Light Her Fire

by Samanthe Beck

  Melody met the woman’s dark eyes in the mirror, raised one brow, and finished applying her lipstick. Then she rubbed her lips together and let them pop apart. “And you are?”

  “I’m Helene. Josh may have mentioned me. He and I are…good friends.” She gestured to the other women. “Josh has a number of good friends.”

  “Sorry.” She shook her head and smiled. “I don’t believe he mentioned you.”

  “He’s not one to kiss and tell.”

  The small curvy one with the sharp eyes and a pink streak in her straight blond hair bounced up and grinned. “Which is a shame because there’s always so much to tell when he kisses.”

  “Yes,” the black-bobbed Katy Perry look-alike agreed enthusiastically. “The man definitely has bedroom skills…not that he’s limited to the bedroom.”

  Pink streak raised her hand like a student. “In his truck.”

  Two more hands came up.

  “In my kitchen,” Katy Perry added. The other two women nodded.

  Memories whirled in Melody’s head. Her in Josh’s truck with her feet propped up along the top of the doorframe. Josh fucking her so thoroughly on her kitchen island that they’d broken the condom. The night she’d possibly gotten pregnant, and definitely convinced herself their relationship was special. A wave of nausea pitched in her stomach. She was going to be sick for real if these women didn’t stop talking.

  Too bad Helene wouldn’t shut up. “I still have a little orgasm whenever I think about the time he invited me to the fireman’s ball. I didn’t wear any panties, and when he sat down across from me at the banquet table, I made sure he knew it. He pulled me into the coatroom so fast I almost lost a shoe. Then he put me on my hands and knees, hiked up my dress and spanked me like the naughty girl I was.” She shivered and fanned her face. “So hot.”

  The blonde nodded appreciatively. “Nobody pulls that kind of thing off the way Josh did. My boyfriend tries, but”—she rolled her eyes—“it’s not the same.”

  Helene’s sultry brown eyes found Melody in the mirror, and her gaze turned downright pitying. “Oh, honey, how small is that town you’re from? Don’t tell me you thought he came up with all those moves just for you? Did you think they were some special you-him thing?”

  She snapped her purse shut, turned to face the women, and lifted her chin. “Not at all. I’m just wondering why he didn’t do the…hmm…I’ll just call them his premier moves, with any of you.” She twisted her lips into a tight smile. “Then again, he told me he’d had quantity, but no real quality, until recently.” While the three faces around her slowly registered the insult, she shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “Of course I’m sure he wasn’t referring to any of you…ladies. Excuse me.”

  Head high, she walked out of the room. It was a miracle she could see past all the red hazing her vision, but she noticed a darkened hallway extended on her right. Longer than she would have liked, but it featured a door at the end with an exit sign above. She headed toward it. Once outside, she’d call a cab. The exorbitant fare for a ride back to Bluelick would be a small price to pay to avoid a murder conviction, because if she saw Josh right now, she’d kill him.

  “Bluelick, hold up.”

  Dammit. She walked faster. The headache drummed behind her eyes.

  A big hand curled around her arm and tugged. Momentum swung her around, making her stomach lurch. She didn’t fight physics, just tightened her hand into a fist and punched him in the stomach. In her mind, all the air exploded from his lungs right before he grabbed his middle and dropped to his knees. In reality, he gave her a pissed look and hauled her through the nearest doorway—into a darkened, deserted room reserved for private parties.

  “What the hell is up your ass?”

  Don’t look at him. Don’t talk to him. But she did look at him, and all her hurt and anger and other ugly emotions she didn’t want to name rose in her throat. “What’s up my ass?” She threw her clutch onto the nearest table and put her hands on her hips. “You did not just ask me what’s up my ass.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You just punched me, so yeah, I did.”

  “Gee, I don’t know…how about three slutty members of your Cincinnati harem and their great big mouths?”

  “My harem?”

  “Helene and team. I got quite an earful in the ladies’ room. You’ve been missed. The good news, for you, is that I’m out of here, so you’re free to go get reacquainted. Maybe you can all take a group trip down memory lane. They seem game.”

  “You’re jealous.” His slow, cocky smile, as much as the accusation, sent her temper spiking.

  “Why would I be? It’s not like you did anything special with them, huh? Or me? We all got the same Josh Bradley treatment…a ride in your truck, sexytimes in the kitchen. No-holds-barred action, and nothing off-limits. Comparing notes proved very eye-opening.”

  His smile disappeared as she spoke. He closed the short distance between them until they stood toe-to-toe, and she had to tamp down an instinct to take a step back. He’d read it as a retreat, and she refused to back down. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen closely. You have nothing to be jealous about. Nothing. In case you were confused on this point, let me be clear. My sex life didn’t start the day I met you. And no, maybe I didn’t reinvent the wheel every single time, but contrary to popular opinion, I don’t have a premeditated routine, nor do I consider women interchangeable.”

  “Sure you don’t. That’s why everything I heard in the ladies’ room sounded so fucking”—she paused a beat because she didn’t use the word much and wanted him to appreciate the harshness—“familiar.”

