Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series (7 page)

“It suits you.”

“Thanks. And sorry about before. You seeing me that way… well I didn’t expect you. I appreciate you not running out the door.”

“Do I strike you as the kind of guy who would just walk out on a damsel in distress?”

That does it. I’m rewarded with a big smile. “Nahh, I’m still waiting for you to pull out your Superman cape. Where’re you hiding it?”

I like playful Stephanie. I haven’t seen much of her.

She turns serious. Damn, that girl couldn’t hide an emotion if she tried. Kind of refreshing in this city of smoke and mirrors.

“I do have a question if you don’t mind?” She twirls a lock of her hair around a finger as she asks the question.

Now it is my turn to feel the heat I guess.

“Sure, that’s fine as long as I get to ask one in return.”

She continues to twirl her fingers in her long blonde hair, but the words aren’t coming out. She leans forward in the chair and the front of her shirt dips, exposing the tops of her fantastic tits. I focus on the wall behind her, willing my dick to behave.

“Do you really think I would be a good paramedic, or was that just a ploy to get me to go out with you tonight?”

Squirming a little in the seat to hide my ever hardening cock, I try to appear casual as I release it from its bent-in-half prison.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about that, Steph. Really. It’s a serious, and sometimes dangerous job.” Her face lights up a little and she leans in even closer to me. “I’ve seen you walk into danger, so yeah, I think you’d be perfect for it.”

“I’m still thinking about it. It was never on my radar. I was trying to decide between trauma and obstetrics and obstetrics was winning out. Then suddenly, this new opportunity is on the table. I’m not promising anything, but I
will
think about it.”

“Do that. You won’t go wrong with any decision you make. Plus, if you get tired of delivering screaming babies, it won’t take much to transfer into a different department. You’ve picked a flexible field. Firefighting, not so much.”

“At the gas station, you mentioned you had wanted to be a firefighter since you were a little boy. Now you’re training to be a paramedic. Did you get
burned out
?” She laughs, a vibrant popping ‘Ha’ and says, “Forgive the pun.”

Freaking adorable.

“No way can I forgive that pun, completely unforgivable. I’ll never be able to
extinguish it
from my mind.”

She snorts and then covers her face. “You didn’t hear that.”

“I totally heard that. You gonna fart next?”

She grabs her side and howls, “God I hope not. I’d have to kill you then.”

“What? You plan to ‘pun’ me to death?”

She’s a goof. An absolute goof-ball. I love it. A cheeseburger-eating, leap-inside-burning-vans, snorting, possibly farting, sweet-as-the-day-is-long, goof-ball, and it scares the shit out of me.

It takes several long minutes for us to stop laughing. There are tears streaming down her face again—the good kind. I wipe away my own. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.

When we finally settle down, she grows serious again. Not serious-serious, the ‘I must act like a grown-up’ kind of serious. An ‘I’m really interested in what you have to say” earnestness I felt come from her at the restaurant. It’s more than curiosity, it’s as if she’s searching for some hidden meaning. Her big green eyes pull at me again.

“Why did you want to be a firefighter and now a paramedic? What do you want out of life?”

I shrug. “What does anyone want out of life? To be happy. To make a difference. To save the unsavable.”

“Who was unsavable for you?”

I crack my neck, twisting it one way and then the other. The popping sound makes her wince but brings me tremendous relief. “There are a lot of unsavable people.”

“One in particular?”

Geez. Maybe she should be a shrink, or a freakin’ mind reader. This conversation is getting deep at rapid speed. I don’t do deep.

“My sister.” Fuck, where did that come from? I hadn’t meant to say that, but there it was.

“I’m so sorry. Did she die? Please don’t tell me from a fire?”

“No, nothing like that.”

She waits, silent as a mouse. I sigh, lean back and share about Hannah.

“She’s older, fourteen years. My parents had me late in life. I was an accident or surprise, however you want to look at it.” I drain the glass of the remaining water, curse its emptiness and set it back on the table. Steph just waits.

“My first memories were of Hannah fighting with my parents. She was a hellion, trouble in school, trouble with boys, drinking, worse even. I remember the day she dyed her hair jet black. She scared the hell out of me, I didn’t know who this stranger was. I was like four at the time. I cried and she called me a ‘little pussy’ and got grounded.”

