Authors: Anne Marsh

Burning Up (12 page)

BOOK: Burning Up

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His hand cupped one breast, stroking its softness. “You're so beautiful.” His mouth lowered, brushing her with a teasing kiss. “You like this, don't you, Lily? You're wet for me, for us, aren't you?”

God.
She was going to come from the sound of his voice, the sexy growl of satisfaction he made as he pulled her shirt off. His fingers flicked open her bra, nudging the lacy cups aside.

“I don't hear an answer, baby.” He licked a hot, damp path down one breast, rolling the stiff little nipple in his mouth. The pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, suck her down into a heated maelstrom of pleasure. He was pure wickedness. Every bit as delicious as his reputation had promised.

“I owe you something for that night,” he whispered, his hands cupping both her breasts now. Teasing her nipples knowingly. “Do you have any idea how many nights I came, remembering how hot you were? Just thinking about what we could have done next?”

Gently, he pinched her nipples, his dark eyes watching as the pleasure tore through her.

One hand slid to her waistband, flicking open the little silver button. Opening her up for him. When he saw the glint of her white lace panties in the gathering shadows, he sucked his breath in. “Better than my fantasies,” he groaned. “Let me touch you now, baby. Please.”

Leaning forward, she captured his mouth. He wasn't the only one with fantasies. She ate at his mouth, devouring him. Swallowing his harsh groan of pleasure as her tongue dueled with his. Took his mouth with long, slow, heated strokes until there was no part of that mouth she didn't know. All hers.

His hand parted her thighs wider, covering the scrap of white lace concealing her aching flesh. His hoarse groan was her reward as she arched her back into his touch with a wordless cry.

He touched her there, there where she burned. The pleasure was a bright bolt tearing through her as he teased and stroked. Coaxed her higher with each wicked pass of his fingers over the cotton soaked with her juices. Wicked, teasing strokes that traced the needy folds, promising ecstasy with each touch. With each brush of his fingertips, the heat built, her flesh growing wetter, tighter.

She shattered, crying out, rocking against his hand.

Chapter Ten

H
e was smart enough not to get caught, but the tension was humming through him, and his dick was viciously hard. It had been too long since the last fire.

Bitch had moved a man into her house.

She'd never done that before. When he'd teased her back in San Francisco, she'd done a little screaming. Called the police and purchased a home security system that he could have warned her wasn't worth shit. Those systems only kept out the stupid. This new place of hers didn't even have that, just a few cheap locks on the windows and a forty-year-old lock on the door. Hardware store had spare keys for all the houses in Strongâthat small-town neighborliness thingâand he'd helped himself.

Simple.

He went where he wanted to go, as the women who'd filed the restraining orders peppering his college career had learned. All carefully swept under the rug by his grandfather's money while his fires kept right on burning.

Clearly, though, his Lily needed another lesson. Another reminder he was coming for her real soon. Dropping the dirt bike behind a convenient stand of thick grass, he considered his options. He could set her fields on fire, but that would bring out the insurance adjuster double-time, and then he'd have to finish his little game too quickly. Ditto for burning the farmhouse. He'd save those for later. When he was ready to be done here.

Humming, hand in his pocket, he scuffed up the edge of the driveway, scattering the gravel. The little purple and white sign advertising fresh-cut lavenderâthat would do. Close enough to frighten her, but not too close. His Lily wouldn't get burned.

This time.

Setting the fire was simple. Beneath the fresh paint, Lily's pretty sign was old wood. Once the fire caught, it'd go right up. The little pink and white flowers she'd planted around the sign just made the job easier, as did the woody stalks of lavender. All he needed was a little newspaper and lighter fluid.

Trembling with anticipation, he struck the match and dropped the flaming stick into the little nest he'd made for it. Wrapping his fingers around his dick, he massaged his swollen shaft, keeping time with the flames slowly licking up the painted wood.

Tearing his mouth from hers, Jack buried his face in Lily's throat, drinking in her small shivers as she came for him, tiny, bright pulses of pleasure beating against his fingers like butterfly wings. Her pleasure was so damned beautiful, he wanted to take her there again and again until she was limp and boneless in his arms. God, he needed a bed, needed to lose himself inside her and love her the way she deserved to be loved.

The familiar, acrid whiff of smoke creeping in through the open window was an unwelcome alarm. There shouldn't be smoke. Not here.

Swiftly raising his head, he pulled Lily closer and looked out the window into the darkening yard. There. A familiar orange flicker and a smoky haze. He'd spent the better part of a decade spotting smoke, but this cloud was surprisingly small. Yet too damned close.
Christ
. Rising to his feet, he tucked Lily back into the chair and headed for the door and the familiar tang of burning wood and tinder.

“Call Rio,” he barked, tossing her his cell as he took off at a dead run for the farm's sign at the bottom of her driveway. Orange flames were licking straight up the white posts, paint peeling away in dark curls. The little pink flowers and curling vine that she'd planted were already gone.

