Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (31 page)

He nods knowingly.

“I’m really sorry for that.”

“Thank you,” he says.

I nod. But as I watch him I get the feeling he’s not done with his reasons to tap the brakes on our relationship. “So what else?”

“I have to be honest. I hate that we have to pretend at work that we aren’t more than friends. It feels fake—like a lie.”

“But what choice do we have?” I ask, and then a thought occurs to me. “So are you really saying you want to be friends for now, and you don’t want me to put my sexy on?”

To give the question more flair I grab the stem of my sundae’s maraschino cherry, close my lips around the glossy red ball of sweetness and pull the stem out with a pop.

He looks at my lips and sighs. “No. I just think it would be good to figure things out slowly. What’s the rush?”

I shrug, but I’m not feeling excited at the prospect. It all sounds so complicated when all I want to do is sit with him on his side of the booth with one hand wrapped possessively around the top of his thigh, and the other feeding him bites of whipped cream and fudge sauce in between my bites.

When I’ve polished off my dessert Joe drives me home. I kind of figure that he’s going to just drop me off, but he parks and walks me up to my front door.

“Thanks for the sundae,” I say with a bright smile.

“You’re welcome.” He stares at me unabashedly. “I like this dress on you. Actually what I mean to say is that
you
make this dress look great.”

“Thank you,” I reply with a coy smile. I swear he looks like he wants to butter my biscuit. “Do you want to come in?” I ask, leaning into him just slightly.

“I shouldn’t,” he answers with a stoic expression.

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want to?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes.”

I turn slowly to the door and slide my key in the lock. Meanwhile he leans into me close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

Once in the door I walk over to the couch, sit down, and smooth my skirt across my lap, waiting for him to decide what he wants to do.

He takes a few steps into the living room and then stops as his gaze moves from one end of the room to the other. “What’s this about?”

I realize that he never saw my house before Mike and his furniture were extricated from my life. “It’s called staging,” I reply. “The realtor insisted on it. Supposedly it can really help a sale.”

He shrugs. “It looks different—fancy, not my thing. I prefer less showy stuff.”

“I like that about you.” I pat the cushion next to me. “Would you like to sit down?”

He slowly walks over and joins me, but he sits with his back straight and his arms rigid.

I turn toward him. “I’ve got to tell you something and I know you won’t like it but I’ll always be honest with you.”

“What’s that?”

“This furniture is Mike’s. He’s moved into his boyfriend’s place and so he’s decided to sell it, but meanwhile it saves money to use it for staging while trying to sell the house.”

Joe lets out a long sigh.

“It’s going on the market in two weeks . . . as soon as the backyard’s done. And then I’m out of here.”

“Where are you going?”

“Jeanine said I could stay in her guest house until I decide what to do. But if me being here with his stuff bothers you I’ll move into Jeanine’s guest house tonight.”

He shakes his head. I know he doesn’t like any of this, but he has to know the whole picture. I’m a package deal.

“She lives pretty far from the station,” he says.

And you,
I think to myself.

“I know.”

His gaze moves over the room again before he looks back at me. “Thanks for offering, but it’s okay with you being here. Everything is heading in a clear direction now.”

“It is,” I say while thinking that I wish it was a little more clear about our future. I guess time will tell.

We sit silently but the longer he’s next to me the harder it is to resist him. My attraction to this man is even more powerful since our time apart. I study the stubble on his sharp jawline, his broad shoulders, and the way a wavy dark strand of his hair curls onto his forehead like Superman.

My Superman.

My fingers start to tingle and I can’t help myself, I reach over and place my hand on his thigh.

He glances down to where I’m touching him. I can feel his muscles flex so I tighten my fingers over him. I wish his legs were bare and not clad in jeans. He has the most perfect, manly legs.

“I wish you weren’t wearing your jeans,” I say, and then immediately realize that I’m saying this out of context of our discussion. “So I could see your thighs,” I throw in hoping I sound less lewd. Of course then I realize that I just sound crazy.

“You want to see my thighs?” he asks, his expression confused.