Steph waits.

“I remember going to her later that night and crawling in bed with her. I told her I was sorry for getting her in trouble. She hugged me and told me it was alright. Then she cried for what seemed like forever.”

Steph waits.

“That’s the thing, she was always a hard-ass with everyone but me. I saw the light in her, the fun girl, the laughter. Nobody else could see it. The older she got, the crazier she would be. Ended up on hard drugs, which she kicked, but she still did tricks on the side. Now, she works in a fuckin’ dungeon, whipping men for money. She doesn’t go by Hannah anymore. She’s Dominatrix Rose, right here in Vegas. I haven’t seen her in about five years. I miss her.”

Finally, Steph talks. “You felt you should have saved her?”

“Stupid, huh? But, yeah, I guess I did.”

“What about your parents?”

“I see them a couple times a year. They live in the same house in Ohio where I grew up. We talk on the phone once a week. The good son and all.”

“Why did you move out here?”

I stretch my neck again, this time massaging the tense muscles. Steph gets up, walks around the coffee table and says, “Let me see, turn around.”

Doing as she requests, I turn my back to her and feel the strength in her fingers as she presses the tips into my neck. There’s a knot, it fuckin’ hurts when she presses it. “Wait a second.” She stands up and walks into another room.

Moments later, she’s back with a bottle of oil and a towel. Baby oil it looks like. “Take off your shirt.”

I pull it over my head and she’s once again on the sofa behind me. I hear her take off the cap, squirt oil in her hands and rub them together. Warmth fuses into my skin as she places her hands on me again. She goes straight for the knot, tells me to inhale and then works it out.

Pain is followed with relief as she massages out one knot and then another. Finally, she simply rubs my shoulders, strong hands nearly putting me to sleep. To stay awake, I find myself answering her last question.

“I followed Hannah here, wanted to keep an eye on her, be close in case she ever needs me.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Yeah, she knows but I think she wants to keep me separated from her life here. She has a Facebook page, Twitter, all that shit. I glance at it from time to time, just to make sure she’s alive. Nothing there a brother wants to see. Kind of makes me vomit.”

I could almost feel Stephanie smile. “I’m sure.”

Her fingers roam into my hair and I nearly groan. She massages my temples, my forehead and the rest of my scalp.

“Do you still love her? Even after knowing she does things that other people wouldn’t consider normal?”

Is she holding her breath? I wait. She is. Why is my answer to this question so important? As much as I don’t want the massage to end, I need to see her face. I need to understand what ticks behind her careful control.

I turn and she sinks back on her heels, still facing me. She’s biting her lip again and I reach up and carefully free it from her teeth. I touch her face, and she leans into my palm. Her eyes fill with tears, although I don’t understand why.

“Yes. I still love her.”

A single tear brims and falls. I thumb it away. I still don’t understand the source of the emotion, but I’m touched by it. I swallow a hard lump. Where the hell did that come from? I swallow again. It doesn’t go away.

“Why the tears?” I can’t help but ask her. I regret the question because she pulls away, looking embarrassed.

“It’s just so touching, the story about your sister. So many people would just throw a person like that away, give up on them. Label them a freak and move on.”

“We’re a pretty disposable society,” I agree. “Don’t want something, throw it away and then sedate yourself with food or drugs or, for that matter, television or porn.”

“I like talking to you,” she says. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Uh oh, I just got friend-zoned.”

Her eyes flick down my chest, my abs and I remember I’m shirtless. I reach for my shirt and she says, “Wait, let me get the oil off.”

She moves closer, on her knees again, her arms surrounding me as she wipes away the oil. Her breasts are just inches from my face. Before I can take advantage of their nearness, she pulls away. “There, I think I got it all.”

“Thanks.” I slip my shirt over my head. “And thanks for the massage, you have magic hands. Another career option if you need one.”

She laughs and then quiets. “My dad was in a car accident, was paralyzed. He was in a lot of pain so I’d massage him almost every day.”

“How’s he doing now?”

It was the wrong question. She didn’t answer, just shook her head.

