by Anne Marsh
Lily Cortez wanted him.
Damned if that didn’t twist up his insides even as it sent the blood shooting to his erection. He wouldn’t last long at the rate he was going, and that wasn’t the way he wanted this evening to end. Tonight was for Lily. Sweeping aside the patchwork quilt with one hand, he laid her on the lace-trimmed sheets and followed her down. The hunger hit as soon as he touched the mattress, sinking into its yielding softness.
He finally had Lily Cortez in his arms, in a bed. And it was one hell of a bed, too. Despite the too-feminine sheets, the headboard was all iron curlicues. He could play out a dozen dark fantasies in this bed. Another night, perhaps he’d tie her to the bed, playing a delicious little game with the woman he held. He could take her a dozen different ways, show her the path to pleasure over and over. Tonight, though, deserved something special, a slow, sweet loving.
“You going to look all night?” Her voice was pure, husky invitation. “Or do you want to do something else, Jack?”
Lily. An old-fashioned name for an old-fashioned kind of a girl. She was classy. He’d recognized that truth back when they’d still been in high school and he’d been flirting with the impossible idea of making her his sweetheart. Good girls like her didn’t fall for bad boys like him. Not for forever.
But maybe that was just one more rule he could break.
“Yeah, baby. Let’s see if we can figure out what feels good for you.” He hooked a thumb beneath the thin strap of her white tank top, stroking along the wicked edge of lace tracing those delicious curves. She was so damned fine.
“All right, Jack.” She watched him with liquid promise as he drew the straps of the bra cupping her breasts down her arms. “Maybe we’ll find something you like, as well.”
“No worries there, baby,” he growled. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Her breasts were sweet, pale mounds cupped in his sun-darkened hands, the nipples flushed with her arousal. And the scent of her—Christ, he could have lain down beside her and just looked and inhaled all night. He gave in to the urge to taste her, licking a path down her neck, exploring. Long before he’d reached those pretty little nipples, she was flushed.
“I like these.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth, swirled his tongue around her as her hands pulled at him. Demanding more. When his lips let go, she clung to him. Savage satisfaction filled him. Yes, he’d been waiting and dreaming all these years, but Lily Cortez had clearly been entertaining her own fantasies.
“Undress,” she demanded. “Now, Jack. I want to see what you’ve been keeping from me all this time.” The sexy demand had him hardening impossibly, so he pulled the T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
“I’m all yours, baby,” he drawled. Had been since he’d first laid eyes on her.
Jack Donovan was a delicious present she couldn’t wait to unwrap. Big and sun-bronzed, his hard body filled her bed. He wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t patient. So the contrast of his masculine strength with her lace-trimmed sheets was overwhelming. Unforgettable.
Reaching up an arm, she drew him down and closer so she could feel the heated expanse of his bare skin against her breasts. Bare skin scored with small burns and scars.
She pressed a small kiss against one white pucker of skin. “What happened, Jack?”
“Firefighting.” Those broad shoulders shrugged casually as he settled himself above her. “Price of admission, baby.”
“It must have hurt.” God. He tasted wild and smoky, and she couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t get close enough as she licked a little circle around one male nipple. The sweet, hot scent of summer poured in the open window, wrapping them both in twilight and warmth. The curtains framing the window barely stirred as the sleepy, heated air slipped in, thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass and lavender. She’d never smell summer again without thinking of Jack.
For the moment, he was all hers—and they had unfinished business.
“Just feel, baby.” He opened his arms, and she wanted the safety he represented, even if it was only an illusion. Just for tonight, she promised herself. Or maybe even the summer. Afterward, she could go back to being strong. Being alone.
He was a large, warm presence, waiting for her to choose. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he shifted, and her body slid instinctively toward him, into that seductive hollow.
“Yes,” she decided, reaching for him. She slid her hands along his shoulders, and he felt so damned good, so sleekly muscled. So alive. She was choosing—choosing now—to live her life. To seize life with both hands.
Seize Jack.
“Yes.”
His fingers reached for the snap of her shorts. “Lift up.” When she did, he slid the denim down her legs. When she was wearing just her panties, she decided it was his turn to finish stripping.
Her turn to stare. God, Jack was gorgeous, all sleek and hot as she ran her hands over him, traced the heavy weight straining against the denim of his jeans until he bucked against her fingers. She couldn’t wait to see him naked.
“Definitely your turn,” she whispered. Reaching for him, she slid open the buttons of his fly, her breath catching as the soft material parted. He was every bit as glorious as her fantasies had painted him, his thick shaft making her clench and bite her lip with the sudden throb of pleasure deep within. She’d waited so long for this.
The summer breeze playing with the curtains picked up, bringing a whisper of smoke. Fire. Instinctively, she tensed, unwanted memories sliding through her head.
“Don’t think about him,” Jack growled. “He won’t be back tonight. Think about this.”
Her stalker wouldn’t be coming back, not tonight, but she was frightened, when he wanted her melting for him.
So Jack did what he did best. Distracted. Coaxed. And laid a counterfire.
