Consumed By You

by Lauren Blakely

  “Travis is hot as hell, but Joe’s a good guy. He even told me what a nice time he’d had, and how he wants to see me in a few weeks when he’s back in town,” Cara added as she finished the story. “I really think I should give him another chance.”

  Stacy gave her the side-eyed stare. “Why? Because you think he’s the type of guy you ‘should’ like?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. It seemed obvious that she needed to try harder to stir up some desire for Joe, or someone like him. He wanted the same things, and if she could jumpstart her interest in him then she could be on her way to having all the things she longed for. Her sisters’ happiness was inspiring, and she craved a life like that, full of love, family, and kids someday—hopefully someday soon. She’d lived her life so far like her sisters and her parents, and she wanted to be able to give a child all the things that her birth mom hadn’t been able to do for her.

  She didn’t fault her birth mom, but she wanted the opposite—a plan, a roadmap, a guide for how to have a family. She wasn’t sixteen and still in high school; she was nearly thirty and owned a business. She just needed a man. As a family guy, Joe possessed all the right raw ingredients. “He’s a great guy and we want the same things. I’m sure in time those other elements would develop.”

  “You mean Mr. Furniture is perfect on paper but you don’t feel a spark?” Stacy asked as she grabbed some tinfoil sheets for the highlights.

  Cara gulped and nodded. She didn’t intend to lie to her sister. “Yep. That’s pretty much a good way to sum it up.”

  Stacy began separating strands of Cara’s hair and applying the highlights with a paintbrush. “And that’s partly because Mr. Fireman gave you the finger-banging of your life a few nights before.”

  Cara’s eyes widened. “Stacy!”

  “Oh hush. No one’s here but us. Besides, how do you think this happened?” she said, gesturing to the basketball-sized shape she was sporting.

  “Not through finger-banging,” Cara said, deadpan.

  Stacy rolled her eyes and patted Cara’s shoulder. “Obviously. And while I completely understand wanting to give Mr. Perfect another shot, and I think that’s an admirable goal, I have an idea to keep you occupied in the meantime.”

  “What’s that?” she asked curiously, eager to learn what her sister was cooking up.

  “Everything you need to wash that fireman right out of your hair.”

  As she rinsed out the conditioner, her sister laid out a plan. Cara’s lips twitched in a devilish grin, and she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of something like that before, but it was borderline brilliant.

  …

  Was it acceptable to drink wine at a dog training session? Hell no.

  But Cara had a feeling she’d need a big fat glassful if she was truly going to go through with Stacy’s plan. She grabbed her biggest purse: the huge purple vinyl bag with silver stitching. The fun colors kept it from looking like a feedbag for a horse, even though it was approximately that size. She wrapped a hand towel around the pinot noir, then tucked it into the bag amidst a paperback, her wallet, a bottle of nail polish, her makeup case with a travel toothbrush and toothpaste, various dog leashes and collars, along with a bag of treats in the side compartment. Surely, a drink once she was off the clock would be fine, and he’d be game, she suspected.

  She stopped in front of the scalloped pewter mirror in the doorway for one final primp. She fluffed out her new red-streaked hair, smacked her lips so her pink lip gloss spread evenly, and ran a hand down the front of the clingy powder-blue V-neck T-shirt that hugged her curves, smoothing it out over her jean shorts. The wardrobe looked suitable for the gig, but still pretty and feminine.

  What truly mattered was what was underneath. That’s what had captured his attention the other night, and she wanted to give the man what he liked. The demi-cup bra was a dark pink satin, outlined with black lace, and finished with a bow between the cups. The strap of the bra was a tiny bit visible with the way the shirt fell. That’s how she wanted it. Just a little peekaboo for him.

  “Perfect,” she said to her reflection, then patted Violet on the smooth fur of her head and told her to be good. The border collie mix leaned into her palm then wagged her tail. Cara locked the door, hopped in her car, and headed to Travis’s house. She always scheduled the initial sessions at a client’s home, because that’s where dogs needed to first learn to be on their best behavior.

