Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (12 page)

"I don't want ice." Yes, she was pouting. Even she could hear it in her voice. He looked at her again with a flash of amusement.

"Then what do you want?" His voice was anything but amused. The deep tone was husky, maybe a little harsh. The brown of his eyes deepened, their color darkening to the richness of fertile soil as he watched her. The air suddenly thickened, becoming heavy and warm, as warm as the blood rushing through her limbs, making her body tingle. She couldn't look away, not when his eyes held her in place, not when she saw the same question repeated in their dark depths.

The same, but different. Waiting for an answer. All she had to do was give it.

"I want…" Her voice faded with her confidence. She swallowed, her tongue darting out to lick lips that were suddenly dry. "I want you kiss it and make it better."

The corners of his mouth curled up in a smile that was part amusement, part wryness. He closed the distance between them and grabbed her hand, brought it to his both before dropping a quick kiss on her tender knuckles. Her fingers tightened around his hand, holding him in place when he would have dropped it and stepped away.

"What do you want, Smurfette?"

Frustration boiled inside her. How could one person—one man—cause so many conflicting emotions? Desire, bewilderment, curiosity. Confusion. Frustration. She narrowed her eyes and squeezed her fingers more tightly around his.

"Melanie. My name is Mel. A. Nie."

"I know what your name is." His eyes flashed with humor and she knew he was going to say it, could see it in the laughter in his eyes. "Smurfette."

She pulled her hand from his and stomped her foot. "Ohhh. You're impossible."

She stomped her foot once more, knowing it was childish but beyond caring. Then she stepped around him, just wanting to go home. To go back to her place and do her best to put him out of her mind before he truly drove her insane.

But she didn't get far. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, pulling her to him so fast that she stumbled and would have fallen. Did fall—flush against his chest, held in place by the strong arm wrapped around her. His mouth closed over hers before she could gasp in surprise, making her gasp for another reason. His tongue swept past the barrier of her lips, meeting hers. Dancing, tasting. Slow, so deliciously slow, like he had all the time in the world.

Melanie clung to him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other pressed between them with her palm flattened against his chest. The steady beat of his heart danced against her palm. Hard. Solid. She sighed and pressed herself even closer, his arm tightening around her, supporting her as her legs went weak.

His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers threading in the tangle of her hair. He tilted her head back and pulled his mouth from hers, trailing hot kisses along her jaw and neck. His teeth nipped the corded muscle at the base of her neck, by her shoulder, sending a thousand sparks of desire shooting through her. The sparks liquefied, pooling in her limbs, settling low in her belly and between her legs.

She tilted her hips and rocked against the rigid length of his erection, pressed so bold and hard against her. Dale groaned, a low growl deep in his throat, and claimed her mouth once more.

A kiss. It was supposed to be nothing more than a kiss. But it was so much more, its shimmering color exploding behind her closed lids. Rich. Vibrant. Powerful. Colors she'd never before seen, never before imagined.

She moaned and leaned into him, dragged her hand along the slick feverish skin of his chest and stomach. Hot and hard. Soft and velvety. His body was a contradiction of sensation against her palm as she dragged her hand even lower, as she traced the silky softness of that irresistible line of hair low on his stomach. Her fingers brushed against the smooth edge of the nylon waistband of his shorts. She hesitated only a second then dipped her fingers inside.

His hand closed around her wrist, stopping her, holding her hand in place. He broke the kiss and looked down at her, desire burning like smoldering embers in the depths of his eyes.

She held her breath, desire and anticipation welling inside her and warring with anxiety. Would he push her away? Come to his senses and tell her to go home?

He reached up with one hand and brushed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His thumb grazed her cheek, the touch gentle. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lip and she leaned forward, nipping it between her teeth. She heard his moan, felt it low in her belly as desire flashed in his eyes.

Then he kissed her again, his mouth seeking possession, demanding surrender. His grip on her wrist eased and she wiggled her fingers, trying to slide her hand lower.

The kiss deepened, changing, becoming something more. Melanie sighed, the sound lost in the kiss as he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her. She reached for his shoulders, her fingers digging into his bare skin as he carried her.

He was carrying her!

She was weightless, floating, anchored to reality only by the feel of his hands around her waist. By the deep possession of his kiss, as if he was starving and she was his only means of survival.