Too long, he decided, to get the hose unwound. He didn't want to lose that sign. Lily had painted it. That sign mattered to her. It was a symbol. Grabbing a shovel and a blanket from the back of his pickup, he got to work. Smothered what he could with the blanket and then covered over the rest with dirt.

“Oh, God,” she said, right behind him, pulling her clothes back on. He wanted to order her back into the house. What if her stalker had progressed from fire starting to sniping? He didn't want her out here where someone could take potshots at her.

Hell.
Already, the remaining flames were dying away beneath the weight of the blanket and dirt. Behind him, he heard Lily dialing.

“Get your asses over here. Now,” he barked as he heard Rio pick up. He shifted another shovelful of dirt onto the flames. The paint had barely blistered, and the fire hadn't jumped the neat little garden bed Lily had dug around the farm's sign. Plenty of tinder, but there hadn't been enough time for it to catch. There was hardly any damage.

Thank God.

His eyes narrowed, his head coming up. “Get into my truck,” he snapped, tossing her the keys. “Take it down to the road, and wait for my brothers. You see anyone else headed your way, you drive like the wind, Lily. You got that?” He couldn't send her back into the house. When they'd seen those flames, they'd both run outside. That meant anyone could have slipped in behind them.

He dropped the shovel, running his gaze over the woods. Bastard was in there. Watching them. He knew it.

“What's wrong, Jack?” She came up behind him, snapping the cell closed.

“Get into the truck, Lily,” he repeated, pressing the keys into her hand. “Just do it.”

She tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. “You think he's out there.”

He filed away her unconscious reference to the gender of her stalker. He'd hash out that telltale sign with her later. For now, he turned toward the strip of woods nearest them, on full alert. Whoever this bastard was, his days of terrorizing Lily Cortez were over.

“Fire's out.” He didn't take his eyes off the woods. It was hard to see in the gathering shadows. There. The grass at the edge of the trees shifted a few inches. There was no wind. If there had been, he'd have been facing a much larger fire. “Get into the truck, and go wait for my brothers.”

Without turning around, he ran his fingers along her cheek. His hands were ashy from the fire, covered in dirt, so he knew he should have waited. But he had to touch her. Had to feel for himself that she was right there beside him. Safe.

She must have caught his tension, because she stopped fighting him. He savored that little moment of trust. “All right,” she said, her fingers closing around the keys. “When you're done here, though, Jack, I want answers.”

Gravel crunched as she moved away. Her little hiss of pain as the stones bit into her bare feet only fueled his anger. This bastard had hurt her for the last time.

He waited until the truck's door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. Then he sprang into action, his legs tearing up the ground between him and that stand of grass.

The hiding place was two hundred yards out and well chosen. Bastard must have brought binoculars with him to enjoy the scene he'd staged, and Jack made a mental note to check the windows in the house. Lily was living in a fishbowl, and he didn't like it. Hell, half the time out here in the country, nobody pulled down a shade. No neighbors and plenty of privacy. God only knew what the bastard had seen.

The grass in front of him suddenly exploded into life. A man ran, his features concealed beneath layers of expensive hunting gear. Man was a walking L.L. Bean catalog with camouflage pants and an olive-green T-shirt. The glossy black helmet with the visor jammed down made a shadowed blur of the face hiding behind the protective panel. Medium build, Jack noted. Caucasian, from the coloring of his forearms.

Ran like a jackrabbit.

Bastard had a dirt bike waiting for him behind the stand of trees. He didn't make any attempt to keep it quietâjust punched the electric starter, let the engine rip, and took off. Jack tried to keep up, even though it was pointless. He was on foot; all he could hope for was to see where the bastard headed. And realize that the other man knew his way around the dirt trails through these woods. Real well.

Lily's stalker was definitely local.

Chapter Eleven

T
he fire wasn't a big one. Lily grabbed on to that thought as if it was a lifeline in the sea of chaotic, tumbling images burned into her memory. Jack, beating back flames, putting them out. Treating her small grass fire like it was of national importance, and, damn it, she shouldn't have found that
sweet
.

Ten minutes after she'd made the call, Rio and Evan were charging up the driveway, Rio on his Harley and Evan in a pickup that wasâimpossiblyâeven more decrepit than Jack's truck.

Whatever they'd been doing, they'd dropped it and hightailed it over here. She curled her fingers over the edge of the truck's rolled-down window and wondered how to explain the unexpected warmth that filled her. It almost felt like belonging. Rio and Evan exchanged a glance she'd have taken objection to under other circumstances, and then they split up.