“Well, and the rest of you too.”

Laughing, he shakes his head. “You sure speak your mind, don’t you?”

I shrug. “I don’t see any reason not to. You’ll always know what I’m about.”

He smiles kindly, yet there’s a glimpse of desire in his dark eyes as he places his hand on my lap. “As long as we’re confessing . . . I’d like to see your thighs too.” He reaches lower and then skims his fingertips up under my skirt and rubs tiny circles above my knee. It feels flirty and encouraging, and suddenly hope wraps around us, lifting my spirit and strengthening my resolve.

It’s promising that we’re moving away from our initial awkwardness, and I fall into the circle of his arms knowing everything about this feels right.

“There now,” he whispers, his lips pressed against the bare skin of my shoulder.

My whole body relaxes with his attention and I lean back into the cushions of the couch. “I’ve missed you so much, Joe.”

His gaze is intense. “
That
much?”

I nod and swallow, then press my eyes shut feeling glad that he’s here and touching me. This is something . . . it’s progress, when yesterday things were just steps away from hopeless.

Even with my eyes closed I can sense him coming closer and I can feel my cheeks warm. He cups my face in his hand, and I sigh.

“I missed you too, Trisha . . . something fierce.”

When his lips press against mine, I welcome his attention. He tastes like mint gum and longing, and in this moment they’re the two best flavors in the world. It’s a slow, soulful kiss, but it’s also the kind of kiss you only get from a man who wants more, and means business.

His tenderness reminds me that in this epic battle between practical intentions versus pure desire, his love is worth fighting for.

“You still love me,” I whisper.

He nods. “I do. Too damn much.”

“Maybe too damn much is just the right amount.”

Pressing my face into his warm neck, I feel his pulse against my cheek, so strong and sure.

“I love you like crazy,” I whisper before I pull back and look up at him. “This is a big love,” I say with conviction letting him know that I mean business.

Reaching over, I grab a handful of his T-shirt and pull him close again until his weight is on me. I kiss him like he’s my Mr. Everything—the answer to all my questions—as I wrap one hand around the nape of his neck, and tug his hair with the other.

Our kisses tumble over each other, fevered and near desperate. I end up flat on my back against the velvet pillows with Joe lying on top of me, with my skirt pushed up and one of his large hands in my panties. His other hand is holding my breast as his fingers tease my nipple. The way he edges my legs apart and rocks his hips into me reminds me that we’re alive, glowing like a hot neon sign.

His touch stirs me up as his gaze grows more heated. I run my hand over where he’s hard. He looks down and watches my movements before his gaze moves back up and our eyes meet.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, sweetheart.”

Smiling, I nod.
Sweetheart
. He gets up and lifts me off the couch.

Once in the bedroom he stands facing me with his hands on my shoulders. “Is this too soon? Are you sure?” he asks like he’s remembering our talk about the pain in my past.

Maybe this isn’t his idea of
going slow
, or maybe he’s not sure about anything when it comes to us, but I sure as hell am. We hit a low point in the previous week, but I still believe in him completely.

Doesn’t he understand that in this moment he’s all I want in the world?

I start unbuttoning his shirt and when I pull it open, I trail kisses down his neck and across his chest. His grip tightens as I trace my tongue over his nipple. I move to the other as my hands reach down and undo his belt, and then his jeans.

“Trisha,” he moans when I slip my hand inside to grasp him. He feels so incredibly good in my hand.

As he drags his shirt off, my fingers tighten over the waistline of his jeans, and when I pull them down, I sink to my knees, slowly stroking him as he watches with hooded eyes.

Leaning in closer, I circle my tongue around the head of his cock, then trail down his length and back again. I look up at him with wide eyes as I take him fully in my warm mouth, my lips tightening over him. The low groan in his chest gives me chills. He gently runs his hand through my hair as I pull him in deeper, loving his reaction . . . imagining I can feel the thundering of his heart.

“Jesus, Trisha,” he groans. “What are you doing to me?”

“Loving you,” I say before taking him in deep again.

