Enflame

by S. Layne

  His hand stills on the paper, the ink making a slight scratch. “She did?” he asks, keeping his head bowed down.

  I shake my head, befuddled. Why is Donovan doing this if he’s not telling either of us what we need to know?

  “Yeah.” I clasp my hands together and prop my chin on them. “She was coming home from work one morning and a truck driver fell asleep at the wheel of his semi. Ran her right off the road, over a bridge, and onto a highway below.”

  “Damn,” he says, drawing out the word.

  He raises his head and our eyes meet.

  I smile, a wistful smile, one I usually wear when I talk about my mom. She might have died sixteen years ago, but sometimes if I think hard enough, I can still remember how good she smelled. Like peonies. Bright and cheerful, just like she was.

  “Yeah. She was pretty amazing.”

  He looks away, up to a sign that says Don’t follow your dreams, chase them. “My mom was, too. She always said I could do whatever I wanted.”

  “You can.” I nod. I firmly agree with that. Anyone can do anything they put their mind to. Some goals just require more effort.

  He snorts and starts writing away in his notebook. The scratch of ink scribbled on paper is the only sound in the room. “Not if they have their way.”

  I lean back in my chair and let my hands fall into my lap.

  He’s given me more than I expected today. While I’d like to reassure him that Donovan wants that for him, too, I hesitate to say anything.

  The last few nights of awkward and tense dinners and the few interactions I’ve seen the two have with each other leave me feeling like maybe he wouldn’t.

  Uncurling my legs from the chair, I rest my hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder as I stand up. “I’ll always be here for you, Jeremiah.”

  He pauses for a moment before giving me a quick nod. Then it’s back to ink on paper.

  Leaving him alone in my office, I exhale heavily and rest against the hallway wall. Closing my eyes, I try to take a few calming, relaxing breaths.

  I don’t know why I feel so connected to Jeremiah, but there’s a possessive urge growing in my chest whenever I’m around him.

  I sort of want to slap anyone who has crushed this kid’s dreams.

  Jeremiah and I are in the living room when Donovan comes barreling through the door.

  His eyes narrow directly onto Jeremiah, whose back goes ramrod straight.

  “Hi,” I say, taking note of the instant sparking tension in the room and trying to diffuse it. “How was your day?”

  Donovan shoots me a look, drops his briefcase on the floor, and begins unbuttoning his suit coat.

  I try to focus on the fact that he’s pissed—I really do—but as his fingers deftly work the buttons and he tears his coat off, I take sight of his heaving breaths, the way his chest fills out his white dress shirt, and when his fingers begin loosening the perfectly done knot at the base of his throat and he whips off his tie…

  Well…

  My jaw goes slack and my body instantly begins to heat.

  Because what would it feel like to have all that masculine energy directed at me? I’m not sure I’ve ever been with a man who can so quickly turn me on, especially when he’s clearly so pissed off.

  It makes no sense.

  Yet I instantly find myself moving toward him. I lay a hand on his forearm, trying to stop him from whatever hell he’s about to let loose.

  “Calm down,” I whisper, although I salute myself for saying it like I mean it.

  I don’t really. I like him all sexy angry.

  He glares down at me, and for a moment I see his eyes soften before he barks, “Stay out of this.” His eyes immediately go back to Jeremiah. “I heard you were disrespectful to your grandmother today. Would you care to explain?”

  Jeremiah rolls his eyes, and I swear I hear Donovan growl. “No.”

  “No? That’s it? How about ‘thank you, Grandmother, for speaking to the headmaster so I can remain in school’? Or ‘thank you, Grandmother, for sending me to the best school in the state in the first place,’ or even ‘thank you, Grandmother, for preparing me for a future’?”

