Burn for Me: A Rancho Del Cielo Romance

by Dee Tenorio

  Penelope tucked the shoes under the bed and stole around him to head back to the door, where she waited for him to follow her again. Well, she’d wait a long damn time, then, because all this following was ending. Now.

  He stared down at his daughter—his daughter, a thought that in and of itself was growing less incredulous and more exactly what he wanted—and knew in that moment that his life was about to change irrevocably. If he wanted, he could still back away. Keep Chloe at enough of a distance that he could be her friend, give her access to his family but not really change much. He’d work at the firehouse, finding all the meaning in his life in the work there, and keep longing for something more in his heart.

  Or, he’d become her father. Be someone to guide her and protect her. Be more to her than he’d ever managed to be to anyone else.

  The ease with which he made the decision should have startled him, but it didn’t. Like snapping that chain around her neck, the pieces fell together inside him and the lock was set. They still had a long way to go, of course—no kid of his should be expected to live in a room this perfect—but at least he knew he wanted the experience. Wanted to be part of this. Wanted.

  He tapped the lamp a couple of times to turn it off, and reached for the door handle. Penelope stood there, raising her chin when he waited for her to walk out first. She was stubborn, something he should have realized years ago, but some things didn’t change no matter how deep in denial a person wanted to go. Faced with waking up her daughter or standing there staring at him for eternity, Pen finally let go of the door and walked ahead of him into the hall.

  Satisfied, Raul pulled the door shut, silencing the chimes by pressing them to the door. The door directly across from Chloe’s could only belong to Penelope. She caught him looking, he could tell because she bit her lip. Tempting, very tempting, to stroll over there and discover what secrets the elusive Miss Gibson had in there, but they had talking to do first.

  Raul shook his head and pointed to the stairs. Was that relief or disappointment on her face? It wasn’t a question he could let himself think about. Much. He forced himself down the stairs, listening for her footsteps in his wake.

  It took a while, but Penelope finally came. She walked into the living room where he was putting the poker back on the hearth stand. Vents closed, door closed upstairs. Now, finally, he could lay into her.

  Except when he turned, he didn’t see the hard-shelled woman who had stood on his parents’ deck and told him to back off. This Penelope was worried. Afraid. Of him.

  His anger curdled in his belly. “I’m not going to do anything to you, Pen,” he growled.

  “I know.” And then she backed up a step and crossed her arms.

  “Now that’s just fuckin’ unfair.” So what if he sounded like a ten-year-old. “You were ready to rip my balls off and serve ’em for dinner earlier. But now that we’re alone, you act like I’m going to hit you or something. I thought you were better than that.”

  “I’ve had almost five hours to think about what you were going to say. You’ve always been somewhat…demonstrative when you’re upset. I’ve never seen any value to yelling myself hoarse. So no, I’m not looking forward to this.” He could practically see frost coming out of her mouth as she spoke.

  “You didn’t care about my demonstrations at the house.”

  “At the house, I was angry.”

  “But you’re not anymore.” Of course she wasn’t, she’d had her say. And her say had been six kinds of insulting, each and every one of them telling him to keep his distance. Just thinking about it pissed him off all over again. “How convenient for you.”

  Her mouth twitched and some life snapped in her eyes. “I had every right to be angry. You were giving your family the wrong impression. On purpose.”

  Damn right he’d done it on purpose. “I was being attentive and you were giving everyone the cold shoulder because things weren’t going your way. I hate to break it to you, querida, but you don’t have all the answers and you’re not the only one with something to lose in this situation. Those people are all going to play an important role in her life now. That means they’ll be part of your life, the same as me. Treating us like shit will kind of get in the way of that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t treating anyone like anything. I was staying out of the way because the whole point was for them to accept Chloe. Chloe. Why weren’t you giving her the grand tour, introducing her to the relatives, instead of finding new and inventive ways to excuse putting your hands all over me?”

  He focused on the first accusation…for now. “I did. For as long as she stayed still for it. Unlike you, she likes people and dove right in.”

  Color flooded her cheeks in a rush. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” he said, taking that step forward she’d put between them and another two besides, “you’re getting more and more like your mother with every damn day and it’s getting on my fucking nerves.”

  She froze, her eyes widening while her mouth fell slightly open. He could just see the tops of her teeth, perfectly white and even.

  “What the hell happened to you, Pen? Do you even see the way you’re becoming like her? You freeze people out, shut off your emotions and act like you’re too good to be bothered. You’re thirty-two fuckin’ years old, but you’re locked up in clothes and restraints like some goddamned retirement-home lady. You used to talk about the way you’d be when you grew up. That you’d go away and do things, make a difference with your life. Everyone knew you were just waiting to grow up and get out from your mother’s control, but you haven’t. And it’s wrong for you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.” He walked up to her now, invading her space, almost wrapping his hands around her shoulders, he wanted to shake her so much. “You don’t think I paid attention, but I did. I knew you. I knew who you were under the frills and the manners and all that other shit she used to make you do. You used to laugh, Pen. I haven’t heard you laugh once since I came back. Not a real laugh. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t crazy, but fuck, at least you did it. When the hell did you lose what made you special?”

