by Lexi Ryan
Playing with Fire
Lexi Ryan
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About Playing with Fire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Playing with Fire Playlist
Also by Lexi Ryan
About the Author
Playing with Fire © 2015 by Lexi Ryan
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to institutions or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover © 2015 Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Created with Vellum
For Aunt Diane, who recognized a young girl’s hunger for words and fed it with poetry, nurtured it with empty journals.
Acknowledgments
I’ve never written a book that felt “easy.” The truth is, it takes a profound number of hours for me to write and revise before I believe a book is ready to go out in the world. Sometimes, as was the case with this book, I’m scheduled to write a book during times when real life demands more of my attention than usual. In these cases, writing time must be found anywhere possible—the wee hours of the morning, the thirty minutes in the doctor’s waiting room, or even during dinnertime while the rest of my family is at the table talking about their day. All my books seem to require some of that special “carved out” time, but this book required more than most. I can’t express how grateful I am to have a husband who steps up at home so I can eventually find my way to the end. Thank you, Brian. You might not write the books, but you truly make them possible.
A huge thanks to my family for all their support. To my kids for making me laugh and giving me a reason to work hard. Jack and Mary, I am so proud to be your mommy. To my sister Kim, for watching the kids and giving my husband and I much-needed date nights, which I inevitably hijack as plotting sessions. Thanks to my mom, who checks on me when I’m putting in too many hours, who reminds me to take care of myself but is always careful not to nag.
I owe enormous gratitude to my friends. To my critique partner, Adrienne, and my BFF, Annie, we may not see each other as often as we’d like, but you two always lift me up and make me smile. Mira Lynn Kelley, I love your face! Thank you for fangirling me and becoming one of my favorite people. To my friend Toni, who understands the importance of dreaming, Starbucks, and the occasional good cry. And, of course, thanks to my favorite group of friends, Brent, Mendi, Bart, Laura, Justin, Margaret, Lisa, Neil, Angie, Nathan, Stephanie, Chris, and Stef. Books might not be built on silly text messages, beer, and Cards Against Humanity games, but when I’m treated to these things with this group, I’m renewed. Love you guys more than you know.
To everyone who provided me feedback on Nix and Max’s story along the way—especially Heather Carver, Dina Littner, and Samantha Leighton—you’re all awesome. To Lexi’s Midnight Readers, who inspire me daily with their love for all things New Hope.
Thank you to the team that helped me package this book and promote it. Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations designed my beautiful cover. You may have noticed I’m partial to her work, and will keep her on my team as long as she’ll let me. Rhonda Helms and Lauren McKellar, thank you for the insightful line edits and for being so understanding of my crazy I-just-moved-and-my-life-is-in-chaos schedule this time around. Thanks to Arran McNicol at Editing720 for proofreading, and my PA, Chris, who does her best to keep me organized, even when we’re juggling fifteen tasks at once. A shout-out to all of the bloggers and reviewers who help spread the word about my books. I am humbled by the time you take out of your busy lives for my stories. You’re the best.
To my agent, Dan Mandel, and my foreign rights agent, Stefanie Diaz, for getting my books into the hands of readers all over the world. Thank you for being part of my team.
To my NWBs—Sawyer Bennett, Lauren Blakely, Violet Duke, Jessie Evans, Melody Grace, Monica Murphy, and Kendall Ryan—y’all rock my world. I’m inspired by your tireless work and always encouraged by your friendship. Thank you for being a part of this journey.
To all my writer friends on Twitter, Facebook, and my various writer loops—especially to the Fast Draft Club, and the amazing Brenna Aubrey who introduced me to pomodoros—thank you for keeping me company during those fourteen hour work days.
And last but certainly not least, a big thank-you to my fans—the coolest, smartest, best readers in the world. I owe my career to you. You’re the reason I get to do this every day and the reason I want to. I appreciate each and every one of you. You’re the best!
~Lexi
About Playing with Fire
Dr. Phoenix Reid isn’t who she seems...
Everyone knows a phoenix rises from the ashes. What they don’t talk about are the people she drags with her into the fire.
I thought one hot night with Max Hallowell was harmless. I never expected it would force me to face my past or bring back the man who swore he’d never let me go. Now Max wants to help me. Wants to save me. But if I let him, he’ll be destroyed. I can already smell the flames.
A woman with a secret past. A man determined to protect her. A dangerous passion that could cost them both everything.
One
Nix
“Want to grab a drink with me?” Krystal asks, sounding particularly perky, even over the phone. “Maybe we’ll go to The Wire and let the college boys flirt with us. Or if you like ’em local, we can go to Brady’s and wiggle our asses while we shoot pool.”
