Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series (6 page)

Reaching out she leans forward, lightly touching my forearm. “I’m scared of being a failure. In the hospital, you’re told what to do. We follow a doctor’s orders. It would be a shame to see someone die, but ultimately I wouldn’t be in charge of life or death decisions. Doctors do that, not nurses. In the van, I had to be both.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. I was training as a paramedic and never thought I was playing God.

“Paramedics don’t play God, God does. I tell you what, why don’t you come for a ride along sometime, even tomorrow? I’m going to be training and they could always use some help.”

“Hey, you guys going to order dinner, or just drink tonight?” Robin glances at Steph’s hand on my arm and she gives me an ‘I’m warning you’ stare. “I hear the liver and onions are good.”

Gag. She has to be kidding. “I’m just gonna have a cheeseburger and fries. What do you want Steph?” I offer, not wanting the non-date to end.

“I’m starving so I’ll have the same, plus another beer,” Steph replies, a little embarrassed.

She eats! Another indication she’s normal. Not like the others girls I’ve dated. The ones who try so hard to be who they aren’t until you get sucked in and the real them comes out.

As Robin walks away, I just have to ask. “Steph… I know this isn’t a date, but ummm, why aren’t you taken? A boyfriend or something. I mean, it doesn’t matter, I’m just curious.”

Turning a little pale, she takes a long sip of her beer and looks right at me with those green eyes. “It’s a little complicated. Technically no, I don’t have a boyfriend. We broke up just recently, very recently. We were together a long time, so it’s kind of strange still.” She looks away again. “This is the first non-date I’ve been on in a long time.”

While my dick was giving my balls a high-five, I know I need to act sympathetic. “Sorry about that, break ups can really suck.”

She shrugs, and hugs herself again. “He didn’t take it well.”

I look at her closely. The bruises on her arms from helping with the accident were almost fading, but there were two, the size of thumbprints on her upper arms. Rage fills me.

“Did he hurt you?” Damn, it was early to talk about deep shit like this, but I need to know.

She shakes her head, her hands instinctively covering the two bruises. I know better. I’d seen it before, too many times, girls jerked around by assholes and they all looked exactly the way she looks right now.

She changes the subject. I’ll let her for now. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, not right now. I’m too busy between work and paramedic training. Besides, most girls love the thought of being with a firefighter until they see the weird hours and crazy stress. Honestly, I don’t know how any of my co-workers stay married.”

I grab a package of crackers in the basket on the table to give myself something to do. I tear the plastic off my rye crisps and offer the basket to her.

She grabs a pack of the wheat ones. “I completely understand the no time deal. I have my job and school full-time. I don’t think I could really handle another serious relationship now.”

I ask half-jokingly, trying to lighten up the mood a bit, “Does that mean we are doomed to always be on non-dates?”

Grabbing another pack, a smile comes across her face. “I guess so. But…” she hesitates, her fingers breaking apart the cracker in her hands. “I’d like another non-date sometime.”

I almost choke on my cracker. Is there no bounds to this girl’s cuteness? “Me too. How about this weekend?”

My dick twitches when she looks me fully in the eyes. “I think I’d like that.”

“Okay then.” I raise my glass in a toast. “To many non-dates in the future. Salud.”

Chapter 6—Stephanie

“A fireman? Really? I was only joking the other day. Tell me you love me.”
I stare at the text message. I’ve not been home five minutes and this? I decide to ignore it. My business is not any concern of Jerome’s. Besides that, I don’t know how to reply. How does he know where I was? How does he know who I was with? Is he following me? The scary Jerome is creeping me out.

I walk to the door and look out the peephole, wishing I had a chain to secure it.

My phone beeps again:
“Answer me. Are you fucking a fireman?”

Ignore. I’m going to ignore it.

Another text:
“You little slut.”

Another:
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you that. I love you. I want you back. Let’s talk.”

I scoff at the next text message:
“I’m coming over.”

No! My mind screams, and I run to the kitchen to grab a chair to pry under the doorknob. On my way back to the door, I watch in horror as it opens. Jerome walks in, a big grin on his face.

The heat of the hot desert night follows him in. I stand there in stupefied silence. A key. He has a key? Gathering myself, I try to appear strong. “You’re not welcome here. I didn’t invite you. Go.”

