Crash Lights and Sirens, Book 1 (14 page)

Alexandra blows a noisy breath into the receiver, a classic big-sister kind of sound. “It’s the main oven, Niko. I’m not asking for my health.”

Over by the doorway, Taryn’s got her shirt undone halfway to her navel; her bra is a robin’s-egg blue he wants to peel off her body in the worst, stupidest way. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, as she takes a step in his direction. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

By the time he hangs up Taryn’s close enough that he can get his hands inside her button-down, curve them around her warm, naked rib cage. She tips her chin up, lets him suck her neck. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not about to make me the best grilled cheese of my life and haul me upstairs to bed like a caveman?” she asks.

So much for shy. “Was gonna be minestrone, actually.” Nick grins and ducks his head to kiss her again. “I’m gonna keep that caveman thing in my back pocket though.” He thinks about unhooking the bra anyhow—it’s not an actual emergency, Alexandra can manage for a while longer yet—but he feels like he ought to ask the question when everybody’s still got most of their clothes on. Taryn smells like sugar and soap. “Hey,” he says quietly, his mouth close enough to hers that they’re breathing more or less the same oxygen. “Is it gonna really freak you out to meet my sisters?”

Falvey blinks at him for a minute, pulling back in a way that’s got him pretty sure she’s gonna pass on that particular offer. Nick’s about to let her off the hook when she grins. “That depends,” she says, all sass and vinegar. “You gonna let me see the wooden spoon trick?”

Nick huffs out a laugh, trying not to sound too relieved. The skin covering the notches of her spine is vellum soft. “Dunno. S’a pretty important family secret.” Falvey rolls her eyes, locking her arms around his neck before going up on her tiptoes for another kiss. She’s good, Christ. She’s playing it so, so cool. “If you wanted, you could always just wait in the truck,” Nick adds, biting her lower lip gently. Now that he’s thinking of it, it might actually be the best option. “Or here. It probably won’t take that long.”

Taryn just shrugs, her tough-guy nod. “Whatever, I can come. It’s not like you’re gonna tell them that we’re—” She makes a face, gesturing between them wordlessly. Nick can’t tell if she’s avoiding saying “screwing around” or “dating”, how she’s labeling whatever it is they’re doing in her own head. After the last time, he’s not exactly sure himself. “—you know,” she finishes.

Nick smirks. “Yeah, Falvey, I know.”

“So,” Taryn says, like that wraps up the conversation for her completely. Then she makes another face. “How many sisters do you have exactly?”

They hunt for boots and gloves while Nick gives her a quick rundown on Alexandra and Ioanna, respective husbands and Ioanna’s two kids, how he’s actually the baby of the family. It’s an easy enough story after telling her about Maddie, part of his life he actually enjoys discussing. When he gets to the bit about the family diner, Falvey grins knowingly. “Figures,” is all she says. “No normal person just whips up minestrone.”

He’s zipping up his jacket and finishing a description of past oven-related grievances when he catches Falvey staring at the front of his jeans, her pale eyebrows raised. “That gonna be gone by the time we get there?” she asks, biting her lip to fight off a grin. She’s more or less at eye level, having sat her ass down to pull on her boots.

“If you cover up, maybe.” Her shirt’s still undone, that Tiffany-blue bra almost fully exposed. She’s drawing it out on purpose, no question, putting on her boots and even her scarf first. The fabric is thin enough that both her nipples are outlined in sharp relief.

Taryn tilts her head and
hmms
, pretending to consider it. Or at least Nick thinks she’s pretending until she scoots closer, curling her fingers around his calf. “Are you sure we don’t have, like, five minutes?” she asks, widening her eyes playfully. She’s up on her knees now, scratching a finger over his zipper. “How fast can you be?”

Mother of God. Nick had been sitting at half-mast, mostly in control of himself, but the implication alone is enough to make him hard as bedrock. The sad truth of it is, he hasn’t had a blowjob in years. Still. “Don’t tease,” he says mildly, grabbing at her wandering hand. “We gotta go.”

Falvey just switches to her left, his belt and zipper undone in a flash. “I’m not teasing,” she insists. “How fast? I take a minute, tops.”