Cool air brushed her skin as he pulled her skirt up, the material bunched in his hand. She felt the rasp of his knuckles against the back of her thigh. Higher as his hand explored, higher until he palmed the roundness of her bare ass.

He tore his mouth from hers with a growl, his brows lowered over his eyes as he stared at her. "Is this how you always dress?"

Melanie frowned, not sure why he would ask her such a silly question. "Yes, but—"

He interrupted her with a kiss, hard and quick. "Good. Don't change it."

She still didn't understand but then he kissed her again and she didn't care, didn't even remember the question. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that held her enthralled, was the feel of Dale's mouth on hers. Hard, insistent. The heat of his body against hers. Hard, promising. And the feel of the mattress under her back as he gently laid her on his bed.

Another thrill shot through her, electrifying and so alive. Dale's mouth moved away from hers and she sighed. The sigh was replaced with a small gasp of surprise as he kissed his way down her throat, his hand still under her skirt, his fingers lightly brushing the tops of her thighs.

Close. So close.

She tilted her hips, seeking to bring his touch closer, needing him to fill the emptiness and ease the tender ache between her legs. But he moved his hand, freeing it from the flowing material of the skirt bunched around her waist. She moaned again, in disappointment, felt him smile against the sensitive flesh of her neck.

His hand wandered up, catching the hem of her shirt and easing it up her body until cool air washed across her bare chest. He cupped the weight of one breast in his hand, his palm deliciously rough against her skin. She gasped as his thumb scraped across her nipple, gasped again when he pinched her. Not hard, not soft. Just right.

And then his hands were gone, the heat of his body gone. He pushed to his knees beside her, looking down with an odd gentleness in his eyes. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, wondering what he saw, realizing how vulnerable she was. Stretched out on his bed, her skirt pushed to her waist, her blouse pushed up to her neck. Fully dressed but completely exposed. Embarrassment and a sudden shyness gripped her and she moved to grab her clothes, to push them back in place. His hands shot out, stopping her, his grip a contradiction of rough and gentle.

He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. The look in his eyes said it all. Desire, need, primitive male appreciation. The look empowered her, made her bold. Made her want.

She tugged one hand from his grasp and reached out, trailing the short length of her nail across his chest, down the hard planes of his stomach. Lower, to that soft line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.

Dale grinned, a crooked grin that seemed strained somehow. He eased away, dislodging her hand, and reached for her shirt, pushing it over her head and tossing it to the floor. Then he was between her legs, his hands tucked into the waistband of her skirt, pulling it off her legs and tossing it behind him. He smiled again, one full of promise, and lowered his mouth to her legs.

Melanie gasped, her eyes drifting shut. The world around her disappeared, leaving nothing but bright shards of pleasure as Dale kissed her, touched her. Her ankle, her calf. The sensitive skin behind her knee and along the inside of her thigh. Higher, higher still until—

Yes. A thousand times yes. His mouth closed over her, hot and wet, his tongue licking, probing. But instead of easing the ache, it only made it worse. Made her yearn for more.

Her hands floated around her, finally resting on his head, the touch anchoring her. She dug her heels into the mattress and raised her hips, her legs spreading wider, opening herself to him. To his mouth, his touch, his magic.

A wave caught her, swept her up, rising higher and higher toward the promise of shimmering light. She felt her body reaching for it, felt herself hovering, waiting. Breathless. Unable to breathe.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscle. He murmured something, the words lost, then gently slid a finger inside her. Probing, sliding. In and out, in and out. So slow. She heard a whimper, the sound almost frantic, then realized it was her. The noise was coming from her.

But she didn't care. Not when what she needed, what she craved, hovered just over the swell of the wave. She whimpered again and slid her hand along the back of his head, across his cheek and down. The tip of her finger met his tongue, tangled with the moist tip of it as he licked her. She eased her finger down, touching herself, rubbing as he licked, then spreading herself open for him.

He said something again, his voice deep and gruff and filled with…Melanie wasn't sure but it made her stop, made her ease her finger away. His hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.

"Oh no you don't." He guided her hand and placed her finger back where it was, finding just the right spot. "Let me watch."

Her eyes fluttered open, surprised at the need in his voice. He was stretched out between her legs, one hand resting against the top of her thigh, the other between her legs, his finger still sliding in and out of her. His eyes were half-closed, dark and deep and alight with an inner flame that seared her.