Evan loped toward the remains of the fire, moving fast and with purpose. His big, booted feet finished up the job Jack had started, methodically stamping out the last embers. Orange licked feebly at his feet and his jeans-clad legs. She wanted to whimper, but that wasn't helping, so she thought about pointing her feet toward the hose. She needed a bucket. Needed to be
doing
anything but just watching.

But Jack had been damned clear about where he wanted her. In his truck.

Rio dropped the bike and headed her way anyhow.

Reaching in the window, he put a hand on her shoulder, as if he understood that she needed to know she wasn't alone right now. Needed an anchor. “You okay?” he asked quietly. His eyes watched those leftover little embers, assessing Evan's progress.

“I've been better,” she said quietly.

“Right. Stay put,” he warned. “Stay where we can see you.” Reaching into the truck's bed, he grabbed a pair of shovels and tossed one to Evan.

“You've got to watch the small ones,” Rio said, throwing another shovelful of dirt onto the smoldering embers. “The small fires are the ones that creep up on you, find themselves some fuel, and get damned big real fast. Burn out of control before you know it. So, yes, this fire matters. All fires matter.”

God.
She
knew
that. The slow tears leaking from her eyes horrified her, but there was no holding them in. How long could she be expected to keep it together?

When Jack returned from his sudden sprint into the woods, she got out of the truck and attached herself to his side. She wasn't stupid. He'd chased someone off.

Jack moved swiftly toward her. “Baby.” His voice was a husky growl as he put a hand on her shoulder. She looked down at those fingers, so sun-browned and strong, warm on her bare skin. Anchoring her. God, he'd run a mileâ
away
from herâif he knew what he was starting to mean to her.

That hand, impossibly tender, urged her to turn around. “I need to see that you're okay, baby.” His other hand came up, his thumb stroking a little pattern over the hollow of her shoulder as he carefully pulled her back against him.

So she just let herself go. Turning around, she buried her face against his chest and let all the tears come out. And Jack's arms just held on tightly, wrapping her up in his strength as he waited for her to cry it all out. She'd known, when he came home, that they had unfinished business. Her memories of that night were slow and sweet, but the years had changed Jack. He was all man now, and ten years of fighting enemy soldiers and wildland fires had made a hero out of the boy she'd once held. He'd changed, as she had, but some things had stayed the same.

She still wanted him.

And he still wanted to keep her safe.

“You ready to tell me what this is all about?” He didn't remove his arm, just tucked her more firmly against him and settled down with his back against a convenient tree, pulling her into his lap.

“All right.” Maybe she should have protested the seating arrangements, but, God, he felt so solid. So real in a world that was slowly turning into a nightmare. She just leaned her head back against his shoulder. It was easier that way.

Because giving up control, letting him in, was the hardest thing she'd ever done. Harder even than watching him walk away ten years ago, because, this time, she'd handed the control over to him.

“I'm waiting, baby.” His husky growl in her ear warned her that the years hadn't taught him patience. Not when it came to answers.

“I should have told you everything about what happened, back in San Francisco. I thought the bare bones would be enough.” She shrugged. “I figured you didn't need any more than that.

“Details always matter.” There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice or the way his arms tightened around her. “So why don't you tell me now?”

She swiped at her wet eyelashes. She wasn't usually a crier. She didn't come apart when a man asked what the hell was wrong. So why was she doing it now?

“This isn't your problem to fix, Jack. You're a smoke jumper, and this is no wildland fire. We might have seen each other a time or two in high school, but that was years ago. I didn't need or want you to come riding to the rescue. And I didn't want you thinking about what happened, every time you looked at me.”

“I have plenty to think about already when I look at you.” She didn't miss the sexual tension in his body. “I've thought about what we had every single night, Lily. I might not have known what to do about it, but I thought about it. I thought about you. If you'd told me you were in trouble, I would have been here for you. I'd have come home.”

He hadn't come home in ten years.

“You did come home,” she pointed out.

“Nonna asked.” He shrugged. “So I came.”

“You weren't expecting to see me.”

“No.” Those arms of his shifted, wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “But I'm still here, Lily, and that's going to count for something. This time I'm staying put, and I'm ready to do something about us. First, though, I need to know what your deal is. Tell me why these fires scare the hell out of youâtell me what you haven't told me yet.”

She inhaled slowly. “I was living in San Francisco, running marketing for a high-end bath-products line. Dream job, right? I had interesting work, great friends, a little condo out in Ocean Beach where I could run on the sand every morning. Picture perfect.”

“And then what happened?” His voice was flat, but she didn't miss the tension in those arms.

“Little things at first. A trash can fire at the end of the street, not too far from my carport. The kind of fire that happens when you live in a city and someone tosses a cigarette too carelessly. No big deal.”

“You didn't move here because some asshole couldn't be bothered to put out his butt,” he said inexorably.