  That finally seemed to snap her back to reality because she put her hands on his chest and shoved. “You happened, Raul. You. I spent fifteen years throwing myself at you because I couldn’t seem to help it and you never cared.”

  He let her move him, shock at her emotional explosion muting his earlier frustration. She pushed again, as if she thought she could throw him across the room instead of a single step backward.

  “Finally, finally, when I thought you felt something for me, all that happened was a horrible drunken fuck in a closet. A closet, Raul. Nameless, faceless and completely forgettable.” She pounded at him, enough that it actually hurt this time. Or was that only because of what she was saying? “You left and you never looked back. You destroyed me. Does that make your ego feel better? I thought I lost everything the day you left, and I’ve spent the rest of my life proving myself wrong. Proving to myself—if no one else—that you don’t matter anymore, and you know what, I’ve done a hell of a job.

  “So excuse me if I’m not special enough for you anymore. Maybe it was the pregnancy afterward that took a little of the shine off. Or do you think it was surviving medical school with an infant? It could have been the pointless relationships I tried to have every now and again, each one a little more depressing than the last. Or maybe, just maybe, it was living with my mother’s unflagging disappointment my entire life because at every single turn, I’ve lived up to everyone’s lowest expectations.

  “And by the way, yes, she’s a bitch, okay, but she’s my bitchy mother and if you want my respect for your family you’d better damn well have some for mine. Either way, you do not get to decide if I’m special, Raul. You made your mind up a long time ago that I wasn’t—”

  The kiss muffled her words. She shoved at him again, but he didn’t let her go.
She had to stop talking. Because everything she was saying was ripping his chest open. He licked at her lips, taking her fists into his hands and holding them still. She kept trying to hit him, but eventually she stopped fighting. Instead he felt her lips soften, part and then the darting touch of her tongue against his. She stroked, a warm, wet invitation that he’d have to have been dead for three days to turn down.

  Letting go of her hands, he cupped her face, gentling his touch but unable to tamp down the hunger. His body hardened for her, pushing against her. Her palms slid down his chest, burning a trail to his waist, where she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled his hips closer. Flush, their bodies strained into each other from chest to knee.

  The kiss slowed, became an exploration. He tasted her lips, drawing the full curve of the bottom one into his mouth before delving back inside to stroke her tongue with his. His senses filled with her, the taste of her, the scent and the feel of her. She met him kiss for kiss, rising up on her toes to get that little bit closer.

  When the kiss finally broke, he still held her face cupped in his hands, but the angry fire in her eyes had cooled, the cobalt color shimmering with unshed tears. With unabashed want. Her lips pink and swollen, open and moist enough for him to want to pull her right back in.

  She stared at him, looking almost tormented. “Why can’t I hate you?”

  Wouldn’t everything be easier if she could? He touched her lip with his thumb, caressing it carefully. “Probably the same reason I don’t think I can let you go tonight.”

  He thought she’d get angry again, but all she did was sniff and blink back her tears. Her poise threatened to return, and with it he knew would go any chance of touching her. Kissing her again. Making love to her, which he’d just told her he meant to do.

  A good man would have released his hold and left. A good man would tell her she deserved better than the way he’d treated her all her life. But if there was one thing Raul knew about himself, it was that no one in their right mind would ever call him good.

  “Don’t make me let you go, Pen. I won’t be able to.”

  Penelope didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Or lie and say she didn’t want him just as much. “What about Chloe? I don’t want—”

  “I’ll be gone before she wakes up.”

  She glanced down at the couch, a flicker of distaste making her flinch.

  “Your bed.” She was going to stop expecting the worst from him one of these days. He’d see to it. Starting tonight. Swooping down, he scooped her up to his chest and headed back to the stairs.

  She squirmed, uncomfortable. “You don’t have to—”

  “Maybe I want to.” She weighed just short of nothing, leaving him with the simple satisfaction of having her curvy body close. She didn’t exactly relax, but she stopped wriggling, deciding to just go along with what he wanted. If that was all it took, he’d have to pick her up more often. “Maybe I’ll always want to.”

  “Just tonight, Raul,” she warned. “Doing this won’t change anything.”

  He didn’t argue. He didn’t agree either, just held her tighter and pushed through the slightly open bedroom door.

  Her room was like Chloe’s, perfectly neat, every part of the space broken into easily identifiable compartments. The bed, the vanity, the closet, the overstuffed chair by the window. Pale mauves, cream and teals made it look like a space he’d find in a furniture store. Perfectly arranged to show as little personality as possible. She needed messing up.

  He leaned against the door so it closed securely. “How well does sound travel out of here?”

  She blinked at him. “I don’t know, why?”

  It was too hard to shrug while holding her. “So I can decide how loud I should make you scream.”

  Her mouth twitched. “I’m sure I’ll be able to control myself for the full five minutes.”

  As gauntlets went, they didn’t get thrown down much harder. He stalked with her over to the bed and tossed her on top of it. She came down with a yelp and a bounce.