The look in his eyes almost scared her. Too strong, too potent, too hot. She tried to look away but she couldn't, the hold of his gaze was too strong. And then it didn't matter because he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her, just above the spot where her finger rested.

Melanie closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her, blood roaring through her. She pressed her finger tighter against herself and moved it, sliding up and down, pressing hard as Dale kissed and licked and slid a second finger inside her.

The wave crested again, higher, bringing her closer to those elusive colors. Bright, vibrant, new. Shades and mixtures she had never seen before. Closer, so close—

And then she was there, reaching for them, awash with them as the earth shattered around her. Intense, bright, living. Promising and giving and taking. And beautiful, so beautiful her mind's eye was nearly blinded by the shining brightness.

She was vaguely aware of Dale moving, of him reaching beside her for something. Aware of the sound of something being torn open. And then he was back, his hands lifting her legs, guiding them over his shoulders as he pushed into her.

Hot, heavy, deep, filling her.

She reached for him, found only empty air and let her hands drop back to the mattress. The wave crested again, stronger, pushing her higher as even more colors exploded and fell around her.

Exquisite. Achingly beautiful. Each time one exploded, another took its place. Each one different, each one filling her with something she didn't understand.

Amazement. Awe. And need, a need that grew with each of his long strokes, harder and deeper. Her hands fisted in the comforter as she tilted her hips upward, meeting each deep thrust. Harsh breathing echoed around them. His. Hers. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the feel of him, sending her higher, catapulting her into a world of exploding color.

She thought she may have screamed, but maybe it was just a whisper, the sound lost in the harsh growl of his release. Dale eased his hold on her legs and stretched out on top her, his hands clasping the sides of her face. Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue dancing with hers, dominating and reassuring as he thrust into her one more time, his growl lost in the recesses of her mouth.

Time stretched out, liquid and languid. The colors around her dimmed, still vibrant but not quite as achingly sharp. Melanie sighed, her hands brushing along the hard planes of his back, his skin hot and alive.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and sighed again as she let herself gently fade away.

Dale propped his head in his hand and stared down at the dozing woman next to him. Her hair was a wild tangle of shimmering fire, spread across her pillow—and his. Late afternoon sun spilled through the bedroom windows, coating her pale skin in hues of pink. He reached out with one finger and gently traced the line of her collarbone. A small flicker of guilt seized him at the redness he saw, a sign of his touch, his kisses. The guilt evaporated, replaced by a sense of possessiveness. Dale almost laughed. He'd be better off not sharing that tidbit with her, since it would only convince her he really was a Neanderthal.

He curled his hand and let it drop between them, his eyes skimming the length of her body. Soft creamy skin, full breasts and feminine hips, luscious long legs.

His cock twitched, starting to harden, and he swallowed back a groan. As tempting as it was, he couldn't wake her again, not so soon after their last time together.

She had surprised him. Last night. This morning. This afternoon when she barged into his apartment. He'd been brooding, pissed at himself for how he'd reacted to her words this morning, knowing they had been nothing more than that: innocent words. But they had surprised him, flattening him until he had trouble filling his lungs with air. Not at the words, but at the reminder of what had happened, what Lindsay had tried to do.

A reminder of his failure at being a big brother. A reminder of his own guilt and the part he may have played in it.

So he'd come over here, intending to work out until he collapsed in exhaustion, unable to feel anything. And then she had shown up, angry and frustrated and out of sorts and sending him spinning until he had no idea which way was up.

He hadn't meant to kiss her, even when she asked him to, even when she asked him why he didn't kiss her last night. A sense of desperation ripped through him when she walked by and he hadn't thought beyond the sudden irrational fear that if she left, he'd never see her again. Never get this chance again. So he didn't think beyond that, he just acted. And then he was kissing her and she was pressed against him, warm and soft in his arms.

Even then he hadn't expected it to go further than it did. Just a kiss, that was all he had hoped for. But the kiss had grown, becoming so much more, consuming him until he was lost.

And when he had her in bed…a shiver rippled his skin as his cock twitched again, in both memory and eager anticipation. Holy shit. He wasn't sure why but he had expected her to be shy, modest.

She was anything but.

A fire burned in her, selfless and giving. Eager, free, untethered. And when he came, when he surged inside her for that last time and lost himself, he had discovered he was soaring in a way he never thought possible. Not by himself, but with her. Together.

