Torch: The Wildwood Series (6 page)

“No. It rolled away. Lost all your champagne though.”

“That’s . . . disappointing.” She sounded breathless still. Why did he do this to her? Why was he the only one who could do this to her? Every time they were together, electricity seemed to crackle in the air, yet she fought the attraction between them with snarky comments and plenty of eye rolling. She didn’t want to feel this way toward Tate. Arrogant fire captains weren’t her type. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be good for her.

But most of her favorite things weren’t good for her. Pizza. Chocolate cake. And any kind of cake, really—she didn’t discriminate. Nachos. God, she adored nachos. Oh, and the occasional Frappuccino from Starbucks—those definitely weren’t good for her. Booze. Yeah, alcohol wasn’t good for her either, yet she’d been chugging champagne like water once that bottle was opened.

Huh. All of the bad things she indulged in were either food or drink, not men. Maybe she was smart, sticking to her no-date-with-Tate policy.

She started to laugh. No date with Tate. That was funny.

“Do you do this on a regular basis?” he asked.

Wren tried her best to contain her laughter, but it was hard. “Do what?”

“Get drunk? I feel like every time I see you lately, you’re buzzed.”

Well. His words were like a slap of sober reality right to the face. She stepped out of his arms and backed away, needing the distance. “I don’t always get drunk.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

He was making her feel like a lush. Like an alcoholic who couldn’t control her drinking when she was the furthest thing from that. She drank socially, but that was it.

Except for the time at the bar, when she ran into Tate. Or tonight, when she drowned her pitiful sorrows in champagne. Again, in front of Tate.

She was just having an off week. That was all.

“You seem to catch me at my worst moments,” she mumbled, feeling stupid. “I don’t normally drink like this.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his gaze steady and full of understanding. Like he really did know and wanted to be there for her anyway.

His serious expression, how he always seemed to be there for her no matter what, overwhelmed her. She took another backward step, nearly tripping over her dress again, and Tate moved toward her to offer his assistance.

But she held her hands out, stopping him. “I’m fine. Really. I just . . . I need to get out of here.”

Before he could utter a word, she turned.

And ran.

Chapter Seven

“W
REN, WAIT
!” T
ATE
took off after her, afraid she might do something to hurt herself, like trip over her own feet, or worse, climb into her car and take off.

He didn’t like the idea of her doing either of those things, so he chased her down, running around the side of Harper and West’s house and pushing through the wooden gate. He jogged across the tiny strip of grass that ran the length of the condos and stopped short when he saw Wren standing on the sidewalk, looking around confusedly before her gaze met his.

“Lost your car?” he asked as he approached her slowly.

She nodded, offering up a little shrug. “I shouldn’t drive.” Her head dropped, so she was staring at the ground. “There are a lot of things I shouldn’t do,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear.

He stopped beside her, reaching out to slide his fingers along her bare shoulder. She shivered beneath his touch, and for some strangely possessive reason that pleased him. “I’ll take you home.”

“Do you always rescue damsels in distress?” Wren lifted her head, her smile strained. She looked embarrassed, and he didn’t want that. Something was definitely bothering her, but she wasn’t comfortable enough with him to open up. And it was clearly something she didn’t feel comfortable enough revealing to her closest friends either. He had no idea what was going on inside that head of hers.

And he was sort of desperate to find out.

“The only damsel I want to rescue is you.” He meant every word. No other woman interested him. Only Wren. Was it because she didn’t like him? That she played so damn hard to get all the time? That she gave him nothing but crap? Though there wasn’t any playing when it came to Wren. She didn’t like him.

He wanted to change her mind and prove her wrong. He was a good guy when he wanted to be. And she was a challenge, when no other woman had been a challenge for him before . . .

“So you’re my knight in shining armor?”

“If that’s what you need me to be.”

She contemplated him, tilting her head to the side, her expression unreadable. Her glossy brown hair slid over her bare shoulder and he was tempted to brush it aside. Run his mouth along her skin and taste her with his tongue. But she was buzzed on champagne, and he wasn’t going to take advantage of her.

He frowned. Why did this sort of thing always happen between them? Since when did he turn into her rescuer when she was drunk?

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she finally asked. “When I’ve been nothing but a jerk to you.”

“I like feisty women.” That was much easier to say than
I like you
.

“When you call me feisty, is that code for bitchy and rude?”

Tate chuckled. “I would never call you bitchy and rude.”

“You should. I’ve been nothing but awful to you since the day we met.”

“Why is that anyway? You have something against me or what?” That was the magic question he’d been dying to ask since . . . the day they met. She’d acted almost hostile toward him that very first time. He’d worn her down a little bit, so at least now when they gave each other shit, some of it was teasing.