  Jeremiah climbs off the couch, his thirteen-year-old body rigid with anger. As my eyes dart back and forth between the two, I can practically envision Donovan at thirteen. Jeremiah is tall and muscular, even for his young age. He’s not nearly as tall as Donovan, but I assume in a few years they’ll be able to match each other almost perfectly. The only differences are where Donovan’s nose is slightly crooked, Jeremiah’s is straight and his jaw isn’t as square.

  “I never said I wanted to go to that stuck-up school! I wanted my old school and my old friends. I hate that freaking place and I’m not going to thank anyone, ever, for making me do things I don’t want to do. I hate you and Grandma!”

  He barrels past Donovan and me. Tears fall down his cheeks as he screams his tantrum, and his feet pound on the stairs.

  I jump when I hear the door to his room slam closed. Seconds later, the light fixture in the entryway begins shaking from the vibrations of Jeremiah’s loud music that filters down the hallway and downstairs.

  “Fuck!” Donovan growls and throws his hands to his hair.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a cautious step away from him, “you totally screwed that up.”

  “What?” His head jerks up and his green eyes land on me, sparking things I shouldn’t be feeling in this situation. “He is totally disrespectful. He has no concept of what he’s been handed, and he’s taking it out on everyone. Selfish little—”

  “Teenager?” I supply, and take another step back when Donovan advances on me. “You can’t mean that shit, Donovan. Not now, not when he’s lost his entire family.”

  “I know, and I’m trying. But it doesn’t help when he doesn’t realize the opportunities he’s being given here.”

  His voice is cold and forceful. My head flinches back slightly. He is not the Donovan I remember.

  “What in the hell happened to you?” I ask, jerking my arm back when he reaches for me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “God.” I shake my head, my hand flying through my hair. “I can’t believe you’re such an asshole now. Do you really think Jeremiah gives a shit about any of that? Did you not just listen to him? It sounds like he lost his entire family and then his entire life. Sounds like he got ripped away from everything he knew and he’s being forced into what…becoming the next CEO?”

  Donovan looks at me, showing nothing.

  My pulse flutters and I press my hand against my chest, trying to keep my heart contained inside.

  “Oh my God. I’m right, aren’t I? He’s thirteen and you’re already grooming him? Do you know how insane that sounds?” I’m shrieking by the time I’m done, and my hands fly wildly in the air.

  Donovan braces his hands on his hips, his expression stern and unmoved. “If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that you need to be prepared. You never know what’s going to happen. When I had to take over, it took me years to feel like I was on firm footing. I don’t want Jeremiah to suffer that way. I’m helping him.”

  “By not giving a shit about what he wants? Jesus, Donovan, when did you, of all people, become a sheep for your mother to maneuver?”

  “You have no idea,” he leans in, hissing, “what I’ve been through with her, and what my father’s death did to her.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. But it’s not fair to project that crap onto a kid, either. And can you stand here and tell me you’re thrilled with the way you’ve had to live?”

  I rub my fingers against my forehead. This whole argument is giving me a headache. I spin on my heels, intent on giving us both space, when he reaches out and grabs my arm. He pulls, spinning me back to him. I stumble on my feet, almost into his chest.

  My hands fly out and I brace myself against his body so I don’t face-plant.

  I stare at my fingers, watching as they dig into his chest a little bit. Damn
…he’s so firm. Tight. Muscled.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” he murmurs, and I feel his lips on the top of my head. “I’m losing him, I know it. And I do care about him, but he has to start realizing what his future is going to look like, too. My sister didn’t do that for him.”

  “Your sister wanted him to be happy,” I whisper, nervous because his other hand is running slowly down my back.

  His hand on my arm slides up to my shoulder and then around to the nape of my neck. “He has responsibilities to learn, that someday will become his.”

  “And you? Are you glad you followed your responsibilities?” I ask the question I asked earlier that he didn’t answer, and pull back, tilting my chin up to look at him.

  I see so much now and understand more. I have a feeling I know exactly why I never heard from him again, why he married Cassandra…that’s what was always expected. He ran from it in college, but his father’s death changed things for him.

