Burning for You (18 page)

“Just wanted to say good job last night,” the chief said. “Thought he might have had you for a minute there, but you pulled it out.”

“Had it all the time,” Joe said.

“Glad to hear it. We’re counting on you in November. Want to keep the title. Feel free to rest up today if you’re not busy. You look like it was a long night.”

“Thanks.” It had been a long and delicious night, one Joe couldn’t wait to repeat.

*  *  *

Taylor’s meeting with her applied project chair started at two, and amazingly she was running on time. She’d left Joe’s around six a.m., gone home and straight back to bed, this time for much needed sleep, sleep she’d gotten in short snatches before Joe had woken her up and taken her all over again before he’d had to leave for work.

Her body felt delightfully sore in all the right places, and she had that eternal optimism that comes after being warm and cherished and held tenderly.

She kept that optimistic buzz until the end of her presentation, when her professor told her, “I’m just not feeling this. What you’ve proposed doesn’t push the envelope. Yes, it’s a photo story like you’d see in
New York Times
. But your goal was to make more of a personal connection. I’m not feeling that level of emotion.”

She stood in front of the projector screen, the large image of Susie behind her. “But that’s what this book is about.”

He shook his head, took off his wire rim glasses, and wiped off some lint. “No, it’s about healing. It’s about humanity. While these are multiple subjects celebrating their lives, I’m thinking that it might be better for you to focus on one person and show a character arc. Connect us to this little girl, for instance. Go behind her daily life.”

“She’s in Maine for the summer.”

He shrugged. “Then pick someone else. For instance, who is the one behind the book? Whose idea was it?”

“Joe. He’s a firefighter. He’s her brother.”

“I take it he’s burned?”

She sucked in a breath. “How did you know?”

“Educated guess. As a media communications professional, we study people. That’s part of our job, as we are reporting on their lives. We choose what to reveal and what to hide. Show me pictures of Joe. Surely you have some.”

“Yes, but not of his burns. I haven’t gotten to him yet.”

“Why not?” He drummed his fingers nonstop, that annoying habit she hated but had to tolerate. She reminded herself that her professor had come in on a Sunday since she had work all the rest of the week and since he’d been out of town. “Surely you have others of him.”

“I do, but—”

“Show me.” His tone brooked no argument.

So Taylor clicked on a folder and brought up the family shots. Her professor said nothing as she ran through them and, worried about his silence, she opened another folder and showed him the untouched photos of Joe boxing. “I took these last night, so I haven’t done anything to them yet.”

The photos were in the order she’d taken them, so there was Joe in quiet contemplation in the locker room lacing and unlacing. Then she had him in the ring, right down to the primal victory scream.

“This man is your subject.”

“My subject.”

“Yes, him and no one else. You’ve captured who he is, but you’ve only begun to scratch the surface. How was he burned?”

“Grass fire when he was twelve.”

“And his sister was in the middle of it?”

Her professor was perceptive. “Yes. He went in to save her.”

“How did the fire start?”

“I don’t know.”

Her professor tapped a pen against the wood conference table. “Find out. There’s a story there or he wouldn’t be doing all this.”

“He couldn’t save her in time and she was injured. It’s why he’s a firefighter today.”

Her professor rose to his feet so he stood even with her. “Taylor, this is your subject. A series of ten to twenty portraits that reveal the inner workings of this man. He’s clearly a family guy, but he also has a Neanderthal need to climb into the ring and pummel some other guy senseless. This is your project, and it’s one I can easily approve, which would allow you to get your diploma—should you deliver it to me within the next three weeks before summer session ends. You do want to graduate, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then get him to let you photograph his burns. You’ll need that one special cornerstone shot that lets me see inside his soul. The rest are up to you, so long as you reveal who he is.” He pointed to the shot of Joe screaming with victory. “That’s a great picture. I’ll look forward to seeing the rest. E-mail me when you’re ready. And, no promises, but be good enough and you might still make the juried exhibition.”

With that, he left. Taylor fell into one of the leather conference chairs with a hard thump. She leaned back, swiveled, and stared up at Joe’s picture. All her previous bouncy energy evaporated. Take Joe’s photos.