And fuck. He needed to stop thinking in terms like that. Talk about a fucking train wreck. Thinking like that was pure insanity. He had enough craziness in his life right now, he couldn't afford to add anything more to it.

But how in the hell was he supposed to know that an enchanting siren dwelled inside his sweet Smurfette?

He grinned again, remembering her frustration when he called her that. Remembering how her ocean blue eyes flared with impatience when she told him her name.

Melanie. Mel. A. Nie.

Yeah, like he'd be able to forget.

He leaned forward and dropped a kiss against her forehead, his hand curving around the soft globe of her ass then giving it a playful smack. Her lids fluttered open, her eyes filled with sleepy confusion as his gaze caught hers. Then a wistful smile teased her full lips, making him groan with want and need.

He rolled away and climbed out of bed, watching as her eyes drifted down to his semi-hard cock. And shit, if she kept looking at him like that, he'd jump back in bed and drive himself into her for a third time.

No. He didn't have time.
They
didn't have time.

"Come on, Smurfette. Time to get up. We're going to be late."

She pushed up on her elbows, seemingly unaware of her nakedness and what it was doing to him. Frustration flashed in her eyes, echoed by the small frown that furrowed a little line between her brows. The frown disappeared, replaced by confusion.

"Late?"

"Yeah." Dale glanced at the look, surprised at the time. "Real late. Shit. I didn't realize what time it was. If we leave in the next twenty minutes, we'll have time to grab a bite to eat."

Confusion was still clear on her face but she swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood. Dale paused in front the closet, unable to tear his gaze away from her as she shuffled around the bed, searching for her clothes. And then she bent over, her back to him and her luscious ass high in the air as she reached for her skirt. His breath left him in a rush, a sharp hiss that she no doubt heard because she looked at him.

From between her spread legs.

Upside down, with her hair falling around her face and cascading on the carpet like a waterfall of molten lava.

His hand clenched around the edge of the closet door as he struggled for every ounce of willpower he had. He could not take her right now. He had more control than that. But fuck, all he wanted to do was march over there and grip her hips and drive his cock deep inside her from behind, holding her in place as she bent over.

"Is something wrong?" She finally straightened, watching him over her shoulder as she moved around the bed in search of her shirt. Dale swallowed and shook his head.

"No. All good." His voice was rough, catching in his throat. He forced himself to turn away, blindly grabbing clothes.

"Where are you going?"

"Not me. Us." He turned back around and frowned. She was dressed already, the skirt twisted a little. She pulled at it until it fell around her legs then looked at him. "There's a little bar north of Cockeysville we always go to. Duffy's. They have live music."

"Oh." She folded her hands in front of her, twisting them as she chewed on her lower lip. Dale paused, the clothes bunched in his fist.

"Don't you want to go?"

"No. I mean, I do. I just didn't think…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away. She didn't think what? Now he was confused. More than confused. He was worried. Had he done something? Said something he shouldn't have?

He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms, felt her body stiffen for the smallest second before she relaxed against him. "What didn't you think?"

She shrugged, her gaze focused on a spot near the base of his neck. "I didn't expect you to…I mean, you don't have to take me anywhere. I wasn't expecting anything."

What the hell? Was she telling him that she didn't want to go anywhere with him, that it had just been a quick—or not so quick—romp? Or was she telling him that she didn't think
he'd
want to take her anywhere because he thought it was just a romp? Neither option sat well with him.

"Smurfette, I'm not proposing marriage or even expecting anything. It's a night out. I'd like you to go because I think you'll have fun." Her frown deepened and he cursed to himself. Shit, he wasn't phrasing this right.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and cleared his throat. "I'm going out to meet some friends and listen to some great music and I'd like for you to go with me. And if we have time, I'd like to take you to dinner before we get there. Because I'm hungry and you probably are too. And because I'd like to take you."

There, that was better. Maybe. At least she wasn't frowning any longer. Of course, she wasn't exactly smiling, either. Then her face cleared and she gave him a small nod, like whatever had been going on in her head was finally settled. She stepped out of his arms.

"Okay. I'll go. Twenty minutes?"

Dale glanced at the clock again. It was more like fifteen now. But he just smiled at her and nodded. She smiled back then stepped past him, walking out of the bedroom without even looking back.

