by Julie Miller
“In here.”
He jogged down the hallway into Dorie’s bedroom. Meghan was stooped in front of the sliding-closet door. “Is he okay?”
She gathered the silent little bundle of boy into her arms and stood. “Mostly scared, I think.” She brushed Matthew’s curly hair out of his eyes and wiped the tears from his cheeks. A matching tear trickled down her cheek. “Oh, sweetie, we were so worried about you.”
When she hugged him tight and buried her nose in his hair, it punched Gideon right in the gut. Meghan had so much life experience to share, so much patience and empathy with children. She had so much love in her heart she needed to give away. And the unfiltered love of a child might well be the only thing that could heal her wary heart.
Overwhelmed by the image of mother and child—bound by the heart, if not by blood—and the unexpected magnitude of relief at finding them both safe, Gideon closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around them both. He nuzzled his nose in the smoky scent of Meghan’s golden hair, just as she had nuzzled Matthew. The size of his hug was just right to hold them both. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”
Though he made no sound beyond a few soft sniffles, Matthew’s body trembled inside the double embrace. Remembering the way Matthew had run from him at dinner last night, Gideon wisely pulled away so he wouldn’t add to the boy’s anxiety.
Gideon brushed a hair that had stuck on the dampness of Matthew’s cheek. “You gave us quite a scare there, buddy. You need to run outside to a safe place when there’s a fire.”
Matthew pulled away from even that gentle touch and buried his nose in Meghan’s shoulder. The rejection hurt, but he didn’t want to compound the four-year-old’s fear. Gideon backed off yet another step. With Meghan’s hands literally full at the moment, he could best help by simply doing his job. Every fire had a source, and it was his nature to try to identify it. “Did he say anything about the fire?”
Meghan shook her head. “Is everyone else okay?”
At least he could reassure Matthew in that way. “Your brother and Dorie, Alex, Eddie and Crispy are all in the backyard. They’re fine.” He summoned that calm demeanor that allowed him to stand back and observe what others could not. Even on a scale as small as this one, a fire could talk. He touched Meghan’s arm and ushered her back into the hallway. “Why don’t you go out and see them while I do some cleaning up and nosing around up here.”
“Sure.” She stopped a moment and backed up, pushing her elbow into his hand. The intentional contact warmed him like an intimate caress. When she looked up at him and smiled, he knew his professional detachment had just been shot to hell. “I’m glad you were here. For a lot of reasons.”
He looked down at his hand. He’d almost failed her. But she didn’t need to know how close they’d come to losing control of the fire. “Me, too.”
He let her precede him down the hall and waited at the top of the stairs until Meghan and Matthew disappeared from sight. Gideon sighed. It was a heavy, weary breath that sat like a weight upon his heart. He’d tried so hard not to care about Meg, to harden himself to her independent spirit that desperately needed someone to care. He’d tried to focus on the woman who worked overtime to pretend she didn’t need anyone at all, not the world-weary soul underneath who loved these four boys more than she’d probably ever admit to herself.
He wouldn’t deny the physical attraction that sparked like kinetic energy between them. But she wasn’t the woman he’d loved two years ago. This Meghan was tougher, stronger—and yet more vulnerable and more aware of other’s feelings than the woman who’d walked out on him. He was her friend. Her protector.
And he was dangerously close to becoming the man who loved her. Again.
But until he believed she understood what commitment meant, until he believed she wouldn’t break his heart all over again, he’d need to watch himself. He needed to remember that she wasn’t his woman. These weren’t his children.
This wasn’t his life.
He was an arson investigator. Not a husband. Not a father.
After checking out the landing window and counting heads to make sure everyone was together and safe, Gideon went back into the bedroom Matthew and Mark shared. He just wanted to make sure there was nothing dangerous for the boys to get into before the room was cleaned up.
But Gideon’s curiosity made the informal investigation a little more thorough. He knelt in front of the trash can and used the tip of his pen to dig around to see what he could find. “I wondered.”
