Heatwave (11 page)

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

She tipped her head back to look up at him, a sweet smile on the lips he’d been anxious to taste all night.

“Sure you have.” A teasing light entered her eyes. “Every single time I ask you about the bachelor party.”

Drew chuckled. “It’s called changing the subject.”

Her eyebrows hiked upward. “More like avoiding the subject. So, were there naked women?”

No way would he tell her there were plenty of them—in varying degrees of undress—but they’d all remained on the stage. A definite look-but-no-touching-allowed situation. Bachelor parties at Lula’s were a tradition for the guys at Trinity Station. They might get a little loud, but their behavior never extended beyond a few raunchy comments.

He gave her a sly grin. “My aunt adores you,” he said,
changing
the subject. He’d been required to sit at the table with the wedding party, so he’d left Emily in his aunt’s care. The moment he’d been free of his obligations as a groomsman, Debbie hadn’t hesitated to let him know she’d enjoyed Emily’s company. He hadn’t realized he’d been seeking her approval, but her words
still left him with a sense of contentment he hadn’t expected.

“She’s very sweet,” Emily said as she snuggled closer. “She couldn’t stop talking about you. Tilly wasn’t too happy with her, though.” She grinned. “Debbie told me about some of the scrapes the two of you got into when you were kids. You guys were awful.”

He and Tilly had been known as the neighborhood terrors. “We couldn’t have been all that bad, since we only had the cops called on us once.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Emily’s lyrical laughter carried on the sea breeze, floating around him, drawing him deeper under her bewitching spell. “Burying the neighbor’s garden gnomes in her yard—complete with headstones—
and
rearranging her rose bushes? Really, Drew. That’s some prank.”

“The roses were Tilly’s idea. And we did it to avenge Cale because the old bat reported him to animal control for having too many pets,” he offered in their defense. “Tilly and her dad lived next door so she spent a lot of time at our house. It was kind of like having a sister.”

He quieted as the sound of footsteps neared. Drew glanced up in time to see Ben heading down the path toward them, an amber bottle clutched in his hand, his bow tie hanging loose around his collar. He acknowledged them with a brief wave, then turned down the path toward the marina.

“Is he okay?” Emily asked, keeping her voice low,
just loud enough for Drew to hear. “I noticed he didn’t bring a date.”

He shook his head. “He hasn’t dated in a while.”

“Some woman do a number on him?”

More like Ben doing some number on a woman. His oldest brother had been in a serious relationship or two, but the second he caught a whiff of the marriage vibe, he booked. “No,” he said. “My old man.”

He didn’t need to look down into Emily’s face to see the confusion knitting her brow. He could feel it in the way she tipped her head back and waited for him to continue.

Maybe for comfort, maybe because he simply wanted her soft skin against his, he smoothed his hands down her arms to her hands and laced their fingers together. “When my mom died, my dad gave up—on everything,” he admitted. “I was too young to really understand much about what was going on at the time, but Ben was older and he weathered a lot more than Cale and I ever did.”

She turned forward again and settled her back against his chest. “You mentioned your mother was a firefighter.”

“She was one of the first in the county, back at the beginning of the women’s movement. My aunt told me once the county tried to railroad Mom into an admin job, but Mom fought. After some hotshot women’s rights attorney came forward and threatened a discrimination suit, the county backed off and Mom became a full-fledged firefighter.”

“You should be proud of her. She was a real pioneer for women’s rights.”

“Absolutely,” he said, and meant it. “But all I knew then was that Mom had the same job as Dad.”

She traced her thumb over his in a soothing, rhythmic motion. “Do you remember her?”

“Some things. The way she smelled mostly. Like fresh laundry and lilacs. Most of what I know, though, I’ve been told. I do remember being at the hospital.” He suppressed a shudder as the darkest memories swamped him. “I still can’t stand being there for any length of time.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, urging his arms tighter around her. “You stayed the entire time I was there with Grandy. You should’ve said something.”

His mild laughter held only a hint of humor. “And admit to you my armor’s tarnished? Not a chance, babe.”

“I can’t even begin to image what you and your brothers must’ve gone through.”

