Fury on Fire

  So the sudden text from him caught her off guard. Why was he reaching out to her? Was he feeling guilty about the way he’d walked out on her?

  Hey . . .

  She stared down at that text on her phone. Just seeing that single word, knowing he was texting her, thinking about her, made her stomach pitch.

  Sucking in a bracing breath, she replied. Hey. How are you?

  Keeping busy. How are you? Everything ok?

  Was this his way of alleviating his conscience and verifying that she was okay after Grimes’s attack? Or was he concerned that making out with her and then walking out on her had devastated her?

  Honestly, he’d flipped a switch inside her, waking a part of her that had been long dormant. She dreamed of him, waking up panting, her sex aching and clenching.

  Last night she had actually resorted to taking Mister Right out from her drawer. He’d gotten the job done, but just barely. Her O had been elusive. She’d finally gotten herself off by visualizing North. By remembering his mouth and hands on her. She channeled that memory and that had done it, brought her to shattering release.

  Shaking off the thought, her fingers flew. I’m doing really well. Getting ready for a date.

  With Fancy Pants?

  His name is Brendan and he’s coming over to cook me dinner.

  Wasting your time. You don’t want him.

  Rage burned through her. Who was he to make that judgment? You don’t know that.

  Faith didn’t even know that. Not yet. Maybe tonight would be the night that nice grew into stupendous.

  I do. What happened between us wouldn’t have happened if you were hot for this guy.

  We’ll see . . .

  Try it. I dare you. See if he can get your rocks off.

  He was daring her? She narrowed her gaze and marched upstairs. At her dresser, she opened the drawer and riffled through it until she found her matching black bra and panties. Not the most comfortable lingerie she owned but definitely the sexiest—and the most color coordinated.

  She snatched up her phone again and typed: Challenge accepted. Happily.

  Have fun.

  She attacked the keys on her phone, stabbing them with her fingers. I will. I’m picking out my sexiest underwear now.

  He didn’t reply to her goad.

  She stared down at her phone for several moments, her temples pounding.

  Her doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock. Two minutes before the hour. Brendan was punctual, of course. She hurriedly stripped out of her clothes and swapped lingerie.

  Dressed again, she smoothed a hand down the sleeveless blouse she wore, willing her stomach flutters into submission. Flutters, sadly, that were not a result of her impending date despite the avowal she had just made to see if Brendan could get her rocks off.

  Touching up her lipstick, she nodded at her reflection one final time before heading downstairs.

  Let the night begin.

  North didn’t know what was worse. Faith being on a date with Fancy Pants or Faith entertaining him privately at her house.

  Okay, at her house where they were alone with a bed in proximity was definitely the worse-case scenario. No doubt about it. And daring her to get intimate with the guy was about the dumbest thing he had ever done short of landing himself in prison.

  He stared down at her texts, rereading the messages.

  I’m picking out my sexiest underwear.

  Fuck that.

  He charged to the door and yanked it open, only to see the Audi already parked neatly in the driveway directly behind Faith’s car.

  He was already here.

  North shut his door. Hard.

  He paced his living room, thinking about her next door with some guy that North had all but told her to go ahead and fuck. What if she thought he didn’t care what she did? What if that made a difference for her?

  What then?

  TWENTY-TWO

  “I don’t think anyone has ever cooked for me,” Faith ventured to say as Brendan sat across from her at her kitchen table. It was strange seeing him here. A man at her table. He wore a polo shirt tucked into starched slacks. She wondered what he looked like in a T-shirt and jeans—and then gave herself a mental shake. Who cared what he looked like in a T-shirt and jeans? She should be more interested in what he looked like naked. She sat there for a moment, letting herself think about that. Nope. The idea wasn’t very intriguing to her either. Damn.

  “Never?” Brendan grinned as he lifted the glass of wine to his lips.

  “Well, definitely not my dad or brothers. I might have starved if I had to rely on them. My life would have consisted of eating out and grilled cheese sandwiches.” She used the side of her fork to cut into her lasagna. “Now I love a grilled cheese, just not five times a week.”

  She bit into the lasagna, ignoring that the noodle sheets were a little too al dente. It could have used another twenty minutes in the oven.

  He was right. He was a passable cook, but hey. He had cooked. No man had ever done that for her before. That was saying something.

  Al dente noodles or not, he had made a pretty good lasagna. Definite bonus points for that even if he had apologized for the fact that the sauce wasn’t homemade. She figured most of the world bought tomato sauce in a jar. She always made sauce the way her mother did. From scratch. It was a tradition. A way to keep her mom alive.

  “You get major props,” she complimented.

  “I can’t lie though. I bought the tiramisu from Angelo’s.”

  Her smile deepened. He really was nice—that he had even cared to do this . . . to order a tiramisu and pick it up for their date. It only took him practically two weeks to follow up with the second date.

  She shoved that negative little voice aside. He had an important and demanding job. She could appreciate that.

  “Well, I’m having a nice time.” And she meant it. She was having a nice time. Nice. Argh! There was that word again. It was as though something was wrong with it. Damn North and damn Wendy for putting it into her head that nice wasn’t good enough.

