Scorch (6 page)

“There’s stir fry in the fridge,” Jacqui murmured, stretching and sighing. She was so short, she was able to straighten completely alongside the dog without hitting the arms at either end of the sofa. Her movement didn’t shift Muttley one inch, stubborn bag of fur that he was.

“I had a burger. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s too early to sleep, but jet lag caught up to me.” She wiped sleep from her eye as she nudged the dog and sat up. “I was up early to catch my flight.”

Muttley made a discontented noise and dropped to the floor, shaking his collar before he walked away and settled where he could see her, sending her a look between dismay and hope for another shot at cuddling with her. His head went onto his paws, playing “forlorn” well enough to win an academy award.

Jacqui set her feet on the coffee table and arranged the blanket over her lap, then glanced up. “You can still have the house. I wasn’t thinking about that at all when—”

“I’m not taking your house, Jac.” He pushed his fingers into his jean pockets, ignoring the spike of hope while accepting the kick of disappointment. “I talked to some of the guys. I’ll find something and I can stay at the base until I do.”

“No. Vin. Sit.” She patted the sofa beside her.

He lifted his brows. That kind of talk was for Mutt.

She tucked her chin. “Please?”

He sighed as he sat.

She shifted on the middle cushion so she faced him, elbow going onto the back of the sofa. She wore a warm flush and he accidentally found himself looking at her solemn mouth and creamy skin.

He wasn’t drunk. He’d had two beers over four hours and hadn’t even finished the second one, but suddenly he had that let-loose, bar buzz where his brain slithered into getting naked with a woman and feeling her with all of his body. Locking lips, locking hips, disappearing into wet heat and waves of pleasure.

He made himself look away, but couldn’t say what he was staring at. All the oxygen had burned out of his lungs.

“Seriously, it’s fine.” He insisted.

“No.” She set her hand on his arm, light and feminine.

When he glanced into her eyes again, it was like the dreams he had sometimes, of falling out of a plane without a chute. Disorienting. Terrifying. Then he discovered he could fly and it was exhilarating.

“I realize this friendship has been one-sided,” she said.

His heart lurched at the word “friendship.” The ground rushed up to flatten him.

“I’m a mess. Super self-involved,” she continued. “I only started to realize how bad I’ve become when I was talking to Rhonda earlier. You’ve been really patient. I can’t thank you enough, Vin.”

Her hand was still on his arm, toasty as a fresh-baked roll, but leaving the kind of burn that came from extreme cold. She absently traced the pattern of a wing that was part of his sleeve tattoo. He dislodged her touch by running his hand down his face, stifling crazy thoughts while ensuring they didn’t show up on his face.

“It’s fine. You’re fine.” What the hell was happening to him? He should have spent the night in Kalispell before collecting her this morning, should have called one of the women he used to see there. He hadn’t been laid since Tori and that was obviously starting to tell.

“No, it’s not fine.”

The minute his arm went back to his side, her hand rested on it again, this time with more weight.

“I’m not going to pretend I understand what your life has been like, growing up without a home of your own. But judging by the loose ends I’ve been at, and how much it meant to me today to feel like I was home again, plus all the work you’ve done here… Vin, it looks really great. I can tell you were doing it for yourself, to make
this
your home.”

His chest felt funny. Like it was pried open and she was leaning in for a look. He wanted to get up and walk away, but her hand kept him anchored, warm fingers moving like she was petting the dog.

“You told me at your wedding… Do you remember?” A gentle squeeze into his forearm. “You said you were looking forward to buying a house and settling down and finally knowing where you belonged. I remember being so struck by that because I had always known I belonged here in this town, at the base, with Mom and then with Russ. I was already married when Mom died so I wasn’t uprooted. It didn’t even occur to me to go anywhere else. I remember being unable to imagine how it would feel to be adrift and not know where to go. Then Russ died and…”

Her hand moved, climbing so the warmth of her grip cuffed above his elbow. He involuntarily flexed his bicep into her palm, then wished he hadn’t, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Florida isn’t a bad place. I’ve been going there every year since I was a teenager. I love my Dad and we get along fine. But that’s where I visit. It’s not home. I think that’s why I’ve been wanting to talk to you all this time. You completely understood that feeling I was experiencing of losing my mooring.”

