SeducetheFlame (4 page)

“We can’t be together.” His straining voice calmed to his
usual, unflappable tenor. “Look at what happened with a fight and a kiss. You
flooded the first floor of the house. I boiled the furniture in this room and
nearly cooked you with it. On top of that, the light fixtures popped and the
resulting electrical surge would’ve started a fire if I hadn’t had failsafes
installed in the house’s major systems.”

“If you hadn’t waited so long…” She shoved up, sopping and
dripping, and pushed limp hair from her eyes. “I wouldn’t have all this
frustration built up. It wouldn’t have expanded so fast and out of my control.”

“So you admit it. You were out of control,” he insisted in a
soft, matter-of-fact way.

“You were too.” The defensive response slipped from her
before she could clamp her mouth shut. “But that’s not the issue.”

“Of course it is.”

“The issue is that you’ve clammed up for so long it’s
started to affect me. You’ve turned me into something I’m not, and if you don’t
want to take a chance, then it’s my right to be able to date whoever I want.”
Her tone climbed higher and higher through the speech until she yelled, “It’s
been fourteen years, Ray.”

The water around her ankles churned and steamed. Dimly, she
realized her feet were getting uncomfortably hot in a flooded room. She had
ruined the flooring, at the very least.

“You see what happened.” Ray flung an arm out to indicate
the room.

She glanced away from the steam-heated man whose hair clung
to his head in tantalizing rivulets. The shirt beneath his suit was so
transparent it showed the hair on his chest. Her mouth watered. She jerked her
stare away from his tightened nipples.

Past him, the bed Vincent had so recently occupied was
empty. Ray shrugged out of his jacket and chucked it onto the bed. Her eyes
rounded. Ray never treated his clothes that way.

The plaster on the walls had scorch marks and cracks. The
ceiling had smoke stains. The bedding floated in the puddles on the floor. Ray
continued his calm speech.

“We stopped in time, but this could’ve gotten so much worse.
Para-talents, when they join together for life—sure, they can live longer and
become more stable and stronger, but if they don’t balance, one of them will
weaken and die. The other, they take that excess power and it can explode. You
know all this but you seem to have forgotten. All you need for a reminder is
what just happened. This house could’ve blown up in a fiery volcanic blast.”

“You assume you’d be the stronger of us,” she said in a
deadly calm voice. She hitched her chin and straightened her shoulders. “For
all you know, I could’ve flattened this house with a tsunami.”

“Precisely my point.” Ray put his hands on his hips in
emphasis. The action parted his shirt and Clarissa nearly groaned aloud to see
the sodden fabric doing nothing to hide the happy trail that led down his flat
stomach and into his waistline. Damn the man looked fine all wet and steaming
mad. “Until today, you’d kept your powers in check. I’ve long trusted in your
ability to do so.”

That rebuke stung a bit and her mouth dried so fast, it
stole any reply she might’ve been able to form.

Ray turned on his heel, trudged out and barked orders at
someone outside. “Plane leaves in an hour. I’m grabbing my bags. And Clarissa
is coming with me. She needs to get checked out by the healer as well.”

Clarissa sputtered and took a step forward to give him a
piece of her mind.

She stopped in her soggy tracks. Water still sloshed in the
room, her hands were fisted so tightly her shoulders ached, and she’d just made
out with Ray Cinder. For the first time. Ever.

She hadn’t kissed a man since she’d divorced her husband, a
human without elemental powers or knowledge of para-talents. She’d cared for
Stephen, and if she weren’t a water mage, she’d have grown old happily with
him, but one day she’d seen him staring at a baby with yearning. She’d left
him. The gut-wrenching blow after three years of marriage made her want to slap
herself. She hadn’t been fair to him, or to herself, by lying about who she was
and keeping him from a future he wanted. And he’d gone after that future. Not
two years after their divorce, he’d married again and now had a family living
happily in the suburbs of Kansas City.

She could not lie to herself again.