  “You think what we have feels familiar to me? Are you insane?” His hands closed around her upper arms and he dragged her face close to his, so she had nowhere to look except his turbulent eyes. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you—constantly, relentlessly, until the ache is like a vital part of me, and I wonder how the hell I’m going to live without it.”

  Live without it? “Wh-hat are you saying?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wary blue eyes stared up at him from a ghost-white face.

  Whatever you’re saying, say it better. And faster, because actions spoke louder than words in his book, and she was literally backing away from him.

  Rescue this. Now. Instinct told him to tow them back to their safe zone, the part of their relationship she couldn’t back away from—the physical part. Their chemistry was what had attracted her in the first place. That, and the chance to shed her good-girl image and explore a side of herself she’d left simmering on the back burner for too long. His hands were still on her. He slid them up her arms until he cupped her jaw, used his thumb to caress her lower lip.

  “I’m saying I never heard a word of complaint out of you about how, when, or where I fucked you before tonight when you got a reminder I had a past. What’s the matter? You compared notes and now you’re afraid someone got better from me than you? Worried I’m withholding something?” He moved his hand to the back of her head and brought his mouth close to hers. “That must be it, because you can’t honestly believe I think of anyone else when I’m inside you. So name it, Bluelick. What should I be doing to you that I haven’t already done? Should I fuck you harder? More often? Does your greedy little clit need more attention from me?”

  Twin slashes of red appeared across her porcelain cheeks. “Stop—”

  “Something new, then. Something to convince you you’re getting my all.” He dragged his hand down her back, over her hips, and under the hem of her short, snug dress. “What would do the trick? Do you need me to put you over the end of my bed, lube up, and give it to you here?”

  “Don’t,” she whispered. Her eyes glazed over, and her hand dropped to her abdomen.

  “Would that make you feel special?”

  Abruptly, she pulled away, stumbling as she turned. He grabbed a handful of her dress to keep her from falling, then caught her around the waist, and took her w
eight as she proceeded to be sick all over the fugly green carpet.

  When she was done, he drew her limp body upright and pressed his palm to her warm, clammy forehead. The sound she made conveyed exhaustion and utter misery, and he felt like a dog-kicking bastard. She told you she didn’t feel well. She turned her head away from him, but rested it against his shoulder, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s my line.” He lowered her to a chair and knelt so they were eye level. Hers were closed, which matched the weariness in every line of her body. He took her wrist and shook it gently. “Look at me, baby.”

  Eyelids lifted. Her pupils were dilated, her face pale and sheened with sweat. Her radial pulse raced. “Take some slow, deep breaths for me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

  She drew in air. After a few minutes of deep breathing, her pulse slowed and color seeped back into her cheeks, but shadows lingered under her eyes. He brushed her hair away from her face and pressed his lips to her forehead, reassured to find it cooler. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I want to go home.” That’s all she said, but her expression filled in the rest. Crawl into bed, and sleep until I forget everything about this god-awful evening.

  “First I’m going to get you some water. Stay put. I’ll be back.”

  She nodded as if she understood plain English, but on his way back from the bar with her water, he caught her coming out of the ladies’ room. She waited for him, using the extra moment to pull a small container of mints out of her purse and pop one in her mouth. He slipped his arm around her waist and handed her the water, which she politely thanked him for and then took a long, grateful gulp.

  “Bluelick, I can’t help notice you have a hard time with the instruction to stay put.”

  She grimaced. “I had to wash up, and find an employee to let them know…you know…” She eyed the door to the private party room.

  “It’s taken care of. I told the bartender. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  He started to steer her toward the bar, but she hung back. “Can we go out this way?” She pointed to the exit at the end of the hall. “No offense, but I really don’t want to see any of those people again. Ever. I’ll wait here if you want to say good-bye.”

  What a fucking fail tonight was—and totally on him. He’d handled everything wrong from the minute he’d helped her down from the truck. He was going to have to raise his game—much higher—if he expected to convince her to move here with him.

  “I’m good to go,” he said, and a few steps later, held the door open for her. She walked out, and he followed, promptly wrapping his arm around her waist again. The night air hardly qualified as cool, but she shivered. He shrugged out of his suit coat and wrapped it around her.

  “Thank you.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves, which were much too long and immediately made her look like a little girl playing dress-up. “I promise I won’t throw up on it.”

  “I don’t care about the damn jacket,” he answered honestly, and thought about adding, “I care about you.” But she was sick, and tired, and now was not a fair time to figure out what it would take to entice her away from her precious hometown. Instead, he unlocked the Yukon and helped her into the passenger seat, not missing her sigh of relief or the way her head immediately found the seat back.

  By the time he came around to the driver’s side she had her belt on, face turned his way, snuggled under his jacket. “I’m sorry you had to leave early because of me. And”—she paused and yawned behind her hand—“I’m sorry I picked a fight about your…girlfriends.”

  “Bluelick?”

  She blinked at him slowly, like a kitten. “Yes?”

  He started the Yukon. “I haven’t thought about anyone else since the day I laid eyes on you.” Absolutely true, and she smiled, so he figured he’d found the right thing to say. But as she closed her eyes and burrowed deeper into the seat, he realized the same wouldn’t be true in her case. If she ended up a part of his past, he’d think about her for a long time. She’d leave a scar.

