How to Tame a Wild Fireman (16 page)

He wanted to eat her alive.

Ravenous, he filled his mouth with lush flesh, swirling his tongue across her nipples, teasing, feasting, gorging on her until her breath was nothing but ragged panting. Then he stood back and looked at what he’d wrought: proud, wet nipples, her chest rising and falling, the corset erotically undone, her eyes frantic and wide.

Growling, he disposed of her top, practically ripping apart the rest of the hooks and tossing it aside. For one moment she stood in nothing but her panties, a pool of adoring moonlight at her feet, a goddess made of hairpin curves and marbled flesh.

And then she was on him, ripping at his shirt, fumbling at the fastening of his jeans. Together they flung off his clothes until he stood naked, his erection so full and hard it was nearly vertical. Her hands went all over him, up his chest, down his shoulders, along his cock, feeling, exploring, driving him into a maddened frenzy of lust.

They stared at each other, panting like two racehorses. He bent to his pants, pulled a condom from his pocket and ripped it open with clumsy hands. After sheathing himself, he lifted her in his arms, spun her around and tossed her on the bed. A half second later he was clawing her underpants down her body. A thick patch of gold curls glinted at the juncture of her thighs, an oasis beckoning him onward, pulling him in. He stretched himself over her body and pinned her arms to the bed. If she touched him too much, he knew he’d lose it.

He covered her body, every firm curve meeting his hardness, his cock probing at the mouth of her heated sex. In a minute he’d plunge in. But first he licked his way down her body, keeping her arms firmly pinned.

“Don’t move,” he growled after he’d moved down far enough so he couldn’t reach her arms anymore. For a long, stunning moment she obeyed; he knew it was because it felt good and she trusted him. He found her clit with his tongue, stabbing delicately, swirling and dancing, then lapped the sweet juices from her tender folds.

That’s when she lost it. A long cry rose over his head. Her hips rose up to meet his mouth, thrashing and crashing, her hands frantically scrabbling at his hair. He gripped her ass hard, the firm flesh giving beneath his touch. He held on tight, as if her orgasm was a roller-­coaster ride, a dizzying, delirious, life-­changing event. She tasted so sweet, like life and joy and hot, hot woman. It went on forever. His own cock throbbed with exquisite pain, but he didn’t let her go until her spasms had nearly disappeared. Then he spread her apart, lifted his hips high over hers, and sank into her.

Home
.

The sensation sang through his body. He was home, deep inside Lara’s welcoming, velvety, pulsating body. With that incomprehensible revelation, he exploded.

Chapter Fifteen

M
aybe this was how surviving a shipwreck felt, Lara thought, covering her face with one damp forearm. The kind of shipwreck in which you woke up with no idea where you were or how you’d gotten there. What had just happened? Patrick Callahan had flung her onto his bed and dismantled her entire world with his talented mouth and hard body.

So that’s what the fuss was all about.

A secret smile stole across her face. Now she knew. No matter how much Annabella or the other Goddesses tried to explain, one night in bed with Patrick was all it took to make everything crystal clear. Sex was amazing. She didn’t know how she’d missed it before. Maybe she’d just had bad luck the other times, or maybe the mood hadn’t been right. She definitely owed Patrick for showing her how incredible the whole sex thing could be. And that’s all it was, she told herself. Nothing more than sex. Amazing sex, yes. But that was all.

“You okay?” he murmured, rolling over on his side. She loved the roughened rasp of his voice. It told her she wasn’t the only one whose world had been rocked.

“Yep. Thank you.”

He laughed. She watched the muscles move under his tattoos. Even though she was already nearly boneless from satisfaction, something stirred inside her at the sight. The sheer maleness of the man undid her.

“I’m serious,” she said. “You helped me figure something out.”

“What’s that?” He trailed a finger along her rib cage. Little quicksilver tremors rippled across her skin.

She sighed. “If you must know, I never really got the whole sex thing before. It actually kind of irritated me. The Goddesses take it so seriously and everything has such a silly name in Haven language.”

“Yeah? What are these called?” He circled his finger around one nipple.

“Flowers of femininity.”

He gave a spurt of laughter. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well, yes.” She might be joking, but she was squirming nonetheless.

“What about this?” He cupped her sex. Her eyelids fluttered; she wanted to melt against him.

“Mound of Venus, of course.”

“Of course. My lotus root sure enjoyed penetrating your Mound of Venus.”

She giggled wildly. “No,
that
would be the Channel of Sensuality.”

“The Channel of Sensuality? I’m not entirely clear.” He slid a finger inside her, into the slick heat still pulsing from his lovemaking. Devilish blue eyes danced at her. “Is this what you mean?”

She took in a long, wavering breath. “Fine time for vocabulary lessons.”

He probed deeper and found a spot that made her gasp. “What better time than the present? Isn’t that what the sign says? ‘The present moment is the true treasure of life’?” He used a deep voice that could have come from one of Aunt Tam’s meditation tapes.

“Mmm-­hmm,” she choked out.

He pressed his finger against that one particular spot and used the heel of his hand on her clitoris. The hot pressure made her nearly jump off the bed. “What about this? What’s this called?”

