Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Katherine Lace

  “Okay. I’ll give it a try.” He sounds skeptical but sincere at the same time. Good. At least I know he’ll give it his best.

  He walks over to where Thor is sitting next to the front door and squats next to him. Reaching down, he lifts the cat by closing his hands behind Thor’s front legs.

  “No-no—” I start, but it’s too late. Some cats would tolerate being picked up like that, but Thor isn’t one of them. Probably because he’s so big, and it’s uncomfortable to have his full weight dangling from his kitty armpits. He lets out an enraged hiss and leaps away from Jesse, leaving a set of claw marks on Jesse’s wrist as he does.

  “Fuck!” Jesse says, shaking his injured hand. “Right back at you, you stupid motherfucking feline piece of crap.”

  Thor hisses at him again and tears across the living room to a cat tree in the corner, where he hides inside the bottom section. At least he’s got a cat tree now, I think. It’s an improvement over the less cat-friendly house I saw the first time I came over.

  Christopher comes running, too, tearing up to me from where he was sitting by the door and grabbing my hand. This time he doesn’t seem to find Jesse’s cursing funny.

  “Kitty okay?” he asks.

  “The kitty’s fine,” Jesse answers. “Sorry I yelled.”

  And then Christopher bursts into tears. “Go party! Go party!”

  I start to move to pick Christopher up, but Jesse drops to a squat, looking him in the eye. “Little dude, I’m sorry. I made you leave your friends, didn’t I?”

  Christopher has half of one hand in his mouth now, and he nods, tears pouring down his face. “Friends,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like. It’s hard to tell for sure around his mouthful of fingers.

  “The kitty’s okay. He’s just sad.”

  I take a small step back, interested in this new version of Fireman Jesse. He shifts from his squatting position, flopping down onto the floor.

  Christopher takes his hand out of his mouth. “Wanna go party.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve got some comic books. Do you want to look at them?”

  I’m not sure Jesse is going to make any headway, but it’s a change of pace to have somebody else trying to decipher his crazy toddler brain for a change. I know he’s tired, and upset that he had to leave his friends, but maybe the novelty of having Jesse talk to him will calm him down faster than I would be able to manage. I’m familiar, after all.

  Jesse keeps talking to Christopher about comic books, which is keeping the tears under control for the moment. I step back again, giving them space. At the same time, I look around for Thor, wondering if he’s still lurking under the cat tree.

  He is, but in the process of checking up on him, I notice something else. There are a few pictures on the mantel above the fireplace, but they’re all of an older couple—I assume Jesse’s parents—and of Jesse himself. I don’t see any pictures that look like they could be his sister. There’s one tacked to the refrigerator door that I think might be her, but that’s it. It looks to me like the cat isn’t the only one who’s not dealing well with the mourning process.

  “I’ll go get you a comic book, okay?” Jesse says, and gets up. I turn just in time to see Christopher fling himself bodily onto the floor, screaming and thumping the carpet with his fists. I can’t make any sense out of what he’s saying, but it’s something to do with the kitty, Spider-Man, and the little girl, Rosa, who he was playing with at the party.

  “Woah,” says Jesse. “What did I do?”

  I sigh. “Nothing. You were fine. He’s just tired and probably over stimulated.” I go to kneel next to him, rubbing his back. “Christopher, calm down. It’s okay.”

  “Kitty!” The word is followed by more incomprehensible words at high volume. I resist the temptation to yell at him, because it won’t do any good.

  “Would you mind going for a drive?” I ask Jesse. “He needs to sleep, and I don’t think he’s going to calm down just from us talking to him.”

  He looks skeptical. “Do you think it’s a good idea for me to come with?”

  “It might be easier if there’s one person to drive and one person to help calm Christopher down.”

  He nods. “All right. Let me get my jacket.”

