Burning Up

by Anne Marsh

  So she was nowhere near ready when Jack dropped down onto the porch step behind her. His legs slid around hers, and a hard, muscled arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her up and backward. His other arm rescued her coffee as she yelped.

  He chuckled and stole a swallow. “God, Lily.” He stared down suspiciously into her cup. “Did you even bother putting coffee in here?”

  So she liked her coffee milky sweet, and she used way more sugar than any adult should. Her house. Her rules. “Make your own damned coffee, then,” she snapped.

  “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” he teased. “Because, if you are, I’m going to need a few pointers.”

  He’d obviously been up for a while. She’d heard the front door slam hours earlier as she lay there sleepless. Watched Jack take off down the road, running. Now, his hair was still damp from his post-run shower, but he was wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. Work boots. So close to him, she felt impossibly bare in her cut-offs and tank top, too aware of the contrast between her bare legs and his muscled ones.

  His mouth brushed the skin of her neck, his tongue drawing a wicked little pattern on the sensitive skin. His teeth nipped at her, and the erotic sting had her stilling.

  When his hand found the back of her neck and rubbed, she wanted to melt in sheer bliss. She should have moved away. Should have told him to keep his hands to himself. But Jack Donovan in the morning was even sweeter than her coffee, and she wanted something to keep her memories of that night, that fire, at bay.

  When he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her in those arms of his, she finally protested.

  “I can’t do this, Jack.” She pushed at him, and he let her put a few inches of space between them. “You don’t want to stick around.”

  “Take a chance, baby,” he growled. He nipped at her lower lip, his hands threading through her hair. “You take that chance on us. I would never hurt you.”

  “Not intentionally,” she said sadly.

  Her words hung there in the air between them, and there was nothing he could say. Because those words were true. He would never hurt her on purpose, but summer would end like it always did, and he’d move on—like he always did—because staying put just wasn’t an option for him.

  He tightened his arms around her. “Don’t write me off, Lily, and don’t tell me what I want. Right now, what I want is you, and damned if you’re not driving me crazy. You’re going to have to give me just a little trust here.”

  “Why should I?” She shoved against his chest. She knew Jack. He wouldn’t hold her there if she really wanted to go. He might coax and tease, but he’d never force. She shut that memory down before she could follow it back to the night of the fire. Jack’s hands weren’t getting the message, however, because he just pulled her closer to him. She wanted to talk, but sometimes all those words didn’t get you anywhere. She didn’t see them resolving this matter with a handful of words anyhow. Bottom line was, she didn’t trust him to stick around, and she didn’t see how he could fix that particular issue.

  “I don’t think you want to be hiding from what we’ve got between us,” he growled. His hand slid down over the curve of her ass, tracing the line between her cheeks to dip between them. She jumped, then froze, mesmerized by the delicious heat unfurling right there, between her thighs, where he teased the edge of her panties. Then he tucked one finger against the denim seam and stroked. A little, delicate, knowing brush of his finger.

  “Jack,” she whispered. Before she could think, she leaned forward. Giving him more access. His finger teased, petted. Slid forward to explore.

  “You tell me you don’t want this,” he growled. His finger found her swollen clit beneath the denim and pressed, and that sharp burst of pleasure, so sweet, so hot and unexpected, had her sitting there on his lap waiting to see what he’d do next. Pleasure pulsed through her in short, hard beats. She shouldn’t do this. Not on the porch. This wasn’t like her.

  “You want me to pet you right here, baby, until you come? Because,” he said, his voice rough with desire, “I’d love to do that for you.” His finger slid beneath the edge of the denim shorts, over the thin cotton of her panties. “I think you want me just fine.”

  “And if you don’t, you just come on over here,” a familiar voice teased. Oh, God. She scrambled off Jack’s lap, and this time he let her go, as if he knew there were boundaries she wouldn’t cross. Things she wasn’t ready to accept, no matter how decadent the pleasure. Rio was watching them. Rio, Jack’s playful, golden brother. The man was all liquid grace and sensual curiosity, and she’d heard things about him. About Jack, too. The hooded look on Jack’s face warned her that those rumors might be more fact than fiction.