Tromping barefoot, she had no idea where her shoes had gone.
She splashed out of the room and upstairs. The Cinder house was large and well
appointed. The bottom floor had the usual, kitchen, large gathering area, but
the unusual as well—the small clinic where they provided medical attention for
other para-talents.

CTF also helped maintain order by being a sort of task force
that worked with the para-talent families. The mansion housed those who needed
a temporary place to stay, and a few others who’d been adopted by way of being
taken in, if not legally, then still part of the family. One was Sean Twenty,
their telepath, and his now-wife, Daisy, an aural mage. They were some of
Clarissa’s best friends. And her housemates, because she also lived here, as
the person who basically ran everything behind the scenes at CTF. She was Ray’s
personal assistant, the CTF accountant, the woman who made all the calls to
handle anything of importance, and sometimes, she was the diplomat who helped
squabbling families connect.

Ray would miss her. If for no other reason than CTF would
flounder without her. Oh sure, they’d recover, but it’d take a few weeks if not
months. It’d take her longer to get over leaving, but she had to do it.

She made it to the end of the hall on the second floor
before she ran into anyone. Daisy stood at the suite she now shared with Sean.
The aural mage was gorgeous. With long, curly black hair and an ease about her,
she wore a long, flowing cream-colored dress and a smirk. She drawled, “Took a
shower with your clothes on? That dress is invisible like that. Bet Ray had a
cat.”

Clarissa laughed. Everyone in the house knew she and Ray
belonged together. Everyone but Ray. “He didn’t approve of my dance partner. No
surprise there, right?”

She didn’t mention the kiss. If she even thought about it,
her nipples were going to stand up and say
hello
to Daisy. And
apparently also to Sean, who padded to the door behind his wife and put a hand
on her waist. Their obvious care for one another wrenched a small ache of
jealousy into Clarissa’s gut. He didn’t even look twice at Clarissa, and yeah,
this soaking wet dress made her look practically nude.

“Ray ready to transport Vince out of here?” Sean’s growly
question was only in part to the gruffness of his rarely used voice, but also
because of the obvious anger he still held toward Vince. The former CTF agent
had tried to kill Sean—not something anyone could forget. His voice had gone
largely unused for decades.

“Back to your dance partner,” Daisy purred. “I approved.
Most definitely. He looked like he’d know exactly how to do the horizontal
mambo without taking a break until dawn. What was his talent? ‘Cause he gave
off an earthy vibe. Let me tell you, the guys who know who to create a little
volcanic activity know exactly how to…”

“That’s enough, Daisy,” Sean growled even deeper. His hand
tightened on the cream dress as he yanked her backward. “Let Clarissa dry off.”

The door slammed on Daisy’s sultry laugh and Clarissa shook
her head. They’d spent a lot of time in their bed since joining as a couple. It
wasn’t fair to them or herself to be jealous, but she couldn’t help herself.

She steeled her spine and decided to follow Ray’s ridiculous
order. She changed into her usual smart business-like attire, threw a few of
the standard items into her suitcase and headed for the door. Hand on the knob,
she paused. A low, vibrating laugh came from the room next door and Clarissa
swallowed around the choking emotion clogging her nose.

Turning on her heel, she went to her dresser, slid open the
bottom drawer, and pulled out a box of lingerie she’d tucked away since she’d
given up on getting any. Quickly, she threw it in her suitcase.

It was leave here forever, or take the leap.

No second thoughts. None.

Ray glared at the tarmac from the door of the small company
jet. He liked his suits. His cars. His jet. If he couldn’t live without the
daily battle to contain his fire, to let loose with a woman and fuck ‘til a
firestorm raged around him, the least he could do was indulge. After all, he’d
made quite a bit of money in his century of life, and in the past fourteen
years, his accountant had increased that wealth substantially.

They made a good team.

But they’d make horrible mates.