He sat back on his haunches and said a little prayer—guidance for himself and peace for a frightened, lonely soul.
At the bottom of the trash can he’d made an unfortunate discovery. A cigarette lighter that had probably belonged to Dorie’s deceased husband.
And the charred, brittle remains of three small cardboard children’s books.
“YOU THINK Matthew set the fire?” Meghan couldn’t quite fathom the possibility. She studied Gideon’s profile as he negotiated the twists and turns of Blue Ridge Boulevard en route to her apartment. He was serious. She was incredulous. “Would a four-year-old who lost his parents in a fire really be playing with a lighter?”
“I don’t like it, either. But my gut tells me Matthew knows what happened.” The streetlights from the old, working-class neighborhood threw enough light into Gideon’s Suburban that she could read his grim expression. “It wasn’t spontaneous combustion, and he was the only one upstairs. He stayed close enough to watch, but then, when it got out of his control, he tried to put it out and cover up his mistake. He shut the door and hid.”
Meghan reluctantly concurred to the possibility. “I saw something that looked like a towel wadded up in the trash can—as if he’d tried to smother the flames.”
His big shoulders expanded in a shrug. “I’m stumped as to the why, just like you.”
“You don’t think…?” She couldn’t even say the words. A phantom pain sank its talons into her gut and twisted her up with fear and anger. Surely her stalker hadn’t found his way past three adults to sneak into the house and endanger her boys.
Gideon’s intuitive spirit understood. He reached for her hand and closed it in his reassuring grip. “No way. Our friend with the roses uses a very high-tech means to start a fire. Arsonists have a definitive style to their work. This one was too simple to be the same guy.”
She turned sideways in her seat to face him, finding comfort in his gentle strength and expertise. She stretched her arm across her lap and hung on to his hand with both of hers. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Matthew. Or any of those boys.”
He spared her a look that warmed her through and through like a cup of rich, dark coffee. “They’ll be fine. We’ll keep a close watch over them.”
We? She liked the sound of that. The idea of her and Gideon on the same side again drizzled through her and offered her a fleeting sense of hope. She nestled into her seat, taking comfort in just watching him and in holding his hand.
They turned north onto Sterling Avenue and drove several miles in companionable silence before they reached Sugar Creek, the tiny suburb near the river where she lived. The low hum of the engine vibrated through her muscles and left her drowsy and relaxed. Her long day was finally coming to an end and her body was ready to drift off to sleep.
But her brain wouldn’t stop its wondering. As much as she hated Gideon’s theory, she suspected he was right. She’d seen the end of a towel burning inside that trash can, as if someone had stuffed it on top of the flames to try to smother them.
“Do you think that was Matthew’s way of trying to communicate something? Dorie said she’d call his therapist in the morning. Oh, God.” She sank back into her seat and hugged her arms around her waist. She wished her next thought had never popped into her head. “You don’t think it’s just a fascination with fire, do you? That he’s set other fires before?”
Gideon’s weighty sigh matched her own. “Maybe he think
s the firemen will come and bring his parents back. I don’t know.”
The Suburban’s air-conditioning chilled the bare skin on her arms and legs. But that cold was nothing like the arctic blast of dread gathering inside her. “Matthew couldn’t have set the fire that destroyed his home. That would mean he accidentally killed his own parents.”
Gideon’s right hand tightened in a white-knuckled grip around the wheel. Control. No matter what emotions buffeted around inside him, he managed to keep them under control. Except with her. She had the dubious honor of being the one person who could make him lose it.
“Even if he just thinks he killed them—” with his reaction firmly in check, Gideon finally spoke “—that’s a terrible burden for anyone—especially a child his age—to bear.” Meghan wondered at the burden Gideon carried over Luke Redding’s death. Maybe he had much more in common with the boy who was afraid of him than even he realized. “I plan to spend some time at the computer tomorrow. I want to read the investigator’s report about the Grimes fire. Hopefully, it will show some other cause besides playing with matches. And then we can explain that to Matthew.”
