Fan the Flames (29 page)

Her nerve bolstered by that realization, she reached for the waistband of Ian's boxer briefs.

“Whoa.” His hands covered hers, stilling them. “That's kind of like the abandon-all-hope-ye-who-enter-here point, understand?”

Although she was too tense to actually laugh, her snort was amused. “Understood.”

Watching her carefully, he slowly lifted his hands. She tugged down the fabric to his thighs, and the heat in his eyes flared red-hot.

“Okay,” he breathed, and then he was kissing her again.

If she'd thought he was out of control earlier, he was beyond restraint now. Without moving his ravenous mouth from hers, he stretched out on top of her again. Rory braced for his weight, but Ian caught himself on his hands before he crushed her.

The kissing continued, and, at one point, Rory realized that he'd removed the remainder of both of their clothes without her noticing. She had a moment of self-consciousness at being naked beneath him, but that slid away quickly. His hands were everywhere, leaving their usual trail of fire. Hers were locked around his neck, holding on too tightly to explore.

He kissed his way over her sternum and between her breasts. Her body vibrated with tension, waiting for him to go left or right, to find the aching center of either of her breasts. Instead, he went directly to her belly button and she made a disappointed sound.

“Did I miss something?” he asked with put-on innocence.

“Yes,” she said, tugging at his hair in a futile effort to make him shift to her needy breasts.

He laughed, an almost soundless, husky chuckle. “Where did I miss? Here?” Dropping a light kiss on her lower ribs, he looked at her teasingly. She resisted the urge to growl in frustration.

Releasing his head as an idea occurred to her, she brushed her hands over her chest. “Here.” Her voice came out throaty and unintentionally sexy. Her breasts lit with pleasure, and she ran her fingers over their peaks again, arching into her own touch.

“Rory,” Ian hissed, right before sucking a nipple into his mouth. He definitely wasn't teasing anymore. His touch was so much more intense than her own. Burying her fingers in his short, unruly black hair again, she pulled him tighter to her, completely unable to control the hungry noises she made.

Pushing himself up so he hovered above her, he stared down at her. “God, Rory. You're so beautiful, so perfect.”

Flushing under the compliments, she couldn't manage a response beyond an awkward smile. His attentions had left her worked up and able to think about only one thing. After a gentle but thorough kiss, he left her for a minute to dig a condom from a wallet in the pocket of his abandoned pants, but his weight was pressing her into the mattress again before she could even get chilled.

This is it
, she thought, bracing herself, but he just started kissing her again, as if he had all the time in the world. Supporting his weight on one elbow, he used his other hand to explore, finding all the places that made her skin ignite.

By the time his fingers slipped between her legs, she was sweating and squirming and more than ready. Still, though, he kept his touch careful. Rory began to worry that he was
too
relaxed. How could he be kissing her in that leisurely way while she was ready to explode? She turned her head away, and he pulled back so he could look at her.

“What's wrong?”

She met his eyes—his heavy-lidded, passion-filled, smoldering eyes—and her worries instantly dissolved. It was obvious he was just as excited as she was, but he was being patient for her sake. “Nothing. I'm just… I'm ready.”

“Sure?” he asked, gravel roughening his voice, and she felt a flare of last-minute nerves and doubt. He waited, though, watching her evenly, until she nodded. Then his eyes lit with happiness and heat, and he carefully entered her.

It hurt at first. She stiffened, and Ian froze in place, sweating and wild-eyed, until she gave him a shaky, “Okay.” Then he moved, holding her gaze the entire time, and it was painful, and then less painful, and then just strange feeling, and then it was almost…nice. He shifted positions slightly, and then it started feeling
really
nice.

“Oh!” The pleasure startled her. Ian paused at her outburst to study her face more closely. He must've seen her enjoyment, because he bared his teeth in a grin and started moving again. Heat grew in her belly as his mouth descended on hers. She dug her fingers into the muscles connecting his shoulders to his neck as she returned the kiss fiercely. Why had she waited so long to feel this amazing connection with Ian?

He pulled back again so he could watch her. With each minute change of speed or angle, he examined her expression, as if learning what she liked and what she didn't. Having him direct such focused attention on her, showing that he cared so much how she felt, was intoxicating. Then the pleasure increased, stealing all her conscious thoughts.