  Rio winked at her, as if he hadn’t just found her wrapped around his brother, with his brother’s hand touching her intimately. “Jack here is going to leave you alone if that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

  Arousal warred with embarrassment, and she stared at him, unsure what to say. He just smiled devilishly. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Lily. The view was just fine from over here.”

  “Rio . . .” Jack’s warning growl came from behind her.

  She hadn’t paid attention to the dull throb of a motorcycle pulling into her driveway. When Jack had her in his arms, that was how crazed he made her. Fighting a blush, she looked over at Rio, astride that damned Harley. No one had ever mistaken the Donovan brothers for choirboys. Someone—a female someone—straddled the back of that cycle, looking for all the world like she’d ride one or all the brothers the same way. Rio’s friend was all long, jeans-clad legs beneath a short white T-shirt baring a perfectly tanned stomach. As Lily watched, the woman pulled off her black helmet, shaking free a long mane of hair. Whoever she was—and a new face in Strong was a novelty—the violet shadows beneath her eyes, her slightly slumberous look, said loud and clear that this woman hadn’t been to bed yet. Or, Lily corrected herself self-mockingly, hadn’t done any sleeping. Next to her, Lily felt boring and plain-Jane.

  Rio got off the bike and sauntered over, and the look in his dark eyes was pure mischief. He was enjoying this early-morning get-together a little too much.

  “Why are you here, Rio?” Lily asked bluntly.

  The laughter went right out of Rio’s eyes, and she knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming next.

  “I took a little ride up the road, along the ridge.” He indicated the edges of her field with a hand. “Like we discussed, Jack.”

  “Wait a minute.” She frowned. “I don’t recall being part of this conversation, Jack.”

  He shot her a dry look. “But you do remember our talking about the job I have to do here, right? Because this is part of that keeping-you-safe deal we have. Argue with me later if that’s what you really want to do, Lily, but right now I want to hear what Rio found.”

  Because, clearly, he’d found something, or he’d have just pointed that Harley straight on back to Strong.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “We can discuss it later, Jack.”

  His hand dropped onto her shoulder. If she looked down, she’d see those fingers—those fingers that had been places she had no business allowing them, not on her front porch—and, God help her, she wanted to look. Wanted to touch. Jack had her all tied up in knots.

  “Lots of footprints. He was up there, watching.” Rio’s eyes met hers, waiting for her reaction. “Your stalker.”

  “He’s found you.” Jack’s voice hardened.

  “We thought he might have,” Rio pointed out.

  “But why?” She asked the question that had tormented her ever since the horror began. “What did I do to make him come after me like this?”

  Jack’s hands closed around her shoulders, pulling her close. She wanted to sink into that heat. When she was with Jack, she felt safe. Protected. She fought to remind herself of why she shouldn’t lean back, shouldn’t let the strength and the heat of him hold her up. She’d always stood on her own two feet
, done things for herself.

  “You didn’t do anything, baby,” he said. “This isn’t your fault. For some reason of his own, he picked you for his sick games. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

  “He spent hours up there,” Rio continued. “Looks like he picked his spot and hunkered down. Not ex-military, or he wouldn’t have left those footprints. He came up from the other side of the ridge. I can show you the path he took if you want.”

  Rio hesitated, and Jack nodded slowly. “So he’s a watcher. We suspected that. He’s been watching Lily for at least two years now. He’s fixated enough that he followed her here from San Francisco.”

  “There’s something else you should see,” Rio said.

  “What?”

  “We know he likes to burn things.” Rio shot an apologetic look at Lily. “But it’s more personal than that. He built himself a fire up there. Just a small one, and he did it really carefully, so he wasn’t trying to burn the place down.”

  The unspoken not yet hung in the air between them.

