All Fired Up (5 page)

“You named your cat after a sweet?”

“I have a weakness for chocolate, what can I say?” She shrugged.

He nodded and started unbuttoning his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

“These trousers are binding me. They are not good. I will wear the blue fabric you gave me instead.”

Based on the image blazing through her brain, she knew she must be blushing. “It’s partially my fault. I forgot to buy you underwear. Washing the jeans would probably help, too.”

“What does this under-wear do?”

Lovely. What’s next? The birds and the bees?
“Underwear goes on between your…skin and your clothes. It would help make your jeans more comfortable.”

He plucked at his pants. “These are jeans?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot wear these jeans any longer.” He unzipped them.

“Stop!” She put her hands up and looked away. “You can’t just strip down in the kitchen.”

“Then which room may I strip down in?”

“That’s not what I meant. You can’t just take your clothes off and walk around naked.”

One dark brow shot up. “Why not?”

Yeah, why not?
Her hands went to her hips. Time to focus. She looked him in the eyes. “Because you’re not two, that’s why. Listen, I’ll wash your stuff but you have to change in the bathroom and put the sweatpants back on, understand?”

He gave her an amused look.

“I know, I’m a difficult woman. Go change and then you can explain this phoenix thing, okay?”

When he returned bare-chested in the too-tight sweats, conversation was the last thing on Calleigh’s mind. Mercy, the man infected her blood. Was it normal to salivate at the sight of bare skin? Her body usually reserved that reaction for something sugary. Although the idea of his skin and her mouth didn’t seem like a bad combination.
Focus!

She took the jeans and sweatshirt from him. They were still warm. “I’ll stick these in the washer and then we’ll talk.”

“Aye.” He moved to let her by, but she stepped in the same direction, bringing them chest to chest.

“I was…the washer…that way.” She pointed toward the laundry closet. His spicy scent muddled her thoughts.

His large hands cupped the sides of her face, his fingers threading through her hair. She gasped at the unexpected touch. The warmth of his hands embroidered her skin with goose bumps.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, not really caring so long as he kept touching her.

“I am looking at you, Calleigh lass.” His cinnamon-scented breath heated her cheeks.

“Why?” The word came out as a sigh.

“You are not such a difficult woman, I think.” He bent his head closer. His glacier blue eyes seemed to glow.

She might sink to the floor and float to the ceiling all at the same time.
Breathe, Cal, breathe. He’s just a man like any other.

Yeah, right.

Chapter Four

His thumbpads grazed her cheekbones, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The thoughts rushing through her brain—
he’s going to kiss me-he’s going to kiss me—
burned away in a flood of heat that took her breath and melted her senses.

Calleigh closed her eyes and waited for the first touch of his lips against hers. Would he taste like the cinnamon that scented his skin?

His hands left her face, and he exhaled. “So now we talk.”

What? No kiss? She opened her eyes and looked away before mumbling her reply. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

Cool air nipped at the warm skin where his hands had just been but did nothing to cool the flush of embarrassment now rising in her cheeks. Disappointment wrapped her like a well-worn shawl. Difficult or not, she wasn’t getting kissed. What had she done wrong? Had she totally misinterpreted that moment?

Fool. Standing there with her head tipped back and her eyes closed. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep a man. How had she gotten one in the first place? Over-eager didn’t rank as a big turn-on. The need to get away got her moving.

She brushed past him and yanked open the bi-fold laundry doors. A lint brush tumbled off the shelf and clattered against the metal lid of the washer. She threw it back up on the shelf and set the wash cycle. She stuffed his clothes in the tub, added some detergent and slammed the lid. Maybe she was jinxed. Maybe there was some sort of Irish curse hanging over her. Maybe she was just destined to be the oldest living virgin in Brooklyn. Or New York. Or possibly the entire United States.

With a groan of self-loathing, she plopped down onto the sofa. From beneath her lashes, she watched him settle into the leather club chair across from her. She started to tell him that was Snickers’ usual spot then stopped. So what if he got cat hair all over his butt.

A lock of hair fell into his eyes. He swept the offending strand out of his face. “You know I am a Phoenix and that I have three changes to grant you.”

