Consumed By You Page 7

  She lived there briefly, residing in that land of pure pleasure, in the druggy delicious afterglow of an orgasm that still rippled through her.

  Soon she blinked, coming up for air, as the world shone silvery and bright. She smiled, a woozy, dopey smile, as he rose, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and tugging it over his head. Her breath caught as she gazed at his chest. She’d seen him naked before. Hell, she’d copped a peek at him shirtless just last summer, when she’d been lucky enough to drive by the twisty county road where his sister had shot his photo for the local fireman’s calendar. His body was living art, all carved and strong, each muscle outlined like he’d been drawn in a master class.

  “Still think I’m sweet?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “How do you see me now?”

  “Dirty. And I like it that way,” she said. She reached for the belt loops on his jeans, trying to sit up even though her head was light, and full of a constellation of scattered, dancing stars.

  He shook his head. “Can’t right now.”

  “What?” Shock reverberated in her body. She was ready to stomp her foot and demand he suit up and slide inside her this very second. Who cared that she already came so damn powerfully her body was still vibrating? She wanted more. She wanted him.

  “I have to go back to Calistoga to meet some clients who are prepping for a tournament, to watch them play and figure out what they need to do better in their game.”

  She tipped her chin at his bare chest. “Why’d you take your shirt off, then?” As if she could catch him in a loophole. Keep him. Take him. Ride him.

  “I need to change. Put on a button-down. Class it up.”

  “You are such a tease,” she said, frustration thick in her voice. Even though she was the one who was leaving sated, she couldn’t help but want more. “And I want to make you come. I feel terribly selfish leaving you like this.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry about me, you sweet, dirty girl.” He bent down, dropped a kiss on her forehead, then her eyelids, then her lips. She could taste herself on him.

  “You taste like me,” she whispered.

  “Then I must taste delicious,” he said with a wink. “Oh, and by the way, I fully expect you to get yourself off again tonight after you finish watching Bobby Flay. But don’t think of him. Think of me.”

  Her jaw nearly dropped. “One, I’m not into Bobby Flay. And two, why would you say that?”

  He lifted her off the table and handed her the panties. “Because you love your cooking shows. They’re like your happy zone, and always have been. You watch them before you get in bed.”

  Her lips rose in a faint smile. He was spot on, even though she didn’t entirely want to admit he knew so many of her little quirks and habits, including her bedtime rituals. “Fine. I might watch Food Network. But how can you be so certain I’ll be masturbating?”

  He brushed his fingers down her bare arm. “Because you want it again. Because you want me to fuck you right now, and I’m not going to. Therefore, my powers of deduction tell me that you’ll go home, maybe have another glass of wine, watch a cooking show ’til you’re tired, then put on some sexy, lacy camisole thing, get into bed, and still be wet for me. You’ll figure you’ll sleep better if you take the edge off. So you’ll spread your legs. Ride your hand. Call out my name. Then, when I see you in a day, you’re going to tell me what you pictured as you were getting off. And I’m going to do that to you.”

  Her skin sizzled as she dressed. This man could have his way with her. He had her number. He rattled her. He sent her soaring. He made her wild.

  “You’ll do it? No matter what I fantasize about? Anything?”

  He nodded as she pulled on her shorts. “Anything that gets you off will turn me on,” he said. “Guaranteed.”

  Five minutes later, he walked her out. “Give me your keys,” he said, holding open his palm.

  She furrowed her brow. “Why? Are you coming over later?” Hope sprang in her chest.

  “I’m going to be pretty late, so no. But I’m giving you a ride home now, since I want you to get there safely. I’ve seen too many times the damage that even two glasses of wine can do.”

  Her heart beat faster from his offer. She teetered just on the edge of tipsy. She hadn’t drunk much, but it was better to be safe.

  “Thank you.”

  “And when I get home, I’ll drive your car to your house so you’ll have it in the morning.”