“I’m sorry. Your mom?”

Another shake of the head. “She died when I was little; I barely remember her.”

Shit. I’m in emotional hell. My left brain yells, “Run.” My right brain yells, “Stay.” My limbic brain is in heaven, thinking it’s about to get laid.

I decide to splash cold water on the entire conversation. “Brothers? Sisters? What about your ex?”

Give that man a prize. Emotional shit over.

Her face tightens and she turns away from me and stands. “That’s over. If I’m honest, it was over a year ago. Sometimes it’s hard to let go, you know?”

I nod at her although I don’t really understand. I never let myself get close enough, care enough to feel bad about walking away.

“I am a little worried though,” she continues. “He’s a little crazy sometimes. He suddenly became a millionaire, selling some tech software he made. I’m hoping he will be so caught up in his new business partnership, he’ll stop bothering me.”

I lean back on the sofa, cross my right leg over my knee and try to look nonchalant. “Did you say millionaire? And you just broke up with him? Are you crazy?”

“I was crazy for staying as long as I did. No… insane. I was
insane
for way too long.”

I’m still stuck on the money. “I can’t compete with that. You know us firefighters, not too many millionaires among us.”

She looks worried, her spectacular eyes clouding with concern.

“You don’t understand. I don’t care about the money. I would rather live on skid row the rest of my life than be with Jerome and all his money. I really am over him, I just worry that he isn’t over me. I want to be honest with you, let you know I’m still dealing with the aftermath of a break-up. I completely understand if you don’t want to get caught in the middle.”

I look away from her, although I don’t think she’s trying to play me. Many women do, try to tug on a man’s need to protect. That pisses me off. Some women need to grow a pair and deal with life on their own.

Somehow, I don’t think Stephanie is one of them. I’ve seen her bravery in action. She’s smart and strong and even though I walked into drama, she isn’t using it as a crutch. Shit happens. I just caught her on one of those days. Am I willing to take a chance?

She bends over to grab the bottle of baby oil and cap. A hint of cleavage makes my mind up for me. Besides, if things get too messed up, I can always walk away. There are other grocery stores in Vegas, I don’t ever have to see her again if I don’t want to. What the hell…

“How about we go for breakfast in the morning, my treat. Then I can take you by the station. We’ll keep tonight on the down low, nobody there needs to know. It’ll be just you wanting to check out the life of a paramedic.”

I watch her process the pros and cons. “Okay, that sounds fun, I’m off work tomorrow. But don’t you have to be there early?”

“Yep, six o’clock, but I usually grab breakfast on the way to the station at around five. Sure you’re up for it?”

“Of course, I’m used to getting up early. Not that early, but by six anyway. I do have class at two. I’ll need to be finished by one.”

“That can work. Mornings are usually slow. Maybe an accident, but you can leave anytime you need to.”

That smile again brightens her entire face. “Perfect. Where do you want to meet?”

Your kitchen, is what I want to say. My limbic brain is pissed as hell I didn’t take advantage of her vulnerable state. “How about Pancake Palace? You like pancakes?”

She gives me a ‘duh’ look and bobs her head up and down. Mmm… shit. I gotta get out of here, everything she does is erotic.

“Great. Pancake Palace at five.”

I move to step past her, but she steps in the same direction. I stamp on her bare toes and she wails.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Laughter and concern clog my throat. I grab at her and end up with a hand full of tit. Pulling my hand away like I was scorched, I laugh harder.

“You okay?” She’s on the floor, holding her toes in her hand, laughing and cursing at the same time.

“Cut it off. Cut it off.” I know she’s joking, but I also think there’s a good chance it’s broken. I centered it with my entire two-hundred and twenty pounds.

“Here, crybaby, let me see.” I pull at her foot and she reluctantly gives it over. Ouch. Her big toe is red as hell, already starting to bruise. I test for fractures and although she winces at the touch, I don’t think anything’s broken. I’m certain she will end up losing the toenail.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about toenail polish for a couple of weeks.”

“Great. Now my toes match my fingers.”

I glance at her hands, they still look raw as well. I lift her foot up and kiss her toe without thinking. Neither of us breathe. I kiss it again.