“I don’t—” But whatever he was going to say gets lost in a groan as she gets her fist around his cock and licks, all broad, flat tongue and one long stripe up the underside. Nick brushes the hair away from her face with a shaky hand. “Taryn—”

He honestly doesn’t know if he wants to tell her to stop or keep going. Before he can recover enough to choose, she’s looking him in the eye and opening her mouth as wide as can be, swallowing him down for real. When the head hits the back of her throat, Nick’s knees almost buckle.

Falvey pulls off, smirking. “Yeah, you aren’t gonna take long. Now let go.” She means her right hand, the wrist still twisting inside his grip. Nick can’t think of what she needs it for until she reaches down to work open the button of her own jeans, fingers slithering inside.

I take a minute, tops
. Oh fuck.

Taryn catches him looking and grins wickedly, like there’s something about him in particular that makes him fun to try and shock. “That cool with you?” she teases, and it’s basically all Nick can do to nod. She works her hand down into her panties while she settles on a rhythm, all this warm suction and how criminally soft her tongue feels. Her mouth is very, very wet. He’s leaning against the dining room wall but there’s nowhere for him to brace his hands, not really, one of them back behind his neck and the other hovering ineffectually near the crown of her head. Nick reaches for her like an instinct before he remembers himself and quits.

Falvey glances up and makes a face at him, cheekier than it should be considering her mouth is full of his—yeah. “You’re fine,” she promises, backing off exactly long enough to get the words out. He can see her fingers moving inside her jeans. “Go ahead.”

Nick hesitates. She’s still got her fist wrapped around him, jacking steadily with a slick, quiet sound. Years, Jesus, on top of which she’s so completely fucking— “Falvey,” he says, helpless. Everything about her is still so, so new.

Falvey rolls her eyes. “Kanelos,” she counters, exact same tone and everything. Then, letting go of his cock and grabbing his hand herself, guiding it to the back of her skull. “Come on,” she urges, her teeth scraping whisper-light at the ridge. Nick hisses, barely managing not to thrust. “Show me.”

So. He’s gentle at first, gathering her silky hair up into a loose ponytail. She butts her head back impatiently, so he pushes some more. Taryn hums a satisfied sound. She closes her eyes to concentrate. The next time she takes him all the way deep, loose and easy and her touching herself the whole way through. Nick’s thumb trails down to the hinge of her jaw, feeling it work. He’s pretty sure that if she wanted to she could open him right up and walk around inside.

“Taryn,” he manages finally. He’s held off this long out of pride more than anything else, that plus how insanely good she feels and how bad he wants to make it last, but between her hungry mouth and her eyes and her wrist flexing faster and faster down between her legs—yeah. Nick’s pretty much done. “You gotta—” he starts, trying to warn her. His free hand drifts lower, plucking at her nipple through the flimsy bra. “I can’t—”

“Mm-hmm.” Taryn doesn’t ease off even an inch or two, just glances up to let him know he’s got permission. She arches into his touch so he’ll work her rougher, and in the end that’s what pushes him the rest of the way. Nick comes hard, fist tightening like a reflex in her thick hair. He forgot this, fuck, made himself forget it, the feeling as she swallows pulse after pulse. His breath shudders out, uneven.

Even as it’s happening Nick’s planning to haul her up as soon as he’s finished, to shove his hand down into her jeans and feel her clutch around his fingers, but she’s still milking the last of it out of him when she lets out a whine sharp enough to make it pretty clear she’s not going to need the help. Nick feels the vibration of it right up his spine. “That’s it,” he murmurs as her whole body shudders, Taryn leaning her hot forehead against his stomach while she gets herself off. Nick tugs her hair back until she looks.

She comes off his cock with a quiet pop, the hand under her waistband still working. Her knees are spread wide open on the hardwood. “So, more like two minutes,” she pants, this supremely self-satisfied look on her face as she winds down.

“Smartass.” Now Nick really does haul her to her feet, pulling those wet fingers out of her jeans and sucking off the sharp-slippery taste. Taryn giggles as he licks her palm. Her eyebrows jump when he leans in for a kiss, like she didn’t expect it so soon after. Nick makes a point of licking as deep into her mouth as he can.

“Okay,” she says finally, breaking away. “Um. Now that everyone’s happy, we should probably go.” She’s blushing, he’s pretty sure, just the slightest bit. Nick smirks.