  “How will you get home, then?”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” he said, then opened the door to his truck and whisked her off to her house…

  Where later that evening she did just as he’d asked.

  Chapter Nine

  The fire truck gleamed under the noontime sun, polished so brightly it could double as a red mirror.

  Travis stepped away to appraise his work, an important part of the daily agenda. Yup, part of the job as a volunteer firefighter in the Hidden Oaks fire department was making sure the engines always represented.

  Later today, a group of grade schoolers from a summer camp that conducted daily field trips around the county would be stopping by for a tour of the firehouse. Travis had done his part to make sure the trucks were indeed fire engine red, pristine and crisp as the buttons on a dress uniform. Even the hubcaps shined and the tires were freshly scrubbed. You never knew if today would be the day some young boy or girl would flash back to and say, “That was when I first knew I wanted to be a firefighter.”

  That was how it had gone for Travis. Sure, his dad had been a card-carrying member of Battalion 654 in this very same town, and that played the largest role in Travis’s bone-deep certainty he would follow in his footsteps. But he also could recall with crystal clarity the summer day when he was five and had visited his dad here. Megan was a baby, perched on their mom’s hip, and Travis walked next to his mom, holding her hand. She was stopping by one afternoon to bring freshly baked cookies for the men on shift. His dad had wrapped his wife in a hug, dropped a kiss on the baby’s forehead, and plunked his fire helmet on his son’s head. Then he hoisted Travis up, sat him in his lap on the front seat of the engine, and let him pretend to drive the truck.

  Travis had fallen in love at first sight.

  He was that kid—that one who said, “I want to be a fireman when I grow up,” and then did it.

  Even losing his dad in the line of duty hadn’t quenched his desire. If anything, it had strengthened it. His dad had died saving a family in a fire, and Travis wanted to be able to honor not only his father’s sacrifices but also his own sense of duty, community, and giving back. There had never been any question, never any doubt. Even in spite of the things he’d seen on the clock, he’d never once let the shadow of the job fall over him.

  Like last night.

  He and Jackson were the first responders on scene at a car crash. A few minutes after midnight, they’d pulled a young couple out of a crushed vehicle. The car had skidded off the road, toppled by another vehicle in a hit and run. Whoever smashed into them had vanished into the night, likely weaving down the road from too much wine. That was the reality in Wine Country where they lived and worked—what they lacked in fires they made up for in drunk driving accidents. The man and woman had been bloodied and bruised, knocked unconscious.

  That incident was one of the regular reminders that work there in quiet Hidden Oaks wasn’t all pancake breakfasts and shiny trucks. But thankfully his buddy in dispatch had called an hour ago to update him that, while broken bones abounded, the injuries were manageable.

  That had been a relief.

  But whether he was prepping trucks for grade school field trips, or helping at the scene of an accident, Travis was grateful to give back. He tucked away the cloths and cleaning supplies and got ready to head to his mom’s house to pick up Henry. On his way out, he spotted Megan and the fire chief, Becker, walking up the street, holding hands. Becker had the next shift. In his free hand, he held a la
rge grocery bag.

  “Don’t even tell me you made him a lunch and packed it up,” Travis said, shaking his head in mock disgust at the happy couple.

  Megan parked a hand on her hip and shot him a stare. “Maybe it’s not lunch. Maybe I made Mud Pie Brownies for everyone at the firehouse. Except you.”

  Travis clutched his chest as if she had wounded him. He and Megan had long ago learned to fend for themselves in the kitchen, taking care of meals and cooking. They’d mastered mac and cheese, spaghetti and meatballs, and sandwiches like nobody’s business, but their specialties were brownies and cookies. “You’re killing me. And you better give me one. You know I can’t resist your baking.”

  “You’re the one who taught me how to bake,” she said with a laugh, as she ran her hand through her hair, her diamond engagement ring shining in the sun.