  It’s a bit of a struggle to get Christopher into his car seat. He wants to go back to the party, but he doesn’t want to go anywhere else, and I think he’s figured out that going back to the party isn’t one of the options. He arches his back and screams and smacks me in the face a couple of times. Jesse stands by, looking on with an expression on his face that’s a mix of bemused and terrified. It would be hilarious if I weren’t so busy getting beaten up by my own kid.

  Suddenly, though, Jesse moves forward. “Hey, Christopher.” He says it in a normal tone. I’m grateful for this. A lot of people would just start yelling right away, but he seems to understand that’s not the direction I want to go. “You want to see the fire station? If you’ll sit still and let your mom buckle you up, we can go see the trucks.”

  I toss him a grateful look. It’s bribery, sure, but it’s harmless bribery, not like offering him candy or ice cream or something that’s not only bad for him but that would likely make everything worse.

  “Trucks?” Christopher asks. His face is tear-streaked and red, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so exhausted in his entire short life.

  “Yeah. Big red fire trucks.” Jesse glances at me, eyebrows raised in question, and I nod. “You like fire trucks?”

  “Like trucks.”

  He calms down a little, his breath still hitching but the sobbing starting to fade. I take the opportunity to click the car seat buckles into place. “Great,” I tell him, forcing praise into my voice. “Let’s go. I bet the trucks are really cool.”

  I make sure everything is secure then round the car to the driver’s seat, mouthing, “Thank you,” at Jesse as I go.

  He waves urgently and says quietly, “Let me drive. That way you can keep an eye on him.”

  It’s not a bad idea. I head the opposite direction, toward the passenger side, and hand him my keys when we meet in the middle.

  He still looks bemused as he turns the key in the ignition. He’s probably never dealt with a little kid before. They can be confusing creatures, that’s for sure.

  “Trucks,” says Christopher as we start down the street. “Where trucks?”

  At first I’m afraid the question’s going to lead to another meltdown, but he’s put too much energy into resisting the seat belt. We haven’t driven quite a quarter of a mile before his eyelids start to droop. He fights it for a minute or two, little sobs of protest bursting out of him, but then his breathing settles into that slow, quiet rhythm that makes it clear he’s finally succumbed.

  Jesse glances at him in the rearview mirror. “Is he out?” he whispers.

  “I think so.” I don’t whisper, but I do keep my voice down. No point tempting fate. I turn to look out the front window. I’m not entirely sure where we are at this point, since I haven’t been paying attention. “Don’t feel obligated to go to the fire station.”

  He nods. “Was I wrong to ask him that?”

  “No. It was fine.” I smile. “Stroke of genius, actually.”

  His eyes meet mine and he returns the smile. It’s a moment. A nice moment. It lasts long enough I’m afraid he’s going to wreck the car, so I break eye contact first. He turns his attention back to the street and clears his throat.

  We’re both quiet for a time, the only sound the deep whoosh of Christopher’s breathing and an occasional sleepy whimper. Jesse takes a turn I’m not familiar with, and I realize we’re going uphill. I’d ask him where we’re going, but I realize I don’t care. I know I’m safe with him. It’s a nice feeling.

  He finally turns off onto a side road and parks. Again, I’m not sure where we are, but the headlights are glinting off water, and when he rolls the windows down I can hear the ripple of waves. A soft breeze mo
ves through the car, tinted with salt. I take a long, slow breath, letting my body relax. I hadn’t realized how tense I was.

  “Is this okay?” he asks. “Or do I need to keep driving?”

  I glance back at Christopher. He’s still out like a light. “I think it’s okay.”

  Jesse nods, and again there’s a long silence. I start to tense up again. I’m thinking too much. Why is he doing this? Why am I so willing to let him?

  He looks at me. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Who says I’m thinking?”

  “I can hear things grinding inside your head.”

  I can’t help but chuckle a little. I’ve been told my “thinking face” looks like I’m plotting an assassination. I like Jesse’s description better.

  The amusement dies, though, as my thoughts shift to wondering if I want to tell him what’s grinding in my head. “Nothing. Not really.”

  “C’mon. You look like it was super serious.”