But some of it wasn’t—at least on her part. He was curious to know what exactly he did to piss her off so thoroughly.

She pressed her lips together, as if she’d already revealed too much. “Where’s your car?”

“Over there.” He let her subject change slide, figuring she didn’t want to talk about it. He was cool with that. After all, she’d be trapped in his car for the next fifteen minutes or so while he drove her home. They could either talk or she could pass out again. Though he wanted her awake tonight. Wanted to see if she was really as drunk as he thought, or maybe she wasn’t so buzzed after all.

Why? So you can see if she wants to get busy?

Tate made a face. Even his thoughts sounded stupid.

Without a word, he rested his hand at the small of Wren’s back and guided her out into the parking lot toward his car. He’d text West later, letting him know they’d left and apologizing for not saying goodbye.

The night was quiet. He could hear the wind rustle through the trees, the faint roar of traffic down on the main road that circled the lake. The condos were fairly close to Wildwood Lake, though West and Harper’s place didn’t have that coveted water view.

Wren lifted her face into the breeze as the cool mountain air washed over them, her eyes sliding closed for the briefest moment. “I can smell the pine trees,” she murmured, her eyes opening to meet his as they slowed their pace.

“I can barely smell them,” he admitted. When he first moved here the smell of all the pines that surrounded the town, the lake, the entire area had almost overwhelmed him. After living in Wildwood for almost a year, he barely noticed them anymore, with the exception of the change of seasons. Those first days of fall, the hushed quiet of winter and the snow that came along with it. The hint of spring and the budding flowers, accompanied by new needles sprouting on the majestic pines.

And those first real warm days of early summer—those were the days most pungent with the familiar piney smell. He imagined the trees braced themselves in preparation for those long hot days, days when there was so much potential for them to be destroyed.

Damn, he was feeling poetic all over a bunch of pine trees. Maybe he was the drunk one.

“You’d think after living here my entire life I wouldn’t notice either.” Wren shook her head. “But I always can. They’re my favorite part of living here. If I moved, where would I find a tree that smells as good as the ones that surround my hometown?”

“If you moved to Oregon or Washington, you could find plenty of pine trees,” he pointed out as they drew closer to his car. He pulled the keyless remote out of his front pocket and hit the button to unlock the doors.

“True. I don’t think I want to go that far though.”

He opened the door for her. “You want to leave Wildwood? Is that what you’re telling me?”

She climbed into his car, her gaze meeting his once she was settled in. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Huh. That would change a few things. If she was leaving, then he wouldn’t have to worry about her seeking something long term. They could mess around for that brief period of time until she left. No harm, no foul.

He liked the sound of that. A lot.

Slamming the passenger door, he jogged around the front of the car and opened his door, sliding in behind the steering wheel. He started the car, threw it into Reverse, and was about to back out of the spot when Wren reached out and rested her hand on his arm.

Tate met her gaze, taking in her grave expression, how serious her eyes looked. “What’s up?”

“I’ve not told anyone that I want to leave Wildwood. I can barely admit it to myself.” She laughed, but it was weak at best. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. No firm plans are in place or anything.”

He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. But when she didn’t, he said, “Your secret is safe with me.”

She squeezed his arm, and he felt that seemingly innocent touch like she’d gripped hold of his cock and stroked him into oblivion. He was hard and aching, just like that.

“Thank you, Tate,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, Dove,” he whispered back.

Wren didn’t even protest the nickname.

T
HIS TIME, SHE
didn’t fall asleep in Tate’s car. No, she remained wide-eyed and completely awake, which meant she wasn’t as drunk as she originally thought. He had an unopened bottle of water sitting in the center console, and she’d drunk half of it in the first five minutes of their drive.

She was trying her best to sober up. For what, she wasn’t exactly sure. But anticipation hung in the air between them, like a crackling energy that made her blood hot and her skin tingle. In the hushed confines of his car, it felt as if they were sitting extra close to each other, his thighs spread wide in that way guys sat, his knee reachable. She could reach out and rest her hand on his knee, if she wanted. Slide her hand up the inside of his thigh. Maybe even rub the front of his jeans and see if he had an erection or not . . .

Her cheeks went hot just thinking about it, and she was glad it was dark. Surely he’d ask her why her face was so red. He’d done that sort of thing before.

“You awake?” he asked.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” God, could he see her blush even in the dark? How embarrassing.

“Last time you were so quiet in my car you were snoring and whispering my name in your sleep,” he said.

She went completely still. “I did not.”

“You did too. You said my name, and when I asked you who you were dreaming about, you said me.” His voice was smug, and she sort of wanted to hit him.

