Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (16 page)

He arches his brow at me but doesn’t comment.

I fluff the pillows behind me and settle back before pointing to the TV. “The cooking channel? Seriously?”

“What did you think I’d be watching?”

“Well, I was hoping for cartoons.” I crack open my second bottle and realize that he’s staring at me with dark eyes as I slowly lick the wine off my lips. The way his gaze lingers as he takes a deep breath is only the smallest bit of encouragement, but I’ll take it.

“I still don’t understand why you’ve got this on. You like cooking that much? I know you do a great job when it’s your turn at the station, but you don’t really have a workable kitchen in this thing.”

“I used to love to cook. I considered myself a gourmet.”

“Really?” I try to picture him with a white apron and chef’s hat and it makes me giggle.

But then I notice that he seems upset, and maybe there’s more to his proclamation than I realized.

“I cooked for Sharon, she was a serious foodie. And now I don’t cook like that anymore.”

I fall silent as I grit my teeth. So now we can add another thing to the list of losses since Joe walked in on his wife and brother. It pains me to see him hurting. Lifting the miniature wine bottle to his lips, he finishes it off.

“Will you cook something fancy for me sometime?”

He pauses with a look of pain on his face. “Maybe.”

I reach into my pocket and hold up the last bottle of wine. “Want this? It’s the last one.”

He doesn’t even reply, just takes it from me and unscrews the cap with a somber expression on his face.

I look at his muscular legs stretched out in front of him and reach out to rest my hand on his calf. He flinches a little and then averts his gaze as he takes a long drink from the bottle that looks ridiculous in his large hands.

I gently squeeze and stroke his leg, sometimes trailing up as high as his knee, other times focused on the tight bundle of muscles on the inside of his calf. He leans back into the pillows and watches me, the corners of his mouth turned downward.

“Is this okay?” I ask, hoping my touch is giving him at least a little bit of comfort.

He nods and sighs. I can feel his leg relax and settle into the bed.

“Why do you look so sad?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I’m okay.”

Okay, sure.
He’s rocking that stoic man thing.

I lighten my touch on his leg. “I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”

After a long pause he finally speaks up. “I miss my family,” he says quietly.

I nod. “I bet you do. I can’t imagine being cut off from mine.”

“Being with your family tonight, the way you tease each other, yet it’s obvious that you love each other . . . I can’t lie. It was tough for me. It reminded me of what I’ve lost.”

“You really won’t go home again?”

He shakes his head. “I just can’t. It’s been like a death for me,” he says quietly. “I’m not sure I could take it.”

“But—” I start to argue.

“It’s like my heart is a stone now, Trisha.”

That one shuts me up.
Damn
. I don’t want to believe that his heart is impenetrable. I scoot toward him on the bed. “Come here,” I whisper, holding my arm out.

He surprises me by surrendering, leaning into me so that I can wrap my arm around him.

God, I love this man.

I brush my lips over his thick hair. “I’ll go with you for moral support if you ever change your mind.”

He tilts his head back and looks up at me. “Why would you do that? It could get really ugly with my brother.”

“You know how strong I am, right?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of hard to miss,” he replies.

“So I’d have your back. You’ve seen me in those self-defense classes. They don’t call me badass T. Rex for nothing.”

He smiles. “You
are
badass.”

I nod. “So maybe that would be a time you could let me be strong for the both of us.”

I feel his shoulders tighten under my arms and he slowly pulls away, then turns until he’s upright and facing me.

I wait for him to address me but instead he just studies my expression and I’m trying to project kindness, even though I’m not sure I’m succeeding.

“I worry that you like me too much, Trisha.”

I nod slowly. What he said hurts to even think about. “I worry about it too.”

“You know I’m not the kind of man you deserve. I’m bitter and there’s no romance left in me. I’m not a hearts and buy-you-flowers kind of guy, and you deserve that.”

“You aren’t?” I half tease him, then immediately realize he’s completely serious.

He grimaces. “Not any more. I did that with her and got burned.”