  His dark green orbs swirl with conflict. “No,” he softly says, his voice barely audible. “I’m not always glad.”

  My lips part, and before I can speak or move away, he dips his head, tilting it to the side and his lips press against mine.

  His kiss is demanding from the moment he touches me, and his hand at my neck tightens.

  When his tongue slides against my bottom lip, teasing me into submission, I relax into his hold.

  It’s everything I knew it would be, and as his tongue slides into my mouth, I taste a faint hint of mint as electric heat flies straight to my chest.

  I whimper, falling into him, and my hands drop from his chest to his hips. I squeeze tight, holding him against me. My knees begin to tremble as I feel his hard erection through his pants and my jeans.

  The hard, rigid line against my sex snaps me out of the moment.

  “Holy shit,” I gasp, pulling out of the kiss.

  “That was as amazing as I remember,” Donovan whispers, pulling me back to him. “But I’m going to need another taste to be certain.”

  I chuckle softly, my eyes wide in shock and with lust as he brushes his lips against mine.

  “Dreamed of this, Talia. For years I’ve dreamed of that night we spent together.”

  I can’t think about that. Not now. Pushing away the ache in my chest caused by his words, I press my mouth against his and kiss him deeply. He takes control almost immediately, his fingers tangling in my hair.

  He angles me back and takes the kiss deeper. If I could orgasm from a kiss alone, I would be quaking in front of him right this very moment.

  It’s hot and needy and there’s still a hint of residual anger as he completely takes over.

  His body pushes me backward as we swallow each other’s whimpers and pleasured groans. I feel the couch at the backs of my legs and then I’m tumbling backward, Donovan directly on top of me.

  This is what I want.

  Him.

  His body and his touches.

  I don’t want to hear his words.

  His hand begins trailing down my shirt, brushing over my breast, and my nipple hardens in response. I almost explode when his hand reaches underneath the hem and I feel his skin on me for the first time in eight years.

  He’s larger than he used to be, stronger. The way he controls my body with just a touch and a small taste is heady, igniting flames throughout my body. He’s just like he used to be when he touched me, except more…better.

  “Donovan,” I gasp. My hips arch into his and my legs open further, making room for him to settle in between them.

  My chest pushes against his, needing more contact.

  “So good,” he murmurs. His lips leave mine and begin trailing along my jaw, back to my ear and down the column of my throat. He bites and sucks, teasing me with playful nips until I’m grinding my hips against him.

  I need relief quickly.

  My hands grip his shoulders and my nails dig in as his hands move up my shirt, cupping my breasts over my bra. A groan is torn from my throat, loudly, as he pinches my covered nipple through its lace.

  I don’t know what happens, but Donovan’s head snaps up, our eyes meet, and then he jack-knifes off the couch and slams his hands to the back of his neck.

  I’m sprawled out on the couch, shocked from the suddenness of his move, and am just pushing down my shirt when he spins around and faces me.

  “What in the hell are you doing to me?”

  My head jerks back into the pillow it’s resting on. “What?”

  “Damn it, Talia. I’ve got a kid upstairs and I’m molesting you like some randy teenager.”

  My cheeks flush and I push myself into a sitting position. “Oh.”

  He sounds pissed that he let himself get carried away, but he does have a point. How could I have forgotten?

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since I walked into your office last week. You’re distracting me with everything.”

  My eyebrows knit together and I frown. He sounds like this isn’t a good thing.

  “Shit,” he groans, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I don’t have the option to not be focused right now, and all I want to do is stay home and bury myself inside you, remind you how good we used to be…how good we could still be.”

  I jump from the couch.

  He’s giving me whiplash, and I’m not sure my heart or my body can handle his sudden mood swings.

  “What are you saying?” I ask, walking around to the back of the couch. I need distance between us.

  His lips twist into a grin.