The sensations started to build, growing and growing until her skin couldn't contain them any longer. It felt so good, so intense, that it frightened her a little, but Ian held her eyes as her pleasure sharpened to a peak. Despite his reassuring gaze, the explosion that radiated through her took her by surprise, making her shout and clutch him until she slowly returned to earth.

He finished just after she did, and it was her turn to watch his expression as he came. It was a powerful feeling, to make someone experience such intense pleasure. He rested his forehead on the mattress above her shoulder, and she massaged his scalp as he panted for breath.

After a short time, he lifted his head so he could meet her eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

Rory smiled. “That was fun.”

He gave a startled bark of laughter and then rolled them so she was on top of him, straddling his waist. “Good.”

Feeling extra naked and exposed, she tried to cross her arms over her chest. Ian caught her hands before she could and kissed both palms, one at a time.

“Don't hide,” he told her sincerely. “You're perfect.”

She snorted. “I'm not even close to perfect.”

“You're perfect,” he insisted, pulling on her hands until she leaned down for a kiss. When they finally came up for air, he met her eyes. “I've thought so ever since the day I gave you that cupcake.”

Giving him a shy smile, Rory said, “You're pretty perfect yourself. I'll never forget that cupcake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Unable to hold his gaze anymore, she dropped her eyes to his throat. “Why do you think I like the color pink so much?”

When he was quiet, she snuck a glance at his expression. His eyes were on fire. “I fu—freaking love you, Rory.”

Her throat locked before she could return the sentiment, and then he was kissing her desperately, as if he would never be able to stop. She didn't mind—an eternity of kissing Ian was acceptable to her.

“I've got this,” Ian told her the next day, blocking the doorway to the back room. “Just stay up front and run the shop.”

Setting her jaw, Rory said, “That's not right. I have to at least help.”

“No, you don't.” Using his bulk, he moved her back a few steps. “Your nightmares are bad enough already. Besides”—he looked over her shoulder at something behind her—“I have help.”

“Hey, Ror,” Soup said, and she spun around to face him. Her argument with Ian had distracted her enough that she hadn't even heard the beep of the door alarm. Soup was grinning as he crossed the shop. When he reached her, he slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug. “I'm here and ready to clean. Put me to work.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the door opened again, and Junior bounced through it. “Morning, Rory! You're looking fine today.”

“Watch it,” growled Steve, who'd followed the other man at a more sedate pace.

“It was a
compliment
,” Junior said with an exaggerated sigh, even as he kept his eye on Steve's big mitts.

“There's a fine line between your compliments and disrespect,” Steve grumbled before looking at her. “Hey, Rory.”

She blinked at him. “Between taking care of my animals, and now this, I'm not going to get out of watching your kids, am I?”

He gave her a rare grin. “Nope. Don't worry, though. The sitter usually survives.”

“I'm not worried about
my
survival,” she muttered, but her words were drowned out by the guys' chatter and Al's entrance. “Is everyone coming?”

“Everyone who's not on duty,” Ian said, his voice a little tight. “Soup, if you don't get your fu—flipping arm off of her right now, I'm going to rip it off and beat you with it.”

All the guys, including Soup, laughed, but he lifted his arm off her shoulders and even took a few steps away from her for good measure, holding his hands in a “don't hurt me” gesture.

As they moved toward the back-room door, Rory started to protest again. “I really shou—”

Ian's short, hard kiss stopped her midword. The men hooted and catcalled, but she barely heard them. He pulled back and grinned at her stunned face before disappearing into the back room with his crowd of firefighters. She stood frozen in place.

“Whoa,” she muttered, her fingers touching her mouth. Finally shaking off her Ian-induced stupor, she turned to start her day.

* * *

The shop was busy. Rory figured it was a mixture of the nice weather, the shop's hiatus, and morbid curiosity that brought in what seemed like the entire population of Simpson to look at guns. Within just a few hours, all her patience and saleswoman skills had been sucked dry. When the front door opened yet again, her head whipped around so she could glare at the newest arrival. Once she saw it was Chief Early, her expression softened into something that wasn't quite a smile—she'd lost that ability an hour earlier—but was as close as she was going to get at the moment.

“Chief,” she called over the buzz of chatter coming from the other customers. “Are you here to check out that Peacemaker?”

He made his way over to the counter before speaking at a normal volume. “Actually, I'm going to help clean up in back, but since I'm here…”

Her frown returned. “You don't have to clean, Chief.”