“It was rough on everyone. Mom hung on for three days,” he said, “which is saying a lot for someone with such extensive third-degree burns. All the doctors could do was try to make her as comfortable as possible.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The compassion in her voice warmed him, urging him to continue to sift through the memories. “My mom was on the first team at the scene of a big fire in the garment district. By the time the crew arrived, the fire had already started to spread to a neighboring
warehouse, which was supposedly vacant. My folks worked for different stations, but this was a monster burn so they called in engine crews from all over the county to assist. My dad’s was one of them.

“Some homeless people had been living in the abandoned warehouse and were trapped on one of the upper floors. Mom, Dad and two other firefighters went in on the first rescue team. She saved the transients, but before she could get out, either the floor or the roof collapsed and she was trapped. Dad tried to get to her, but her helmet had been knocked off.”

He pulled in a deep breath and held Emily close, next to his heart, a place he realized had been empty for far too many years. “The smoke inhalation was bad, and her burns were too extensive.”

“They didn’t let you see her, did they?”

He shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see him. “No,” he said. “She wouldn’t let us. I didn’t understand then, but I guess she said she didn’t want her sons’ last memory of her to be something out of a nightmare. But she did try to talk to us on the phone, though. My aunt held the phone for her, and Mom managed to say a few words to all three of us. Mostly goodbye. She died later that night.”

Emily trembled in his arms. He knew the feeling. Gooseflesh still prickled his skin whenever he thought of that night and the horrible days that followed.

“The old man never got over it.” The sharp edge of resentment still managed to nudge him, making his voice harder than he’d intended. “I remember he did try for a while, for our sakes, I suppose, but even we
figured out pretty quickly he was only going through the motions. About two years after we lost Mom, he died of a massive coronary. At least that’s what the death certificate says.”

“What do you mean?”

“The day of Mom’s funeral was the last time my dad ever wore his uniform. He climbed inside a bottle of gin and never came out again. Ben took care of us. He bullied us into doing our homework and taking our baths, made sure we had clean clothes to wear to school and enough to eat. And when he wasn’t looking after us, he was holding my old man’s head over the toilet while he puked his brains out, or fending off creditors because my dad couldn’t be bothered to take care of it himself. I found out years later that Ben started forging my dad’s name on checks just to keep the bills paid every month.”

“My God, Drew,” she gasped. “How old was he?”

“Ten. Twelve when we went to live with Debbie. You know, you’d have thought he’d be relieved to have her taking care of us, but Ben refused to let go. I think he’d shouldered the responsibility for so long, he didn’t know how to stop. He made Debbie’s life hell for a while. It took him a long time to trust her enough to let her take care of us.”

He smiled suddenly, struck by an odd sense of relief. All she’d done was listen, but Emily accomplished what a bevy of high-priced child psychologists hadn’t—allowed him to exorcize demons he’d carted around for far too long. “Ben still hasn’t stopped trying
to tell us what to do. He really needs to get a life and stay out of mine and Cale’s.”

“Maybe he’ll get lucky,” she said after a gentle sigh. “He could find the right woman someday.”

Drew had his doubts, but he wasn’t going to dash Emily’s romantic hopes for his big brother. “We’ve wasted enough moonlight talking about Ben.” He liked the way she’d styled her hair and took advantage of all that exposed skin by dipping his head to nuzzle her nape, his intent to turn her into a puddle of need.

Her breath caught, and she tilted her head slightly to the side. With her back still to him, she eased her hands from his and lifted them over her head to loop around his neck. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward in an inviting display he didn’t even attempt to resist.

“There you two are!”

The abrupt intrusion of Tilly’s cheery voice split them apart faster than a pair of guilty teenagers caught necking in the back seat of a Chevy. “What do you want?” he groused. Not that Tilly would take offense. The concept had never existed between the two of them.

“We were sent to scout the missing-in-action,” Scorch offered sheepishly as he and Tilly neared the gazebo. “Amanda’s gonna show some leg.”

Apparently, they’d kissed and made up.

Emily winced as she attempted, unsuccessfully, to slide her feet into her shoes. “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll never get my feet back into their torture chambers.”

