The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  Despite my lingering jet lag, today has been one of the best days I can remember. It’s obvious how much Oliver loves London. He’s said more than once he’s not sure why he ever left. And after only one day, I can see why. I’m not sure I could live here, but I’d be amenable to visiting a lot.

  We walk up dozens of steps—the very steps on which my parents met—and I already feel closer to them. The church is breathtaking. Tourists are snapping pictures from every angle. Inside, a few people are sitting in pews, praying. A mother is trying to keep her rambunctious child quiet. An old man is lighting a candle.

  “Come,” Oliver says, offering me his hand.

  He leads me to the front of the sanctuary. We stop and stand at the altar, Oliver turning to face me almost like a groom facing his bride. “We could get married here if you want,” he says. “Just as your parents did. I’m sure they have an enormous waiting list, so it could be years away. But I just wanted to put it out there.”

  I think about what he said. Years away. And somehow, hearing those words makes the thought of marrying him not so daunting. Years. I’d have years to get to know him again. And he’s willing to wait that long.

  “Maybe,” I say, looking at our surroundings.

  “Come again?” he whispers a little too loudly.

  “I said maybe.”

  “Sara, I would pick you up and twirl you around right now if I didn’t think they’d throw us out on our bums.”

  “Shhh,” I scold him, like the mother who was scolding her boisterous son. “People are praying.”

  He looks out at the solemn parishioners. “Maybe they need to know that prayers are sometimes answered.”

  Oliver smiles at me and I feel myself flush. It’s the first time I’ve truly had this reaction around him.

  Coming here was a good thing. Getting away from New York may have been just what I needed to get back to normal. Or start my new normal.

  “Your mom asked me if we were planning on having children,” I say.

  He raises a brow. “And what did you tell her?”

  I shift uncomfortably. Standing at the front of a church is probably not where we should be having this conversation.

  “I said I couldn’t remember and that we hadn’t discussed it yet. She told me she thought I’d make a great mother.”

  “Did she now?” he says with a grin.

  He looks over at the mother and child, studying them. “I think my mum is right, you’d make a great mother, Sara. But I’m not sure I’m ready to be a dad, luv. I think I could be. In time. The concept of children is all very new to me. I think you’d have to be patient with me.”

  “Like you’ve been patient with me,” I say, smiling up at him.

  He tucks my hair behind my ears. “Anything for you.”

  I look up at him, thinking of everything he’s done for me today. Everything he’s done for me over the past few months. He’s not asked anything of me. Not one time. Other than a few bumps when I first arrived home, he’s been the perfect man. I often ask myself how a man can be so patient and understanding.

  “I think I’m ready to take the next step, Ollie.”

  I feel myself blush.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  I nod.

  “Dear Lord.” He looks around and then grabs my hand. “I think we’d better get out of here before lightning strikes us dead talking about such things on the altar of a church before we’re properly hitched.”

  I laugh as I let him lead me back up the aisle. And I wonder if one day, we’ll make this same walk as man and wife.

  Then I feel a twinge of guilt in my chest. I try to ignore it—after all, I’m doing what everyone said I should do. Aren’t I?

  ~ ~ ~

  Dinner with Ollie’s family tonight was filled with stolen glances between the two of us. We both know what’s going to happen when we retire to his old bedroom. I’m nervous. He’s excited. His family is oblivious.

  He makes up an excuse as to why we can’t watch old home movies after cleaning up.

  “We’re still a bit laggy,” he says to them. “Give us another day to get used to the time change, will you?”

  “Of course,” Enid says. “Take all the time you need.” She pulls me in for a hug. “I had a time of it today, luv. You’re perfect for my Ollie. I hope you know that.”

  “Thank you, Enid.”

  Oliver winks at me as I hug his mom. I can tell he’s impatient. He’s waited a long time for this.

  “Goodnight, then,” she says as we walk up the stairs.

  They all watch us walk away, and I feel more than a little self-conscious knowing I’m about to have sex with Oliver in his parents’ house. I wave awkwardly at the three of them before we round the corner on the landing.

  Behind closed doors, Ollie pulls me in for a kiss. Then he looks at my clothes and cocks his head. “I don’t suppose you brought one of those little numbers I gave you as a welcome home gift.”

  I shake my head. “No. I didn’t anticipate this.”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Truth be told, I’d rather fancy seeing you without anything on at all.”

  I look nervously at the bed.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. I’m just going to pop in the washroom for a quick shower. You make yourself comfortable.”