“Sure I do.” Leaning one arm on the counter, he grinned at her, unfazed by her scowl. “I never want to be the type of chief who sits back and makes my men do all the dirty work. Besides, I know that you've been the reason Doris has let me in the door after I bought a new gun—several times, in fact. I'm happy to do this for you, Rory.”

Embarrassment made her cling to her glower. “If I didn't encourage you to buy guns, Doris wouldn't have a reason to toss you out onto the lawn. You don't need to do this, Chief.”

“Yes, I do.” With another quick, completely unoffended smile, he headed for the back.

“Well, you're getting an extremely discounted price on that Colt, then!” she yelled after him. Early waved as he closed the door behind him, and she stared at the spot where he'd disappeared. When an easily identifiable smell wafted toward her, she sniffed at the air.

“Are they painting?” she asked out loud, wondering if she'd go into the back room at the end of the day to find a completely remodeled space. That wouldn't be a bad thing. Neither was having a shop full of guys who would have her back if necessary, she admitted to herself. Everything that had happened with the attempted burglary, and Rave and Billy, had her on edge. It was reassuring to have reinforcements nearby, just in case.

“Um, Rory?” She reluctantly turned her attention to Phil. To her surprise, he didn't have a new trophy girlfriend hanging off his arm this time. “Wilt keeps telling me I should replace my Glock with a Springfield XD. What do you think?”

“Well, first off, I think that it's good you're concentrating on arming yourself rather than the blond of the month. As far as the Springfield goes, it is a good gun—reliable, really smooth trigger, and a pleasure to shoot. The most important question, though”—she unlocked the display and pulled out the XD, placing it in its case—“is which
you
like better.” Rory got out a Glock 22, as well, and pushed both cases toward him, along with two boxes of ammo. “It's a beautiful day. Go out to my range and kill some paper.”

He grinned, his face lighting up at the thought of doing some shooting. Rory could relate. Following him out the front door, she pointed him toward the range and called for Jack. When he trotted toward her, she held the shop door open.

“C'mon, Jack,” she said, and he bounded into the store, brushing against her legs on his way. Even though the dog would probably stay by his chickens, Rory would rather he not be roaming the property when someone was shooting. Jack immediately trotted over to his dog bed in the corner and lay down.

Dodging customers, she made her way over to the back-room door and pounded on it with her fist. When Junior stuck out his head, she told him, “The range will be hot in about five minutes. Could you let the guys know not to get excited when they hear gunfire?”

“Got it. I'll pass it on.”

“Thanks.” Rory attempted to peek around him, but Junior blocked her with his body. For a slight guy, he could sure make himself into a wall when he wanted. “How's it going in there?”

“Great.” Still keeping his body in her line of sight, Junior closed the door before she could see anything.

“Excuse me,” the male half of a couple she didn't recognize said. “Which gun would be best to take with us hiking, in case we run into a bear?”

“This one.” Rory moved to the other side of the room, the couple following, and pulled it out of a display.

The man looked nonplussed. “Pepper spray?”

“It's the big can of the strong stuff, so it's called bear spray.” She set it on the counter, since the customer didn't seem inclined to take it.

“I'd feel more comfortable with a gun.”

“You wouldn't after the bear attacks you.”

“I'm a good shot,” he huffed. “I'd hit it before it reached us.”

“Doesn't mean the bear will go down before it can do some damage.” Rory nudged the bear-spray canister closer to the couple's side of the counter. “When bullets are fired, there's a greater chance of injury to the humans involved than when bear spray is used. U.S. Fish and Wildlife even did a study. You know what's even more effective?”

“What?” the woman asked.

“Avoiding bears altogether. They'll generally stay away from you as long as they know you're there. Make lots of noise when you hike. Don't rely on bear bells—they're not loud enough. And don't carry smelly food in your packs.”

“If you stumble over an animal carcass,” Grace Wiltshire piped up from across the room, “don't hang around to check it out. A bear or mountain lion might not be done with their dinner.” Of course all the locals were listening. It was like Simpson television—and no one could ever resist tossing in their own two cents.

“You'll want to hike during the day,” Bob, Grace's husband, added. “Wildlife is out and about between dusk and dawn, usually.”

“Don't climb a tree to get away from one. Black bears are great climbers.” At George Holloway's contribution, Rory looked at the big, bearded man in surprise. He rarely said more than two words to her. If he wanted to handle a particular firearm, he'd generally point and grunt.