Fourteen years. He knew exactly how long because once a year
he sent Clarissa flowers on her job anniversary, and every year, his shoulders
got tighter and the smile he gave her when they arrived got more frozen.
Because every year on that night, he’d head to bed, alone. Every step of the
way—up the stairs, to his bedroom, and toward the sink to brush his teeth—he’d
tell himself he wouldn’t do it.

He caved every single time. In the shower, he’d grip his
cock and indulge in a dream of her. Her skin beaded with the water she
controlled as it turned to steam with his fire. Her nipples would beg to be
suckled. Her pussy would be heaven. Spilling with a shout and the steaming,
boiling water circling the drain, he’d find a moment, only a moment, of peace.
Then the loneliness would hit and he’d trudge to bed, pretending that he didn’t
care he was the only one to have slept in it year after year.

A choked sound left his chest and he shoved the memories
away.

“Damn it all. I will not be led around by my cock,” he
muttered and glared at the tarmac again.

A Mini Cooper came barreling down the drive toward the
private strip and parked next to the hangar. Clarissa calmly climbed from her
car, slowly and elegantly pulled a suitcase from the truck, and waved off some
mechanic who nearly tripped over his tongue trying to help her.

All men wanted to help Clarissa. Hold the door for her, bow
to her wishes just for a glorious smile, or touch her. He put up with it.
Except the touching bit.

He quickly took the steps. He must have made a sound cause
the mechanic sent him a surprised look then grimaced before he blushed and sent
Clarissa a shy smile. “Anything else Ms. Eaton?”

“No thanks, Tony.” She smiled at the man in greasy canvas
and strode forward.

Ray grabbed the bag from her. “His name is Tony?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Ray Cinder. You fly out
of here at least once a month and Tony has been on your payroll for five
years.”

“So he’s had five years to ogle you,” he groused. “He
doesn’t need me to know his name.”

“Tsk-tsk.” She shook her head and allowed Ray to hand her up
the steps. “You don’t even know your employees’ names. You really can’t do
without me you know.”

He didn’t answer. They both knew the truth of that.

Clarissa wore some sort of silky-looking sleeveless
button-down shirt and a straight skirt that glanced across the top of her long
legs. The thing was an apparent attempt to drive him insane. With one last
lingering brush of his fingers across her bared arms, he strapped himself into
his usual seat and refused to stare at those thighs to see if the material
would creep up when she shifted.

His neck ached with tension when he turned his head away.

The cabin of the plane had an L-shaped couch on the left
side. On the right, four rows of two regular airplane seats. Farther back, a
door led to a small cabin with a bed. Ray had double checked a bit ago. Vince
was strapped on the bed. He’d be unconscious for the trip due to a last-minute
dose of sedative from the nurse. It was a risk to fly without medical backup,
but they really couldn’t bring anyone else on this trip. Ray’s fire trembled on
his fingers as it was. Besides, the monitors would warn them if for some
reason, Vince took a turn for the worse.

The cockpit door opened and the pilot poked his head
through. “Flight plans registered. Savannah is ready for us. We can lift off as
soon as I get her rolling.”

“Thank you, Daniels,” Clarissa answered before Ray could
open his mouth. He did actually know his pilot’s name.

They taxied and took to the air without a hitch. They
leveled off and Clarissa unbuckled her seat belt. Sending a whiff of
sea-breeze-scented air to tease his senses, she slid out of her high heels,
settled on the couch, and tucked her feet beneath her.

Clear blue eyes, more familiar to him than his own, snagged
him. He couldn’t move, breathe, or function when she looked at him like that.
It was like she grabbed him by the balls and squeezed with just a glance. Her
luscious lips moved and after a second, when he could suck in air again, the
words filtered in. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” he croaked.

“That kiss.”

Slowly, so his fingers would function because his nerves
didn’t seem to be responding to his commands, he unbuckled his seatbelt and
rose. In only a few steps, he’d be beside her, but his legs locked. “Kiss?”

“Yes.” Clarissa licked her lips and his legs, moving of
their own volition, started to function again.