“Yes.” Her fingers curled. Was his hair as soft as it looked? Brad’s was so short there wasn’t much to run her fingers through. Not that he liked having his hair messed up anyway.

“These changes are entirely up to you. You may tell me what your first change is as soon as you are ready. After I make the change, you have three days to decide if you want to keep the change or discard it.”

“So I really only get one change, I just have three chances to make it right?” She rubbed her chin, considering all the screw-ups in her life she wanted to do over. Boy, that was a long list. On the other hand, she could ignore the mistakes and be happily married and have a house full of kids. The possibilities spun through her head.

“Nay.” He tapped his fingers on the nail heads decorating the arms of the chair. “You may keep the first one and still make another. But you only have three and you must use them all.”

“Okay, that’s pretty easy to understand.”

He opened his mouth to speak but shut it, apparently changing his mind.

“Let me guess, I’m smarter than a horse?”
But not smart enough to figure out you weren’t trying to kiss me.
She raised her eyebrows and waited for an answer.

He smirked, and she guessed she’d at least partially read his mind. “I was not going to say that again.”

She grinned despite the twinges of embarrassment still pricking her. He didn’t seem to be dwelling on it so why should she? “It’s okay. I think you meant it as a compliment.”

He nodded, looking relieved. “I did. What else do you wish to know?”

What you taste like.
She twisted sideways and wiggled her toes into the space between the cushions.
Stop it, Cal. He doesn’t want to kiss you.
“I don’t really understand the whole Phoenix thing. I mean, if you’re a Viking, how are you also a Phoenix? How come I’ve never heard of Phoenixes except as mythical birds? Is there some head Phoenix you work for? Like some big Phoenix boss?”

Sitting back, he didn’t respond immediately, but stared at the floor as if thinking.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” she said. “You must get sick of explaining this to every new person that comes across your talisman.”

He looked up. “Nay. In truth, the charge who does not know what I am about is rare. But then most do not summon me by fire. I am just searching for the right words, fair eyes.”

Fair eyes
. She could get used to that. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss her, but he must like her a little.

He leaned forward with his forearms on his knees and his hands clasped. “I work for the goddess, Freya. She is the goddess of love but she also controls men’s destinies, to a certain point.”

The goddess of love? This was getting good. “I thought Aphrodite was the goddess of love?” she asked.

“Aphrodite, Venus, Ishtar.” He shrugged. “She is known by many names to many different people.”

She untucked her feet from between the cushions. “But what does the goddess of love have to do with changing your life?”

“There are many types of love. Love of money, love of power, love of self. She controls all these things.”

“I take it you aren’t the only Phoenix. So why haven’t I heard about this before?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Have you heard of Cupid?”

“The fat little diapered cherub who flies around shooting people with arrows?” The mental image caused her to grin.

Alrik laughed, his eyes sparkling. “He cares little for that description, I promise you. And he looks nothing like that. Eros, as he prefers, was the first Phoenix ever transformed.”

“So you were transformed also?” She put her feet on the floor and scooted to the edge of the couch.

“Aye, from chieftain to Phoenix. But in my heart,” he thumped his chest, “I will always be chieftain.”

“Speaking of hearts, that’s the nastiest scar I’ve ever seen. How did you live through
that
?”

He glanced down at the jagged furrow across his upper chest. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and his mouth took on a wretched twist.

Calleigh tucked her feet back underneath her. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

When he looked back at her, his eyes were cold and his voice exact. “I did not.”

Calleigh straightened as a sudden frost settled over her. “But that means…”

He shoved to his feet and walked to the front windows, staring out into the rainy afternoon. “Aye. It means what you think.”

The frost turned into a deep freeze. She had almost kissed a dead man. She shuddered. Things had just gone from weird to mental institution.

“You’re dead?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are…are you a ghost?” she stuttered.

He spoke without looking at her. “You have felt that I am flesh and blood, have you not?”

“Aye,” she whispered, thinking again of the kiss that almost was. “I mean, yes, you feel…alive.”

He turned, a soft smile lighting his face. “Would you like to feel me again?”

The glimmer in his eyes warmed her considerably, but she was not about to be
almost
kissed again.
Change the subject.
“Why did you ask me what year it was?”