Well, not really. The urge to grab his junk was stronger.

“I have never dreamed about you in my life.” Lies.

He chuckled. “It’s okay to admit it. I’ve dreamed about you.”

“You have?” She closed her eyes and thunked her head against the back of the seat. Could she sound any squeakier?

“Oh, yeah. Naked, tangled-up-in-each-other-and-the-sheets type dreams.” He hit the brakes and came to a stop at an intersection, turning to look at her. His eyes were hooded, and they glittered in the dim light as he watched her, waiting for her reaction. She knew he said that just to shock her, and it worked. The longer he stared at her, the harder she found it to breathe. She saw everything in those pretty green eyes. Heat. Hunger.

All of it aimed directly at her.

“Aren’t you afraid I might find that . . . offensive?” She wrinkled her nose, hoping he’d believe her. He shouldn’t. She didn’t think his dreams sounded offensive at all. More like sexy. More like the type of dream she wanted to try to reenact with him, to see if the real thing was just as good.

“Everything I say you usually find offensive. So what’s the point in holding back?” He hit the gas, his SUV lurching forward and making her chest jerk against her seat belt. “Do you remember your dream about me?”

“No.”

He made a tsking noise. “That’s too bad.”

She agreed wholeheartedly.

“If you could live anywhere, where would it be?” He asked the question casually but she could tell he was digging for information. She was fine with it too. She’d already confessed her deepest, darkest secret to Tate, and he promised he’d never tell a soul. She believed him. So why not spill everything?

“San Francisco,” she answered, nibbling on her lower lip the moment the words slipped out. She’d never admitted that to anyone before. Not her friends, not her family, no one.

“Why San Francisco?”

“It’s a beautiful city. When I was a little kid my parents would take us there, and I always dreamed of living there.”

“It’s expensive.”

“I know.”

“And crowded.”

“I can handle it.” Was he arguing with her on purpose?

“I grew up in Berkeley.”

She turned in her seat to look at him, shock coursing through her veins. “You did?”

He nodded, never taking his gaze off the road. “My parents both work at the university.”

“Shut up. UC Berkeley?” She hadn’t said those words in a long time, and they felt foreign, almost like they tripped off her tongue and fell into the atmosphere.

Levi had gone to UC Berkeley. He’d dumped her to have the full college experience, as he’d phrased it to her that night. She’d heard enough rumors to know he’d maxed out the college living too. Joining a frat, partying hard, and nearly flunking out.

“Yeah. I was their biggest disappointment.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t get in.”

“Shut. Up.” She started to laugh. “Me either!”

“You wanted to go to Cal?” He sounded shocked.

Should she tell him the real reason she tried to get in there? So she could flaunt herself in front of Levi and remind him of what he’d lost? No, she sounded pitiful even in her own head. “I applied all over California but specifically targeted colleges close to the Bay Area.”

“Did you get into any of them?”

“No.” This was the painful part. “I got into Fullerton and Fresno State but couldn’t get enough scholarship money to pay for it all.”

“Not even grant money? Student loans?”

“I was a dependent on my parents’ tax returns. They made too much money for me to qualify for much of anything, and they really couldn’t afford to pay for my tuition. So I went to the local community college and got my associate’s degree.” Lame. It embarrassed her that she didn’t graduate college. Harper had. Delilah hadn’t, but she owned her own business. Wren may have invested in Delilah’s studio, but she wasn’t a full partner yet.

She wasn’t much of anything yet, and that stung. More than she cared to admit, especially to herself.

“What about you? Were your parents really disappointed you couldn’t get in?” she asked when he didn’t say anything.

“They knew deep down I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t cut out for school. Not college at least. I could hold my own and my grades were decent, but I wasn’t a brainiac like them. I preferred being outdoors, playing sports, working hard. I hated living in the city. I would’ve given anything to grow up in a town like this.”

How funny. She would’ve given anything to get out of this town. “Always wanting what you can’t have?”

He shot her a glance. “Something like that.”

“But you finally got your wish. Now you live here.”

“I love it, too. Wildwood is a great town. I love my job. I feel lucky.”

“More like hard work got you here, I’m thinking.”

“Says the battalion chief’s daughter.”

Ugh. Her father always had to come back into it. “My father’s retired.”

“You know what it’s like though, living with a firefighter. How they’re always gone, especially in the summer.”

“Sometimes working, sometimes not,” she muttered under her breath. God, she really didn’t want to stroll down memory lane and reminisce about her father’s affairs. Didn’t Tate know the background story about Wayne Gallagher? Hadn’t someone filled him in by now?

She knew this—she didn’t want to be the one to have to tell the story.