  Her heart sped up as she turned onto his block, and her palms were sweating. She wanted to blame the high eighties of this hot June evening, but she knew it wasn’t any fault of the great ball of fire in the sky that she was nervous. It was because she was about to propose something completely out of character for Cara Bailey.

  Ready or not, here goes nothing.

  She breathed in deeply as she cut the engine in his driveway, then cursed under her breath when she saw him waiting on the porch, leaning casually against the railing on the steps, looking cool and relaxed. Damn, she hadn’t been ready to see him yet, and she didn’t even have a second to collect herself in her car before she went inside. But then, as she stepped out of her green Mini Cooper, she was no longer thinking of what to say, or how to say it, or when to break out the wine. She was thinking she hoped the next hour flew by because she was dying to get her hands underneath that navy blue T-shirt, tug it over his head, and run her hands across his hard chest.

  She wanted her turn to play with his body, and she wanted it ASAP. That was the one clear-cut, reasonable, thoughtful strategy to deal with the pesky lingering desire she felt for him.

  “I have something for you,” he said as she reached him.

  The sun shone brighter in the sky. The birds chirped louder. She was such a sucker for that sweet, thoughtful touch in a guy. But then, who wasn’t? “You do?”

  He nodded, and handed her a white box, the kind from a bakery. “It’s no big deal. Just something from the biscuit bandit. He felt bad for stealing.”

  Cara clutched the box to her chest, as if she treasured it. “He didn’t have to do that, but it’s very sweet of your dog to give me a replacement.”

  Travis shrugged a shoulder. “He’s a very sweet dog, as you’ll see.”

  “I have no doubt that he takes after his person,” she said, lowering her voice even though it was only the two of them outside under the still-strong evening sun.

  Travis scowled. “No one ever accused me of being sweet.”

  She squeezed him gently on the arm. “Maybe I think you are,” she said and there was no masking the flirtation in her voice.

  “I better work harder, then, at getting you to see me as something other than sweet,” he said, pushing a hand through his dark hair. A note of longing played in her chest. Oh, how she wanted that hand to be hers. How she craved the feel of his hair sliding between her fingers.

  “If you don’t want me to see you as sweet, how do you want me to see you?”

  “Ask me at another time and maybe I’ll tell you,” he said with a sly wink.

  She took heart that he was still as flirty as he’d ever been. That emboldened her for her big question.

  “For now, tell the biscuit bandit that I say thank you. And tell him too that I completely understand his desire to steal treats, being a big fan of baked goods myself.”

  Travis arched an eyebrow. “You don’t have to give those to the dogs if you don’t want. They’re from that bakery in Calistoga. You know that fancy dog bakery? They make the biscuits that dogs and owners can share.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Yes! The one with the slogan ‘This is so good you’ll want to eat them too?’”

  He nodded. “That’s the one. I was down there this afternoon for an executive game with some vineyard guys. I have to go back tonight to prep them for their tournament.”

  She flipped open the top and brandished a bone-shaped biscuit. She bit into it. “Tastes like peanut butter,” she said with a smile, offering him a bite.

  “Better than
, say, tasting like chicken.” He tried the biscuit, and then ran a hand across his belly, making a sound of utter delight as he polished it off. “Don’t tell Henry we’re keeping them all for ourselves,” he whispered, and her heart threatened to cartwheel at the way he said we, as if there were a we to them.

  “Speaking of, we should get started,” she said, returning to her professional voice.

  He gestured to the front door, swiveling around to open it. Then he whipped his head back. His eyes roamed over her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. His brow knit together in curiosity.

  “What is it?” she asked, hoping everything was okay.

  He stepped closer, lifted his hand, and fingered a strand of her hair.