He sank into the cushion and his arm naturally came to rest
behind her. “Best if we leave that alone. We’re lucky we didn’t kill anybody.”

“Stop deflecting. The kiss happened. You do realize I’ve
been waiting for it for years. And I don’t want to stop with one.” She moved
closer into his side.

Warmth engulfed him and his brain went hazy. They worked
together every day. He watched her. In truth, he hungered for her, and in his
dreams, he had her. Over and over. And he stole small touches. A caress of her
elbow when he helped her into her car. A stroke over her fingers when he handed
her paperwork. A hand to her back when they walked in a crowd. Always together,
they were inseparable as if she were already his wife. In almost every way,
they could’ve been married. They were already that involved in each other’s
lives. Until that kiss, they’d been entirely platonic.

“That kiss,” he whispered. “It will be the only one. It has
to be.”

“I don’t like that plan.” She tipped her head back and
licked her top lip in a slow, oh so slow slide. The pink tip teased him. It
intoxicated him with lust and longing. His cock was hard. It’d been hard since
he’d fallen on top of her and tasted her in the aftermath of their argument.
Surrounded by her water, the waves teasing and splashing at him, her scent had
engulfed and lured him.

It was inevitable and he couldn’t stop himself if the plane
were crashing—and it just might.

He leaned in and captured her lips.

They both groaned. She turned to her side and pressed
against him. Her soft tits brushed against his polo shirt. The fabric between
them was no barrier to the hardened points. His arms came around her and her
weight rested against him. He captured that pink tongue and sucked it into his
mouth. Her hands grew frantic. She rubbed across his back and down to cup his
ass through his slacks. With a yank, she pulled him farther over her.

She settled back and he toppled on top of her. Her legs spread
and he was between them with a frustrating amount of clothes still on. His
aching cock ground into her. He ripped his mouth away from hers, kissed her
jaw, ran his lips along her neck and licked a line along the V of her shirt. He
spoke against her pebbled skin as her legs tightened and hooked behind his
back. His hips took on a life of their own and jerked against her.

“Dry humping like a teenager.” He laughed a bit and let his
face settle into the crook of her neck.

“It’s the most action I’ve gotten in ages.”

Same for him. Oh hell and fire, the same for him. He missed
sex. So, so much.

He slipped a hand down her side and edged his fingers
beneath her waistband. He stroked there, at that delectable spot on a woman,
right above her hipbone. “I want to taste you right there.”

She gasped and her body shuddered. “I want you to taste me
right there.”

Fire curled in his gut and his entire being centered on that
intriguing spot his fingers stroked as she squirmed beneath him. He slid down
and deftly moved her skirt up and over her rounded hips. He didn’t know what
kind of material it was. Kinda stretchy and form fitting, but he didn’t care.
All he knew was no pants to figure out, no buttons, no barrier.

And God!

“No panties.” He spoke just below her hip bone and licked
her. Her hips bucked and he trapped her down, his hot palm against her
cool-skinned belly.

The quick sight he’d had of her pussy burned into his mind
like a brand. She was smooth down there. Completely waxed. He knew that she
went every week to a spa where she did all manner of woman things like
massages, pedicure, manicures and apparently hair removal.

He groaned and his eager, hot, and aching lips trailed down
to where he wanted a taste before he combusted right here and now.

Her legs were still open to him and before she had a chance
to blink or think twice, before he could, she wrapped her hands around his head
and yanked. Straight toward that enticing pussy. With a long, lingering lap, he
licked her slit.

She jerked and screamed a low, keening sound that sent him
into full-blown heat.

“Oh sweet tsunami, freaking hell, oh damn, hell yes,” she
murmured all sorts of nonsense over and over. The sentences weren’t coherent.
But they said one thing clearly, “Keep doing that.”

“I’m going to fuck you with my tongue, Clarissa. Do you want
that?” he said against her pussy lips as he stared up her body. Her lungs
heaved and he wished he’d taken the time to strip her shirt off and not just
push up her skirt.