  I sigh. I don’t want to hash this out with him. There’s no point. We’ll do our thing with the fake dating, then he’ll be off on his own and I’ll be by myself again. Muddying the waters right now will just make it weird, and all I really want is to convince Mom and Dad to cosign my loan for vet school. I don’t want to end up with a real boyfriend. Or end up mourning a breakup with a fake one.

  His face is so open, though, eyebrows raised like he really wants to know. Finally I tell him, “I was just wondering why you’re even doing this.”

  “Doing what? Sitting in your car?”

  “No.” I turn to look out the front window, out over the expanse of water leading to the ocean. It’s black and rippled, moonlight and streetlights casting diamond sparkles. “Why did you kiss me?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “But why would you? You don’t need to work so hard to make things seem real.”

  He seems so close all of a sudden, although neither of us has moved. I can almost feel his heat there next to me. “I’m not working at anything.”

  I feel suddenly trapped, like he’s cornered me. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t inhale past the block to draw in air. I swallow hard and finally manage to say, “This isn’t funny, Jesse.”

  “What isn’t funny?” He’s closer. I can feel the waft of his breath on my face.

  I close my eyes, open them again, and shift back as far as I can in the seat. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Jesse.” Much to my surprise, my voice is firm. “You know it’s not real. You’re just pretending. We both are. You have no interest in a real relationship.”

  “I don’t?” There’s a sultry layer to his voice that’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before from him or anyone else. My body’s starting to tingle. Parts of it are starting to burn.

  “Of course you don’t. Especially not with me. I’m not kidding myself here. I know I’m not your type.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Why does he keep doing that? It’s infuriating, especially when my hands want nothing more than to grab him and drag his mouth down to mine.

  “I’m a geeky weirdo, and you’re a…hot fireman.” The last words come out with a bit of a squeak, because I realize what I’m saying right as I say it, and it’s not the kind of thing I wanted to admit to him. He doesn’t need to know I think he’s handsome, especially when I know there’s no way he’s interested. I force my voice to come out more firmly. “Also, I have a kid, and everybody knows single moms are dating suicide. So just quit playing games. I don’t appreciate it.”

  He nods sagely, but a curl at the edge of his mouth makes me think he might be mocking me. Then he leans closer to me, and nothing seems like a charade anymore. “So I’m not interested in you.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “News to me,” he answers in a soft voice that makes my heart go triple time for a few agonizing seconds. “I think the comic-book T-shirts are kind of hot, frankly. And you’re kind of a crazy cat lady—although I’m not sure you can be a crazy cat lady if you don’t actually own a cat… How does that work, anyway?”

  “Just stop it, Jesse. I don’t—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Because regardless of what kind of crazy you are, you’re fucking hot. And as long as you’re pretending you’re my girlfriend, I might as well take advantage of that, right?”

  I swallow hard. It would be so easy to give in to the temptation that’s filling the car with heat, that’s making my ears buzz. But that would lead nowhere good. Not for any of us. “‘Pretending,’” I remind him. “That’s the key word here.”

  He holds my gaze for a moment, but this time he doesn’t answer me. Instead he slides his hand across the top of my thigh then over the curve, so his fingertips touch the inner seam of my jeans. The side of his hand is millimeters from my crotch. Watching his own hand as it moves, he shifts it a little, even closer, his fingers tightening minutely, and I barely choke back the needy sound I can feel rising in the back of my throat.

  Surely he’s not serious. Surely he doesn’t actually find me attractive. God, surely he doesn’t want me. But there’s his hand, touching me almost intimately, and when I let my gaze stray toward him, I can see the full, thick hardness of his erection pressing against the seam of his jeans.

  He brings his gaze back up to mine, and my eyes snap to his. He’s smiling, a sultry curve of his lips, and he starts to close the distance between us.