  Her damn belly did a swan dive as he touched her. He was so close she could inhale that earthy smell of his cologne, like rainwater…subtle and intensely sexy.

  “Your hair,” he said softly, the volume on his voice turned way down, the tone in it intimate. “It’s different.”

  She drew a breath, as if that would center the wobbliness she felt inside. But the added oxygen only intensified the thrumming in her body, spreading through her veins and leaving a deep longing in its path.

  “Red,” she said, in a voice that sounded like it was coming from a dream. “My sister did red streaks for me.”

  His fingers threaded through a strand of her hair, drawing it between his thumb and forefinger. Her knees nearly buckled, and her hand shot out to the railing to steady herself. God, she loved having her hair touched by him. It was like some secret location on a treasure map. X marked the spot. One touch and she unraveled.

  He shook his head in admiration, drawing a deep breath, as if he were breathing her in. “It looks good. Everything looks good on you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Travis had always known that Cara was good with dogs.

  Obviously.

  But he had only known that because it was her job. He’d never actually seen her work with a pooch, just as she’d never actually seen him put out a fire. But now, an hour later, Henry lay on the floor of his kitchen, his belly stretched across the cool tile, his eyes fluttering closed, as he drifted off into doggy dreamland. He was spent from the lesson.

  Perfect timing.

  Travis wasn’t nervous, but he wanted to make sure that Cara actually had enjoyed working with his dog before he popped his question. Judging from the progress the stubborn little guy had made in only one hour with her—he was now sitting on command most of the time—he bet she’d be game to help. Travis pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and offered her a beer.

  “Or we could have a glass of wine?” she asked, her voice rising.

  Travis wasn’t a wine drinker. But he knew that when a woman wanted to have a glass of wine with you, it was usually a good sign of her interest. It was even better when she brought the bottle, because she had reached into her purse and produced a pinot noir from Silver Pine.

  Wait.

  He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her like that, in terms of interest. He had to narrow in on his mission—the fireman’s auction and the help he needed from her—not try to read anything into a bottle of wine, like whether it was a prelude to something more.

  She’d made it clear there was nothing more.

  “Let me get you a glass,” he said, reaching into a cupboard. He passed it to her, then tracked down a rarely-used corkscrew in a kitchen drawer. He reached for the bottle. But as she handed it to him, it nearly slipped from her fingers. He grabbed it quickly before it crashed to the floor in a crimson blur. Fast reflexes came in handy.

  “Sorry about that. I keep meaning to get these replaced with the drop-proof variety,” she said, holding up her hands.

  He laughed at her dry sense of humor. “Nah. Keep them. We’ll make it a game. You keep trying to drop things and I’ll see what I can catch. Reminds me of my football days,” he said as he unscrewed the cork.

  “You’re on.” She dipped her hand into her purse, fishing around in that giant bag. She retrieved a bottle of nail polish, dangled it for a flash, then let it fall.

  He lunged, grabbing it before it splattered on the floor, and clutched it in his fist. “Damn. That was impressive.”

  Her eyes lit up as he dropped the nail polish into her hand. “It was. You move fast.”

  “No. I meant you. Impressive how you just went for it. I didn’t think you were really going to take me up on that.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You like challenges, don’t you? I couldn’t resist.”

  “I do like challenges. And you do, too. If memory serves, weren’t you the one Alycia Andrews challenged to a rousing rendition of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ at the holiday party at her wine shop a few years ago?”

  Cara’s eyes widened. Then she dropped her face into her hands in mock embarrassment. When she lifted her forehead, she peered at him through spread fingers. “Now you’re teasing me for my singing skills.”

  He laughed deeply as he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. “Hardly. I thought you did a damn fine job belting that out in that little Christmas singing competition, and moving your hips, too. You were always a good dancer.”

  She shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d done it. But he could remember it clearly—her brazen willingness to grab a mic and sing her heart out, complete with the final finger-point-at-the-whole-damn-crowd at the end of the tune. She had a fearless side that he admired. She didn’t seem afraid of anything, and that’s how she had sung—with everything she had.