Carefully he stroked a finger over the flimsy little ribbon fastening the two sides of her string-bikini panties. Traced the rounded curve of her hips, savoring her feminine gasp. He’d wanted her for so long, and now he had her in his arms. No way he would rush this night. No way he would ever forget the woman he held.
She needed to forget, though, forget the fire that had driven her into his arms. So he’d kiss her again, until there was no room in this bed for more than the two of them. Threading one hand through her long hair, he held her gently in place for his kiss. Let his mouth glide lightly over hers, in a slow, decadent press of skin against skin. When a small, breathy moan rewarded his efforts, he gave in to temptation and let his other hand slide slowly down, giving her one last chance to stop him.
She didn’t, and he realized she wouldn’t. Lily Cortez wanted him. She made him feel like more of a man than he ever had before. Made him feel like a goddamned hero. Special.
Loved.
Desperate for her, he softly touched her, brushing the tips of his fingers over her panties. Watching. This had to be good for her. Better than good. He wanted this to be perfect.
The heat of her against his fingers was unimaginable. The sweetest, hottest fire he’d ever experienced.
At his touch, she stilled. Unsure and curious but drinking in that simple contact between them. And Jack knew he’d never see a more erotic sight in his life than this, his fingers against the white cotton, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. Even as he feared she might reach out to stop him, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, guiding him deeper. Slower. Her moan filling the heated air between them.
Abandoning restraint, Jack tore her panties from her, tossing the scrap of fabric onto the floor, and slid his fingers into her heat. Liquid welcome surrounded him. “You’re killing me, baby,” he groaned. “God, you feel so good.”
“So do you,” she whimpered, wrapping her legs around him in feminine demand, pressing up against his thick erection.
“Are you sure?” His dark gaze held hers. One last chance.
“Yeah.” She’d been sure yesterday and the day before but had spun out the delicious anticip
ation. “I’m tired of running, Jack. Tired of putting my life on hold. I want to live.”
“Good,” he rumbled. “You’re so damned good, Lilybell. You have any idea what that does to a man like me? A man like me just might insist on licking you from head to toe, baby.”
She couldn’t hold back the shiver that rocked her. “God, please,” she whimpered. He’d made her wait ten years for this moment. He could damn well stop teasing her.
“You real sure, baby?” That wicked mouth slid down her neck again, tasting her skin. Tasting her. As that big, strong body followed, heat tore through her. She couldn’t hold in the little noises of pleasure, couldn’t keep the husky whimper silent as his tongue teased the curve of her belly, his hands sliding down to cup her hips. Her head fell back onto the pillow, her hands gripping his shoulders.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
“Oh, yeah,” he growled.
His shoulders parted her legs as he gently opened her with his fingers. No escaping the rush of heated pleasure, of knowing she was open to him and there were no more secrets between them. He’d seen her, held her. Now he was going to know every inch of her.
She was open for him. Wet and aching for him.
He exhaled sharply, and the sensual shock of that tiny puff of air against her wet, heated folds sent her pleasure spiraling impossibly higher. The whole world was slowing down. Waiting. For him.
“A little good-night kiss,” he promised. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Lilybell? A man should always kiss his date good night.”
“If it’s been a good night.” White-hot sensation tore through her, stoking the anticipation.
“It will be. And you’re a good girl, Lily.” Wicked promise filled his voice, echoed in the gentle stroke of his fingertips just tracing the edge of those swollen folds.
“Maybe,” she whimpered. “You’re teasing me, Jack.”
“That’s not nice of me.” Dark promise filled his voice.
“I’ll kiss you better. All better, Lily. Tonight’s for you.”
His first, gentle kiss on her pussy was sweet. Light. The wicked bolt of pleasure had her crying out. “You’re so sweet here,” he groaned. “I don’t deserve you, Lilybell.”
Then that wicked mouth was exploring her, tasting her. Licking every last inch. Just as he’d promised. When he found her swollen clit and sucked, she arched up, losing herself to the pleasure. To Jack.
“Jack—” He slid up her body even as the keening cry broke from her lips and that terrifying fire burned through her. But he had her.
“Right here, baby,” he whispered against her lips. Pulling away from her for just a moment, he took care of protection, rolling a condom down over his erection as he eased her back down into the sheets. The wind was picking up outside. “You let me in now, sweetheart. Please.”
His fingers eased through her wet folds, parting her. “God, you’re so wet.” His harsh breathing made her clench in a primitive response to his desire. He pushed slowly inside, thick and hard. “I want you so damned bad.”
Braced above her, he was a powerful shadow in the night. Fighting the need to take her hard and fast when he knew she needed slow and gentle.
“I’m all yours, Jack. We’ve got the whole summer.” She moaned as he pressed forward, sliding impossibly deeper. Slowly retreated and moved again. She’d imagined a night spent in Jack Donovan’s arms, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality. For the man so intently focused on her. The girl she’d been had wanted him, but the woman she’d become welcomed him. Outside, thunder rumbled, echoing the building tension inside.
Reaching up, she captured his mouth with hers, their fingers tangling together by her head. Fire burned through both of them, an impossible storm of pleasure. His hips moving, taking, pushed her higher and higher as she arched up and into his hot weight. Then he was tearing his mouth from hers, burying his face in her neck. Driving faster and harder, and it didn’t matter anymore why he’d left. Why he hadn’t come home sooner. The only thing that mattered was the man cradled in her arms and the husky growl ripped from his throat as he finally gave them both what they needed.