  She stood to gather their plates.

  “Let me help,” he said, rising to his feet.

  They cleared the table together and he pulled the tiramisu out of her fridge.

  “Hm?” She cocked her head. “Wine and tiramisu . . . or should I make coffee?” They stood in the cramped space between her island and the refrigerator. She held up the bottle of wine thoughtfully while he held the cake.

  His gentle eyes looked down at her and suddenly she didn’t think he was thinking about cake. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes glanced to her mouth before looking away.

  He suddenly cleared his throat. “I don’t think wine can ever be a mistake . . .”

  He’d changed his mind. For whatever reason. Shyness. He thought it was too soon. North’s texts flashed across her mind. Have fun. He was so smug he thought she was wasting her time with Brendan.

  Resolve steeling her spine, she set the wine bottle down. He watched her movements, his head moving almost owl-like as she plucked the cake from his hands and set that on the island behind him.

  “What are—” he started to say, but she cut him off. Leaning forward, she grasped his shirt and tugged him closer. His eyes widened, darting from her eyes to her lips. She inched closer. Close enough for her to press her mouth to his. To kiss him.

  He responded readily enough after a fraction of hesitation. It was a good kiss. Proficient, she thought as his lips moved against hers. She’d had worse.

  She winced inside. She’d had worse? Not the best method of measurement. She willed the heat, the sparks to race along her nerves. She deepened the kiss, tracing his lips with her tongue. His breathing picked up, hot air rushing from his nose to moisten her face.

  His hands shifted from her back to her shoulders, as though he wasn’t sure where to put them. She grasped them herself, put his hands on the small of her back and leaned her body against the long line of his, pressing her bre
asts into his chest.

  He worked out. There was that. Nothing soft about him and yet . . .

  Sudden music blared on the air, making them jump apart. Her hands flew to her ears as Guns N’ Roses welcomed them to the jungle.

  Her wild eyes went to her kitchen wall. Her framed picture of coffee mugs rattled against the wall—the shared wall.

  Brendan shouted unnecessarily, with one hand over his ear and the other hand pointing to North’s place. “Your neighbor is playing music really loud!!”

  North! That jerk! He was trying to ruin her date.

  She nodded, murder pumping fast in her heart. “Do you want to move into the living room?” she shouted.

  He nodded.

  She took his hand and led him to her couch, determined that North would not wreck this night for her.

  Unfortunately, the music followed them. She forced a smile. “Who doesn’t like Guns N’ Roses?” she yelled.

  “What?” He held a hand up to his ears.

  She tried a second time as she sank down on the couch. “Who doesn’t like Guns N’ Roses?”

  “What!?” He shook his head and pointed to his ears like some elderly man trying to convey that he was hard of hearing.

  Oh, never mind. She grabbed him by the shirt and leaned over him again, intent on continuing. North would not be right about this.

  Suddenly a loud motor revved to life directly in front of her house.

  “What the—”

  The loud spray of water hit her living room with hurricane force. She squeaked and lunged off her couch. Brendan stood beside her. “Sounds like a power washer,” he shouted. “You hire someone to do your windows tonight?”

  “No,” she fumed. “I did not.”

  She marched to her front door over the loud screeching of Axl Rose, the roar of a power washer and water blasting her living room window. She wrenched open her door and marched outside, managing to get caught directly in the water hose’s line of fire.

  She hopped and yelped, flailing her hands as if that might ward off the stinging spray. It was strong enough to peel the skin back from her bones. “Stop!” Her gaze found North. North looking casual, his expression mild as he directed the hose at her house. As if it was the kind of thing he did all the time. “Turn it off!” She pointed to the motor parked behind him.

  He obliged, moving to the motor and flipping it off. He turned a polite smile back on her. Half the volume decreased but there was still the music blasting from his house.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted, blood rushing to her head.

  “Just being neighborly. Was gonna power wash the driveway and house this evening like we talked about, remember?”

  “Liar,” she hissed, her fingers flexing wide at her side, itching to take a swipe at his face. They had discussed no such thing!

  She spotted Brendan, watching them uncertainly from inside her door. She must look like a woman about to come unglued—which would be an accurate assessment. She took a bracing breath, trying to compose herself.

  “Would you mind doing it another time?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  “Aw, won’t take but a little while to finish, and I’ve already started. You said tonight would be okay, remember?”

  Her composure snapped. She stomped her foot. “No! I said no such thing! Stop lying! You’re doing this on purpose!”

  “Doing what?” His eyes glinted. He was enjoying himself.

  She marched closer and stabbed a finger in his chest. “Don’t act all innocent. You know what you’re doing! I know what you’re doing!”

  “Uh, Faith?” Brendan stepped fully outside. “I think I’m going to go. It’s getting late and we have work tomorrow.”

  Oh God. She must look deranged to him. She moved away from North and hurriedly blocked Brendan, waving her hands. “No. Don’t leave yet!”

  Okay. That didn’t sound desperate.

  She shot a look over her shoulder, catching North’s smug expression before it was masked again by a look of innocence. This was all his fault, damn him!