  Make her an offer she can’t refuse.

  But what would that be? He glanced over at the woman snoozing in the passenger seat. She had feelings for him, he knew that much—she wouldn’t have gotten jealous tonight unless her heart was involved. But were her feelings strong enough to hold her to him? What did she want so deeply she’d sacrifice and compromise to achieve the prize? The answer dawned on him, clear as the headlights from the northbound lanes of I-471. Something he’d known the minute he’d seen her, but let slip off his radar because they’d agreed to keep things casual. Melody Merritt wanted to be married. She wanted a family. Hell, she’d stuck fast to the dream for ten fucking years with Roger, because she’d been so dedicated to the end goal. He could respect that. He had his end goal, too, and tonight, his mentor had handed it to him. Melody ought to get no less. And frankly, going all-in suited him better than trying to feeling her out, or convince her over time. He’d just put his best offer on the table. Make a move you don’t want to make, to a place you don’t want to go, for a man who loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you, starting now.

  He spent the hours on the drive back putting everything together in his mind. He had tomorrow off, and as far as he was concerned, the sooner he locked this down, the better. Invite her to his place for dinner so he could do this without half the town watching over his shoulder. Dazzle her with a bended knee proposal, a ring to put Roger’s to shame—not that he thought she cared about the size of the rock, but he didn’t intend to suffer by comparison—and then mention the move…

  “Oh, gosh.” Melody’s murmur pulled him from his plotting. She blinked, stretched, and stared out at the familiar sight of the town square. “I’ve been asleep for a long time.”

  “How are you feeling?” He turned onto her street and pulled up to the curb in front of her house.

  “Better, thank you. I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.”

  “Really?” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Which part of the evening did you enjoy most? When I insulted your friends, cursed at you, or got sick so you had to leave early?”

  “Those guys loved you all the more for giving their shit right back to them. Insults are the only thing they respond to. As for you getting sick and us leaving early, I should have turned the car around the minute you mentioned you weren’t feeling well.”

  “Oh.” She tipped her head to the side and stared out the window. “Well, that just leaves the part where I got angry with you for having a past.”

  Now would be the time to start laying the groundwork for tomorrow night. “No, you got angry because I’ve done a piss-poor job of demonstrating something very important. In my defense, I thought it was obvious, but apparently I was wrong.”

  She turned and faced him, her usually open expression guarded. “What’s obvious?”

  “Bluelick, nobody I’ve been with before comes close to you. I could wake up with the scent of you on my skin every morning, fall asleep buried inside you every night, and I’d still never get enough, and if the way I’ve treated you failed to adequately express that fact, then you have every right to be angry…and I have some work to do.”

  “I…you…” Pink rushed into her cheeks as she stammered. Finally, she looked up at him, her big blue eyes shining as if he’d showered her with poetry. “What?”

  “Dinner. My place. Tomorrow. Wear something pretty.”

  “You want me to come to dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

  She swallowed and shook her head. He got the distinct impression the prospect made her nervous, but she said, “No. Um. I’d love to.”

  “Great.” He got out of the truck, came around to the passenger side, and helped her out, relieved to see that her steps were steady as he walked her to her door.

  Once there, she reached into her purse for her key. “Should I bring anything?�
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  He turned her to face him and slid his hand down her back, nudging her closer. Then he kissed her lowered eyelids, the tip of her nose, and brushed his lips over hers so softly she sighed.

  “You bring everything I need just by showing up.”

  …

  Melody crossed Main Street and headed toward the office. The morning sun shone so gloriously, she couldn’t help tipping her head back to enjoy the warmth on her cheeks. She usually looked forward to arriving at the office, but this morning she kept finding excuses to dawdle. Before the day was over she’d have an answer to the biggest question of her life, so far, and she honestly didn’t know what she wanted the answer to be.

  Okay, yes, the logical, pragmatic part of her insisted “not pregnant” was the result to hope for, but a crazy, illogical, and highly un-pragmatic part of her secretly wished for…well…everything.

  Last night had only fueled the fantasy—not the disaster of the party, but Josh stating in no uncertain terms he couldn’t get enough of her, which might be his way of telling her she was special to him, or possibly even that he loved her. She knew she loved him, and the intensity of her feelings fueled the crazy, illogical, and highly un-pragmatic fantasies all the more.

  She picked up her pace. Stalling wouldn’t solve anything. The lab results usually arrived first thing in the morning. An answer was probably waiting for her at this very moment.

  So many times during the past week she’d swallowed the words, “I might be pregnant,” telling herself prudence dictated she not force a difficult conversation on them unless it proved necessary.

  But saving him from a false alarm didn’t fully account for her silence. Now that the wait was almost over, she could admit her real reason had less to do with prudence. If she shared the news with him, he might propose, and the crazy, illogical, un-pragmatic part of her longed to know he’d proposed because he wanted to marry her, not because they were going to have a baby. Nobody’s happily-ever-after fantasy involved a proposal motivated by duty and unplanned circumstances. It involved unqualified “I love you”s and pledges of forever motivated strictly by the heart.