  “And don’t you forget it,” he said pulling her in for a quick hug. She dipped her hand into the bag Becker held and produced a brownie. Travis bit into it, and patted his belly in appreciation.

  Then Becker clapped Travis on the back. “What’s the latest? Anything I need to know about?”

  Travis gave his good friend a quick update, including the details on the pending arrival of a few dozen grade schoolers. “So don’t be your usual gruff and moody self,” Travis teased, even though that side of Becker hadn’t made too many appearances since he’d fallen fast and hard for Megan.

  “Thanks. I’ll do my best impression of Smith,” he said, since Smith was the consummate happy-go-lucky guy, making him the perfect ambassador for the fire service. “Speaking of, did you get someone to fill in for you for his wedding?”

  Travis had been scheduled for duty that day, along with a few other guys, so they’d called on some of their buddies in a nearby town to fill in so they could all attend the event. “The Whiskey Springs guys will be here to help. Do I need to take care of your wedding plans soon, too? I’m gonna be scheduling tuxes and bachelor parties left and right, with the way my men are falling.”

  Becker had sworn off love, closeness, and companionship for a lot of the same reasons as Travis had. He’d lost his chief and best friend in a Chicago fire two years ago, and had to leave that city and start over here to escape the memories. Travis had been surprised as hell when the man had gone and fallen hard for his sister, because Becker didn’t get close to anyone.

  Everything changed when he met Megan.

  “With the way you’re all toppling like dominoes, you’re making it easier for me to clean up at the California Fireman’s Auction. Two more weeks ’til glory,” Travis added.

  Becker rolled his eyes. “Let the record reflect that I never competed in that beauty pageant.”

  “And if he had, he would have won all the prizes.” Megan said, clasping an arm around Becker and flashing him a private smile.

  “Damn lovebirds,” Travis muttered and waved good-bye, then headed to his truck.

  Good thing he had a will of iron, unlike those other guys. He could resist falling for a woman. He could resist it so easily.

  Right?

  He nodded at himself in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the street.

  “Right,” he answered, as he found himself counting down the hours until he would see Cara again.

  …

  “May we have the rings?”

  Jamie swiveled around, her eyes sparkling under the late afternoon sun that rained heat over the vines, and called out to her dog while Cara watched.

  Dutifully sitting twenty feet away, Chance rose and trotted to Jamie. “Sit,” she instructed and the big dog did as asked, parking himself next to his mistress amidst a row of Merlot grapes, dark blue and primed for a summer crush.

  “Then Smith will take the rings from his collar,” Cara said, running the bride and groom through the one moment from their ceremony that required her particular brand of expertise. Smith bent down to the dog, reached into a leather pouch attached to the collar, and mimed removing the rings.

  “Then, you’ll ask Chance to lie down,” Cara said, and Jamie gave the big German Shepherd the command. He dropped to his belly, panting and patiently waiting. Cara had known Jamie growing up in this town, but since Cara was a few years older, they didn’t become close friends until she started working with Jamie’s dog last year. Now, Jamie was one of her favorite people. In a bizarre twist of fate, Cara had actually gone on a couple dates with Smith a few years back, but had ended things quickly because she could tell he had it bad for Jamie.

  “And he’ll be perfect while we exchange the vows,” Smith proclaimed, gesturing to the dog he’d procured from a San Jose shelter a little over a year ago. Chance was a puppy then, and now he was full-grown. As Cara liked to say, Chance was officially “kangaroo sized” since German Shepherds had that loping look to them. She’d helped Smith track down the dog as a gift to Jamie when he was wooing her, had helped him learn all his basic commands, too, and now he was going to be their ring bearer.

  “And then when the ceremony is over I’ll take him home for you, so you won’t have to worry about him at the wedding.”

  “Perfect,” Jamie said.