She sighed and rested her head against her bent arm on the back of the couch. Her knees were tucked very close to his hip. If she shifted any closer, he would feel her breast against his upper arm.

He waited, anticipating it.

He was so aware of her as a woman and so completely unable to move or speak, it was like something off a sitcom. She was taking out her heart and setting it next to his, pointing out how they had the exact same dents and bruises, which was profound and painful, yet he was turned on.

He searched his mind for a kind way to shut this down because it was
so wrong
.

“You’ve been so good to me. I can’t cut you loose again.”

“You’re—” He had to clear his throat. He wondered what he looked like because his whole body felt electrified. “You’re sweet, Jac. Too sweet. I’m not going to take your house.”

“Don’t be stubborn.” She gave his shoulder a nudge that only pushed her backward because she was such a lightweight.

“I’m tough.” He assured her. “I bounce back real fast. Don’t worry about me.”

“That’s what I’m saying! I
am
worried. We’re friends. I care, Vin. I
want
you to have a home.”

He ignored how those words,
I care
, went straight into the gap she’d opened in his chest, feeding the starved part of him he barely acknowledged anymore.

“I’m not a dog at a shelter.”

“And I’m not some fragile widow who can’t put her own life back together,” she said crossly, moving away so she was facing forward, knees up to her chin. “I already have a lot here to anchor me here. Friends and in-laws and history. I don’t need the house to give me a sense of permanence. You do.”

He felt the loss of her closeness and body heat, knew it was for the best, but still had to steel himself not to scoop her close again.

“Besides, I don’t want to live here alone.” She gave him a baleful look. “It never bothered me when Russ was gone for nights at a time every summer, but now… I’m not scared”—she rushed to explain—“but my luggage is at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t bring myself to go into our bedroom. I don’t know how I thought I’d sleep in there while I cleaned it out and sent all his things to the thrift store.”

Vin looked from the crumpled tissues to the indented cushion where her head had rested to her bereft expression.

She lifted a rueful brow. “Yes, we’re back to talking about me. You make it too easy for me.”

“I prefer it. I hate talking about myself.” Although, he was wondering if it mattered how much he didn’t say when she was so perceptive.

“We were both going to stay here while we finalized the paperwork and I moved out. Can we just stick to that plan?” she asked. “Can I stay here while I figure out where I’m going?”

He opened his mouth, but his ears rang, and he needed a couple of hard pulse beats to find his voice. “That’s quite a flip for me. All my life I’ve been the houseguest. I still am. It’s
your
house, Jac.” Literally. Russ’s insurance had paid off the mortgage. This house was one hundred percent hers. “Stay in it.”

She searched his gaze and he felt uncomfortable, certain he knew what she was wondering. Yes. Even when he was married, he had felt like a houseguest.

“Vin, if you want this house, I want you to buy it.” She sounded levelheaded and sincere. Determined, even.

Too good to be true
, he thought with well-learned caution, but he already felt bad for leaving her here alone on her first day back. He glanced again at the crushed tissues.

“Let’s give it a few days. See how you feel.”

A
t seven the
next morning, Muttley, tongue lolling, came in ahead of Vin. The dog nudged her thigh with his cold nose, then went for his water dish, lapping loudly and spattering her freshly swept floor.

“Good run?” she asked, glancing up as she heard Vin’s footsteps.

He wore loose track pants and was rubbing his white T-shirt down the middle of his chest.

For some reason her heart did a flip-flop. It wasn’t surprise. She had heard him coming. It was the fact he looked really good, pausing there shirtless, wearing low-slung gray pants and bare feet.

He started as if he didn’t know what to make of finding her in her own kitchen, wearing what she had thought was a perfectly decent T-shirt over flannel pajama pants.