I give him a long look.

“You know what, Joe? I’ve had that romance crap and flowers and it was all a lie. So I don’t need that from you or anyone. I just want to be with a real man, a good man, and I want to feel the way I do every time you touch me.”

His eyes are intense as his gaze moves over my features. He reaches out and cups my face with his large hands, his thumb skimming my cheeks.

“What?” I ask, wondering how I should interpret his tenderness.

He shakes his head silently, his gaze settling on my lips. Despite all of his warnings about having no romance left in him, he leans forward and gives me the most gentle kiss of my life. I melt like a pat of butter, letting a soft moan escape my parted lips.

“Joe,” I whisper.

“Shhh,” he says.

“Don’t stop,” I plead.

His thumbs are still circling my cheeks. “I won’t,” he whispers before kissing me again. His lips trail down the side of my neck. “My feelings for you are getting out of control, Trisha.”

I swallow hard. “Really? I’m so drawn to you that I’m scared your rejection could break me, but I can’t stay away.”

He leans closer into me and skims his fingers along my temple and across my cheek. “I think about you all the time even though I’m not supposed to. I think about touching you like this. My want is big, Trisha. Really big.”

“Mine, too,” I whisper.

“Can I? Is this okay?” he asks, the intensity in his eyes making my heart skip as he runs his fingers along the edge of my sweater and lifts it up just enough for his fingertips to graze my skin.

“Yes,” I whisper. He pulls my sweater up and over my head, as his gaze slowly moves down my neck, across my breasts and back up to my eyes.

He takes a sharp breath then brushes his lips along my shoulder.

With trembling fingers I undo my bra and slide it off as he pulls off his shirt. The cool air tightens my skin, my nipples hard as I ache for the caress of his warm lips. Pulling me onto his lap, he kisses me with a rush of emotion as desperate as I feel. I revel in the sensation of my breasts skimming his bare chest, and his big hand pressing into my back to pull me closer.

“Please,” I murmur a blush burning across my cheeks.

He nods, helping undo my jeans as I rise to my knees. When he eases me back on the mattress to pull them off, he groans my name.

He gets off the mattress just long enough to discard what’s left of his clothes. Back on the bed, he lifts himself over me and takes a moment to look deep into my eyes. I see all the hurt from earlier still lingering in his gaze. But desire is taking control now, fueled by his determination, and desire seems to have won the war in his heart.

He kisses me everywhere, tenderly and then hungrily until I’m lost in his touch. His hands ease my legs farther apart before his fingers lightly trail up my inner thighs, until they’re gliding where I’m already wet for him.

“Are you sure?” he asks breathlessly. “I want you so much.”

I nod, rocking my hips up to encourage him as he sinks into me in one fluid, powerful stroke. He pauses, his forehead resting on the edge of my shoulder, his hot breath warming my skin.

I wait patiently, every muscle in my body poised to hold onto him, including his cock now buried deep between my legs.

“God, you’re so perfect for me,” he says. The way his eyes appraise me makes my heart race.

I stroke my hands over him, imagining the strength under each ridge and muscle of his torso. I love everything about his powerful body, his weight securing me under him as he begins to fuck me slow and deep. My fingers dig into the muscles of his ass to pull him even closer. I feel every part of me opening up wider to draw him in. I wrap my legs around him possessively as I gasp his name.

A wave of ecstasy flows through me at the raw, pure pleasure of this man making love to me, showing me a passion I’d only read about, but had never understood.

He lets out a low groan, and fucks me deeper as if he knows I’m near the edge of a cliff, each thrust pushing me closer. Moving in synchronicity, our strong bodies surge forward while our emotions wind and tangle together until they’re a single strand that feels unbreakable.

He’s attentively focused as I take him deep, every sense so heightened that I soar up and up until each nerve cries out. I’m suspended between light and dark, pleasure so profound it’s teetering on the edge of pain.

When I tumble to my climax, every part of me lets go with complete abandon. As pleasure washes over me, I’m aware of his powerful thrusts and being held under the bright light of love.