“Ouch,” Tilly said sympathetically. “Just forget the shoes, Em.” She stepped forward and took hold of Emily’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Your presence has been commanded, so you’ll just have to go in your stockings. And it’s not about Amanda showing some leg,” she scolded Scorch. “It’s about bouquets and garters.”

Drew grinned. Not that he was looking to snag the garter for himself, but the traditional bouquet and garter toss signified the bride and groom would soon retire to the honeymoon suite—and he would finally have Emily to himself.

I
F
E
MILY
continued to wiggle her backside against him, Drew had no doubts his control would become a thing of the past. “You have to hold still, sweetheart.”

“This is
so
not comfortable,” she complained. She moved again. “I think you’ve got too much.”

He readjusted the ice pack he held to her temple. “Just a little longer.” He chuckled when she eased out an impatient huff of breath. “If you’d been paying attention, this wouldn’t have happened.”

She snatched the ice pack from his hand, tossed it in the sink, then gingerly inspected the small lump with her fingertips. “How was I supposed to know your sister-in-law had an arm to rival a major-league pitcher?”

Tilly had actually caught the wedding bouquet, horrifying his buddy, Scorch. Emily only managed to get herself whacked in the head by the hard plastic holder when it came flying like a fastball in her and Tilly’s direction. Drew didn’t know which of the two women Amanda had been aiming for, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. Tradition dictated the woman who caught the bride’s bouquet would be the next to marry. If there was any truth to the silly custom, he pitied the pressure Scorch would face, but breathed his own sigh of relief that Emily hadn’t been paying attention.

He handed her a glass half filled with 7Up. “Will you live?”

“Oh, I think so.” She took a sip of the soft drink, then smiled. “Hey, maybe I can use the lethal-bouquet incident in a pain reliever ad someday.”

He took her hand and led the way out of the kitchen to the living room. Once seated on the supple black Italian-leather sofa, he tapped the remote control to start the light jazz CD in the stereo system. The dim light of the table lamp cast an unobtrusive, buttery glow, enhancing the sultry ambiance.

Emily curled up beside him on the sofa. He could get used to this, he thought, wondering how it would feel to come home at the end of the day into the waiting arms of one special woman.

He scoffed at the idea. Weddings made people sappy, did strange things to their psyches. Just because Cale had become a proponent of matrimony didn’t mean he was destined to follow in his footsteps. Did it?

“So who’re your decorators?” she asked, tucking her feet beneath her, then resting her head against his shoulder. “Spartan, Bare and Sterile?”

He held her close, breathing in her scent as he looked around the room. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

Compared to her grandmother’s place, which had a welcoming lived-in feel, he supposed his condo did come across as somewhat impersonal. The living room, dining area and kitchen were open, with high pickled-oak-slat ceilings. A bank of east windows allowed for
plenty of light and offered a nightly panoramic view of the city below.

“It’s easy,” he said. “What’s not to like?” He’d never cared one way or another what anyone thought of his condo, but Emily’s opinion suddenly mattered—a lot.

“It’s a nice place,” she said. “If it were me, though, I’d definitely add a few splashes of color. Maybe not get rid of all the black leather furniture, but definitely ditch these wrought-iron-and-glass tables. You could spruce it up some with a few personal touches so it looks like someone actually lives here.”

Maybe she had a point, he thought. Unlike Cale and Ben, both of whom displayed family photos in their homes, above his black-and-gray-marble mantel hung a Jackson Pollock abstract print. Cale and Amanda’s living room was often cluttered with books, and of late, bridal magazines and travel brochures. He suspected in the near future parenting magazines and children’s coloring books would be added to the fray. Nothing marred the clear surface of his glass cocktail table.

Plain black wrought-iron pole lamps with simple white shades were centered on the matching end tables. Against his will, his imagination conjured Emily removing a handful of toy cars and a forgotten half-eaten cookie from the surfaces. In the dining room, beneath the circular black track lighting, only chairs and the glass-topped table sat, its surface as unremarkable as the cocktail table. In his mind, she placed a ceramic footed bowl filled with fruit in anticipation of a child’s small hands in search of a snack.

The sterility of his home had never bothered him.
The clean, simplistic lines and lack of chaos and clutter appealed to him. Didn’t it?

Yes, it did, he reminded himself.

Firmly.