The man couldn’t even go into the boxing ring without being covered up. He’d left her mother’s house that first day rather than reveal he’d been burned, something she’d have discovered the moment he took off his pants. Joe Marino was a complicated man. She might have broken down a huge barrier last night, but she knew she still had far more walls to tear down, and if she told him about this, he’d reinforce all the ones still standing. Susie wanted him in the book, but even she’d abdicated the problem of Joe’s agreement to Taylor.

“Private” described Joe perfectly. She remembered his words “No choice,” words she’d mocked. She realized he wouldn’t be Mr. September if some higher up hadn’t chosen him and given him an ultimatum.

He hid vulnerability beneath that tough guy exterior and cheeky, charming attitude.

She closed the screen on her laptop so the excited figure on the screen vanished into black. She had to graduate. There was no way she could afford another semester. She had no other options.

Joe Marino was now her applied project.

“So you made Joe your project?” Marci blinked in disbelief as Taylor carried over two glasses of water. “Are you crazy?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Taylor protested, passing over a glass. Neither had wanted alcohol tonight. Taylor sighed. She hadn’t planned on telling Marci about Joe, but the secret had slipped out. Marci was her best friend. Had been there through thick and thin. She knew she could trust her with the moral quandary Taylor now found herself in.

Marci, not even in the apartment a full ten minutes before Taylor had blurted out the truth, made herself comfortable by kicking her feet up onto Taylor’s coffee table. The AC wasn’t doing a good job, and Taylor made a mental note to call the landlord. The window unit probably needed to be replaced, or at least recharged.

“You know he’s not going to go for it. What am I going to do? I have to graduate.” Taylor paced. “I haven’t even asked him to pose for me. He’s not going to agree.”

After her meeting with her professor, she’d been processing images of Joe all day until Marci had popped by and distracted her. They’d even ordered pizza, which was on the way. “Joe likes to help people. Surely he’ll do this one thing for me.” Taylor spoke aloud, as if that would help make Joe agree.

“True.” Marci nodded. Drank more water. Talked while Taylor paced. “Thanks for asking me to go last night. It was a good match. I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun. Thad and I went out dancing afterwards.”

“Clearly he got you home safe and sound,” Taylor replied, grateful Marci had temporarily distracted her from her dilemma.

Marci drained the glass, leaned back. “I don’t know how safe it was, but he was sound all right.”

“Marci. You didn’t.”

Marci shook her head. Fanned herself. “No, we just had a great make out session in his car and I sent him on his way. The sun was coming up. I’d prefer my neighbors not see me in a car that early in the morning. God knows what they already think of me.”

Taylor arched her eyebrows.

“Seriously,” Marci returned with an exasperated sigh. “No shaking of the peaches or playing with the sausage because I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. But believe me, I wanted to. It was hard to say no to asking him up, or just having sex in a Porsche, but I did … say no, that is. A damn convertible Porsche. Anyway, he says he’ll call, but they all say that.”

Taylor tried to encourage her friend. “Perhaps this time will be different.”

“Not holding my breath. Have you ever felt the leather of a Porsche?” She sighed. “It’s heaven. So soft. Smooth. Like, I’ve never felt anything like it. He’s going to want to date someone from his social class. I don’t stand a chance. I was a hook-up he didn’t get.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, I’m not holding my breath, you know? I’ve done that far too many times to waste any more energy. Mr. Right is out there, but why is he so damn much work?”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Taylor admitted.

“I know. I know. So how was the rest of your night with Joe?”

Taylor leaned back in the low armchair and said nothing. Marci’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me you and he …”

Taylor nodded. Blushed. Her skin heated. She waved a hand in her face to create a breeze.

“Oh, I want details.” Marci leaned forward. “Spill.”

“His place. It was good.”

“Just good?”

Taylor blushed again.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Marci smirked. “A man like that has got to be damn good. So who seduced who?”

“Mutual, but I took charge. It was different somehow. There’s a connection there. Something I’d never felt before.”

“Like in your books?”

“Better.” Taylor hadn’t read any more about Duncan since Joe had first kissed her. “I’ve never been so turned on.”

Marci began to chew on an ice cube, the motion making loud crunching sounds. “Well, wow. I thought you said he didn’t want you.”

“Things changed.”

Marci chomped more ice. Rattled her glass. “Amazing. Have you heard from him?”