What the hell had that been about? He had no idea. Part of him was even afraid to look too deep into it, worried he'd overanalyze it and come up with scenarios that didn't even make sense. So he pushed the confusion and the questions to the back of his mind as best he could and jumped in the shower. Five minutes later, he was finished, dried and dressed and ready to go.

How much longer would it take Smurfette? He couldn't even guess. Was she one of those women who took forever in the shower, not finishing up until the water ran cold? Or would she take forever in front of the mirror, primping and preening, making sure her hair was just right and her makeup was perfect?

She didn't seem to be the kind of woman who spent hours in front of the mirror. She didn't need to. Her hair was perfect as it was, long and thick, with soft loose curls. And she didn't wear makeup. At least, he didn't think she did.

And what the hell was wrong with him? Was he really sitting here, pondering her bathroom rituals? He shook his head and grunted, calling himself a fool just as he heard a soft knock at the door.

He looked down at his watch. Damn, they still have five minutes. Not bad.

Smurfette stood in the hall, looking fresh and clean and wholesome. Not wholesome. Where in the hell had that word come from? Wrong word. Really fucking wrong.

Inviting. Yes, that was better.

She was dressed in another skirt and blouse, both of them in shades of blue that turned her eyes brighter. But her hair was pulled up in a thick twist, with loose tendrils falling down her neck and across her cheek. She pursed her lips and blew a curl from her face, then reached up to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear.

All he wanted to do was reach behind her and undo her hair, to revel in the feel of it as it fell around him.

Christ, what was with him? They just spent the afternoon in bed. He shouldn't be ready to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his bedroom for another round or five.

He clenched his jaw and grabbed his keys, pulling the door closed behind him as he stepped into the hall.

"I can't find my keys."

"Why do you need your keys?"

"So I can drive."

He stopped on the bottom step and looked at her, trying not to let the horror show on his face. "You're not driving."

"But I like driving."

"You're not driving." He cupped his hand around her elbow and led her outside. "It's my turn."

"Oh." She stumbled to a halt and looked at him. "But I still need to find my keys."

"No you don't. They're on my kitchen counter."

"Why are they there?"

"Because I forgot to leave them at your place last night."

"Oh. Well at least I didn't lose them. I was afraid I'd lost them."

"No, you didn't lose them." He helped her into his car then ran around the other side and climbed in. Ten minutes later, they were seated at a nearby Mexican restaurant that boasted delicious food and fast service. Smurfette looked around her, her eyes wide as she took in everything. The crowded bar across the room, the brightly colored decorations and murals painted on the walls. Even the tables were painted in bright colors. She almost looked like she was in sensory overload—and basking in it.

It amazed him, how two people could see things so differently. As much as he loved the restaurant, he'd always found the bright décor to be jarring, almost an eyesore. But watching her look around, he imagined seeing it through her eyes. Were the fruit baskets piled in the mule's cart too bright, a caricature of their real color? Or were they merely a bigger-than-life depiction to convince the viewer he wanted the fruit? To make them seem more desirable?

And what about the mule, with its pointed ears and large eyes? Was he supposed to feel sorry for the animal? To relate to it somehow?

Yeah, he needed a drink.

But they both settled on ice tea and water, sipping between bites. Dale pushed his empty plate away and looked at Smurfette, who had barely eaten half of her overstuffed burrito and hardly any of the flavorful black beans.

"Don't you like it?"

"It's delicious." She pressed a hand to her stomach and smiled. "But there's so much of it, I can't finish."

"Then you can get it boxed up and eat it tomorrow." He signaled the waiter, motioning for the check and a box. The older man returned with both and Smurfette busied herself with boxing the leftovers as he paid the bill. Then they were back in his car, twilight long gone as he drove north up York Road, turning onto Shawan.

The car windows were partly down, allowing the cool night air to blow in on them. There was just a hint of chill in the air, a last bite as early Spring tried to shrug off Winter's last hold. He wondered if Smurfette brought a jacket then figured she probably wouldn't need one. Duffy's would be crowded, keeping her warm. And if she still got cold…well, he could manage the job of keeping her warm just fine.

"Where are we going?" Her voice was quiet, a little curious.

"A place called Duffy's on Falls Road. It's just a little bar, nothing fancy. Cold beer and frozen pizza if you get really hungry. And live music every other weekend."

Her eyes widened, a small smile teasing the corners of her full mouth. "Is it a honky tonk? I've never been to a honky tonk."