  I know that look. He’s just found a new challenge. A new game. He’s found something new to be conquered. If his predatory look¸ fixed directly on me, is any indication…I’ve become the prey…the thing to conquer.

  “I’m saying that for eight long years, I’ve only had my memory of the night you gave yourself to me. It’s kept me warm in my cold bed. It’s gotten me through showers that would have been much more lonely had I not had the vision of you sprawled out beneath me, having an orgasm—one given by a man for the first time ever—ingrained so deeply in my brain, that it makes me hard, just thinking and talking about it now.”

  “You said you wanted my body.” I choke out the words and back up further as he continues stalking toward me. “That’s what we agreed.”

  “I want more.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t have it.”

  He reaches for me, but I jump back, darting out of the way. I grin.

  “I’ll take it, anyway.”

  My feet stumble over a rug, but I right myself before he can make another grab for me. This is foolish. Ridiculous.

  But I watch Donovan’s eyes light up as I continue to thwart his advances. Most likely, this is the most playful he’s been in a long time.

  I nod toward the stairway, but he doesn’t look. “Jeremiah’s awake.”

  “I know.” He takes one long stride, and before I can move, his hands are on my hips and he’s lifting me to him. One hand leaves my hip and goes to my neck. His lips press against mine quickly but firmly before he pulls back. “We also haven’t eaten dinner.”

  Knowing he’s caught me, he smiles, lighting up the room.

  I want to do anything to continue seeing it. Maybe if he can lighten up a little bit, it will make it easier for Jeremiah to be around him.

  It will spear my heart when I have to leave him, but if Jeremiah’s okay, I can always go back to pretending I am, too.

  I’ve had eight years’ practice.

  I wrap my arms around his neck as he begins walking toward the kitchen. “Are you going to put me down?”

  His lips drop to my neck, his hand goes back to my ass, and he adjusts his hold on me, bouncing my breasts against his chest in a deliciously playful friction.

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm.” I feign offense and fight a smile.

  He smells good, he looks fantastic, and his rock-hard abs and muscled arms wrapped around me feel
too good to argue.

  Sliding me onto the counter, he flashes me a mock scowl. “Stay here and don’t move.”

  His voice is playful but firm, so I grip the edge of the counter and nod. “Got it, boss.”

  I watch in awe as he begins cooking the meat, dicing a variety of vegetables and mixing a stir-fry sauce along with rice.

  The entire time, we speak of nothing serious, but important nonetheless. I take small sips of the wine he pours for me, and call Jeremiah down for dinner when it’s time.

  And while the meal is just as tense as it was the previous nights, with little being spoken and nothing real being said, I can’t stop the expectant arousal that warms my blood and causes the area between my thighs to pulse with need and want.

  The rest of the evening slides by slowly, in an almost physically painful manner. Donovan brings his laptop into the living room, where he clicks away, sometimes seemingly furious at the keyboard.

  Jeremiah watches reality television that I believe he’s too young for, but I don’t say anything.

  And I pretend, like the night before, to be completely engrossed in a book.

  But it’s when Jeremiah has been in his bedroom for over an hour, and my eyes are burning from staring at the lighted screen for hours on end and only getting through a couple chapters, that something in the air sparks and crackles.

  I slowly lift my head, that familiar pulse in my groin already telling me what’s about to happen, and meet Donovan’s heady, intense gaze.

  The slight click of the laptop closing echoes in the vast space, thundering in my ears.

  My throat goes dry, and I swallow thickly.

  “I want you in my bed. Now.” He nods in the direction of the stairs.

  Before I can argue, Donovan rises from his chair, takes my hand in his, and pulls me to my feet. His lips press against mine and his tongue slides inside, taking what he wants before I know what’s happening.

  My body relaxes into his body, submitting to what I know is about to happen, when he pulls back.

  “I’m going to lock up down here. Go to my room and I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

  He pushes me gently toward the stairs and I move, wanting this more than anything…and equally terrified at the same time.