I park the car in the driveway, climb out, and take the steps up to my front porch. “I can’t. Max is coming over to figure out why my garage door won’t close.”
“Max is coming over?” she asks, suspicion lacing her words. “Max Hallowell?”
I roll my eyes at my gossip-loving friend. “Is coming over to fix my garage door.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“You’re hopeless,” I mutter. “There wasn’t even a drop of innuendo in that sentence.”
“I’ve seen pornos with setups more innocent than that.”
Sighing, I unlock my door and step into the house. It’s hard to believe this is my life now—a great job, a gorgeous home, and friends who tease me about potential hookups. It’s not a life I ever expected to have, but I’d fight like hell to keep it. “Trust me, if it were something more, I’d be in the shower shaving right now.”
“You should shave anyway. Just in case.”
I snort. “Goodbye, Krys. Have fun tonight.”
“You too,” she sings.
Shaking my head, I end th
e call and toss my keys and phone into the basket by the door. I catch a reflection in the mirror, and I spin around, my heart pounding wildly.
Just your imagination. Just your imagination.
“Hello?” I call, walking into the dining room on unsteady legs. It couldn’t have been him. “Hello?”
I want to run from the house screaming, but no. This is my house and my life. I won’t let him scare me away from it. “He isn’t even here, crazy woman,” I mumble.
I tour the house slowly, but my heart is pounding as if I’m sprinting through it. When I’m convinced I’m the only one here, I head outside. I need fresh air. I need to remind myself where I am.
I’m not sixteen.
I’m not in Camelot.
I grip the porch rail and drag in ragged breaths. I really thought I saw him, and that means one of two things.
Either I’m imagining an enemy who isn’t there and feeling threatened in my own home—in other words, becoming my mother—or Patrick McCane has found me.
* * *
Max
I feel like a pimple-faced kid about to ask a girl to the prom. Frankly, this isn’t so different. I came here to help a friend, yes. But I also came hoping to get a date. It’s been a few years since I’ve asked anyone out. I’m so rusty that I almost expect my voice to squeak when I propose we keep each other company for dinner.
I park my car on the street in front of Phoenix Reid’s house and shut off the ignition, but I don’t get out right away. I sit here a minute just looking at her.
She’s standing on her front porch, staring off into space, her hands wrapped tight around the railing. Her black skirt and button-up gray shirt are just visible beneath her white exam jacket. There’s nothing about the outfit that says “sexy.” Scratch that—there’s nothing about the outfit that is trying to be sexy. And maybe that’s why it is.
To say Nix hadn’t caught my eye before would be a lie. When she rolled into town and started hanging with the Thompson sisters, I definitely noticed her. It was hard not to. She was so stiff and awkward those early months, and to watch her get comfortable here was to see a flower blossom. For some reason that transformation always intrigued me, but I never thought of her as anything more than a friend.
Until today.
Until she looped her stethoscope behind my daughter’s neck and grinned. She gave a little speech about how Claire could be a doctor too. She promised to give Claire her very own stethoscope when she graduated from medical school. It’s probably a bit she does for all her pediatric patients, but this wasn’t just any patient. This was my daughter, who idolizes the cartoon character Doc McStuffins and has a mother whose inconsistent presence in her life has her confused about who she is and what her future will look like. For my daughter, they weren’t just nice words. They were the best words Nix could have said.
So here I am. I arranged for my mom to watch Claire so I could come over and help Nix with a garage door problem I could probably talk her through on the phone. I don’t exactly have a plan, but I’m thinking I’ll fix her door and casually invite her to grab dinner with me after. Maybe I can talk her into going somewhere with a good wine list, and I can watch her cheeks flush with the warmth of the alcohol and the pleasure of good food. Fuck, that sounds good.
She turns and spots me sitting in my car then waves tentatively, so I climb out and walk up her drive. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I call back. “Is everything okay? You looked a little distracted when I pulled up.”
She meets me in the driveway and shrugs. “I’m fine. I had an unexpected visitor, but he’s gone now.”
“What did he need?”
She swallows, her eyes darting to avoid mine. “Nothing. Just wanted to remind me he’s thinking about me.”
Suddenly my plans to ask her out seem presumptuous. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” My voice drips with disappointment but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m not. This wasn’t someone I wanted to see.”
I frown. “Need me to talk to him? Get him to leave you alone?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” She attempts a smile, but it’s not very convincing. “Anyway, thank you so much for coming.”
“My pleasure.”
Her cheeks turn pink and she ducks her head. “I really could have called someone, though. Where’s Claire?”
“I dropped her off at my mom’s. It’s spaghetti night, and Mom makes the best sauce.” I turn to the house. “Beautiful place and a great neighborhood. My mom lives a couple of blocks down. You like living here?”
