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Authors: Elizabeth Moore

Brotherhood of Fire (3 page)

BOOK: Brotherhood of Fire
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A total body shudder lurched through Carrie as she walked into the dimly lit bar. The sight of Garrett and John sitting together almost made her stop walking halfway to the table. Even in the dim light, the brightness of John's smile, his dark head bent next to her husband's as he laughed at some joke they shared sent her off into visions of the little fantasy Garrett had been feeding her the last few weeks.

Except the fantasy hadn't been about John; Garrett hadn't named anyone, specifically, and she hadn't thought of anyone, specifically. Until right now. John's sculpted torso swam into her head, but instead of sitting there leaning on his sinewy forearms on the black bar table, she pictured him with his well-defined chest and broad shoulders bared, on her bed. Garrett's bronze head swiveled around, and he flashed his panty-melting grin at her. She couldn't help the wide smile that warmed her whole body. Her husband always made her melt, made her smile. His chiseled, masculine chin and those dimples on his handsome face topped with the mischief that always danced behind his coffee brown eyes was like her daily fix. He both thrilled and comforted her whenever she laid eyes on him. Except right now, she narrowed her gaze, directing the fault for her wet panties and visions of John's equally gorgeous body being naked in her mind, at her husband.

Every time Garrett started in on her, teasing her with the idea of another man doing something sinful to her and enticing her to picture the two of them doing it together, the images slammed into her and took her over with a lust like she had never experienced. That was when the man was faceless. The shock of John flashing into that little picture in her head had her thighs clenched, the heat and wet between them enough to make her squirm, and a flash of hot, hard guilt burning in her belly.

Didn't help much when they both looked up at her and she could have sworn John's lusty grin rivaled her husband's. Everything about him screamed
I could be yours
, right down to the way he ran his gaze over her as she sat down. Before her bottom hit the chair, Garrett pulled her into his lap.

