Hot Nights with the Fireman (20 page)

“It's a reasonable question. I told you I have learning disabilities. I will never be able to hold a white-collar job. I don't really fit into your Ivy League world. You are smarter than me. Does that bother you?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer. It came quickly.

“That's ridiculous. Just because I'm good at school-type things doesn't make me smarter than you. You do all sorts of things in your job that I can't begin to know how to do.”

“Physical things. Not book things.”

“So?”

“So my learning disability, which could be looked at as scars, doesn't bother you. Please give me the same courtesy of believing your scars don't bother me.” It took a long minute until a smile spread her lips.

“You're not bothered?”

He shook his head.

“You think I'm beautiful?”

Big nod. “You think I'm smart?”

Her turn to nod.

“You're not going to ditch me for a law professor in a tweed suit?”

She grinned. “I can't predict the future. I
do
have a thing for tweed.”

He tugged her off the couch. “C'mere.” She straddled him and brought her lips to his, and he immediately thought of them naked in bed doing dirty, dirty things to each other. Only this time there was an openness to Valerie, a freeness he hadn't missed before because he hadn't realized how much of herself she was hiding. That night, they would let it all hang out.

They finally made it to his bedroom. Her shoes flew into a corner with a well-executed kick. Her pants dropped off her seductively and were left in a small heap on the carpet by the bed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jason yanking at his shirt with his cast-enclosed wrist and unbuttoning his jeans with his other hand. “Let me help.” She sauntered totally nude over to him and reached to pull the shirt up over his head.

“Sexy,” Jason murmured, leaning down and teasing his tongue over her nipples. She backed up to the bed and he followed, still teasing her with his mouth. She reached to unbutton the thick metal buttons lined in a row down his crotch. Each one undone revealed the thin white underwear he wore underneath. His defined pectorals clenched. He was the sexy one, and he didn't realize how much, which made him a million times sexier.

He shucked his jeans down to his ankles and stepped out of them. Every long inch of his erection was visible in his tight boxer briefs.

She ran a fingernail over the stretched fabric and he visibly shuddered. “Off,” she ordered.

“You're bossy. I like it. Is this the real you? No more hiding?” He lost the rest of his clothing and scooped her up to toss her gently on the bed. “Now stop ordering me around or those stockings you used to hide your legs are going to be tying you to my bed.”

“Not around my mouth to shut me up?” she teased.

“Nah. I have plans for that mouth.” His strong body pushed her into the mattress as his mouth came down over hers. Their tongues danced while their hands glided over each other's bodies. He brought her bliss, joy. She hoped she gave him the same. In fact, she felt bursting with joy. She'd revealed everything to Jason, and he'd accepted her. Scars and all.

She couldn't stop running her hands all over his skin as if she couldn't touch him enough, couldn't get close enough to him. She wanted him under her skin.

When his fingers found their way between her thighs, she moaned. She was wet and aching at his touch, and he'd barely started. Their kisses remained intense as his fingers started to match his rhythm.

“Jason,” she managed to gasp out when his lips moved to her neck and clavicle. She wanted to touch him as intimately as he touched her, and reached with one hand between their bodies to where she felt the press of his hard cock against her belly.

His hips swiveled and he moved out of her reach. “Uh-uh.”

For the first time ever, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him back down to lie on top of her. She lost her inhibitions about his feeling her scars on his back and realized she'd never felt this good and open during sex before. As good as it had been with him before, tonight was a million times better because her fear was completely gone. She wasn't hiding anything.

“You're torturing me,” she groaned, flinging a palm across her forehead, but his mouth kept going kissing and nibbling at her nipples. “Where are you going?” She sat up on her elbows when Jason abandoned her to stand by the bed.

“C'mere.” He crooked a finger on his healthy hand. “I'm having trouble holding myself up on one arm.”