“Since all of you seem to have this information session handled,” Rory said, not at all reluctant to hand over the customers to the locals' care, “I'm going to order lunch for my volunteer work crew.”

“What are they doing back there?” Bob asked immediately, as if Rory mentioning the firemen working in her back room opened the floor for questions.

“Making some improvements,” she hedged before picking up the phone. To forestall any questions, she kept it pressed to her ear as she looked up the phone number for Levi's.

After she tapped in the number for the restaurant, the female half of the couple brought the bear spray to the register, while her significant other sulked on the other side of the room. Rory rang up the spray while giving Bonnie her order. She hesitated, glanced at the back room door, and then doubled the amount of food. If all the firemen ate as much as Ian, then she would need a mountain of barbecue to feed the group.

Once the couple left, the other customers gradually made their way out of the shop. A few bought odds and ends, and George got three-inch Magnum shells, but most shuffled out empty-handed. Rory wasn't too surprised, since she'd figured most of the people there wanted information, not anything she was selling.

As George paid for his shells, Rory asked, “How are you liking your Saiga-12?”

His grunt sounded positive.

“Did you do some modifications on it?”

This time, the grunt was accompanied by a nod. His earlier loquaciousness had apparently been short-lived. Despite his usual silence, Rory liked George. According to local gossip, his father had been as much a hermit as Rory's parents. Except for his volunteer work with Search and Rescue, George didn't seem to have any social interactions—no friends or girlfriends, at least as far as any of the townspeople knew. Rory didn't really pay attention to the gossip. She just knew that George seemed like a kind man who really liked guns. That was good enough for her.

“Bring it in sometime. I'd like to see what you've done.”

She chose to interpret his wordless response to that as an “okay.”

“The price has shot up on those, so you were smart to get it when you did.” She handed him his receipt and the bagged shells. “Guess you're a trendsetter.”

Although it was hard to tell beneath his beard, Rory was pretty sure a corner of his mouth ticked up for a second. She was rather proud she'd managed to get George Holloway to smile.

* * *

They'd eaten everything.

Rory blinked at the empty containers spread over the counter that had held an obscene amount of food less than an hour earlier. It was a good thing she'd doubled the order. She had a feeling that she could have tripled it and the guys still would have consumed everything. Since she still wasn't allowed in the back room, they'd spread out around the front of the shop, sitting on stools or the floor to eat.

An arm wrapped around her from behind, and she resisted her instinctual reaction to drive an elbow into the belly resting against her back. When Ian's voice spoke quietly in her ear, she was glad she hadn't assaulted him.

“Did you get anything to eat?” he asked.

“Barely.” She stared at the empty cartons, still flabbergasted by the crew's ability to eat. “I had to dodge stabbing forks, and I think Junior tried to bite me when I reached for the mac and cheese.”

Overhearing this, Junior winked at her. “I'll bite you anytime, baby.”

As Rory felt Ian's body stiffen, Steve whacked the back of Junior's head. Thrown off balance by the unexpected blow, Junior had to stumble forward a few steps so he didn't fall on his face.

“Hey!” he yelled, indignant, but Steve just shook his head.

“You're lucky it was me and not Walsh who did that,” Steve told him. “He'd have used a two-by-four.”

“Or a crowbar,” Ian growled. Although the others chuckled, Rory was pretty sure that Ian wasn't joking.

“So, how's it going in there?” She jerked her head toward the still-closed back-room door.

“It's shaping up nicely,” Al said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I think you'll be happy with it.”

“I'm sure I will.” This confirmed her impression that they were doing a full remodel, rather than the general hose-down she'd initially expected. “You guys didn't need to do all this.”

“Of course we did, little sister.” Soup patted her on the head. “You'll be right there with us when we help Junior move, or paint the LT's house. It's just what we do.”

“Well, thank you.” The heat at her back felt nice, and she leaned into Ian before she realized what she was doing. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip, so she relaxed again, accepting that she was participating in her first PDA—well, second, after the earlier kiss.

“Back to work,” the chief barked, gathering paper plates. “Thanks for lunch, Rory.”

There was a chorus of thanks from the other guys.

“I'll clean up.” This time when Rory pulled away from Ian, he let her go. She took the stack of plates away from Early. “It's the least I can do.”

As the other men disappeared into the back room, Ian hung back. “Sounded busy out here earlier. How's the grand reopening going?”