The drive over to the diner is quiet, both of them humming through some pretty wicked afterglow. Or, at least, Nick certainly is—years without that, fuck, how could he have ever forgotten—and judging from Taryn’s lolling posture he’s not alone. Wrapped up in her scarf and that ridiculous puffy jacket she looks sweetly exhausted, a cold weather flush all across her lips and nose. How little sleep they’ve both had since the night shift, Nick bets he could still convince her to nap with him.

“Last chance to bail,” he tells her, pulling around back to park outside the kitchen doors. “Wait here in the truck, if you that’s what you want. Wooden spoon trick is better with some mystery.”

Falvey shakes her head. “Nope. I’m committed now.” Then she yawns, and seeing her tongue—Christ. Nick thought he was done. He wants her constantly, it feels like, more than he’s wanted anyone since—

Since.

“This diner have coffee?” Taryn asks, rubbing at the bridge of her freckled nose.

Nothing for it. “Locally roasted,” Nick confirms, shoving down the realization and swinging himself out of the Tahoe.

There’s no sign of either Alexandra or Ioanna when they first get inside the kitchen, stamping off their boots beside the dishwashing station. Nick waves at one of the harried-looking cooks who’s doing the best she can with a jury-rigged mise-en-place and the crappy induction burner that basically amounts to a hot plate. The grilled cheese she’s working on looks singed.

“Round the front,” the girl says, gesturing. “Mrs. Christou thinks it’s really broken this time, so they’re writing up a menu that works for the microwave.” From her expression, she finds the prospect faintly horrifying.

Oh for Christ’s sake. “Alexandra’s just being dramatic,” Nick reassures her, scrubbing a hand along his jaw. “She would’ve called a repair guy if it was actually dead.” He thinks, at least. Falvey’s hovering at his elbow, looking around the busy kitchen with bright eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m just being what?” That’s Alexandra herself, of course, popping through the service doors like she was waiting for her cue. She has an unlit cigarette all ready to go in her mouth, which is how Nick knows the stupid oven might actually be shot. “You certainly took your time,” she tells him, hands on her hips.

Nick resists rolling his eyes. It’s been fifteen minutes since she first called, tops. “Sorry.” He reaches around behind him to grab Falvey’s upper arm through her puffy coat. “Alexandra, this is Taryn,” he explains, nudging her forward. “We work together. And I’m her ride, so we can’t stay long.” Not true, obviously—Falvey drove her own beater over to his place—but close enough.

Well. That certainly distracts Alexandra for a moment. She looks Taryn up and down without even bothering to pretend she isn’t doing it. Nick half-expects her to ask to see Taryn’s teeth. Finally she nods. “Nice to meet you,” she says briskly, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and tucking it into her pocket, and that’s how Nick knows he’s in trouble.

Chapter Nine

The wooden spoon trick, it turns out, is pretty much exactly what it says on the label: banging around underneath the enormous oven with a wooden spoon until it hits the gas valve and the thing ignites. Nick shrugs out of his jacket and sets to it, down on his knees on the rubber mat covering the industrial tile. “Are you going to stand here and watch me do this, seriously?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Taryn and raising his eyebrows. “Go out to the front. Io will get you some coffee.”

Taryn grins. “I think I’m going to stand here and watch you do it,” she says, aware that his sister is standing right there and—judging by her delivery of the world’s most obvious once-over—clearly already suspects something’s up besides a friendly ride to work. Taryn doesn’t know what it is about her and Nick exactly. It’s like the two of them together send out some high-pitched sound only middle-aged women can hear. She takes a step back, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.

“Is he here?” That’s got to be his other sister coming through the door now, Ioanna—she’s heavier than Alexandra but prettier in the face, with dark, curly hair to her shoulders. There’s a family resemblance among all three of them, strong eyebrows and that same plush mouth. Taryn bets they made a nice Christmas card when they were kids.

Alexandra nods. “He’s here,” she answers for him, arms crossed as she watches him skeptically. The spoon is noisy even over the rest of the kitchen bustle, a timer dinging somewhere and a boom box on a high shelf, tuned to a Spanish station. “He’s trying the wooden spoon trick.”