Kiss of Fire (St. James Family) (6 page)

Chapter 5

Toni woke in the marigold room the next morning, and it all came back to her in a rush. She'd hoped that she would wake up and the ill-conceived hospital visit with O'Donovan would be forgotten, like a bad dream. But she wasn't so lucky. She was far from lucky.

She woke up thinking about his face. His lips, specifically. How he ran his tongue across them and then kissed her two years ago. How he'd trailed them over her collarbone. She let her finger glide over the bone his lips had touched, letting herself shiver as she imagined that he was with her, holding her and kissing her. She was such a dope. O'Donovan was an asshole. She hated him. She wished a huge crater would open up and swallow all of Queens. The whole dumb borough had to go because he had ruined it.

But she still wanted to hump him. More than ever.

She slid one hand between her legs, letting her other hand trail against her collarbone. Who knew her collarbone was such an erogenous zone? O'Donovan had christened it. When she was panting softly, working herself up, she let herself think about his big body on top of hers, slowly entering her. She slid her finger inside, and it was a poor substitute for what she was sure O'Donovan had going on. But it was all that she had, so she made due. She came with his name on her lips, her nipples tight and her toes curled. Just thinking about him and masturbating was better than the last sex she'd had with an actual live man. How pathetic.

She rolled out of bed, and winced. Her feet were killing. Luckily, it was Saturday and she had the day off. She used the bathroom off of the guest room, pulled on a pair of blue yoga pants, then wandered out into the hallway. She stayed quiet, not wanting to wake her sister and Christophe. They needed their sleep. When she passed their room, the door was open a crack. She couldn't help herself. She glanced inside the light-filled room.

Christophe's bare back filled her field of vision, and she was surprised at the amount of ink he had. She'd never seen him without a layer of cashmere or other expensive fabric on. He lifted Nat's arm and settled it over his ribs, pressing his lips to her shoulder. She saw Nat's fingernails sink into his skin. Then he raised her hand to his mouth, grazing her knuckles, sucking her wedding ring between his lips. She heard her sister's light laugh. He dipped his head, kissing her. As the kiss deepened, he rolled over onto Nat, who opened her legs beneath the white sheet to accommodate him. Her fingers lightly trailed up his spine as he rolled his hips against her lazily. She could hear his low moan and Annata shushing him. They laughed softly, kissing and moving together. Toni finally forced herself away from the door, embarrassed at herself for watching such an intimate moment.

She padded downstairs, sliding into her shoes in the foyer. The least she could do was go to the French bakery on the corner and buy them coffee and pastries for breakfast. Since she might have, maybe, possibly, drank the last bit of Annata's fancy imported Italian coffee.

Oops.

She grabbed her bag and headed out, a smile on her face the instant she stepped outside into the sunshine. It was another beautiful late-spring day in the city. Despite her sexual frustration, it was impossible to remain in a bad mood. She took her sweet time making her way down to the pastry shop, wanting to give Nat and Christophe ample time to finish their 'morning activities' before she returned. She passed joggers and dog walkers, giving everyone a big, bright smile. She loved the Upper West side on Saturday morning. Everyone was so friendly and happy.

She passed the bodega and decided to stop in for some fresh fruit. Although Annata loved the
pain au chocolat
from the French shop, Toni couldn't afford the calories. Especially not when she had a show coming up. She threw a wave to Alexei, the uncle of the owner, who was behind the counter. The old Czech gave her a wide, toothless grin.

“
How are you doing?” she asked, on her way past. “You look like you're doing great.”

“
I can not complain,” he said, in his raspy smoker's voice.

“
How's your fruit selection today?” she called out, plopping her hands on her hips and surveying the bins of fresh fruit along the side wall.

“
Peaches. Fresh,” the old man said, bobbing his head. “Strawberries, still too early in season. Blueberries, sweet. Delicious.”

“
Aw, you're so great, Mr. Alexei!” She lifted a peach to her nose and sniffed. Heavenly.

And then a brilliant idea came to her. Well, she wasn't sure if it was brilliant. It could be a terrible idea. But it felt like a brilliant idea. Her granny, master pie-maker that she was, took it as gospel that the way to any man's heart was through his stomach. Now, Toni didn't necessarily want O'Donovan's heart, but she sure did want his dick. And making the man a pie suddenly seemed like the perfect peace offering. She had to stop herself from doing an excited pirouette in the aisle of the bodega. She gathered the ingredients hurriedly, her mind running through the recipe she knew by heart.

Granny had taught she and Annata how to make pies at an early age. These days, the sisters would usually get together and make pies a couple of times a year, usually for the holidays. Toni knew Christophe was partial to strawberry rhubarb, but Alexei had pooh-poohed the strawberries, so he was just going to have to settle for blueberry. And O'Donovan? Well, he'd be getting a very special peach pie. She giggled at her own brilliance. How could you be an asshole to a girl who slaved over a pie for you? She was sure O'Donovan would find a way. But it was worth a shot.

After buying the ingredients, she hauled ass to the pastry shop and bought the coffees. Then she hurried back to Annata and Christophe's, her arms aching under the strain of the grocery bags. She burst in the door and trotted to the kitchen. Annata looked up from the New York Times, her hair piled on her head and a scowl on her lovely face.

“What the hell are you so excited about?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“
I come bearing coffee,” Toni said, sliding the paper cup holder weighed down with three black coffees across the counter to her.

“
Bless you,” Annata said, her eyes lighting up. If she didn't have her coffee in the morning, she was a total beast.

“
And
pain au chocolat
.” Toni dropped the already greasy paper bag beside her sister's newspaper.

“
Are you trying to butter me up? Because it's working.” Nat opened the bag and took a whiff of the chocolatey treats.