Uselessly, too, since he couldn’t shake the images of Emily turning his black-and-white existence into a home filled with laughter, splashes of color and loads of chaos.

She reached behind her to set her glass on the tall sofa table, then took his and put it next to hers. “I don’t want to talk decorating.” She rose to her knees, hiked up her dress so she could straddle his hips, then settled her bottom on his thighs. “In fact,” she murmured, “I don’t want to talk at all.”

A sassy twinkle brightened her gaze, quickening his pulse. Her lips lifted in a wicked, seductive smile filled with an intent he wouldn’t dream of resisting. Twice he’d put an end to their lovemaking. Tonight there’d be no stopping them.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked her, but he’d have to be a corpse not to understand her meaning. He’d been wanting, needing the exact same thing from her since the day they’d met on her grandmother’s porch.

“Pleasure.” One by one, she flicked open the buttons of his shirt, then shoved the fabric aside. She smoothed her hands over the surface of his skin, exploring his torso. Warmth filled his body, traveling in a southerly direction.

“Pleasure is good.”

The intriguing cant of her mouth widened as her
hands followed the trail of heat. She cupped her hand over the erection already straining against the confines of his tuxedo trousers. “Passion.”

His vocal chords froze, rendering him incapable of speech.

She leaned into him, kissing his neck. Her tongue traced his jaw. “Hot…”

Her fingers explored his length through his trousers, driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Wet…”

There was no mistaking her intention when she rocked her bottom against his thighs. A tiny tremor shook her body at the erotic friction, making him impossibly harder.

“Deep,” she whispered. “Very, very deep.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Her warm breath fanned his skin. “Sex.”

He never had a chance to reply, because her mouth caught his, her tongue delving deep inside in fierce sensual demand. Her hands stroked his body, feeding his need. He cupped the back of her head in his hand, slanted his mouth and answered her demand, then demanded more.

He growled in protest when her hands left his body to fumble with something behind him on the sofa table. She whimpered in response, then scooted closer, rocking her hips against him in sexy simulation guaranteed to make him forget everything but the woman pulling him dangerously close to the edge.

The distinct tear of a foil packet rent the electrically charged air around them. By the time she ended the
kiss to free him from the confines of his trousers and shorts, he was breathing hard. He stared mesmerized as she held his length in her hand, her fingers wrapped around his shaft. When she sheathed him, he nearly came out of his skin.

This wasn’t how he envisioned fully making love to her the first time. He’d planned soft music, softer lights and the smooth luxury of red Egyptian-cotton sheets tangled around their bodies. He’d fantasized over and over having her beneath him, making her his in the most elemental way and watching her eyes as passion shook her. He gladly shoved his fantasies aside for the reality of her holding him in her slender, delicate hands.

The need to touch her intimately too strong to ignore, he slid his hand along the inside of her thigh, kneading the soft flesh as he inched closer to her moist heat.

A hiss of breath left his lungs in a rush. No satin or lace impeded his progress when his fingers found her dewy center. “Damn.” The single word came out a strained whisper. “No panties?”

Slowly, she moved her head from side to side. “Panty hose.” A soft moan interrupted her explanation when he separated her folds to slick his thumb over her most sensitive place. “Ruined,” she rasped. “Totally trashed.”

Whether it was the image of Emily wearing no panties beneath her elegant dress that stole his breath, or the way she closed her eyes, tossed her head back and strained toward his exploring fingers, he couldn’t say,
but he highly suspected both had a great deal to do with the throbbing of his erection. About all he could manage himself was a growl of appreciation for the sensual woman making him crazy with desire.

With her hands on his shoulders, she rose up on her knees again, granting him deeper access. Her body was hot, slick, growing wetter with each stroke of his fingers, each slide of his thumb over her folds.

“Come with me this time.” Her voice had grown huskier, more strained and sexier than even he’d imagined in his fantasies. He applied pressure to her swollen center. The pitch of her gentle moan of pleasure rose a full octave. He knew from their previous encounter, Emily could never be classified as a quiet lover, but never had the sound of pleasure filled him with such pure male satisfaction.

Need clawed his gut with greedy fingers. He struggled to hold it at bay for a while longer. Her movements became more demanding, but he held her back, too, prolonging the exquisite tension building inside them.