“Mmpfh.” She bit her lip and her eyes squeezed closed as her
hands yanked his hair. Her sleek legs came to rest on his shoulders and again,
she hooked her ankles behind him. This time, trapping his face between her
legs.

Just where he wanted to be.

He lapped at her lightly and gently nudged one finger along
her folds. She pressed down, moving her body for more. He gave her more. Moving
his finger in a teasing thrust, he feathered his tongue over her clit. Her
scent completely entrapped him and her moans pleased him, made him ache for
her, and his cock was so hard it pulsed between his legs.

Fire. He was on fire. Inside and out. More than anything, he
needed to please the woman beneath his tongue. Nothing had ever mattered this
much. He increased the pace, giving her more pressure and inserting another
finger to thrust faster.

“Yes. Yes. I’m so close. Like that,” she kept murmuring.

Lapping and moaning with his own pleasure until she
undulated, he slid his fingers out and ran his tongue down to thrust inside
her. His fingers plucked at her while he tasted heaven.

It was too soon. He wanted a little more.

Switching the pace he dragged his tongue over her slit again
and again as his finger sought farther into her heat.

Curling his fingers inside her, he moaned and vibrated
against her clit. She was so wet. Tasted so good. Was so responsive. It was
exhilarating and dangerously addictive. Then he found that spot behind her clit
and rubbed. On instinct, he knew what she needed and gently bit down on her
pink bud. Her entire body bowed off the couch.

“I’m coming.” She flung her arms out to hold on as if she’d
fly off.

The sweetest words he’d ever heard filled his ears and the
slick of his sliding fingers extended her pleasure as well as his. He hummed,
pressing against her clit in sympathy. She trembled. Her hands lost their grip
in his hair and he only then noticed the pain.

She sagged into the couch, and ignoring his harsh breathing,
his trembling hands, and his aching dick, he kissed her mound with affection.
She made a gurgling sound and he carefully slid her skirt back down. But at the
last minute, he hesitated, staring at the gorgeous pussy he’d just eaten out
and put it to memory. ‘Cause he’d sure visit it again in his dreams.

The plane lurched. Hard.

What the hell?

Ray fell on his ass then rolled to his feet.

Fire retardant sprinklers fizzled down from the ceiling and
sputtered. Clarissa shot up and stumbled. Regaining her balance, she stood legs
apart. Her hand reached toward the sprinklers and her brow furrowed.

Ray’s cock throbbed and the flushed features of a determined
Clarissa didn’t help him relieve the aching lust. Not one bit.

“Sir,” the pilot spoke over the speakers. “The temperature
levels are too high. We have a fire in engine one. Please buckle in.”

“Oh hell,” he cursed. Grabbing Clarissa, he directed her to
her seat. All the while she kept staring at those sprinklers, brow furrowed.
“Let them be, Clarissa.”

His gut burned. He’d never seen her concentrate so hard to
handle her powers. She was a water mage of highest level. Damn it to hell,
Astrid must have syphoned Clarissa enough to leave a lasting drain, but he
couldn’t take time to indulge in concern right now.

“If I do,” she said through her clenched teeth. “Boiling
water is going to scald everyone on this plane. The pilot and Vince too.”

Shit
.

Quickly, he buckled and closed his eyes to seek the fire.
Fever coated him. The inside of his lids flashed, and if Clarissa looked at him
now, she’d know his eyes had gone red. For the first time since puberty, he’d
lost control of his fire while caught between a woman’s legs. He’d not even
gotten a hint or whiff of the surges that’d shot through the cabin. If he
hadn’t done his best to create extra safety features for his private jet—the
only way he could reliably travel without worry he’d cause an accident—the fuel
tank could’ve gone up.

Sweat dripped down his brow and his fingers curled around
the armrests so tightly they creaked. The metal shell of the plane screeched.
Hungry, the fire tried to escape and spread from the engine down the lines to
the veritable feast in the fuel tank.