“
Well, I figured that maybe instead of brunch today, we could make some pies?” Toni said, unloading all of the ingredients out onto the center island. “Alexei said the peaches were amazing, and the blueberries, too.”

“
Who the hell is Alexei?”

“
John's uncle, dummy,” Toni said, catching a peach before it rolled off the counter.

“
Who's John?”

“
Oh my God. The guy who owns the bodega. Don't you know anybody in your own neighborhood?” Annata shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. Toni rolled her eyes, sure that Nat had never spoken to anybody at the bodega beyond a 'please' or a 'thank you'.

“
So you just woke up and wanted to make pies?” Nat asked, motioning to the countertop full of ingredients.

“
I got the idea in the bodega. Come on! It'll be fun, girl.” Toni set the butter out on the counter to warm to room temperature. “We'll drink a little wine then we'll get knee deep in some dough.”

“
Whatever you want, dear,” Annata was laughing now. Christophe took that moment to stroll in, barefoot, his blonde hair wet like he'd just gotten out of the shower.

“
I smell coffee,” he said. Annata held up a cup for him and he took it. They shared a little secret smile that Toni knew meant they'd both had amazing orgasms that morning, while the only man she'd been chatting up was toothless Alexei. Life was truly unfair sometimes. With a nod, she committed herself to the pie plan. It might be desperate, but it was all she had.

Watch out, O'Donovan
, she thought.
I'm coming for you, guns blazing
.

***

O'Donovan rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to work out the pain in his back. While not as bad as the day before, it still ached. He just wanted to get back to normal. Downing a couple aspirin without water, he jogged up the subway stairs on his way home. He'd finally been discharged from the hospital into the May sunshine. He was officially a free man.

But being a free man, he had absolutely nothing to do with himself. So he had every intention of heading to the pub and drowning his sorrows in Guinness until he had to work again on Monday. But first, a shower. He felt so fucking disgusting. He couldn't wait to stand under the hot water and let it wash away all the soot, the pain, and the tension
—sexual and otherwise.

He stood on the 7 train and let himself zone out. Fortunately or unfortunately, the pain was ebbing, leaving room in his brain for other thoughts. Thoughts about a certain no-nonsense black girl floated through the ether. Antoinette St. James was so damn beautiful. But that wasn't all. There was something more under the polished surface, a sizzling sexual energy. A passion. She had an outward elegance and poise, but she wasn't cold. She hid a raging heat beneath her skin. A heat that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

He wanted her. And he had a feeling he wasn't going to stop wanting her. He was crushing hard but mostly, he just wanted her to stay away. He was still getting over the disappointment of his failed marriage and his failed attempt at having the future he wanted. The last thing he needed was a complication like Antoinette. She was a lovely distraction, and that was all.

It wasn't about Gwen. True, she'd destroyed his ego when she served him with divorce papers after less than one fucking year of marriage. But he wasn't in love with her. He didn't know if he had ever been in love with her. He used to love the way she fucked. He used to love the way she tasted. But that wasn't the same thing, was it? The rub was, he'd made a promise to her. When they got married, he hadn't lied when he said 'til death. He'd been willing to stick it out because he craved the comfort. He craved a warm body next to him in bed. He craved someone to talk with about his day. He craved a home-cooked dinner on the table at night. It was unglamorous, but it was true. He wanted a boring, middle-class life in the suburbs. Like his father and older brother before him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Girls like Antoinette St. James withered like dying flowers in the suburbs.

At his stop in Woodside, he sidled off the train, and moved with the stream of people heading for the exit. He headed toward his apartment, on auto-pilot. When he got to his sparsely furnished one-bedroom, he slammed the door behind him. He pulled off his shirt, wincing at the stab of pain he felt. He popped a beer and sauntered into the bedroom. He kicked off his jeans, slowly, careful not to agitate the bandage on his thigh. He felt so damn old and creaky. When he stepped into the hot shower, he felt his body finally relax.

A moan escaped his lips and he dropped his head back. It was the little pleasures in life, truly. His hand found his dick, and he stroked himself, finding more relief. Although he tried to force himself to think about the cute waitress at the pub, or the hot doc who signed his discharge papers, it was impossible. Antoinette St. James was haunting him. There was no pretending otherwise. His dick was a picky bastard.

He imagined her soft lips on his, kissing him rough and tumble like she did two years ago in the dark hospital room. He remembered how her tongue had slid against his, so needy and insistent. Like if she didn't kiss him, she was going to go crazy. And before he knew it, he was exploding in his hand, too quick to satisfy the deep need inside of him. Leaning a shoulder against the tile wall, he let the orgasm pulse through him, annoyed at himself despite the pleasure. He'd come just from thinking about
kissing
her.

Fuck.

He was so screwed.

Chapter 6

Toni wandered down the Queens street after exiting the train station. The map on her phone told her that the 163
rd
ladder, O'Donovan's firehouse, was close. She'd called the hospital earlier and they told her he'd been discharged, so she'd headed for the firehouse. It was her best hope. Not that she was stalking him or anything.

She tamped down on the butterflies fluttering in her chest, telling herself that she was going to check up on him and that was all. If something more came of it, then so be it. She owed him. And she didn't give a damn if he liked it or not. Toni knew that she didn't know much about him, only that he had a permanent scowl and a dirty Irish mouth. He'd made it quite clear that he didn't want to be bothered. And yet, here she was, in the middle of Queens, seeking him out. Why was she so drawn to him? Her memories of him from that terrible night two years ago were so strong. The way he'd cradled her to his chest and kept her safe. She just had a feeling that he wasn't as big and bad as he tried to pretend. She knew how he'd responded to her kiss, too. He couldn't fake a response like that.