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, hearing him brush his teeth before the shower turns on. I have nothing to wear for such an occasion, so I decide a t-shirt will have to do. I search my things for one. I come across the FDNY t-shirt Denver gave me. I pick it up and run my hand across it, closing my eyes as my fingers peruse the soft cotton. Part of me wonders why I packed it when I was going on a trip with Ollie.

  A wave of guilt washes over me. I put the shirt back in the drawer, tucking it under all the other shirts as if to put a barrier between it and myself.

  I pick another one and put it on, figuring it’ll have to do. But suddenly, I’m not in the mood for anything but cuddling up to my cat and dreaming about eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

  I sit back on the bed, trying to remember all the wonderful things Oliver did for me today. He deserves this. I hear a noise come from the bathroom and listen closely to hear him singing. He’s singing in the shower. I can’t help but giggle.

  Then my phone rings, which surprises me. Few people ever call me, and those who do, know I’m in London. I look at the screen to see Denver’s face. I shake my head at the timing.

  “Hi, Denver.”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No. It’s not even ten o’clock here.”

  “Good. Is Oliver with you now?”

  “Yes. Well, he’s in the bathroom, but he’s here. Why?”

  “Can you make an excuse to get away for a bit?”

  “We were just about to get into bed, so I doubt it.”

  Talking to Denver right before I’m supposed to make love to Oliver makes my insides twist in a knot. I wonder if he thinks we’re sleeping together. I’m sure he does. I’m sure everyone does. We’re engaged, after all.

  “It’s important, Sara. Just go in another room or in the back yard or something. Somewhere you can speak freely without anyone hearing. You and Oliver aren’t alone there, are you?”

  My heart starts beating wildly. “Denver, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “Are you and Oliver alone?”

  “No. His parents and little sister are home.”

  I hear his sigh of relief come through the phone. “Good. Just go somewhere and call me right back.”

  “Okay.”

  What can I tell Oliver when he’s expecting me naked in bed? And what could possibly be so important, and secret, that Denver needs to speak to me privately?

  I walk to the bathroom and crack the door. “Ollie, I’ve decided I need a shower myself. I’m going to use the guest bathroom. Give me twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, luv,” he says, his happy words
echoing off the tile walls.

  I put my jeans back on and grab a towel and my phone and head downstairs. I peek in the living room to see Enid and Harry watching a show. Octavia must have gone upstairs to bed.

  Once I’m in the bathroom, I call Denver.

  “Are you alone?” he asks.

  “I’m in the downstairs bathroom. I have twenty minutes. Can you please tell me what’s going on now?”

  “Turn on the water so nobody hears you.”

  “Seriously? Why all the secrecy?”

  “Do it, Sara.”

  I roll my eyes and then do as he asks. I turn on the shower and close the lid to the toilet before I sit down on it. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Sara, the police found your phone today. The one you lost in the accident. And it still works.”

  Instantly, I’m excited about having a link to the past. “They did? Where?”

  “It was discovered during a bridge inspection. It had fallen through a crevice. The case was beat up, but since it was waterproof, all they had to do was plug it in and turn it on. You really should password protect your phone, by the way.”

  “I do,” I say. Then I let out a sigh. “Well, I do now. So how did you end up with it?”

  “I have a buddy at NYPD who was familiar with your accident. He called me when they found out it was yours.”

  “Well, I’m glad they found it. I’m excited to be able to go through my pictures and stuff. It might help fill in some blanks.”

  “It will do a lot more than that,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t be mad, Sara, but I looked at some of your text messages. Now before you yell at me, I should tell you that as soon as the phone turned on, there were some alarming text previews from Oliver that my friend brought to my attention. I started to worry with you being so far away, so I read the thread.”

  I can’t decide if that makes him a nosey meddler or a curious protector. I choose to go with the latter and not get mad. After all, everything he’s done for me, he’s done with only the best intentions.

  “I’m not mad. But you must have found something pretty interesting to go through all this trouble.” The bathroom is steaming up, so I reach into the shower and turn on the cold water instead. “I’m not sure how long I can pretend to take a shower.”

  “I’m going to send you a series of screen shots. It’s too hard for me to explain it over the phone. Plus, in my experience, the messenger is the one who always gets killed, so I’d prefer you read it rather than me telling you.”

  “You think I’m going to be mad at you for the texts? I didn’t even know you.” My back stiffens. “Did I?”

  “No, you didn’t know me. But you’re going to be mad, that’s for sure. And Sara, if I don’t hear back from you in short order, I’m calling the London police.”