Good answer. She scooted over to sit on her knees in front of him. His hard cock pointed directly at her sternum and she leaned over to suck him into her mouth, rewarded with his groan. She'd missed his taste almost as much as she'd missed him. His hand threaded through her hair, bringing her closer then gently pushing her back.

“I want to make love to you,” he said softly. Since she wanted the same, she pulled back.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She gave him a quizzical glance, but obeyed.

“On your hands and knees.” His large palm flattened over her spine as he helped her into this fantasy position. She'd never done this before. Her ass and more were completely exposed to him. The sound of foil ripping had her turning back.

“No. Turn. Around.” She shivered at the gritty quality of his voice, thick with desire.

Her whole body gave an involuntary quiver at the domination and desire she heard in the order. And then his hands were on her hips, tugging her back into position, while the tip of his penis breached her damp passage.

Jason slid fully into her until his body rested against her ass. He felt enormous inside her. The position made her aware of every inner muscle and nerve ending, and it seemed his cock touched each one, especially as he pulled out then pushed his way back in.

“Oh,” she cried out.

“Okay?” he asked, slowing his thrusts.

“I…yes. I've never done it like this before,” she confessed. It was more than the position that felt new. Everything tonight felt fresh and new. “I feel you more like this. Is it the same for you?”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted out, sliding in then out. Her hips were grasped firmly in his hands, and he pushed and pulled her in counterpoint to his thrusts. “Play with yourself, Val. I want to feel you come.”

It took her a minute to understand what he was asking her to do, but by this time his forceful thrusts electrified her body to the point he could've asked her to do anything and she would've begged for it.

Balanced on one slightly shaky arm, she reached between their joined bodies to find her point of pleasure and do as ordered. The minute her fingertip found her clit, she lost her balance and collapsed onto her front. Jason maintained their connection and followed her down, never stopping his thrusting. Now his fingers squeezed between the mattress and her body to cover her fingers and roughly massage her swollen bead.

When she was close to coming, she crawled forward and rolled onto her back, scooting down the bed until her bottom was at the edge. “I want to see you,” she said.

“Same.” He angled himself to penetrate her again, only this time the sexy games were gone. Now, face-to-face, eyes wide open, they made love to each other. Their pace slowed as their bodies undulated, less about seeking a culmination and more about finding connection.

For long moments, he slid slowly in and out of her as she moved in counterpoint.

“Missed this,” he murmured over the sound of their bodies sliding over the sheets.

“I missed
you
,” she said. Her words seemed to trigger something in Jason, who grabbed her thigh with his good hand and increased his tempo. Thrust after thrust he rocked into her body until her body broke apart, and she lost herself to an endless ever-growing orgasm that seemed to encompass her entire body.

“Jason,” she cried.

“I've got you, baby.” The tenderness with which he held her as the tiny quakes echoed through her trembling body brought tears to her eyes. She clutched at his shoulders, trying to convey with her lips how necessary he was in her life.

Jason quickly followed with his own peaked pleasure and gave a final thrust before collapsing onto the mattress, half lying over her. They reclined, breathing hard on the bed for long moments trying to recover, before Jason crawled fully into bed, pulling her next to him.

They didn't speak, there was no need; their lovemaking had said it all. He was hers, and she was it for him for all their future nights.

Romance author Lynne Silver writes the popular Coded for Love series and other hot contemporary romance novels, such as
Two for Love
and
Love, Technically
. Before writing romance, she wrote fiction of a different sort, drafting press releases for technology corporations. Washington, DC, is her home (non) state, where she resides with her husband and two sons.

 

Learn more at:

LynneSilver.com

Twitter, @LynneSilver

Facebook.com/LynneSilverAuthor

 

 

Turn the page for a preview of the next book in the sexy Alpha Heroes series,

Available Fall 2015

L
ast summer if you'd told Arianna Rose she'd be walking alone through her Georgetown neighborhood on a sultry Saturday night, she would've laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the forecast. And then gone on to flirt with the bartender for another free drink, because Arianna Rose didn't
do
alone on a weekend. For that matter, she wasn't often spotted alone on any night of the week. But times change and people change. Which was why Ari was strolling solo up the incline of Wisconsin Avenue, past the Apple Store toward the art gallery she called home. Her life had changed.