“Calm down babe. I just want to talk.”

“How many keys do you have?” I demand, reaching for the key in his hand.

Grabbing me with his other hand, he dangles the keys in front of my face. “Why are you in such a bitchy mood? Or is this just foreplay?” He pulls me to him, his face in my neck.

“Jerome, stop.”

“Mmm… you know how much I like it when you fight.”

I stop fighting, holding perfectly still. He laughs.

“You make me sick,” I find the courage to say. “I’m not interested in your little sex games. Not anymore.”

Grabbing my other wrist, he backs me against the wall and places his mouth over mine. I want to bite his tongue, but restrain myself. It might turn him on.

I try to push him away, but can barely move him an inch. I wrench my mouth from his, bile rising in my throat. “Leave me alone, I’m not kidding.” The words sound weak to my own ears. He grabs my phone from my hand and stuffs it in his front pocket.

He doesn’t answer, just pushes me down the hallway, one hand holding my wrists, the other pushing my shoulder. I’m afraid, the look in his eyes isn’t sane. This isn’t the role-play he favors. This isn’t about fantasy, this has gotten way out of hand.

I open my mouth to scream, but he’s expecting it. He pushes me into a wall, causing me to lose my breath. The hand on my shoulder moves to my mouth, covering it.

His face is less than an inch from mine. “What’s your little firefighter buddy going to do now? Rescue you?” He licks the side of my face. “Is that what you want? You want me to dress up like a firefighter and put out your fire? I will. I can.” He lifts a knee, pressing it between my legs. “I know what makes you hot.”

Hand still over my mouth, the other surrounding my wrists, he turns me until my back is pinned against his chest. He begins pushing me again, toward my bedroom. I try to stop him, dig my toes into the carpet, but I’m as ineffectual as an ant trying to stop a boulder.

“Let me love you,” he says. “I love you so much, let me show you, let me prove it to you.” His hand releases my wrists and cups my breast. My thighs are against the bed now and I’m pinned between him and the mattress. Think. I must think. I’ve got to stop this panic.

Maybe if I play along, he’ll let me go long enough to get away? That’s stupid. There’s no place for me to run.

Fight? He’ll only laugh, think it’s part of the game. It’s one of his favorites, me saying ‘no’ and him ‘convincing’ me. I can’t win, I nearly sag in defeat.

“Yeah, I can feel how much you want it. Nipples hard. I bet you’re soaking wet, aren’t you?” His hand snakes between my legs, finds my sex, the material of my dress the thinnest of barriers.

I shake my head, trying to shake his hand off my mouth, I taste blood from where my lip grinds into my teeth.

“Tell me about the fireman,” he demands, his voice a low hiss in my ear. “I can be like him. I promise. I’ll be anyone you want me to be. I can be perfect for you.”

I’m frozen in indecision, not sure which response will trigger his rage. The sound of my phone buzzing breaks the silence. He pulls it from his pocket, glances at the screen and throws me to the bed. I scramble away as quickly as I can while he reads the message. I’m on my feet, but in the corner of the room. I look around for a weapon. There’s nothing.

“I knew it,” he says, his voice a growl. “I knew you were fucking the fireman. Not even a fucking week after you dumped me? Slut.” He throws the phone at me, but I’m able to deflect it. It bounces off my hand and in the middle of the bed.

“It’s not like that, we’re just friends.” My mouth finally manages to work. “He’s helping me decide if I want to be a paramedic.” I’m disgusted with myself, why am I defending myself? But I need to calm him. I’ve seen him angry, but never quite like this.

“Liar,” he screams at me, but is distracted when my phone buzzes again. He picks it up, hatred crossing his face as he reads the message. “Your boyfriend’s on his way. Seems like you left your purse on your date. Should I stay and give him tips on how you like it? Or has he already found out?”

I’m shaking my head, holding my robe closed in front of me. Please god, make him go, I prayed.

He tosses the phone back on the bed. “You know what? You’re not worth it. Look at you… crying, you look like hell, I don’t know what I saw in you anyway.”

He turns, but not before landing another verbal blow. “Now I know why your dad killed himself. Probably was sick of you too. He couldn’t walk away so he offed himself so he wouldn’t have to look at your pathetic face again.”