Managing a little smile and enough breath to talk, she pushed the lust out of her head and dragged herself back to the present.
"Drinking awhile, guys? You look a little tight."
"Yeah, we're tight all right." Garrett laughed, running his hand up her back.
"Hey, Carrie. How are you doing? How's your ankle?" John's deep, husky voice rolled over her, even through the noise in the little bar. How the hell did men do that with only their vocal chords?
"Good, John, good. It's doing great, thanks to you. So, Garrett tells me you were the one who got him in the fire the other day, gave him his first shot at it."
John grinned as took a pull on his beer. "Yep. Threw him into the bitch, and he took her down. He's been ready for awhile; it was good to see him get his shot at it."
Garrett smiled ear to ear. Looking between the two of them, she tried to forget how she'd just been seeing John in her head and remember he was her husband's mentor, best friend, and, for the last ten months, almost like a brother to him. What the hell was she thinking? John would be a fixture in their lives for years to come, and Garrett being right at the beginning of his career left no room for screw-ups. Besides, this wasn't about her twisting up their little sex fantasies; today was about Garrett, the bar run this Friday was to celebrate his first fire. She turned and kissed him, then snuggled her face into his neck. The heat of his hard, muscled thighs burned through her denim shorts, not making her attempts to focus any easier.
"Proud of you, sweetheart."
"You can show me how proud later," he whispered back, pulling a delicious little giggle from her.
The tables filled as other wives joined their husbands, and the talk turned boisterous, rough, and generally dirty. Firefighters weren't reserved or shy—how the hell could you be when you put your life on the line every time you went out on the job? She loved that about them. They were flirty, obnoxious, and the tightest-knit group of people she'd ever met. Like walking into a ready-made family—if they accepted you, they pulled you in, and that was it, you were surrounded.
She found herself watching Marcus, Dawson, and Mari with a little more than passing interest. The three of them were always together.
Always
. One of those rumors that when you were up close and personal with it you knew where there was smoke there was fire . . . pun intended. No way those three weren't hooking up, not when the two men looked at her like that.
Forgetting her promise to herself of a moment ago, she threw a half-desperate glance John's way and found him staring at her. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the expression on his face matched the one Garrett gave her when he made love to her. Raw. Needy. A smile she couldn't help flashed over her face. God, was she really wondering what it would be like, having them both with her? A shiver passed over her. She couldn't ignore the truth that yeah, in theory, making her fantasy into a reality sounded like a damn good idea. She sighed. Was she some kind of freak for thinking such wicked thoughts?
"What are you thinking, baby?" Garrett whispered in her ear, his eyes bright when she turned to him.
"Watching everyone. Everyone at this fire house is so cool to be around, you know?"
"Well, almost everyone." Garrett grumbled as she caught sight of Anders, Bent, and Torman.
Garrett shifted her on his lap; his arms tensed around her. "Torman left Marks the other day."
"What? In the house? The fire you were in?" Her eyes went wide as she stared at Torman. Relief flooded her he hadn't left Garrett alone in there, or she might have hiked over to his table and given him a piece of her mind.
"Yep. He's heading for an ass beating, or at least a good ass chewing."
"I'd beat his ass, to hell with talking. It's overrated," John said, shaking his head as they all three looked at the man like he was a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe. What he'd done was a Cardinal sin, and she didn't even have to be a firefighter to know it.
She eyed John, watching the testosterone-laden glint in his eye, the way his throat muscles worked as he swallowed another sip of his beer. His lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle made her focus on how soft they looked, how the softness contrasted with the scruff of the five o'clock shadow he was sporting. Gaze traveling him slowly, she took in the broad shoulders, the slight curl of his thick, black hair at the back of his neck. His muscular, tanned arms were showcased in the dark blue t-shirt he wore. The material stretched over his biceps, his chest . . . and she realized a whole new body flush was creeping over her before she tore her eyes away.
"Whatcha lookin at?" Garrett's deep, husky whisper rolled over her as deliciously as John's voice had a few moments ago. Until she realized he knew exactly what, or who, she had been looking at.
Turning, she buried her face in Garrett's neck, inhaling his deep, masculine scent as she hissed in his ear. "It's your damn fault, you and this fantasy. I'm looking at every guy like that now!"
"Ahh—" He cleared his throat. "Seems like just one in particular to me."
She heard the smile in his voice. Kicking her heel into his shin under the table, he yelped.
"Easy, wildcat, I'm only having fun with you."
"The kind of fun that will get us caught! Hell, bad enough you would probably do it for real; now I'm looking at your best friend like a piece of meat!"
The deep belly laugh Garrett let out caused a number of heads to turn in their direction, and she cringed at her mistake.
"Talking dirty down there?" Rick yelled from the opposite end of the table. "Let us in on it; we need some new material! Nobody's had a good story since we found probie Jim on Craig's List cruising for a cock to suck."
A table-wide laugh went up, and Carrie was glad for the distraction. Until she caught John staring dead at her. The look in his deep blue eyes sent a shiver through her, and her panties soaked instantly.
He studied her, then cocked a slash of ebony eyebrow at her and took another long drink of his beer, eyes still trained on her the entire time. Garrett chose right then to unceremoniously lift her up and dump her in the chair between the two of them.
"Going to the head; be right back."
And there they were. John, suddenly looking uncomfortable, like he had no idea what to say and her, keeping her mouth clamped shut because anything she might manage to say would sound about as ridiculous as she felt.
"Pool?" She managed to stammer. God, she'd spent months hanging around this guy, laughing, even a little flirting or teasing, and it had never meant anything until now. All of a sudden, anything she did with him had a double meaning. She needed to remember to kill Garrett for this.