Not everything had changed; she still didn't cook. A grocery sack full of the essentials—wine, take-out sushi, more wine, and bottled water—filled her arms and made navigating the brick sidewalk in her ubiquitous stilettos tricky. A lesser woman would've turned an ankle by now, and Ari might also if a cute guy was nearby and available to help with the grocery bag. But for now, she enjoyed her walk through the twilight and used the time to mentally make a to-do list for the upcoming gallery show.

She paused for a moment when she was about a block from home.

“Hi, Sam, your favorite Delivery Diva is here,” she said, forcing a smile on her face for the benefit of a man who never returned the gesture and was wrapped in a blanket, despite the sweltering summer heat.

A narrow brown eye peeped out at her. “What's on the menu tonight?”

Skirting to the side of the overly stuffed, torn duffel bag, Ari reached into her grocery bag and pulled out a take-out container. “BLT on wheat.” Gently she set the container down.

“Prefer white,” came the usual gruff answer.

“Wheat's healthier. You're welcome,” she called, straightening and turning to leave.

“Something going on up there,” Sam said and jerked his head toward the direction of her place. “Looks like your place. Better go see.” Oh, now he smiled in the face of possible disaster.

“Thanks.” Roughly five feet from her gallery, she stopped to heft the bag higher and peer at a crowd clustered around her front window. What was going on?

She pushed her way through the throng to her front door but stopped in horror. Her gallery. The glass from her big picture window lay in a million sharp shards all over the sidewalk like glittering fairy dust. The gathered crowd murmured and peered into her shop.

“What happened? Who did this?” She grabbed the shoulder of a boy wearing a navy Georgetown hoodie. “Did you see who did this?” she said on a wild accusation.

“Nope. I was walking by when I saw the damage.” He looked at her with interest and sudden insight. “Is this your place?”

She nodded blindly, no longer looking at Joe Hoya college boy. Were her paintings okay? Her precious canvases? It would be terrible to have to call her artists and explain that their babies were damaged.

“Damn, you better call the police.” He whistled and strolled off down the hill.

He was right. This was an act of vandalism. Or terrorism, and any other
ism
she could think of. “Excuse me.” Ari pushed by two other gawkers to her door. A quick turn of her key, and she entered her gallery able to see the damage more clearly. She spun on one heel feeling tremors begin to climb up her spine. Most paintings looked safe enough, but blood-red spray paint slashed across her favorite painting of a lush modern view of a garden.

“Not
Club Lily
.” The grocery bag lowered to the wooden floor with a loud
thunk
. The words defacing the canvas barely registered. Her hands shook as she pulled out her cell phone to dial 911.

Thirty endless minutes later, two men in blue stood, pads in hand, taking in her scene of destruction. The crowd outside had dispersed, but as it was Georgetown on a Saturday night, there was a constant stream of gawkers and, of course, a lot of flashes as strangers clicked photos on their cell phones. Great, with her luck of late, she'd end up trending on social media. Had they never seen vandalism before?

“Okay, Ms. Rose. I think we have everything we need.” Officer Reese shut his notebook with a snap.

“That's it?” Ari asked. “How soon until you make an arrest?”

The officers exchanged a look, and the younger, almost handsome one turned to her. “It's unlikely an arrest will be made.”

“What…what do you mean? Didn't you get fingerprints? Is there DNA on the painting?” They had to find the culprits. Someone had to pay for their despicable crime.

Again with the looks, this time accompanied by stifled grins. “Ms. Rose, that's spray paint on the canvas. Not blood. No DNA involved.”

“But can't you find some evidence
somewhere
?” she asked, annoyance and fear threading her tone. Mostly fear. The threat spray painted on the canvas was starting to penetrate.