  “Oh, I’ll give you a full five minutes, querida.” Raul plucked at his buttons, shrugging the white dress shirt off his shoulders while her eyes went wide…and hungry. “Then you’ll give me five minutes.”

  He kicked off his shoes. Determination on his face, he took firm hold of her ankle, and pulled her pumps off one at a time. He tossed them over his shoulder, not minding if he never saw them again. Kneeling on the bed, he reached for the button on the waist of her pants. He made such quick work of it and the zipper that she raised an eyebrow with that told-you-so look she liked to give.

  It disappeared when he yanked the pants by her ankles and sent them flying. “I figure if we don’t kill each other in ten minutes, we can always start all over again.”

  He tilted his head, studying her in just her black bikini panties and the light blue button-up blouse. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a wild tangle, her bangs sticking up on one side. He’d call this look “slightly mussed” and classify it under “hot”. Especially if he could get her left knee to fall open just a little…

  She tugged her shirt down nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Shhh. I’m mentally recording this for future fantasies.”

  Her mouth took on a mulish cast. “Are you going to be serious about this?”

  “Oh hell, no. I’m going to enjoy every second.” And so would she, if he had to tie her down and make her enjoy it. He blinked, wondering if that was something to consider…no, not tonight. Maybe next time.

  Penelope started undoing the buttons on her shirt—which normally was not a bad thing, except he got the feeling she was trying to move things along and that just couldn’t be allowed. He climbed onto the bed, taking her hands away from the buttons and putting them down on either side of her head. She frowned up at him.

  “I haven’t suffered through twelve years of unrelenting hard-ons for you to go and unwrap my present for me.”

  Now she just looked confused. “When have you ever had to suffer sexually?”

  “Just about every day since I left this place.” He slid his legs across the bed until he was lying over her. “You’ve been haunting me, Pen.”

  “I’ve been what?” But her eyes darkened when he settled above her, one knee pushing between her smooth thighs.

  “Haunting. Me. I’ve had dreams of you, ever since I left.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper, leaning down as if to kiss her, then at the last second grazing her cheek. He felt the surprised breath escape her before bringing his mouth to taste the racing pulse in her throat. “Sexual dreams. Good sexual dreams.”

  “Good?” Her voice had the smallest squeak. He risked letting go of one hand so he could drag his fingers down the length of her arm, lightly tracing over the swell of her breast. She jumped, her breath skipping.

  “Nothing else has ever compared.” It was a truth that had dragged him from self-exile, that had him chasing a woman who’d wanted nothing to do with him. That even now had him more aroused than he’d ever been in his life. “You were never nameless to me.”

  “Raul—”

  He opened the last two buttons on her blouse, parting the fabric to reveal a serviceable black bra. Cottony. Sexy, not by design, but because of what it held. Mounds of creamy, swollen flesh that made his mouth water. He stroked the nipple distending the black cotton, pleased to feel her shudder under him. “You were never faceless.”

  He peeled back the cup of the bra, revealing the puckered nipple, a rich dusky rose color he just knew would taste like ripe berries. He lowered his face to lick, pausing to let his breath warm the tip first. She arched and he curled his tongue around it to draw it deep into his mouth.

  Penelope bucked, eyes squeezing shut when his thigh rose to press against her sex, making her realize she’d grown wet from a few simple strokes of his tongue. She moaned, clamping her teeth down on her bottom lip.

  He shifted, rolling fully above her and letting go of her ha
nd at last. She watched his face while he stripped her blouse away, reveling in the tense lines around his mouth. As if just the act of undressing her was taking more control than she could imagine.

  Part of her, the rational, pragmatic side that knew better, demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing. She should be kicking him out of her house instead of unclipping her bra and allowing him to lift it away. She should be covering herself, not feeling a warm glow of satisfaction when his eyes smoldered at the sight of her bare breasts. She definitely shouldn’t be lowering herself back to the coverlet, arms back up above her head, letting him look his fill.

  You’re going to get hurt again, the worried voice tried to reason.

  I deserve this, a voice Penelope hadn’t listened to in years chimed in. It was husky, sensual, and it liked the way he licked his lips before he bent back down to lick her. He nibbled up the underside of her breast, sending her nerve endings into paroxysms of delight. Then the heat of his mouth surrounded the tip and it was all she could do not to cry out. His hand reached for and found her other breast, kneading it, letting the pebbled nipple slide between his fingers.

  Penelope reached down, sinking her hands into the thick curls in his hair and told the reasonable voice to go to hell.

  Raul kissed his way down her belly, stopping suddenly at her belly button. “I remember you,” he said, and she got the feeling he wasn’t talking to her. He traced his finger over the mole she barely noticed anymore. “Tell me you haven’t done anything about that birthmark on your thigh. I have this whole string of fantasies about that baby.”

  She frowned, her heart stuttering as she realized what he was talking about. The little strawberry mark at the highest point of her left leg. Unbidden came the memories of that first time, blurred and unsure. He’d lifted her gown and kissed her there then, too, as he pulled her panties away. He’d seen the mark in the beam of light…and remembered? “You weren’t just…”