're filming me!”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Liar,” she murmured, moving into an adagio sequence of pirouettes and arabesques. She moved along with the music, letting herself get carried away. She felt his arms slide around her waist and she moaned, her muscles melting into his warmth. She dropped her head back against his shoulders.

  “I want to fuck you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I know you do,” she whispered back, her eyes closing. He tilted her head to the side and kissed her, and she felt herself floating away. In the hours since they'd been apart, she had begun to realize that she was starting to get addicted to him. Her body was crying out for his. She couldn't get him off her mind if she tried. She twirled around to face him, pushing him back toward his chair.

&
nbsp; “Now you sit your hot ass down, Sergeant O'Donovan.” He slumped into the chair, pulling her down with him, giving her a lust filled look that hit her right between the legs. “I'm not done yet.”

  “Sit on my dick,” he said, running his hand up under her short skirt, and letting out a sigh of frustration when he couldn't penetrate past her leotard and leggings with his fingers.

  “You are too much,” she said, struggling to get away from him and stand. As she did so, a sharp pain shot through her leg and she pursed her lips. Her damn ankle was acting up again. She leaned to one side, keeping most of her weight on the other leg.

  “Crap,” she muttered.

  “What's the matter?” he asked, his eyes dropping to look at her leg.

  “My ankle.” She limped over to the radio and turned the music off. “It acts up.” He watched her, his face unreadable, then stood and swept her up off of her feet. She squealed as he carried her to the wooden bench at the back of the room, and set her down lightly next to her bag.

  “You need aspirin or something? I have some in the truck,” he said, and she shook her head. He lifted her ankled up and began to massage the tendon over the bone, ever so gently. She watched his hands on her, moaning as he hit a good spot.

  “I'll be fine. I think I overdid it. I blame you and Pink Floyd.”

  “Does it do that often?” he said, placing her foot softly on the floor.

  “Yeah,” she admitted, with a shrug. There was nothing to be done about it—she would live with the pain for as long as she danced. He ran his hand through his hair.

  “Fuck, lovely,” he said, in the harsh, gruff tone that she was getting used to the longer she spent in his presence.

  “Don't worry about it,” she said, sliding off her pointe shoes. When he saw the bloody tape around her toes, he cursed louder.

  “Why the fuck do you this to yourself?”

  “What?”

  “You're fucking injuring yourself. Why?”

  “Because I love to dance,” she said shrugging. “It's no different from you getting burned and hurting up your back in a fire.”

  “But that's at least got a point. Fires need to be put out. Period.”

  “So you're saying ballet is pointless?” Toni said, and he gave a slight shrug, not denying it. Her mouth dropped open. “You're saying that the art form that I've devoted to my life to is pointless?!”

  “Don't put words in my mouth, lovely.”

  “Don't patronize me,” she said, unravelling the tape from her toes and tossing it in the trash. “Just because you can't wrap your head around ballet doesn't mean it's pointless.”

  “Are you saying I'm stupid? Just because I didn't go to college and don't give a shit about all this artsy elitist bullshit doesn't mean I'm a fucking idiot.”

  “Elitist bullshit?!” She heard her voice go up an octave. “Well if your life's dream is to live on Long Island in a shitty tract house, then maybe you are,” she said, digging around in her bag, looking for her shoes, and making a lot of noise.

  “Fuck you!”

  “No fuck you!” she said. “I didn't go to college either, asshole. I don't think you're stupid because you didn't go to college.”

  “But you do think I'm stupid?”

  “Oh my God!” she screamed, her voice echoing across the cavernous room. “This whole conversation is stupid.”

  “This isn't a conversation, lovely, it's a fucking argument.”

  “You started it.”

  “Well if you weren't so damn spoiled and sensitive, you would understand that I was simply concerned about your well being.”

  “Oh, piss on your concern!” Toni said, standing abruptly and wincing as her ankle protested.

  “Excuse me,” a voice called from the doorway. Jones, the custodian, stood beside the open door. “Is everything okay in here, Miss Toni?”

  “Everything is fine, Jones. Thanks so much for checking up on me.” She gave a big smile. Not looking entirely convinced, Jones turned after a moment and left.

  “Christ, do you know everyone in this fucking city?” O'Donovan said.

  “Unlike some people, I prefer to be nice, instead of communicating in a series of grunts and snorts.”

  “You are something else you know that?”

  “And you're a pig,” she said, turning away from him and throwing her things into her bag viciously.

  “A pig?” he asked, having the nerve to laugh.

  “Yes. You think all women are good for is a quick hump when you're horny and to cater to you. Well, I am not the one.”

  “Where the fuck is that coming from?”

  “You have no respect for my career, obviously. You want a woman that can cook and clean up after you and pump out your kids and that is obviously not me.”