A few minutes later, she was wondering what was taking Garrett so long as she watched John bend to take his shot, then walk toward her to hand off the one pool cue they'd managed to find. The hard slam into her back from some drunk was unexpected. So was being instantly wrapped in John's strong arms. Chest to chest, they bumped together, her forehead hitting hard on his chin as he caught her to keep her from crashing into the pool table. She looked up, needing less than half a second immersed in his masculine scent and warm, hard muscle to lose all her breath and feel an electric humming rush through her entire body.
The longer she stared up into his deep blue eyes, the more intense the humming, until it built to a pace that would likely have been enough to power the block if someone could tap her.
His stomach muscles twitched against her, and his arms steadily tightened around her long after she regained her feet. It was his large body that was pulling her slightly off balance now as he held her pressed tightly to him from thigh to chest with the force of his embrace. Her gaze focused on the bared skin of his toned shoulder where it met the curve of his neck. The deep hollow that she knew would be warm and soft, and where she'd find the pulse beneath his skin if her lips rested there.
Garrett floated into view, finally exiting the bathroom with the timing sense of a snowstorm in July. His presence cooled her senses, and the rush of being encased in John's warmth deserted her as she pulled back, mouth open, body tensed. Expecting Garrett to at least be confused, irritated, maybe, she didn't expect the look of surprise then total unadulterated lust to come over his face.
He approached them with a grin as John hastily let go with a quick, "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, thanks for catching me."
"You fondling my wife?" Garrett chuckled, moving in close to them both. "I charge for that, you know."
"Garrett! Don't be an ass. Some drunk about knocked me down; John came to my rescue." Face hot and still breathing hard, she snatched the cue and took her shot, missing by a mile.
Time seemed to slow to the speed of paint drying. Garrett settled onto a stool and pulled her back into his lap, making a show of it. Holding her irritation at him for instigating a reaction from John, she tried to focus on the game. But every time Garrett put his hands on her, John stole a glance at them, and his heated looks made the tension in her rise until she felt like she was being thumped like a guitar string. Garrett, with his wicked little grins to her and his open approval of John's shy looks, and the secret that hummed between her and her husband that John seemed to be playing right into combined to drive her mad. John smiled and shot pool with no idea he was the subject of a very graphic little scene that sure as hell didn't involve a bar full of people . . . or clothes.
The game dragged. Neither one of them could put a pool ball in to save their life, until finally, mercifully, John sank the eight ball. She breathed a sigh of relief.
"God, that was a death march. I suck at pool."
"No worse than I do today. I think it's just fatigue." John shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "You guys staying around much longer?"
"I don't think so." Garrett winked at her. "Need some sleep. You?"
"Nope. Hitting the can, then heading out. All right then, I'll see you tomorrow, man, and see you next time, Carrie."
His blue eyes hit her head on, gaze steady and direct. A slow, lazy smile curled his lips as he nodded at her, a few strands of jet-black hair falling over his forehead.
"See you later. Have a good night." It was a rush watching him walk away, a total mix of emotion flooding her like a high tide, and she squirmed against Garrett. "Let's get out of here."
His arms circled her, and he leaned close to her neck. "Best words I've heard all day."
He stood, shouted to the crowd, and gave everyone a wave as he pulled her behind him out into the warm evening. The hazy, dark warmth of a late summer night closed in around her. Her mind stayed in the slightly dreamy state that being close to both John and Garrett the last few hours had pushed her into.
The sultry energy of the night seemed to possess her husband as well. No sooner did they round his truck than he was on her, lips devouring hers in an out of control force that outdid even his usual gusto. She melted into his chest, vague thoughts of the fact that they were in the parking lot in full view a distant cry to the feel of his hands sliding beneath her T-shirt, his warm, soft mouth licking and nibbling at her lips, stroking her tongue with his.
He moved over her chin, down her neck, hands still roaming her bare skin. "Damn, when I saw you standing there with John, do you know what the hell I was thinking?"
"Oh, god, Garrett . . . don't."
He bit her neck gently and groaned against her skin. "Why not? You were thinking it."
"Garrett—" She moaned, forgetting what she was even complaining about when the warm skin of his hand hit her bare breast as he pushed her bra up, his knuckles grazing her nipple.
"Tell me you didn't feel it. Your face was flushed. I bet you are so wet right now."
The only answer that came was a low moan as his fingers grazed her nipple again, his lips traveling over her collarbone, the warmth of his breath igniting her skin where his tongue left a damp trail.
"Uh, hey." The voice cut through the haze.
Carrie gasped and pulled away, effectively yanking Garrett's hand out of her shirt, bra still askew beneath it as she backed away. Burning heat flushed her face as she threw her husband a glare, then dropped her eyes to the ground rather than look at John.
She opened the door of the truck and climbed in. Hearing Garrett's deep laugh and sensing that neither of the men had moved, she couldn't resist the urge to look up. The look of total shocked lust on John's face, his eyes dark and burning even in the twilight, took her breath away. He stood with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, staring first at her, then at Garrett, who leaned into the side of the truck next to the passenger window, a cocky grin on his face. If she'd resisted her curiosity, she'd have missed the little nod Garrett gave John, and the wistful head shake John gave in return as he gave her one last look, a look no woman would mistake for anything other than wishful thinking.

BOOK: Brotherhood of Fire
7.48Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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