“Sorry, the guy was too good. Check out your surveillance cameras.” The officer pointed up at one of the three surveillance cameras in the gallery. Red spray paint covered the camera lens with tiny drops spattered onto the floor below it. “I'm guessing the culprit entered through the back door”—he looked at her pointedly, and she flushed at the not-so-subtle reminder that she'd left her back door unlocked—“sprayed the paint, then tossed the brick through the window and ran. Spray paint can come from anywhere.” He pointed in the direction up the street. “Could've come from Monarch Paint. Or from the Home Depot across the bridge. Nearly impossible to track.”

“But what about the threat? Shouldn't you take that seriously?” The words
Die rich bitch
marred the beautiful painting and made her shiver with fear.

“Look, Ms. Rose, we'll see what we can do, but in all honesty, it's probably someone blowing off some steam. Someone's taking their anger toward your father out on you.”

Tears threatened to spill but she blinked them back and swallowed hard. This was why she was alone on a Saturday night. Because thanks to her infamous, criminal father, her friends, save one, had abandoned her. It was bad enough no one wanted to come close enough for the taint to rub off, including her own mother, but now people were taking the cold shoulder to the next level. Getting ignored by people she could handle. Outright violence was no-go, but she had to suck it up.

When the whole mess had started, she'd made the choice to put on a brave front. She hadn't shown an ounce of weakness to the authorities investigating her father, and she didn't plan on starting now. “That's not fair,” she told the police. “
I've
done nothing wrong. I learned about my dad's scam the same day as everyone else in the country. My only perk was that I got to hear it from the FBI, not
The Washington Post
.” Her words ended on a hiccup. So much for disguising her fear.

“That's life,” the officer said. “It's not fair that my cousin can't retire next year because he lost his savings to your dad, but that's the way it goes.”

“But your cousin's not throwing bricks through my gallery windows and threatening to murder me in my sleep,” Ari said, motioning toward the horrible words sprayed across the painting.

“No,” he agreed, “but he sure would like to.” He turned toward the door, the other officer close on his heels. “You've got insurance, right? I recommend you sweep up the glass and make a claim with insurance.”

“That's it?” Ari fisted her hands on her hips and spoke over the other officer's obvious warning coughs and throat clearing. “My dad wrongs your family, so you're going to basically ignore this crime?” she asked.

He frowned and shook his head at her. “We'll be in touch if we gain any leads. In the meantime, get your window fixed and use your alarm,” he said and exited.

Ari glared at the closing door then headed downstairs to hunt for a broom. Hiding upstairs in her bedroom to have a good cry and to uncork the bottle of wine currently lying on its side in the middle of the room would be her first choice, but she didn't get to have a pity party now. She unearthed a rarely used broom from the oft-used basement. She headed back upstairs to start cleaning up the disaster. The sun came down in roughly half an hour, and sleeping alone in a wide-open Georgetown row home was not her idea of fun.

“Val, please be home,” she said, dialing her cell phone with one hand and sweeping haphazardly with the other. A few rings and her longtime BFF finally picked up. Valerie was the one friend who'd stuck by her side when the news of Stanley Rose's grand Ponzi scheme had broken. For that she was forever grateful.

“Ari, are you okay?” Valerie Moore answered with an urgency that had Ari wondering whether Val had a sixth sense and knew how bad her day was.

“Val. I need your help.” That was the other thing that had changed: admitting weakness. She'd lived all twenty-seven years of her life playacting that everything was fine. When Mom moved out to live with her new boyfriend when Ari was seven, she'd been “fine.” And when Dad had pulled her from her school to enroll her in an all-girls prep school in a new city? Fine with her. She'd been so fine at age twenty, she'd slapped on a smile and a new dress to play bridesmaid for her mom's third marriage. But seeing her beloved father's name and face on the cover of every newspaper and blog in the world next to the headline
CRIMINAL
had forced Ari to reassess her definition of “fine.”