There he went with the we stuff again. The chill around her heart began to thaw. She mentally put herself on guard against the deluge of emotion that was sure to follow. “You should be a father, Gideon. You know just when to get tough and when to listen.”
That earned her half a smile. “I had a great role model.”
“Your father, Sid, is a wonderful man. He and Martha raised you guys right.” She’d always been envious of Gideon’s upbringing. And a little intimidated by his large, loving family who seemed to be able to weather good times and bad with support and unity and patience. A visit to his parents’ condo for a boisterous Sunday dinner with all of Gideon’s brothers and their wives and his sister had seemed like an alien world to her.
He slowed and turned onto her street, heading toward the apartment complex at the end of the block. “I’ve always wanted that. Kids of my own.” He glanced her way, and there was no mistaking the wistful regret in his voice. “I used to dream about having kids with you.”
“I know.” Meghan felt her heart sink into that empty, disfigured pool of secrets inside her. She looked out her window into the night, unable to see the houses pass by through the veil of tears she didn’t want him to notice. She couldn’t afford to get caught up in his dreams again. No matter how beautiful and perfect they might be, she knew they were unattainable.
But Gideon refused to hold anything against her. “I guess I’ll have to settle for spoiling my niece and nephew right now.”
Meghan didn’t say another word until he pulled into a parking space near her apartment door. Her throat ached from the effort to conquer her tears. She had to cough first, to speak. But by the time he killed the engine and lights, she could actually look at him with a friendly smile. “Thanks for the ride. And thanks again for helping at Dorie’s.”
She wasn’t surprised when he climbed out of the Suburban to walk her up the stairs to the door of her second-floor apartment. His gallantry was one of the first things that had attracted her to Gideon. Every woman, no matter her age or appearance—or “independent personality” as he’d so kindly described her first antagonistic encounters with him—deserved his protection and respect.
She slid her key into the dead bolt and unlocked it. When she inserted her key into the doorknob lock, however, it turned without any resistance. Hmm. But she shook her head and dismissed any concern. She hadn’t gotten much sleep, and her day had been so long she’d probably just forgotten to turn the lock inside before leaving. The dead bolt had been secured, anyway. She was still safe.
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she turned and smiled up at Gideon. “Good night. And thanks again. I’m glad you’re going to help Matthew.”
But to her surprise, Gideon reached around her to turn the knob and push open the door. “Get inside in case someone’s watching.”
Right. He was smart enough to still be thinking safety. But instead of shutting the door and waiting for her to lock herself in, he pushed his way in behind her and locked the door himself. Inviting himself in. Making himself at home. She stepped farther into her living room and turned on him. “What are you doing?”
“I said I wasn’t letting you out of my sight.” He faced her with a lazy smile that made the walls of her small apartment feel as though they were closing in. Gideon seemed bigger than ever, by comparison.
“I didn’t think you meant twenty-four hours a day.” There was too much need, too much hurt, too much history between them. The air in her apartment was rapidly filling with the charged ions of energy that pulled them together time and again. A floodgate of foolish hopes had been opened the moment she’d dropped her guard and kissed him. Now, unless she got some time to herself to regroup, she couldn’t be sure she’d have the strength to close it again. “I’ll let you drive me to work in the morning. How’s that?”
“Not good enough for my peace of mind.” Two long strides carried him into the center of her living room. He looked around as if reacquainting himself with once-familiar things. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep this as impersonal as you need it to be. I can sack out on your couch.”
“My couch isn’t big enough for you.”
“Then I’ll hit the floor.” He looked straight at her then, the casual repartee in his voice doused by the intense darkness in his eyes that brooked no argument. “You’re not getting rid of me tonight.”