The hunger trembled through her, expanded and grew, until she shattered, the bright pleasure sparking, taking her higher. White-hot sensation exploded through her as she cried out his name into the lightning-charged night air.
He arched, pushing deeper, harder, then stilled. Muttered words tore from his throat as he buried his hands in her hair, stroking, gentling her, as he lost himself in her.
Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that Jack Donovan was worth every minute of her ten-year wait.
Chapter Thirteen
Like all mornings after, this one was a bitch. First thing he noticed as he came awake was the too-soft mattress. He dug an elbow in, fighting not to sink into the sea of softness as he dragged himself the rest of the way awake. Next thing to hit him was the now-familiar, dusky scent of lavender—and Lily. Christ. He’d spent the night. Inside. In Lily’s bed.
He didn’t sleep with anyone, and he sure didn’t sleep inside, not when there were other choices. Sure enough, as soon as he got his eyelids open, there were the walls, pressing right in on him, the room getting smaller with each quick breath he took. In another moment he’d be sucking air like a winded runner. Fuck. He should have outgrown this.
Should have, could have, he mocked, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply. He fought fires that could clear a room of oxygen faster than a man could blink. He knew what breathless really was, so four simple walls shouldn’t hit him this hard.
But when Lily shifted beside him, he jackknifed up in the bed.
“Damn it,” he muttered, shoving his hands through his hair. “Get a grip, Jack.”
Living in Strong had been almost impossible for him— he’d always felt trapped, suffocated, wanting desperately to lash out at the adults forcing him to stay—until he’d discovered firefighting. Fighting fires was an acceptable outlet to channel the rage and desperation, so he’d spent summers and weekends—hell, weekdays, too, when the fire was bad and Ben Cortez was too shorthanded to mind—battling blazes. He’d lost himself in those battles. Tired, sweat-soaked, and smoky, he’d been too exhausted, when he’d finally tumbled into sleep and oblivion, to care much that he was surrounded by four walls and expectations he’d never live up to.
His cell vibrated again, a soft rasp of sound in the jeans he’d dropped on the floor. The untidy pile of clothes was another reminder he didn’t want. He hadn’t wanted to wait. Now he didn’t want to remember just how badly he’d wanted this woman. Or how much he still did.
Lily was a sweet, hot weight cuddled up by his side. She might be demanding space between them during the daylight hours, but, right now, her body was as close as she could get. Her soft breathing tickled his skin, mingling with the cooler air from the open window. At least she’d left the window open. God. He turned his face toward the fresh air.
Still really early, he realized. The light was gray, one step removed from pitch-black. Shadows-and-secrets light. The crickets were still singing outside, but it was already hot and still. Perfect thunderstorm weather. And he had a call. He needed to get out of here.
Slowly, he started untangling himself. As he slipped away from the soft, warm curl of her body, the sheet followed, baring the curve of an arm. The rounded mound of a breast and the darker shadow of her nipple. Pure candy, those nipples were. The cool, early-morning air had them pebbling into delicious little nubs. He’d feasted on them last night like a starving man, and yet he still wanted to lean down, suck those tempting nipples right into his mouth, and tease her into wakefulness.
His cell vibrated again. No one would call him now unless there was an emergency. He needed to take the call. Relief pounded through him as he shot off the bed. Away from temptation.
“What is it, Jack?” Her sleepy voice reached out for him, her weight rolling toward him as she came half awake.
“Go back
to sleep, baby.” Her voice was all drowsy with promise and dreams, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to ignore his call and sink back into the bed. Into her. Soft and sweet and warm, she was an impossible lure. But he didn’t do mornings after. And he had to go.
Bending down, he swiped the cell from the floor. The numbers were the expected ones. Evan. His brother would just keep on calling until he got the answer he needed, so there was no real point in waiting.
He got his feet moving and out the door, ignoring the rustling of cotton as Lily pushed up on an elbow, watching him go. She had that impossibly feminine sheet pressed against the sweet, hot length of her now, cupping her breasts the way his hands itched to do.
He couldn’t stay, so he pulled the door shut between them and took his call. “What’s up?” It was still dark out, although the sky was lightening up over on the horizon. Fire at night was a damned good indication the cause was arson.
“Spotter called in a series of fires. They came up real quick, because our man had just scanned that area.” This particular spotter was parked in an old fire tower just outside of Strong. He’d have a ringside seat if a wildland fire kicked up. “Right now we’ve got four fires. Popped up one right after the other. You know what that means.”
“Arson. You think that’s our boy?”
“You had that little fire out at Lily’s yesterday. You said the bastard was watching, but you ran him off.” Evan paused, trying to avoid a whole lot of awkward.
Jack filled in the blanks for his brother. “So he probably got a real good eyeful of me and Lily.” He didn’t mention what had been happening before that fire, or after, but Evan was proficient at filling in the blanks.
“Might not be any connection,” Evan said slowly. “It’s not impossible these four are just leftovers from last night’s storm.”