“There were more fires.” She was twisting her fingers, she realized, when his large hands covered hers. Not stopping her, just reminding her that he was there. With her. She inhaled slowly. “Some old newspaper in the recycling bin caught fire. A little smoke, and I needed a new bin, but it was out quickly, thanks to a neighbor. I'd just gone out for a run, so I was safe, right? But there were so many of these little fires, Jack. I started thinking they couldn't all be coincidence.”

There had been more than a dozen small, easily dismissed fires. Nothing too personal. Nothing too close. She'd been torn between staying in and going out. Wondering if these were just the normal hazards of living in a big city, if she was being paranoid. The nightmares had started soon after, vivid dreams of being trapped inside the town house while it went up in flames. Because, if she was honest, that was what happened when you didn't or couldn't put out a fire. It just got bigger, and those flames devoured whatever they could.

“You reported the fires.”

“I did, or one of my neighbors did. The police thought maybe we had a local kid or a homeless firebug. But they still thought it was all pretty harmless.”

“Something scared you, though. You knew those fires weren't harmless.”

“Not at first. But, yes, when I really thought about it, I realized the fires didn't happen to anyone else. And then the things that burned changed.” His hand came up, rubbing away the tension in the back of her neck. The farm's sign was a white shadow in the growing dusk. “He started burning
my
things, Jack. Not trash, not whatever he happened to find. I used to love reading. I'd bring home stacks of novels, crawl into the tub, and just read the night away.”

She felt rather than saw his smile. “Bet that was a great sight.”

“Then, one day,” she continued, “there was another little fire near my house. He'd burned some of my books, Jack. Somehow he'd gotten into my house and taken a stack of paperbacks from my bathroom. That wasn't an accident. I'm not stupid. That's when I knew what was happening was personal. After that, it was all personal. My carport. The books he burned in my kitchen.”

Too close, too fast. She'd bolted.

“I woke up, and
my house was on fire,
Jack. All my favorite books were piled up in the sink and on fire, and the cabinets were catching flame. I tried to open the door, but the knob was too hot. I turned around and ran, and I got out onto the fire escape. I thought: just let me get to the alley, and I'll be safe. It will all be over.” This was the part she hadn't wanted to share, the part she'd glossed over every time she'd been forced to relive that night. “There was someone there, Jack. There was a man standing in the alley. He was masturbating while he stared up at my kitchen window. He got off, watching my place burn.”

“Why didn't you tell the cops this?” He looked as if she was describing the weather, except there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw. He didn't like what she had to say. Which was fine with her. She didn't like having those memories, either.

“What was I supposed to tell them? They'd already suggested I was either making things up or paranoid or even setting the fires myself.”

He was silent for a long moment, and then he shook his head. “Did he touch you?”

When she didn't answer right away, he asked again. “Goddamn it, Lily. I need to know. Did he touch you?”

“No,” she said sharply. “The fire escape stopped a good twelve feet above the ground, and I saw him, and I screamed, okay? I just lost it, and I stood there, screaming, until the fire department sent someone around to check out the noise. Afterward, I left,” she continued. “I packed up and I came here and I bought the farm. For a while, I thought I'd left all that behind me.”

“And then the fires started again.”

“Yes.” She grimaced. She'd begun to fear weeks ago that
he
was watching her, choosing what to take away from her this time. He'd get into her house just like before, touching her things. “Just like before. Little things. Coincidences at first. And then he starts adding a personal touch, like it's a message he wants to send.”

“You should have told me.”

“I'm telling you now, because I have no choice. But I don't need a relationship with you to complicate my life any further. You fight fire, Jack.” She could hear the weary acceptance in her own voice. Knew there was no way he could deny the truth. “Every day, you're willing to pull hose or jump out of a damn plane and right into the heart of a damned inferno. But meâI don't want to have anything to do with fire.”

She'd grown up in Strong and had been happy enough to leave for college and a shot at a career in San Francisco. She hadn't realized what she was leaving behind until her new life had gone up in flames. Literally. Familiar and safe and as solid as its name, Strong was a place where you came home. A place where you put down roots and built yourself a future, one lavender plug at a time. Strong held more than happy childhood memoriesâit held her future.

She was going to be safeâand Jack Donovan was anything
but
safe.

She didn't want complications.

Jack grimaced. Damned if that didn't put him in his place. What she wanted, however, didn't matter when it came to her safety. Someone was after her. Watching her. Deliberately choosing personal items of hers to burn. And the man had to be a local.

Jack had spent years learning to read burn scenes for their clues. The what and where, the why of whatever blaze had eaten up charred acres. He just needed to find the pattern of the fires set by Lily's stalker. Too bad Strong wasn't a big cityâthere was a singular lack of security cameras in town. He needed to get Rio to run the names of local men. Whoever he was, he'd been in San Francisco at the same time as Lily.

“I didn't recognize the arsonist.” He frowned. “But he'd covered his face.”

“Why do you think you'd recognize him?”

BOOK: Burning Up

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