Her thoughts scattered like mice. “Which? What? Where?”

He smiled wickedly. “I’m not sure you were paying enough attention in class, Lara. You might need some remedial tutoring.” He moved his palm against her sex in a slow, grinding groove.

“Just . . . don’t stop . . . doing that,” she gasped.

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it.” He shifted closer to her, so he was growling in her ear. “It’s too much fun watching you lose your mind. Do you have any idea how sexy you are? You’re like some rich, buttery dessert. And that look in your eyes, like the cat who ate the cream. You make me absolutely crazy. I wish time would stop so I could watch you like this all day and all night. I’d keep you right here in bed and search out every place on your body until I know exactly what you like. I’d listen to every little sexy sound you make. My own personal Lara Nelson workshop. I’d call it, ‘What Makes Lulu Scream?’ and I’d study you until I know you better than you know yourself, and every time you want to come you’d find me and beg me—­”

Her spiraling cry of release interrupted the hot flow of his words. She spun off into a wild world where all she knew was the hard hand between her legs, the low murmur of his words, and the brilliant starbursts behind her eyelids.

Good God, the man was magic.

When she could move again, she lifted her heavy eyelids. He was watching her with an expression she’d never seen on his face before—­open, intimate, almost awed. “That was amazing,” he murmured.

She shoved him away, embarrassed. “What are you talking about?”

“I just like seeing you come, that’s all. It makes me happy.”

Still trying to catch her breath, she dragged her tangled hair away from her face and studied him. His features were so familiar, but somehow new and different too. His intensely blue eyes looked too serious, his mouth too . . . vulnerable. Those lines she’d noticed before hinted at pain and endurance.

Where was the Patrick she knew, the wild, devil-­may-­care, in-­your-­face rebel? This Patrick touched something different in her, some tender place that . . . well, freaked her out. It was just sex, she reminded herself. Nothing more than sex.

She plastered a sexy, teasing smile on her face. “I guess the rumors were true all along.”

He frowned. “Rumors?”

“All the girls used to say you must be a stud in bed.”

Quick as a flash his face changed, closed off. “Did they now?”

She trailed a finger down his bare arm in what she hoped was a sophisticated gesture. “Don’t be offended. I meant it as a compliment.”

He rolled onto his back and stayed quiet for a long moment. “Thanks for the compliment, then.”

But all the joy and fun had gone out of his voice.

After spending most
of the day clearing around the ranch house, Patrick drove into town to pick up a part for the Cat. Something was wrong. Usually after a bout of sex he felt on top of the world. He couldn’t put his finger on what had bothered him so much about his time with Lara. It wasn’t the sex; that part had been fantastic, better than fantastic. But even thinking about Lara in those terms seemed wrong. It didn’t fit what they were to each other. But what were they to each other? What was he to her? A stud?

For whatever reason, he didn’t like the sound of that.

But another thing she’d said had definitely stuck with him. He headed into the heart of downtown, where Loveless Fire Station 5 was located. He remembered two names from that horrible night.

“I’m looking for Dan Farris or Simon Lavalle,” he told the young guy in uniform, a good-­looking Hispanic kid sitting behind the desk in the reception area.

The firefighter clicked the intercom and spoke in a deep, mock-­official voice. “Firefighter Farris, please report to the front desk. The IRS is here.” He winked. “Watch this.”

Patrick grinned. You had to love firehouses. In a few moments an older man hurried in, wearing a look of alarm. Patrick remembered the short brown hair, grayer now, and the kind brown eyes. As soon as he saw Patrick, he hauled up.

“You’re the Callahan kid.”

“One of them. Nothing to do with the IRS. I’m a firefighter myself now, out of San Gabriel, California.”

“Right. We heard you helped out on the Waller Canyon Fire.”

The kid at the desk leaped to his feet. “Callahan? You’re Patrick Callahan?” He stuck out his hand, looking nervous. “Honor to meet you.”

All the attention made Patrick uncomfortable. Plus, the kid had turned a surprising shade of red. What was he missing?

“No big deal. We gotta help each other out, right?”

“Damn right.” The younger fireman pumped his hand, then moved aside for Farris.

“What can I do for you?” Farris asked after they exchanged handshakes. Patrick, closely scanning his face, saw nothing resembling blame or criticism.

“I wanted to talk about . . .” He lowered his voice. “ . . . back then. The accident. If you remember.”

“Sure. Let’s go into the captain’s office. Let her know, would you?” he said to the kid, over his shoulder.

“Female captain?” Patrick asked when Farris had closed the door behind them.

“First in Nevada. Nice claim to fame. Does a helluva job too.” He leaned one hip against the desk. “She lets us use the office for private conversation. So. Shoot.”

Patrick shifted from one foot to the other. “I . . . uh . . . wondered if you remembered what happened that night.”

Farris tilted his head. “You don’t?”

“Only that I fucked things up pretty good.”

Farris frowned. “I don’t remember it that way. That RV shouldn’t have been there. They’d run out of gas and hiked to the nearest town. Didn’t even leave their hazards on. No one could have avoided it.”