“Trisha,” he moans, and a moment later he joins me with equal intensity. As I float in his arms I realize that nothing has ever felt so perfect . . . something beyond the world I’d known . . . someplace I never want to leave.

I love this man.
I love him,
and to the depth of my soul I hope he one day can love me too.

Chapter 13:
Topsy Turvy

She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her away, she adjusted her sails. ~Elizabeth Edwards

The next few days we fall into an effortless rhythm. While at the station we’re professional, with only weighted side-glances stolen, which make us feel like we’re in our own secret club.

The best part of the tension and unfilled want between us at work, is that our time back home is that much more amped up, both in bed and out.

On this warm spring evening we decide to barbeque, which for some reason brings out the alpha male in Joe.

Joe elbows me. “Move over. You’re an amateur.”

“Is that so?” I say, waving my tongs at him. “What is it about men and barbeques? I may be a female Bobby Flay, but now you’ll never know.” I wink at him as I pass him the tongs.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not willing to risk these great steaks to find out if you’re right about that.”

“Your loss,” I tease. “You ready for some wine?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll go get the corkscrew and glasses. Be right back.”

He nods as he checks the steaks before seasoning them.

When I step back outside, I’ve got two wine stems in one hand, a corkscrew in the other, but I almost drop all of it when I see Joe talking to a man who’s holding a big floral arrangement.

My gaze fixes on the flowers, all bright yellows, hot oranges, and soft peaches. I take a sharp breath.

Mike.

What the hell is he doing here?

As I approach I can see Joe gesturing to his rig. Is Mike giving him a bad time?

Damn.

I walk over to the patio table and carefully set down the glasses and corkscrew. To say I wasn’t expecting my ex to drop by with flowers is the understatement of the century.

“What are you doing here, Mike?” I call out and he and Joe turn toward me.

He’s thinner than the last time I saw him. And he’s wearing a sports jacket.
What’s that about?

He takes a step toward me and holds out the arrangement. When I don’t step forward he moves to the patio table and sets it down.

Joe is watching us with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I repeat.

“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Trish. And I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“It’s your birthday?” Joe asks, an incredulous look on his face.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mike points to Joe and then to his rig. “Who’s this guy, and what’s that thing doing in our yard?”

I fold my arms over my chest. “He’s my friend, Joe. He’s lieutenant at my station, and what difference does it make to you that he’s parked here?”

“It’s just temporary,” Joe says.

“This is my house too, Trisha. I still have a say in what happens here.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No. You gave up that right when you cheated on me, and shit all over our marriage.”

He presses his lips together. “I know you’d like to think that Trish, but it’s still half mine, and I don’t want him here.”

“Wait a minute—” Joe starts, but I hold my hands up, and shake my head at him and he falls silent.

“Look Mike, he’s not going anywhere. Jeanine has it covered, so go crying to your lawyer if you want to spend a fortune to fight me about this.”

Mike takes a deep breath with his eyes closed. I recognize it as his attempt to regroup. He was king of that shit, he even meditated to find his center. What a joke.

“Can I talk to you privately, Trish?”

“No. Say what you want to say. Joe can hear it.”

He gives me a wary look but then pulls his shoulders back. “I’m not giving up. I’m going to give you some time to work through your anger, but I still think we can work through our issues . . . we’re meant to be together.”

I give him the most wide-eyed baffled look I can muster.

“You, me, and your gay hook-ups?” I remark. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m done with all that.”

“Are you fucking serious with this shit? What? You just turned off your gay switch?”

“Trish, please don’t talk to me like that,” he says with a hurt voice.

My stomach is churning and I realize I’ve lost my appetite. “So did you really come over to upset me on my birthday?”

Joe turns off the gas, sets the tongs down and steps toward us.

“I think it’d be better if you take off,” Joe says in a tight voice.

“She’s my wife and this is my house. Don’t tell me what to do,” Mike snaps.

“Go, Mike.” I lift my hand to my cheek. I feel flushed.