Taylor automatically gazed at her phone, which sat silent on the counter. “He’s at work the next two days. He sent me a brief text telling me he was at the firehouse and making sure I’d gotten home safe. I said yes, and that’s been it.”

“He’s probably really busy.”

“I assume so. I have no idea what firefighters do except for what I’ve seen on TV.”

Taylor’s phone beeped with a message. “Maybe that’s him now.”

Taylor retrieved Marci’s empty water glass. Refilled it. Grabbed her phone on the way back. “No, it’s some strange number.”

She unlocked her phone, opened the text. Marci craned her neck. “Is it Joe?”

Taylor’s skin chilled as she read it, as if the temperature in the apartment had dropped twenty degrees. “No. Owen. This is the third number he’s used. Why doesn’t he get that I don’t want to talk to him?”

“Let me read it.”

Marci stretched out her hand, but Taylor didn’t release the phone. Instead she read it aloud. “It says, ‘Taylor, I promise this isn’t like last time. I only need a few minutes of your time. Please speak to me. I can meet you at Presley’s if that makes you feel safer. Please answer me. It’s urgent. Owen.’”

“That’s crazy.”

“He’s crazy.” Taylor shivered. Drew a green fuzzy blanket over her, despite the pathetic AC.

“Answer him. Tell him to go to hell. In fact, hand me the phone and I’ll do it.” Marci thrust her palm forward.

“No. I can’t. I don’t want to have to change my phone number again. I lost clients last time. It’s not like I can put my phone number on the Internet. I’m hoping that if I don’t respond, he’s going to think he has the wrong number and stop texting me. He’s got to think he’s dialing the wrong person.”

“So send one back saying you’re not Taylor.”

“He’s too smart. He’ll see through that. He’s pretty sharp. Someone gave him this number, so he knows it’s mine. I have to keep ignoring him.”

Marci frowned. “You should contact the police.”

“For what? Text messages? I had to get a restraining order and
that
didn’t help. Besides, the police have better things to do.”

“Taylor, you have to take care of yourself. Abuse is serious.”

“I know that and I will. I’ve been extra vigilant. I don’t understand why now, after all this time.”

“Maybe you should tell Joe.”

Taylor crossed her arms. Drew her blanket higher. “Why would I tell Joe?”

“He’s probably got friends on the police force. Maybe he can have one of them do some sniffing around, off-book. You know, see what’s really going on. Spy on Owen.”

Taylor loved Marci, but she was so naïve. “This isn’t a TV show.”

“Well, I don’t know. It was just a suggestion. I’m worried about you.” Marci appeared more upset than Taylor felt.

“I told you he was with a girl at Presley’s, so I don’t know why he’d start contacting me again. It makes no sense. But eventually he’ll go away. He’ll stop.”

“So maybe take Joe and go meet up with Owen. You said Joe likes to help. And you slept with him, so he’s sort of your guy now, right? Have him scare off your ex. I’m sure he’ll do it if you ask.”

“Great. So I have to ask him about taking his burn pictures and about scaring off my ex? This is getting worse and worse. I’ll handle Owen myself.”

“If you say so.” Marci puckered her lips. “I wouldn’t. Make Joe feel needed.”

Taylor voiced the truth. “One time in bed doesn’t constitute a relationship. Hell, I don’t even know what we are. We had chemistry. The next time I see him, he may have me all out of his system. We do have to work together to finish the book.”

“I think you’re making a mistake. My two cents.” Marci’s feet thumped to the floor as she sat up. She leaned over and touched Taylor’s arm. “I’m worried about you. You turned into a basket case last time. I know. I was there.”

Taylor jutted her chin. Remained stubborn. “And I’m glad you were, but that won’t happen this time. It’s been two years. I’m not feeling guilty anymore, as if his behavior was somehow my fault.” She swiped and deleted the text message without answering it. “I have too much on my plate to let Owen be a distraction.”

“I don’t want you turning some corner and then he shoots you.”

“This is real life not TV.” Although Taylor would never admit that was one of her worst fears, even though in all of the craziness that had gone down, she’d known Owen would never physically hurt her. He’d broken objects, shown up at her work and made a scene, and even towered over her and screamed in her face, but he’d never actually hit her. However, the rest had been terrifying and threatening enough. He’d been unstable, and she’d gotten help, protecting herself despite her fear. Having learned, she refused to be held hostage to fear ever again.