“But I was riding behind my brother. Liam hit it first. I should have stopped him. It should have been me.” Bitterness clenched like a fist around his heart.

“Hard to say who hit first. But there wasn’t anything either of you could have done, so just get that out of your head.”

Patrick stared at him.
Get that out of your head
. Did it really work like that? “We were going too fast.”

“Most kids on dirt bikes do. At least you were both wearing helmets. Would have been a whole different story without them.”

A sudden remembrance surfaced. Liam’s chin strap buckle had broken, which had freaked him out. Patrick had insisted they switch helmets. He’d pulled over before they hit the main road and refused to continue until they did so, even though the unfamiliar helmet was upsetting to Liam.

The memory felt like a beam of light in the murky darkness. Something shifted inside him. Maybe he didn’t deserve all the guilt he’d been heaping on himself all these years. What a mind-­blowing thought.

He took a long, exploratory breath, feeling as if a tight band around his chest had loosened just a bit.

“Appreciate your time,” he told Farris. He wanted to say more, to give an inkling of what it meant to him. But the man seemed to get it without any embarrassing explanations.

“You got it.” Farris gave him a soft punch on the shoulder, like a papa bear cuffing a cub. “Take care of yourself, Callahan.”

The Goddesses called
a group meeting over Clarity Smoothies and date-­coconut bars. Lara, still floating in a wondrous sexual afterglow, wondered if they could tell that her whole world had changed drastically. She’d always had to battle for her privacy at the Haven. The last thing she wanted was to discuss what had happened between her and Patrick.

But they all seemed more concerned about the future of the Haven than her sex life.

“We’ve come up with a few ideas,” said Janey, her glasses perched on her nose. “Number one, investors.”

“What we need,” said Annabella, looking directly at Lara, “is a decision.” Lara shifted uncomfortably on her embroidered pillow. “What do you intend to do, Lara? I heard a nasty rumor in town the other day.”

She gazed at the worried faces arrayed before her. With their wild hair and brightly colored clothes, they looked like characters from a performance of
Gypsy
. But they weren’t characters, they were ­people who needed to figure out their futures. “What rumors?”

Annabella smoothed her dark hair over one bare shoulder. “I ran into Dean at the market. He said you’d met with him about selling the property.”

The other Goddesses gasped.

“I had to look into all the options,” she told them.

Dynah rose to her feet so she towered over them all, even more than she normally did. “Behind our backs? While we’re racking our pretty little heads trying to figure out a way to save this joint?”

Lara winced. “It was a short conversation, and it didn’t go far. He said no one would buy the place anyway.”

Dynah planted her hands on her hips. “That potbellied weasel monkey. Why would he say a thing like that?”

“Because the town thinks we’re weird, of course.” Janey tapped a pencil on the ledger.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Annabella calmly. “It’s the economy. This place needs so much work. You could sell it if you really wanted to, Lara. Hire a carpenter and fix the place up, you won’t have any trouble. Don’t listen to Dean. He’s toxic.”

Romaine’s eyes, outlined in purple today, were wide with dismay. Or maybe purple eyeliner always conveyed dismay, whatever her actual mood. “Do you really want to sell it, Lara? This beautiful place?”

“It makes perfect sense,” said Janey briskly. “She probably has lots of debt from medical school. And why would she want to get stuck with us? Annabella’s right, dollbaby. If you want to sell, you should.”

“Bull-­freaking-­crap,” said Dynah. She’d never gotten on board with Haven jargon, now that Lara thought about it. “Where would that leave us? We’ve worked our patooties off here—­sometimes
on
our patooties—­and now she’s going to leave us out in the cold? That ain’t right, Lara.”

Lara scrambled to her knees, slipped on her cushion, then kicked it aside so she could stand up. “Hang on, guys. I mean, Goddesses. I wasn’t going to sell out and forget about you. Tam made me promise you’d be okay. I don’t care about the money. I just don’t know anything about running this place, and I don’t want to learn.”

“Let us buy it,” said Annabella suddenly.

Dynah snorted. “With what, the money you send to your mother in Brazil? My horse ranch savings? Romaine’s starter credit card with the five hundred dollar limit?”

“Janey has money,” said Annabella.

“Janey’s money was invested in the stock market.” Janey avoided their stunned glances. “And you can spare me the lecture on the evils of capitalism. I got the point.”

“You lost all your money?” Dynah dropped down next to her. “Oh, Janey.”

Janey took off her glasses and swiped at her eyes. “I’m at peace with it. I consulted the pendulum, and apparently it’s my karma to be broke. At least I have a home and work that means something to me. For the moment, anyway.”

Lara gazed at the older woman, feeling about as low as the Turkish carpet under their feet. “Of course you have a home, Janey. Even if I sold . . .” She trailed off. Even finishing the sentence felt wrong. How could she sell the Haven? What would the Goddesses do? Dynah would be fine, but Romaine worried her. She was so fragile. And even Annabella—­well, what were the job prospects for aging sex workers? She hadn’t known that Annabella sent her money to Brazil, but it made sense. She never spent anything on herself.