  Pride welled up inside Cara as she flashed back on how far the dog had come in one year, from his early days as a troublemaking pup to his role now as a gentle giant. Some days, she felt like the luckiest person in the world to be able to do what she loved for a living. She’d always felt a kinship with animals, that deep, unconditional love that comes from companionship with four-legged friends. She’d grown up with dogs, and from an early age, she knew she wanted to work with them for a livelihood. But there was more to her business than just her affection for animals. Helping a person and a dog learn how to communicate and meet each other’s needs without the benefit of language was truly her joy.

  So she was a bit like a proud parent as she beamed at the brown and tan beast at her feet. Besides, it was better to cast her gaze at him than at Smith and Jamie, since the two of them were practicing the “you may now kiss the bride” part of their wedding in two weeks, here in the vineyard that Jamie’s parents owned—Ode Wines.

  They were a PDA kind of couple, and were always touching and kissing in public. A random thought swooped down—if she and Travis were a couple, would they be like this in public, hands slinking under shirts, lips brushing across bare shoulders? She quickly admonished herself for even letting such a notion visit her conscious mind. She and Travis would never, ever be a couple. She was clearly inhaling secondhand romance fumes from the too-in-love vibes wafting off her friends.

  Smith and Jamie were the first among her circle of friends in Hidden Oaks to wed, and they wouldn’t be the last. Travis’s tattoo artist sister Megan had just started planning with her mom her wedding to Becker. Cara suspected Mrs. Jansen would be quite busy indeed with that event, especially since it was the only time she’d likely see one of her children walk down the aisle. Travis was as perennially single as they came, and determined to stay that way. Her heart darkened, as if a cloud had stolen across the sky. She wished he wasn’t so dead set against relationships, or so sure they would only inflict pain. Not for her sake, of course. They’d never fit long term. But for his. From his dry sense of humor, to his caring heart, to his drop-dead looks, he was quite the catch. She was reminded as much when she’d walked outside yesterday morning to find her car safe and sound in her driveway, her keys tucked in the mailbox, and a note that said, Hope you slept well.

  She sighed as she walked away from the happy couple, who looked liked they wanted to climb each other.

  A minute later, Jamie caught up as Cara wandered into the main tasting room of the vineyard. The room was closed for an hour but would open up again for an evening tasting. “Sorry,” Jamie said, blushing as she smoothed a hand over her rumpled tank top.

  “Hey, don’t apologize. You’re supposed to want to kiss the groom, so it’s all good,” Cara said, flashing a smile. “Where’s Chance?”

  “Smith is taking him home. I
’m famished. Want some olives?”

  “Nothing says satisfy-a-hungry-appetite like olives,” Cara teased.

  Jamie strolled behind the counter in the tasting room, plucking a bowl of olives from the fridge, along with crackers and cheese then setting them on a wooden cutting board for serving.

  “So this is the year of the wedding, it seems,” Cara said as she hopped onto a stool. “First you and Smith, then Megan and Becker.”

  “Maybe you’re next,” Jamie mused, as she pushed a plate of olives to her.

  Cara scoffed as she bit into a salty one. “Doubtful. I’d have to have that thing known as a fiancé first, which would mean I’d need a beau first, which would mean I’d have to go on a decent date first.”

  She thought of Joe—Mr. Perfect-on-paper. Their date was decent. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. She was already surrounded by reminders that she was the last of her friends, and last of her sisters, who was still shooting at the happily ever after.

  Jamie shrugged happily as she sliced a cheese knife through some Brie, and popped a piece into her mouth. “Speaking of, how are things going with Travis?” she asked in the most off-hand voice, not even meeting her eyes.

  Cara stared at Jamie until her friend peeked up at her from beneath a curtain of blond hair. Jamie had an up-to-something look in her eyes. “You mean, how’s the dog training with Henry going?”

  “That and anything else,” she said evasively.

  Had Travis spilled to Smith about their arrangement already? They’d never said the other night that it was top-secret, but still. The connection they shared in the bedroom—well, everywhere but the bedroom—was private and personal.

  “Has Smith said something to you?”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “Is there something to say?”