“I want you inside me,” she demanded. “I want to feel you there when I come.”

“You will, baby,” he promised. “You will.” But not yet.

Carefully, he took hold of her hips and eased her away from him. Her eyes filled with protest, until he moved in front of her on the floor and gently scooted her bottom to the edge of the leather.

Her folds glistened with moisture, her body primed for his. He’d never been so uncomfortably hard as he
was at this moment with Emily. He eased her thighs open and parted her, exposing the core of her pleasure. He circled and teased her with the tip of his finger, then slid it deep inside her, only to retreat and start again, until her back arched off the sofa.

He changed the pressure, holding her release just far enough out of her reach. Her musky scent rose around him, intoxicating him. He kissed her trembling thigh, then eased her open thighs farther apart before he dipped his head and stroked her heat with his tongue.

She whimpered, but the erotic sound soon coalesced into a primitive moan of deep gratification. He laved and suckled, teased and taunted her as her moisture spilled onto his tongue and the rate of her breathing increased with each deep stroke.

There was nothing gentle in the way she reached for him and pulled him to her, or in the way she took control of their lovemaking. With the skirt of her dress still gathered around her hips, she urged him back onto the sofa, then straddled his hips. She held his erection in her hand and lowered her body, consuming him deep into her slick heat.

Her breath caught and her eyes widened as she accepted the full, long hardness of him. Cupping the silky flesh of her bottom in his hands, he let her set the pace. Her movements were hard and demanding as she rode him, taking him deeper inside. Her soft cries of pleasure built and grew louder from her moist, parted lips, straining his already battered control.

He kept his gaze locked with hers, marveling at the shameless wonder combined with flaming passion
with each measured stroke of her body on his. Just when his control slipped to its lowest level, her fingertips dug into his shoulders and she upped the tempo, pushing them both closer to the final pinnacle, closer to the ultimate bliss of release.

The only sound more beautiful than her deep, heavy breathing or her tiny passionate mewls as the tension climbed higher and higher, was the unabashed outcry of pure ecstasy pouring from her mouth and spilling over him when he moved his hands to her hips and held her tight, then thrust upward. He rose to meet her, thrust for thrust, again and again until the fiery orgasm inflamed her completely. She strained, pushing harder against him. She tossed her head from side to side as the molten heat climbed and flowed around him. Her hair tumbled free, falling in a soft, golden cloud past her shoulders, but it was her cries and the tight clenching of her sex milking him that filled his mind seconds before his world exploded, shattering the final thread of his control.

Every cell in his body came vibrantly alive. The heavy beat of his heart pounded in his ears, through his veins. Electrically charged heat pulsed through his body, sending him over the edge with a force he hadn’t expected.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt Emily collapse against his chest. He centered on her breathing, as ragged as his own, as he held her close, marveling at the way their bodies remained intimately locked, slowly relaxing from the aftershocks of their loving.

The brush of her lips against his throat was as soft as
the barely decipherable words she whispered against his sweat-moistened skin.

But heaven help him, he’d heard her.

The words penetrated his brain like a death knell, chilling him to the bone, evaporating the warm glow of spent passion. Three little words, the ones he feared hearing the most… “I love you.”

D
REW STOOD
with his hands braced on the pristine white ceramic tile of the kitchen counter, impatiently drumming his fingers, waiting for the coffeemaker to finish its cycle. Emily hadn’t stirred in the time it took him to shower and dress. Quite frankly, he was in no mood to awaken her because then he’d have to face her.

He should’ve sent her packing last night after hearing her gently whispered declaration of love, but he’d compounded his own stupidity by pretending he hadn’t heard her. Instead, he’d carried her off to his bed and made love to her until the first gray fingers of dawn touched the darkened sky.

He muttered a vile string of curses capable of shaming even Gilda, the foul-mouthed parrot Cale had rescued. Drew didn’t care, not with his red-lining emotions making him edgy. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He hadn’t blanched much when he suspected he was falling for her, but to hear her say she loved him…No, he wouldn’t accept it. He couldn’t, not when he’d sworn a long time ago he could never accept the responsibility of being loved, of being the cause of such deep pain that living became unbearable.