I take my sweet time paying attention to what stirs him up the most. I’m lost in the rhythm of giving him pleasure when suddenly he loops his hands under my arms and lifts me off my knees.

“What?” I ask. I’m not done but if he has other things in mind I won’t complain.

“I want to love you back.” Pulling me tightly against him, he kisses me along the nape of my neck. He turns me around slowly and undoes the zipper of my dress, pushing the straps off my shoulders while I squirm impatiently, until it falls to the floor. He glides his hands down my back and caresses my hips and butt with a sigh of appreciation. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

He gets on the bed, and pulls me along with him before leaning back into the pillows. “Come here, sweetheart.”

I edge closer and then lift up to straddle him. As I settle onto his thighs, I whisper, “I want you so much.”

He nods, closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “I want you too,” he murmurs, his fingertips circling my breasts, as he watches me arc toward him with pleasure.

I place a hand on either side of his face and pull him close. This time I’m the one kissing him, putting my heart and soul into this kiss, my lips consuming his breath, his heartbeat . . . his heat.

His hands cup my ass, as he presses his fingers into my flesh. I moan long and deep as he slides me down over where he’s hard for me.

I kiss him again and again as I rock against him. His chest is cut and solid, perfect to press my bare breasts against. I run my fingers over his hardness, smooth skin sheathing steel.

His gaze studies my every move. “Do you know how much I love watching you like this?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Let me show you how much.” Leaning over, he takes one of my nipples between his lips. I moan as he holds me, his hands everywhere I need them to be.

I’m stunned. I’ve never felt this desired before, and suddenly I can see the sense in slowing
this
down, right here, right now . . . because I don’t want this feeling to ever end.

I lift myself off of his lap and slide back toward his knees as he watches, his jaw slack and his desire fighting to keep me in place. With narrowed eyes, he holds out his hands toward me.

“Where are you going? Come back here,” he demands, his voice rough and sexy.

“I’m slowing us down.”

“Really? You sure about that?”

One look at his determined gaze confirms what I know in my heart . . . forget slowing down.

“Not really,” I say with a smile.

I want all of this man. I don’t care about being careful, taking things slow, or anything that’s sane. I climb closer and rise up, taking his cock in my hand so I can rub it against me.

“Trisha,” he moans, and with that I take him. I start out slow but then take him all the way inside of me, and deep as I can. I rise up, and sink down again and again as his hands grip my hips to guide me, us both looking down and watching with wonder how our bodies seem made for each other, the glory of his thick cock sliding in and out of me.

When we reach our rhythm, he takes me in his arms and kisses me as deep as he loves me. I surrender to his lips and cock, and hold on for dear life as he powerfully thrusts. There’s a raw thrill coursing from every place he’s touched until I’m completely undone.

When this man comes it’s like thunder and fireworks, sirens of ecstasy and the hushed whispers of prayer. I ride into my own climax as he holds me tight, filling me . . . loving me. I cry out from somewhere deep and gasp for air.

Once again . . . I am reborn.

Chapter 23:
Wrangling Wildfires

Life shrinks or expands in proportion with one’s courage. ~Anaïs Nin

From the star-scattered hills of Hollywood to the stretch of beach paradise where the sea meets the sky, Los Angeles feels like the place where anything can happen. People come here to chase their dreams, and sometimes they come true.

Unfortunately
anything happening
also includes earthquakes, riots, and brush fires. After a dry rain season the house-stacked hills become parched and colorless. They’re a precarious place to live, especially with Mother Nature being prone to wrath. But some people will do anything for a great view.

On this unusually hot day, it’s a given that the dry Santa Ana winds will put the whole station on edge. We leave the TV in the day room on the news with stories of brush fires on alert. One wildfire started in the hills above Santa Barbara a few hours ago, but thank God it’s quickly contained.

Only hours later word comes that Malibu is burning and in this case, it’s not looking good as the hot winds have picked up intensity. We all gather around the TV and eat to fill up knowing we could be called to action any time. They’ve already called in all the stations in the nearby areas from Oxnard to Santa Monica and Venice Beach.