Emotional bubble wrap. I try to surround myself with it to deflect the blows. But this one lands deep in my heart. He grins when he sees he’s hit the mark.

Then he’s gone. I hear the front door slam against the wall. I slump into the corner, my legs finally giving out.

Chapter 7—Ken

I take the steps two at a time and nearly plow into a dude coming around the corner.

“Sorry man,” I say, stepping out of his way.

“Fuck you.” The words are low, under his breath, but he’s gone, down the steps and on the lower level before I have time to respond.

Prick.

I glance at Steph’s driver’s license again, make sure I remember which apartment she’s in. 2B. Finding the directional arrows, I turn left and locate her apartment. Light spills from her door and onto the landing.

I knock, wondering if she opened the door when she got my text. I glance at my phone. No, I don’t have the handy little ‘seen’ message letting me know it’s been read. I knock again. Nothing. I push open the door and call her name. Again, nothing.

Listening, I hear it. Anguish. I step into her apartment and follow the sound.

I follow the sound to the bedroom and I see Steph, mascara running down her cheeks, curled up on her bed. “Are you okay?” Shit, of course she’s not okay, any idiot can see that.

“I didn’t mean to let myself in, but I heard you and since the door was open, I wanted to make sure you were okay. I can leave if you want me to.” I’m rambling now, watching her pull herself together.

Lifting her arms from her knees, she sits up, wiping the tears and mascara from her face. “No, you don’t have to leave. I… I just never wanted anyone to see me like this.”

“Are you still upset about the accident?”

She motions me to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “No, it has nothing to do with that. My boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend just left. I didn’t want him here, but he had a key I didn’t know about.”

Looking like she needs a shoulder to cry on, I scoot over and put my arm around her shoulders. “That must have been the guy who almost ran me over running down the stairs. A tall guy with black hair.”

She leans into me a little more. “That was Jerome. I was pretty pissed. He somehow knew we had dinner and was really jealous.”

Looking at the bruises on her arms again, I have to ask. “Are those bruises really from the accident scene?”

She stiffens and pushes away from me slightly. “Most of them are. Jerome is harmless, but he tends to get a little rough sometimes.”

That pisses me off. Why do girls always do this shit? Make excuses for guys. Forgive and forget—fuck that.

Her cellphone rings, breaking up the tension I can feel in her body. It also interrupts the words that were about to spew from me.

Hitting the end button, she pushes herself off the bed. “Why don’t we go in the living room? Or, if you just want to go, I understand. I’m okay, really. Just a little girl therapy.”

Underneath her attempt at bravery, I sense her fear and wonder whose call she ignored. “If you need me to, I can stay a bit. I also have a couple of cop friends if you want me to call them for anything.”

Lightly grabbing my upper arm, she guides me to the couch, ignoring my last question. “Do you want anything? I don’t have much, but I have plenty of soda or sparkling water.”

“Just some plain ol’ H2O is fine. I don’t even need ice.”

She walks back from the kitchen with a glass of water. “I’m going to wash up a bit. Make yourself at home.”

She walks away, and I settle back, ready to wait out the normal half-hour it takes a girl to primp. I look around, take in the shabby chic of her apartment. Second-hand furniture that looks well cared for. Bright colors that mix well, giving a brightness that it’s lack of windows wouldn’t naturally produce. Clean as a pin, not a dust bunny in sight. Minimalistic. I wonder if the sparseness is from her personal taste or from a lack of money. I like it either way. I’ll never understand why women want to clutter things up with all the knick-knack shit.

She’s walking back toward the couch before I even finish my water. “That was quick.” She’s washed her face, brushed her hair and changed into a pair of sweet little yoga pants that cling to her body just right.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting… or find you gone when I finished. Not that I’d blame you ...” The sentence trails off and I can see her search for something to say.

“I like your apartment,” I cut in, trying to bring us back to a safe zone. She smiles and looks around.

“Thanks, my friend Beth helped me decorate. She dragged me to every market within a hundred miles. She calls it ‘gypsy chick chic’.

Sitting in the chair across from the table, I notice she looks much more relaxed now and, even without makeup, is really cute. The tip of her nose is still a little pink and her lips… dammit those lips… look soft as pillows.