What a seriously gorgeous chest. His skin held a natural, tawny sheen. A scroll of Latin was tattooed like a collar from shoulder to shoulder, just below where the neckline of his shirt would typically sit. Below it, a tidy line of hair bisected the tight skin across the muscles of his pecs and down the middle of his six pack.

He glanced down and she realized she was staring.

“I, um—” Blushing with embarrassment over ogling him, she turned back to the frying pan. “What does that tattoo say? I thought you only had the ones on your arm.”

“
Ignis me elgit
. Fire chose me. That smells really good.” He came and stood way too close, eyeing the scramble she was pushing around in the cast iron pan.

“Shower fast or eat it cold, smokey.” She tried for a cheeky grin, but looking up at him, when she was still in her pajamas and he was all sweaty and manly, felt really intimate.

A distinctly lurid tingle of lust arrowed from between her breasts to between her legs.

His gaze trailed down, lingered on her mouth and slid lower, maybe noticing she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She told herself the gush of cold air he’d brought in was the reason her nipples tightened and her toes curled, but she was actually really, really warm.

Suddenly cooking breakfast for him wasn’t just a nice thing for a friend to do, but more like something a girlfriend or wife would do. A blush stung her cheeks.

His expression tightened and he turned away, jerking his gaze to the clock. “Back in five.”

Thank
Gawd
.

The second he disappeared up the stairs, she went into the powder room and threw on a bra under her T-shirt, giving herself a look in the mirror.
Honestly
.

She had never considered herself a particularly sexual person. In the beginning, her love for Russ had been pure and sweet, more hero-worship than anything else. She’d still been in high school when she’d first crushed on him. Just the idea of kissing him had been more than exciting enough. Word on the street had had it that sex was fantastic, but she’d been a virgin who hadn’t even dated much. She hadn’t had any solid knowledge of what she wanted from a man. She had
saved
herself for Russ, thinking it was incredibly romantic, but had since wondered if she shouldn’t have practiced with someone else first, before her wedding night.

The first few times had been painfully awkward, literally. After a few months, she had overcome shyness and inhibition, slowly discovering what all the fuss was about. Eventually she had enjoyed
all
the benefits of being married, but she hadn’t slept with anyone but Russ or since Russ. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

So why was she suddenly thinking about the weight of a man and the power of sex and how great an orgasm would feel?

Her whole body tingled with yearning for it. Her skin was sensitized to the brush of her clothing shifting against her skin and she was moist and achy between her legs.

This was bizarre! Since when did she get aroused standing by herself in a bathroom?

Through the ceiling, she heard the shower click off and positively refused to think of Vin standing there naked, in all his muscled, tattooed glory, with silver droplets standing on his swarthy skin, running in little patterns down his washboard abs. Aside from full-frontals in mainstream movies, she hadn’t seen any other men’s junk and wasn’t about to start imagining Vin’s—

Oh, damn. There it was. The image arrived in her mind and would now be with her forever.

She covered her closed eyes with her hand, like that would help, but the visual was still there. His hard, ready erection thrust from a nest of midnight hair in the powerful frame of his hips. Dark hair, not ginger blond like her husband. Why did that strike her as erotic, she wondered with a wince of infidelity?

Her loins actually pulsed with longing and she was so slippery she was aware of the lubrication as she shifted her weight.

Idiot
.

She washed hands that didn’t need washing and left the bathroom, burning up as she scurried around the kitchen, trying to overcome being some hard-up widow who wouldn’t even know where to begin with dating, let alone starting over with a new man.

If she was in Florida, maybe she could think about it, but not here. Her love for Russ was too legendary. She’d be under a microscope, which was annoying as hell. Always had been.

Vin’s footsteps landed heavily on the stairs, making her more self-conscious than ever. Then he came into the kitchen, smelling wet and clean with a hint of tangy lime. She rarely used anything with a scent herself, finding coconut and other sweet, flora aromas too cloying, but she loved the smell of manly spice and citrus. Especially when it padded into her kitchen on a wall of muscle with a shiny jaw and a hungry prowl.

“I usually just have cereal,” he said, obeying her jerk of an elbow and seating himself, letting her bring him a plateful of eggs with sausage on the side.