“Because I did not know. My last summoning was in the year 1862. My charge was a soldier in your country’s clan war. He was killed before his three changes were granted and the talisman was stolen.” He leaned back against the window frame.

“So where have you been since then?”

The smile faded, and he turned away again. “I have been in Valhalla since then.” Bitterness laced his words.

The gruff tone of his voice surprised her. “I thought Valhalla was supposed to be paradise?”

“It is, for some. If that is what you seek.” He splayed his fingers on the glass and stared out at the rainy day, but she could see his reflection in the window. Distant and detached. The soft patter of rain and the whirr of the washer filled the space between them.

What did he seek? She was about to ask that and a few other questions when the washer buzzed. She got up and put his clothes in the dryer, throwing in a few extra fabric softener sheets to get his clothes as soft as possible. Whether he liked it or not, he was about to smell like a tropical breeze.

She peeked around the corner. He still stood at the window. The reflection of light on his face through the rain-streaked glass looked like tears running down his cheeks. Maybe she should just leave him alone.

In search of something to occupy herself with, she went into the kitchen and rummaged around for something to make for dinner. Great. A handful of ramen noodles packages, two boxes of mac-n-cheese, a can of black olives and some peanut butter. Old Mother Hubbard probably had a better-stocked pantry. She opened her drawer of take-out menus and grabbed the one from
Thai’d Up
. Did Vikings eat curry?

She glanced in his direction. What was he thinking about? “Alrik?”

He shifted to meet her gaze. The hard line of his mouth was softer now, his brows not so tightly drawn together. “Aye?”

“Excuse me for not knowing my Viking history, but what year did you come from?”

“I was born in 848, in Dublin.”

Puzzled, she put the menu down. “You were born in Ireland?”

“Aye. Does that surprise you?” His mouth softened further into an easy smile.

“Yes. I thought you were a Norseman. Or Viking, or whatever. How can you be Irish?”

“I am not Irish. I was only born there. My people came to conquer Eire as they had Northumbria and Brittany.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You’re almost twelve hundred years old?”

He nodded. “I was never quick with sums but that sounds correct.”

“Holy crap,” she said, her voice a squeak. “You’re really freakin’ old.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and mumbled “sorry” through her fingers.

His face split in a wide grin and laughter erupted from his throat. “Aye. I am freakin’ old.”

Relieved at his good humor, she laughed too. “You sure don’t look your age. You don’t act it either. How old were you when you were…transformed?”

He opened his mouth to reply, and the answering machine kicked on. She startled. The stupid ringer was still turned off. She grabbed the receiver.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Baby, it’s me—“

“I don’t want to talk to you.” She slammed the receiver down.

Alrik squinted at the phone. “What does that machine do?”

“The phone lets you talk to people anywhere in the world, as long as they have a phone, too.”

“This is a very wise age.” He nodded toward the windows. “I have been watching these machines that move people. They are faster than horses and there is no dung to clean up.”

She smiled. “Those are cars. There’s also lots of bigger public transportation, like trains. Do you know what a train is?”

“Aye. But I have not ridden inside one.”

The answering machine turned on again, but this time, she didn’t pick up the phone.

“Baby, it’s Brad. Pick up, please. I know you’re there. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Look, just meet me for brunch at eleven tomorrow at Patois. We can work this out. Please, Calleigh. I’ll be there. I hope you are, too. I love you.”

When he hung up, Calleigh sank into one of the pub chairs around the breakfast bar. She sat there, staring at the flecks of black and gold in the granite. How perfect. He’d proposed to her at Patois. Was that supposed to soften her up? What if it did?

“Who is this man that upset you?”

She glanced up. Alrik stood beside her.

She sniffed in a deep shuddering inhale she recognized as the precursor to a good cry.
I will not be weak in front of this man. He’s a twelve-hundred-year-old Viking chieftain and I’m a modern, independent woman.
Tears would not impress him.

“He’s no one. I’m okay,” she lied.

“I am not blind. You are upset. Who is this man?”

“He’s my ex.”

“Your X? What is X?”

“He’s the guy I’m—
was
supposed to marry.”