“Absolutely, what do you need?” Val said without pause, reminding Ari for the trillionth time why she was her best friend.

“Can you send…hang on a sec.” She lowered the phone as a flash of light shone through the storefront's shattered glass. “Enough with the pictures. It's just a freaking broken window!” she yelled to the people hovering around outside her gallery. Then she noticed these weren't the average pedestrians taking an interest. This was a full-blown news crew.
Shit.
Word had spread, and the press had obviously decided her vandalized gallery was more interesting than her father's McLean home, where he'd been on house arrest until the trial.

“Arianna.” Valerie's voice came sharply on the line. “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

Arianna turned her back out of view of the prying camera lens, and answered Val. “I've been better. If you turn on Channel Five, you'll see what's going on.”

“Sweetie, it'll be okay. They'll find your dad.” Val's annoyance came through loud and clear. “I can't believe it.”

Ari froze, camera in hand, suddenly not caring that the press was having a field day capturing her image like she was a deer in the headlights. “What do you mean, they'll find Dad? What are you talking about?”

There was total silence, and then Valerie said, “You don't know?”

“Know what?”

“He pulled a Harry Houdini act. He's gone, Ari.”

“What?” she screeched. “Is that why I have news cameras in front of my gallery?”

“Unless you put the porn picture up again, I'm guessing yes.”

“It's not porn. It's art,” she protested. “And no. The press is here because some jerk decided to take his anger for my dad out on me. He tossed a brick through my window and defaced a painting.” The events of the day caught up, and she left the broken window to run to her back office and collapse onto her office chair, letting the broom fall against the desk with a loud clatter. “I have a gallery full of glass shards and a possible stalker gunning to kill me. And now my dad's missing,” she wailed.

“Oh, Ari, no,” Val said with deep concern. “I'm calling Jason. I'll be right over.”

“Really? That would be amazing, although I hate bothering you,” she said, feeling instant relief wash through her at the thought of reinforcements.

“Don't be ridiculous, friends bother one another. It's in the job description. We'll be there soon.”

“Great. I need someone to sit in the gallery while I make a Home Depot run.”

“You stay put. Jason and I will go to Home Depot. What do you need?”

Ari's stomach unknotted with relief at not having to navigate the huge box store after hearing her dad had pulled a runner. “Are you sure? I hate to ask?”

“Of course I'm sure. What to you need?”

“Um, let me think…a wooden board to cover the broken window and a vacuum cleaner,” Ari said. “A big one. What do they call it? A Shop-Vac?”

A pause from Val. “Okay, got it.”

“This is great of you.” Ari hung up feeling slightly less depressed. Val's capable, handsome firefighter husband would solve the gaping window-hole problem, and she could deal with everything else that now had to be dealt with such as the insurance company and her big gallery show plans. There was also the tiny but significant detail of her missing father. She instinctively grabbed her cell phone to call her father. They'd had one brief conversation ten months ago when this whole disaster began, but it had been radio silence since. Dad said he was protecting her, that he'd messed up and didn't want her to get caught up in his mistakes. Well, good going, Dad. As the only remaining member of the Rose family, she was buried in it now.

She dialed the old cell number and it went straight to voice mail as usual. A few months ago she'd called daily wanting her father to protect her, to tell her the FBI was mistaken, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding. But he'd stopped answering her calls, and she'd had ten long months to adjust to the idea of her father as a thief. She'd finally got the message loud and clear and stopped calling. Until today.

She waited for the shrill beep. “Dad? It's me. Ari. I…heard you're missing. I'm, um, calling to…”
To what? Beg him to come out of hiding? Talk about your Disney fantasies.
“I'm just calling.” She hung up and sat in silence for a long minute until the noise outside her gallery forced her into action. Her father's business was her father's business, and she refused to take the fall for him. The paparazzi had to go.