  Brendan was talking now, but she barely heard a word over the roar in her ears. She only caught the gist of what he was saying. He had a good time, thank you, blah blah blah. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll text you later. Enjoy that tiramisu.”

  Then she watched helplessly as he walked down her driveway and got in his car. She stood there for a moment, her frustration and anger bubbling over.

  Inhaling through her nostrils, she turned and leveled a glare on the man waiting behind her.

  North stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking calm and satisfied. Ready for her.

  “You,” she growled.

  He held up the hose. “So . . . you want me to finish the windows?”

  She jabbed a finger at him. “Keep that hose away from my house. As a matter of fact, you stay away from my house.” He turned and glanced at the duplex, his sweeping gaze seeming to convey how hard that would be to manage when their homes were conjoined. She accused, “You ruined my date!”

  “Did I?” he asked mildly.

  “Don’t look at me like you don’t know.” She dropped her fists to her hips. “Don’t act like you didn’t do this on purpose.”

  North scratched his jaw and glanced out at the street where Brendan had just beat a hasty retreat. A wave of defeat swelled over her. She followed his gaze. Fabulous. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be, but North had no business interfering.

  He made a tsking sound. “I didn’t expect him to turn tail so easily. Honestly, Faith. You could do better.”

  She saw red. “I agree.” Stepping forward, she shoved him in the chest. “So do me a favor. Stop interfering and let me find him.” For good measure, and because she was that mad, she shoved him again.

  His features turned stony. “Don’t do that.”

  “What? This?” She did it again, hoping to annoy him as much as he annoyed her.

  He growled, “I said stop—”

  “What are you going to do about it?” She stepped nearer, thrusting her face closer.

  “You don’t know who you’re tangling with—”

  “Oh, yeah? Show me,” she challenged.

  He laughed roughly. “You’re a fool. It’s like you want to get hurt. Is that it?”

  For a moment she actually considered what he was saying, but despite how mad she was at him right now, she had never been afraid of him. “I’m not an idiot. You won’t hurt me.”

  He sobered. “Oh, baby. That’s what I do to people.”

  She felt his voice like a feather stroking down her body. Crazy considering the words he was saying were not the least bit seductive. Shaking her head, her voice shuddered past her lips. “I don’t believe that.”

  “No?” His hand shot out to circle the back of her neck, hauling her flush against him. “You’re fucking wrong.” His thumb stroked her throat in tantalizing brushes. “That’s all I know . . . how to ruin things.”

  She wet her lips. Glancing down, she stared at where their bodies were mashed together tightly. Close. Still not close enough. She wanted . . . she wanted.

  His heart beat hard against her. She moistened her lips and before she could consider what she was doing, she said the words that popped in her head. “Then ruin me.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The offer hovered between them like a great big swelling balloon.

  His eyes dilated, the deep brown darkening nearly as black as his irises. Not a sound passed between them. The air in her lungs froze, trapped.

  Did she really just say that?

  She opened her mouth to retract the words, to pop that balloon, to say anything to take them away or erase what she had just said. But no sound escaped.

  His big hands dropped to span her waist. “You want me to ruin you?” His gravelly voice rolled over her. “I can do that.”

  She squeaked as he lifted her up off the ground. Before she realized his intent, he was carrying her into her house. H
e walked them right through the front door, kicking it shut behind them.

  He plopped her on her kitchen table. She was suddenly intensely grateful that she’d purchased a high kitchen table. They fit perfectly. He wedged his body between her thighs, his hands sliding up the outsides and under her skirt.

  “Nice skirt.” He lifted his head to look her over. Reaching between them, he flipped the silky flounce along her collar. “And blouse. You dress like this for him?”

  “I dressed like this for . . . a date.”

  “You look expensive. Untouchable.” His gaze left a blistering trail as it roamed over her. “Not the kind of girl I usually touch.”

  But he had touched her. And then he said he wouldn’t again. But he was now. So what were they doing? She didn’t know how to respond. Her chest was too tight, an invisible fist squeezing her lungs. Fortunately, he didn’t seem concerned with her reply. His hands kept moving, fingers diving under the outer edge of her panties, skimming along her hips and down to the crease between her thighs and crotch.

  “So tell me about it.” Gripping her hips, he yanked her closer, dragging her against the front of him, where his member already bulged against rough denim.

  “About what?”

  “Your date.” The drawl of his deep voice scraped over her. “Did he kiss you? Touch you here?” He cupped her sex, his palm searing hot over her folds.

  She opened her mouth and made a gurgling sound. She couldn’t even form coherent words when he was touching her.

  His thumb dipped, tracing the seam of her lips.

  She gasped sharply.

  “So slick,” he said thickly.

  And she was already wet. Embarrassingly so.

  His thumb parted her, pressing into her wetness, easing a fraction inside her.

  “Your bedroom?” He jerked his head toward the staircase.

  She nodded jerkily.

  Again, he picked her up like she wasn’t the Amazon she knew herself to be and marched up the stairs, her legs solidly wrapped around him.