  “Believe me, I know,” he said, and Toni threw him a murderous look over her shoulder. “You're completely wrong for me in every goddamn way imaginable.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked.

  “Because I want to fuck you,” he said, blunt as always. She puffed out an indignant breath, shaking her head.

  “Well I guess you'll have to find someone else tonight.” She zipped her bag and tossed the strap over her shoulder, too through with him.

  “I guess so,” he said, in such a flippant way that she suddenly saw red. Clawing his eyes out seemed like a great idea right about then, and she knew she had to get away from him before she did something she would regret. Turning, she stormed to the door and gestured him out of the room. He took his time sauntering over to the door and she turned off the lights and slammed the door shut. Without looking at him, she marched through the building to the doors in the front, wincing at each step on her bum ankle. She waved to Jones, who watched she and O'Donovan exit like a hawk.

  He followed her out into the humid air, his silent presence heavy behind her. She whirled around to face him abruptly, jabbing a finger in his face. “I am going home, alone. So you can fuck off!” She said relishing the curse word. It was weighty, dirty, and held indisputable power. She liked it. She had a feeling she was going to start using it a lot more, especially when and where Sebastian O'Donovan was concerned.

  Again, he smiled, annoying her to her very core.

  “Suit yourself, lovely.” He reached out, grabbing her hips and pulling her close to him, and her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest. He still held a strong hold over her, as much as she disliked him in that moment. And the bastard knew it. “But I was hoping I could rip those leggings open and lick your pussy until you lost that smug look off your face. Then maybe I would thrust my big dick in you until you forgot all about this stupid ass fight.” He cocked his head, his lips hovering near hers, just out of reach. “But whatever. I'm good either way.”

  Toni narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the way her girly parts clenched and wept at his words. No way was she giving him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. Although her body was begging for him to make good on his words, her brain was telling her to run.

  Run far, far away, girl!

  She squared her shoulders, and took a step back out of his touch. He didn't fight to hold on to her, and that annoyed her even more. “You have a great ride back home, O'Donovan. Good luck finding someone who fits your criteria to take home tonight,” she said, her voice dripping like Tupelo honey. He snorted out a derisive laugh, and she could tell he was just as worked up as she was, but didn't want to show it. With a cutesy little wave, she turned and hurried away from him, forcing herself to not look back. He wasn't worth a look back. But her admirable resolve didn't stop his blunt words from replaying over and over in her mind until she thought she was going to go crazy from sexual frustration. She had no choice but to cross her legs on the train and curse him vehemently the entire way home.

  Chapter 12

  A week passed, uneventfully, with no word from the infuriating man. Nat and Christophe took off for Shanghai and Toni made herself right at home at the townhouse in their absenc
e. It was late after she'd gotten home on Friday when she decided to watch a movie, Dirty Dancing, her favorite. She loved to watch it whenever she was down. And annoying as it was, she was down over O'Donovan. She'd spent the whole week waiting and wondering why he didn't call. But every time she almost texted him or called him, she forced herself not to. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of caving first.

  She couldn't help but wonder if he had found someone else to take home that night. The thought was tearing her up inside, but still, she didn't contact him. Instead, she buried her worries in a bag of sinful, chemical-laden microwave popcorn and lost herself in the story of Baby and Johnny for the millionth time.

  A loud knocking woke her from her doze on the couch and Toni rolled her head on the pillow, cracking open an eye. She sat up, checking the time on her phone. 1:00 a.m. The movie was over, the TV was black. Who the hell was at the door? She stood, and crept into the dining room to peak around to the front door. Somewhere, the old house creaked, settling, and she felt her heartbeat ramp up. She was all alone in the big house, what if an axe murderer was at the door? She nearly jumped a foot when her phone vibrated in her hand, signaling an incoming text message.

  O'Donovan: Open the door.

  She rolled her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. The man was on her shit list, and now he showed up at Nat's house, just like that? Probably thinking he was going to get laid, too. Strolling to the door at a leisurely pace, Toni opened it, making sure that the chain was still latched.

  “Well. Look who it is, dirtying my doorstep,” she said. O'Donovan was leaning against the doorjamb in yet another ratty shirt and holy jeans. His face was freshly shaved and he smelled fresh, like soap. At least he showered before he came over. He smiled down at her, his eyes in shadow.

  “You're still mad?”

  “Not mad.” She jiggled the doorknob, annoyed. How could she not be mad, when he acted like such a pig? But as she stood there, breathing in his clean scent, the anger faded. She sighed. He had a hold on her, that was for sure. She wanted him, and that made her the weak one. But she would pretend to be strong, she decided, just for a little while longer. Until she had him as much as he had her. “What do you want, anyway?”