“Yeah, I do. I feel a little foolish buying such a big house when it’s just me, but when it came on the market I couldn’t resist.”
It’s a gorgeous Cape Cod in historic New Hope. The houses here were the first built when New Hope was founded, and with their proximity to campus and downtown, the area remains a favorite with wealthier locals. Like Nix’s, most of the houses have been kept updated.
“It’s a good investment. This the door that’s giving you trouble?” I head toward the open garage bay.
“Yeah. It just won’t go down and stay down. I’m kind of weird about security, so . . .” She swallows. “I hate that it’s not working right.”
Sinking to my haunches next to the garage door’s laser eyes, I nod. “I had this problem on my door not so long ago. If these laser eyes aren’t lined up just right they think there’s something blocking the door, so it goes back up as a safety precaution.”
“Oh.” She tugs her lower lip between her teeth and nods. “That makes sense.”
I make the adjustments then step back. “Try it now.”
She goes to her car, grabs her purse from the passenger seat, and pulls a small garage door remote from inside it before stepping inside the garage with me. When she presses the button, the door slides down easily, and then it’s just the two of us in the dimly lit garage, and my excuse for being here is all used up.
“Thank you, Max,” she says. She takes two steps toward me, stops, and interlaces her fingers in front of her. “I feel bad that you came over here just for that.”
“Don’t. I’m happy to help and didn’t have any other plans. And anyway, I wanted to thank you for what you said to Claire at the office. It might not seem like it matters what you tell a three-year-old—”
“It does matter. Kids hear more than people think, and if we’re constantly telling them they’re pretty or funny, they can start to think that’s all they are.” She tucks her hands in her pockets. “Sorry. I mean, you’re welcome. She’s such a smart little girl.”
“She is. Just yesterday she was telling me how babies are made.”
Her eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
“Yep. She told me all about how mommies go to the store and buy a special seed and swallow it so a baby grows in their bellies.”
She bursts into laughter. She looks good laughing. It lights up her face.
Cautiously, I close the distance between us and look down at her. Nix is tall, but I still have a few inches on her, and when I’m this close she has to crane her neck to look at me. She fidgets, shifting as if she’s not sure if she should back up or stay put. It hits me for the first time that I don’t really know anything about her. Sure, I know her career and her best friends, her life as it is now, but I don’t know anything about what came before. “Where are you from, Nix? Where’s your family?”
“Why?” Something changes, and her face goes from soft and friendly to cold and distant.
“Because I’d like to know more about you.”
She shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure you don’t, Max.”
Maybe it’s the pain I see on her face that makes me do it. Or maybe it’s because I see loneliness in her eyes that I understand all too well and I want to wash it away. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe I need this in the most basic, primal sense.
Whatever the reason, I lower my head and press my lips to hers. She doesn’t pull away. She does
n’t even seem surprised.
She inches closer and moans against my mouth. That sound unravels any sense left in my brain, and instead of breaking the kiss and asking her to dinner—a logical next step with a woman who’s more an acquaintance than a friend—I slant my mouth over hers and thread my fingers into her hair.
Her hair falls in heavy swaths around my hand. The clip that was holding it off her neck loses its hold and clinks as it hits the garage floor. Her hands go to my shirt, taking fistfuls of it until I have to break the kiss because she’s yanking it off over my head. Then her hands are on my bare chest, sweeping across my stomach and over my pecs, dipping into the waistband of my jeans and—Jesus Christ—skimming the head of my cock through my briefs.
I groan into her mouth and give all my concentration to keeping my body still and not thrusting into her touch. I don’t want her thinking I’m pathetic and sex-deprived. Even if it’s true.
Following her lead, I drop my hands from her hair to free her of her jacket. By the time I have it halfway down her arms, she’s unbuttoning my pants and shoving them down my hips, along with my boxer briefs.
Christ.
Everything seems to happen at once. One second, I’m slipping her jacket off her arms, and the next she’s pulling us to the floor. Our mouths barely part and we kiss the whole way down before she leads me to settle on top of her, her skirt bunched around her hips, my cock nestled right against the thin strip of cotton between her legs.
There’s something about the way she kisses that makes me want to give her anything she needs. Anything she wants. It’s almost a desperate kiss—as if she’s been waiting a lifetime for my mouth and I’m the only one who can bring her pleasure. It’s not just the way she rubs her tongue against mine or the fact that she’s already so wet I can feel it through her panties. It’s more than the little moans she can’t seem to hold back and the way she rubs her hands over my body. It’s all of that and more, and even while a voice in my mind tells me this is crazy, there’s no way I could put the brakes on this.