  “What did he burn?” Nausea had her swallowing hard. He’d always chosen something of hers, something personal.

  Fury flashed in Rio’s eyes, and she realized that maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. For just a moment, the man had been all predator. “A book,” he said, tossing a plastic bag toward Jack.

  Jack’s hand shot out, catching the bag and handing it to her. “Is this yours?”

  “No.” She shook her head. She recognized the book, though. A romance by one of her favorite authors. The top half of the book was charred and black, but she knew that white farmhouse perched on a green hill beneath a sliver of cloud-gray sky. “But I’m reading it now. It’s on my bedside table.”

  “You’re sure that book is still there?”

  She hated the possibility that a stranger had been inside her house, touching her things. She’d come back to Strong because she knew everyone here. There were no strangers. Or—she shot a rueful glance at Rio’s unfamiliar companion patiently waiting for him—not for long, at any rate.

  “Positive,” she said, handing the bag back to Rio. “I saw it this morning. I bought it last week, at the general store in Strong.”

  “Shit.” Jack dropped a kiss on top of her head, and she wondered if he realized what he’d done, or if the little caress was instinctive. “So he’s not just watching you—he’s following you, too.”

  Just the thought of having this creep’s eyes on her made her skin crawl. He’d watched her before, but the idea of whoever he was here, in her home, in Strong, was more than she could handle. Panic seized her, and adrenaline flooded her body. She wanted to run, wanted to scream against the unfairness of it all. Sure, she’d suspected—okay, she’d known on some instinctive level—that her plans to get away hadn’t worked. But Rio’s confirmation was too blunt, too much. If the stalker was really here . . .

  “Breathe.” Jack’s soft command in her ear had her gulping deep, sweet breaths of air. The simple act anchored her in the here and now, away from the memories she’d hidden even from herself.

  “So how does he do that?” Jack asked rhetorically. “Out here, on the farm, he can hide on the ridge. A high-power scope, some binoculars”—Jack shrugged—“he’s got what he wants. But I’m betting that’s not going to work so well in town. He has to be able to get up close.”

  “Which means he’s definitely local.” Rio cursed. “We’ll watch for him.”

  Lily hadn’t given these men permission to waltz on in and take over. This was her life—it needed to be her decision.

  “Neither of you gets to swoop in here and make decisions for me,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself, Rio. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  He sighed. “Which is why you hightailed it on back to Strong, then, Lily? Because things were working out so well for you in San Francisco?”

  “I’m not responsible for those fires.” Jack had said so himself, and she knew it was true. No matter how many regrets, how many coulda-woulda-shouldas ran through her head at night, she knew this.

  “No.” Rio unslung a messenger bag from over his shoulder, dropping it onto her porch. “Those fires weren’t your fault. Doesn’t mean, however, that it’s not your problem. If someone is gunning for you, Lily, you need to take a little action. You can’t just sit here waiting for this creep to come at you. Jack here knows what he’s doing, and so do I.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “You didn’t ask for anyone’s help, baby.” Jack’s sexy drawl behind her made her think of a sleeping tiger. “That’s your problem, right there. If you’d asked for a little helping hand, you’d have been able to pick your savior. Now, you’re stuck with us. Take it up with Nonna and Ben, but I’m thinking you’re not going to change their minds.”

  Flipping open the bag, Rio began pulling out bits and pieces of electronics. There was enough surveillance equipment to start another Cold War. “Because Jack’s right, and we all know it.”

  She wet her lips. “I didn’t think he’d find me here.”

  Rio just looked at her and shook his head. The electronic gear he was pulling out of his bag made his thoughts about that clear. “24/7 surveillance,” he said. “Whatever happens down here in Lavender Creek, we’ll see it up in the base camp. You won’t be alone.”

  “You’re putting me in a fishbowl.” Her skin prickled, flushed at the thought of the Donovan brothers watching her. The intimacy felt shocking, although it wasn’t—she admitted the truth to herself—anything like the violation of knowing her stalker was out there, too. Waiting to hurt her.