  He reached inside the fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer, and opened it. “Bet you sing in the shower, too.”

  She raised an eyebrow and shot him a naughty look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Oh hell yeah. I’d like to know.”

  “Do you? Sing in the shower?” she asked, turning the tables on him.

  He put on a straight face, feigning intense solemnity as he joined her at the table. “No. I take my showers very seriously. I am all business,” he said, and when she laughed, he wanted to pump a fist. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, but he sure did like making her laugh. Always had. Maybe because she had a pretty laugh, just like she had a pretty voice.

  Then she surprised him by singing a line from what distinctly sounded like a Taylor Swift type tune. “That’s what I sang in the shower this morning. It was blasting on the local radio station, so I sang along.”

  He raised an eyebrow and held up his beer. “Very impressed.”

  She held up the glass to toast. “To showers. Music. And to well behaved dogs,” she said, eyeing Henry.

  He clinked his bottle against hers. “I will drink to all of that. And speaking of dogs, and speaking of challenges. I have a special request, Cara.”

  She took a swallow of the wine. “Okay, what’s the request?”

  “I’m in the California Bachelor Fireman’s Auction in two weeks. I’ve done it for the last few years, and…” He paused and held up his thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space. “I’m this close to winning first prize.”

  She furrowed her brow. “You’ve never won?”

  He shook his head, heaving a frustrated sigh. He forced his lips into an exaggerated pout. “It’s embarrassing.” He hung his head in pretend shame.

  She patted his thigh. “There, there,” she said playfully.

  But her fingers on him didn’t make him feel playful at all. They sent his mind reeling with images he was going to have to push far, far away if his plan was going to work. As his eyes strayed to her hand on his leg, he tried to buckle in his own desires. His instincts were blaring like a siren, telling him to clasp her hand, to draw her close, to turn the slightest touch from her into a whole lot more, into her wrapping those luscious legs around him, sinking down on him, and riding him right here, right now, her hair flowing down her spine as she called out his name. Great. Now he was rock hard. What was he thinking, wanting to spend more time with her
to prep for the auction? Being in the same vicinity with the woman he wanted but couldn’t have was like sending someone on a diet to infiltrate the Ben & Jerry’s factory.

  But hell, he wanted to win, and he had his reasons. He focused on the task at hand, doing his best to ignore the tempting memories of the other night and the repeat he wanted of it right now.

  “Here’s the deal with the fireman’s auction. In addition to whatever the winning bid is for the top man, first place also gets five thousand dollars, and the prize goes to a fire-related charity of the winner’s choosing. And I want to win big to give it to the Families of Fallen Firefighters,” he said, speaking crisply so he wouldn’t choke up on why it meant so much to him.

  She straightened her spine and nodded. “Of course. That’s a great charity.”

  “Yeah. It is. Their support helped my mom. Their survivors’ network made a big difference for her when she was struggling, even a few years after my dad died. Some of the others who’d been through the same kind of loss helped pull her out of the depression she battled for a while there. The problem is, they’ve been hurting for a few years for funds, and this year has been particularly tough for the charity. They’ve had to cut back on the one-to-one support services for families, and on the counseling. But they’ve found a few small businesses that have put up some money, and an insurance broker has even offered to match any donations of five thousand or more. So with the prize and the match, that could make a big difference.”

  He’d given money before to the cause, and while he had a nice savings account, he didn’t have the kind of stability in his job to peel off those funds all by himself. This auction was his big chance. “So I want to win the big prize and give back even more to them.” The moment bordered on solemn, as Cara fixed him with a serious stare and blinked back the start of a tear. He cleared his throat. “And I’m hoping you can help.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, scooting her chair closer. His heart dared to skip a beat with the certainty of her answer. He hadn’t even shared details, and she’d already said yes. “What do you need?”