  His mouth meets mine. He’s gentle at first, as if he’s feeling me out. His mouth is soft, and it feels good to have it there against mine. It’s different, somehow, from the way he’s kissed me before. Maybe because before we had an audience. Now it’s just him and me, alone in a car where the windows are starting to steam up in spite of the cross breeze coming off the water outside.

  He draws back a little so his lower lip is still barely brushing mine, then he dives in again.

  This time it’s serious.

  Reaching across the car, he cups the back of my neck with one hand, pulling me a little closer while his mouth presses into mine. His tongue outlines my lips then presses into the seam. I open for him. I can’t help it. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed like this—so long since I’ve been kissed at all with any kind of sincerity. Even with Troy, things had devolved to little more than an occasional peck on the lips by the time we ended. Now, my whole body is lighting up, and I’m realizing how much I’ve missed physical contact.

  Nothing about the way he touches me is casual or cursory. Nothing about it feels like he’s pretending. His hand at the back of my neck holds me still for a few seconds, then shifts, tilting my head so he can open my mouth wider, explore deeper. He’s not gentle anymore. He’s commanding. Demanding. His other hand drifts higher on my leg until he brushes my pussy. Heat floods me, and I know I’m drenching myself with hunger. A finger pushes against me, as if he would penetrate me with it if the denim weren’t in the way.

  Then he moves that hand, lifts it while his tongue spears into me in a steady, hungry rhythm. He cups my breast. My nipple springs up hard against his palm, and another thread of sheer lust spears through me. It’s like being stabbed with needles, it’s so intense.

  I can’t keep my hands to myself anymore. I start to wonder why I thought I should, under the circumstances. I jerk at his shirt and manage to shove a hand up under it, feeling hot skin, corded muscle. My fingers press into the groove of his spine. I get my other hand up the front of his shirt, digging into the hardness of his pecs, the soft hair that covers them. While he’s teasing my nipple with the sharp edges of his fingernails, I find one of his, thrumming it until it rises nearly as hard as my own.

  His mouth draws back suddenly from mine, moving to my neck. Biting. He lays a trail of sharp nips down the side of my neck then onto my shoulder. I’m so ready for him. So willing. He could take me right now, and—

  There’s a noise from the backseat. It’s faint but clear, as Christopher makes an odd, sniffling noise. I jerk back so fast I wo
nder if I’ve managed to sprain something.

  Peering into the backseat, I can see Christopher is fine and also still asleep. But that noise was a wake-up call. I need to be more careful. There’s more at stake here than just my own libido.

  I look back at Jesse, expecting him to be upset. But he’s just watching me, a rueful look on his face. His hand is still on my breast, and he runs his thumb lazily over the curve.

  “Point taken,” he says quietly. “But I want you to know—and I’m not joking here, Maddy, not one bit—if Christopher weren’t in the car right now, we’d be fucking in this front seat.”

  I clear my throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “The gear shift’s in the way,” I finally say. “And there’s not a lot of room.”

  He chuckles. “You underestimate my skills.” Straightening, he puts the keys back in the ignition. “And I have many.”

  He gives me a broad wink and starts the car.

  8

  Jesse

  Jesse

  There’s nothing quite like the smell of burning plastic. It drifts on the breeze into the courtyard of the apartment complex. It’s not burning anymore—we put the fire out—but the smell’s going to linger for a while. Not just in this courtyard, but inside my nose, in the back of my throat. That shit takes forever to go away.

  On the positive side, we were able to evacuate everyone in the building and get the fire put out before it damaged more than a single unit and one of the adjacent apartments. All thanks to a working smoke detection system. I’m just making sure all the equipment gets shut down properly so we can get the trucks back to the fire station.

  There was a time when successfully dealing with a fire like this one made me feel calm, deeply satisfied, like what I do actually meant something. I could help people. Save people’s lives.

  I could save perfect strangers, but I hadn’t been able to do a damn thing for Lacey. While she was sick, my job gave me a feeling of control. The satisfaction of a job well done is still there, but it’s not the same. Lacey’s gone, and all I have left of her is some pictures and her goddamn cat.