  Jack and his brothers wanted to keep her safe. Wanted to help. All she had to do was let them. But then she’d have to tell them everything, and there were parts of that last night in San Francisco that were too raw, too ugly to be shared. She didn’t think she could face Jack Donovan looking at her and knowing that truth.

  “Give me your cell.” Jack held a big palm out, gesturing with his fingertips. “I’ll program our numbers into it. You see anything down here, you call us.”

  “Never heard that pickup line before,” she said sweetly. Damned if she was going to roll over for him. If he wanted puppy-dog obedience, he could go chase Rio’s blonde.

  He shot her a look. “Go get it, Lily, or I’ll go myself. You won’t like that.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She meant it, too. She didn’t understand why she had this urge to push him, to challenge him, but she wasn’t going to let him give her orders. Not now. Not ever.

  He didn’t say anything, just looked at her and went on back inside the house. Then she remembered the cardinal rule of the Donovan brothers. They’d never backed down from a dare. Ever.

  “That was a mistake,” Rio observed cheerfully. He was putting a little camera up beneath an eave.

  Right. Leaving Rio to assemble the surveillance arsenal on his own, she stormed back inside and found Jack with his hands on her purse. She reached for the white leather in a panic—there were things in there she’d really rather he didn’t see—but he’d already upended her bag onto the table.

  The bag was a disorganized disaster. Makeup and an old comb, hair ties, wads of Kleenex and paper towel. Two paperback romance novels, because she didn’t like waiting, and a good book always made the time pass quickly. Sample soaps from Lavender Creek’s line.

  “You might want to think about a little spring cleaning.” He nodded, sifting through the rest of her purse’s contents. He shoved a quantity of stuff back inside the bag, but then he found the little pocket-rocket vibrator. God, she prayed he wouldn’t recognize that for what it was. That was a whole different kind of fantasy right there.

  The knowing grin tugging the side of his mouth warned her Jack knew precisely what he had his hands on. She could feel that damned blush spreading across her face again as he looked over at her.

  “Girl like you shouldn’t need this.” He put down the small toy and scored her cell from
the remaining mess. Flipping it open, he programmed in a handful of numbers. As far as she could tell, her ICE number was going to ring straight to base camp. “You’ve got us all,” he said, turning the cell around so she could see the screen. “Me, Rio, and Evan. The base camp.” He hesitated but plowed on. “And a couple more of the team members. You need anything, you call—you hear me, Lily? Don’t keep this to yourself.”

  She wondered who was on his jump team this summer—and how many of them had been drafted into working overtime as her new security detail. She didn’t kid herself. Anyone Jack trusted was going to be big and mean and determined. She wasn’t going to shake them off, not easily.

  Jack reached the bottom of her purse and, sure enough, palmed the little hand-piece she kept there in a specially designed holster. She’d had time to think, on the drive from San Francisco to Strong, and she’d made some adjustments. The small handgun was one of them.

  “See, this right here?” He nodded grimly. “This tells me you know precisely what we’re concerned about, Lily.”

  She didn’t want to talk about it. “Woman alone, Jack,” she said lightly. “I’ve got a permit for concealed-carry.”

  “You’re not alone,” he answered, his voice tight as he ran his fingers over the Beretta, examining it expertly. The gun was a nice little piece, and she knew how to handle it.

  “I’m licensed,” she pointed out. “I’m allowed to carry.”

  He looked up. “You know how to fire this? Have you thought about what happens if you don’t have your purse handy?”

  “Yes,” she said tightly. “To both your questions.” The look on Jack’s face warned her he didn’t think this conversation was over. Not by a long shot. Which was too damned bad. She’d had about as much Donovan as she could stomach for the morning. She left him to it and went back out onto the porch, almost running over Rio’s blonde arm piece in the process.

  The woman looked at her and shook her head. “You have the look of a woman who’s had one too many run-ins with a Donovan.”