Meghan moved, needing to break away from the spell of such a promise vibrating through her and sinking into her very bones. She tossed her keys and fanny pack onto the kitchen table. “All right.” She chose to surrender this argument, not wanting to charge any more of those ions. “I’ll just get you a blanket and a pillow. I have a sleeping bag around here, too.”
“Not just yet.” He cut off her path into the hallway and back rooms. He formed an intimidating wall that left her nowhere to go but to retreat. And yet she didn’t have to. His voice was amazingly gentle, and the tender stroke of his fingertips across her cheek even sweeter. “You were telling me something important about your past, at Dorie’s, before we got interrupted. I want to hear the rest of it.”
“Right now?” She dropped her gaze from his and turned her cheek away from his touch. She needed time to prepare for this.
With the persistent gentleness of a trainer soothing an injured animal, he tunneled his fingers into the hair behind her ear. He stroked his thumb along her jaw to the point of her chin, then tipped her face up to his. “I know you’re tired, but we’re alone for once. We won’t get interrupted. I want to listen to anything you have to say.” His voice was a husky whisper. “It’s been two years since we simply sat and talked. I miss that.”
Meghan was done for. She lost herself in those dark, loving eyes and knew she couldn’t turn him away. Not tonight.
“Me, too.”
She mimicked his touch on her, running her fingers along the sandpapery stubble of his beard before sliding her palm across the short silk of his hair and cupping the back of his neck. The slight parting of his sensual lips fascinated her. Her own mouth felt suddenly parched and she touched the tip of her tongue to the rim.
“Meg.”
Those mesmerizing lips breathed her name in a dark voice. She watched intently through hooded eyes as that mouth drifted closer. Or maybe she was the one moving.
She reached up and traced her fingertip along the hypnotic edge of that bottom lip. So fine. So full. So handsome. Her breath seeped out in a helpless gasp. She stretched up on tiptoe as the mouth descended. “Gideon.”
Their lips met in a kiss of pent-up passion and long-denied need. Her feet left the floor as he skimmed his hand down her back, squeezed her bottom and lifted. Meghan wrapped her arms around his neck, squishing her breasts against the hard plane of his chest and rubbing her palms against the silky softness of his hair. Using his left arm simply as a pinning brace against he
r back, he was strong enough to hold her, suspend her, carry her to a place of passion and shelter she thought she’d forced her body to forget.
His mouth opened hotly over hers and his tongue plunged inside, claiming what was his, demanding no less from her. Her shorts rode up and she felt the hot possession of his hand on the skin at the back of her thigh. And still they kissed.
A thousand memories exploded inside her head. Memories of the raspy stroke of his tongue against hers, memories of the salty tang of his skin as she tasted his chin and jaw and mouth, memories of the tingling rush of ecstasy that built pressure at the pebbling tips of her breasts and the achy juncture of her thighs. Memories of how her heart hammered in her chest and her breath came in short, stuttered gasps. Memories of cherishing and being cherished, of loving and being loved by Gideon.
He’d taught her to kiss like this. Taught her to ask for what she wanted, such as planting little samples of kisses against his mouth while she squiggled free of his grasp and dropped her hands to his waist. She tugged his shirt free from his jeans and slipped her hands beneath to scorch her palms against the smooth skin of his back.
He backed her against the wall and helped himself to the same kind of liberty, pulling her shirt from the waistband of her shorts and tugging it up to her armpits, exposing the functional cover of her bra to his greedy hand.
Hand.
One hand.
Meghan arched her body into his, shamelessly inviting him to explore whatever he could touch. But though his desire was evident in the warm, wet forays of his mouth and the bulge in his jeans, his left hand rested against her hip, refusing to join the embrace. “Gid…Gideon. What…?” She began to pull away, punctuating each request with an apologetic kiss. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He drove her back against the wall with the force of his mouth and the thick pressure of his thigh between hers. “For the first time since forever, this finally feels right.”