  I gasp. “Why would you need to do that? Denver, you’re really starting to freak me out.”

  “Just hang up and wait for the screen shots. I’ve loaded them all into one email that I’m sending you now. Read all of them, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Call me right back,” he says. “Got it?”

  “Okay, geez. I’m hanging up now. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  I’m not sure why, but after I hang up the phone, I get up and lock the bathroom door. Denver has me completely on edge.

  I immediately check my email, but don’t see anything. I keep refreshing impatiently until it shows up. By the time I get it, I’m shaking. What could possibly have Denver prepared to call the police?

  I open the email and start scrolling through the screenshots of a text conversation between me and Oliver dated two days before my accident.

  Ollie: You’re blowing this way out of proportion.

  Me: You’re kidding me, right? You STOLE Benny Klutner’s paintings, kept them for yourself, and gave knock-offs to his paying clients. I assume you meant to sell the stolen ones somewhere else and keep the money for yourself? I may be a class-A bitch, but I can’t sit back and be a party to this.

  Benny? I remember hearing Oliver on the phone with him a few times. He would always leave the room when Benny called. And then he would tell me it was nothing.

  Ollie: Oh, like you’re Snow White.

  Me: I told you last night—it’s over. I’m going to Benny and then to the cops.

  Ollie: You don’t want to do that, Sara.

  Me: Of course I do, Oliver. You’re shitting on the very foundation on which my career stands. People like Benny and me, we sell original paintings. One-of-a-kind creations. If anyone ever found out there were duplicates, let alone knock-offs that weren’t painted by him, his career would be ruined, and you’d go to jail.

  Ollie: No one will ever find out if you don’t tell them. I was going to stash them away for a few years and then sell them overseas. Why can’t you just forget you saw them? What were you doing rummaging around my apartment, anyway?

  I look up from the phone. His apartment? His, not ours. My heart is pounding so hard, it hurts. I glance up at the ceiling, wondering if he’s done with his shower. Then I try to quickly get through the rest of the screenshots.

  Me: Looking for evidence. I know you’ve been fucking Anna. I’ve known for months.

  Ollie: What do you care who I shag? You never call me when you’re back in town. You never invite me over to your place. The only thing you want me for is my cock.

  Me: And the only thing you want me for is my bank account.

  Ollie: It’s why we make such a good couple. Let it go, Sara.

  Me: Let what go? The paintings or Anna?

  Ollie: Both. You know I’ll make it up to you when I return from San Francisco tomorrow.

  Me: When you return from SF, you’ll find all the shit from your drawer in a box at the concierge desk. I told you I’m done. I don’t want anything more to do with you.

  Ollie: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

  Me: Are you threatening me?

  Ollie: I’m just saying, I know a lot about you. Your past. Your indiscretions. I have a lot of connections. People who will believe a reputable art dealer over a wet-behind-the-ears artist.

  Me: Are you saying you’ll try to ruin my reputation?

  Ollie: I’m saying I’ll go to great lengths to protect what’s mine.

  Me: Those paintings aren’t yours, Oliver. And neither am I. Now, what is it you always tell people? Sod off. Don’t ever contact me again.

  Ollie: You’ll be sorry.

  Tears drip onto the phone, blurring the screen as I read the last bits of the conversation. I can’t catch my breath. My body shakes with sobs. Mostly because I’m confused. My first inclination is to storm into Oliver’s room and show him the texts. But if he’s really as bad as those texts make him out to be, would he even admit to any of it? Would he tell me the truth?

  I scroll through the screen shots again. Then I text Denver.

  Me: Can you see if I have the number for Benny Klutner in my old phone?

  Denver: That’s a good idea. I’ll check and send it right over.

  A minute later, Benny’s contact info appears in a text. I immediately call the number.

  “Who the fuck is this?” a man with a German accent answers the phone. There is a lot of noise in the background.

  “Benny?”

  “What’s it to you? And how in the hell did you get this number?”

  “This is Sara Francis.”

  I hear some shuffling around on the other end of the phone. Then a door slams. Then, silence.

  “Sara? Is that really you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard you were in an accident.”

  “I was. I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time, Benny. But I need some answers.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I … lost my memory. I don’t remember you. But I just read some texts between me and Oliver Compton. Did I ever call you and tell you … and tell you …”

  �
��That the fucking idiot stole my paintings and sold knock-offs?”

  I close my eyes. “I guess I did. What happened after that? Did you call the police? I mean, he’s still a practicing art dealer.”

  “Now why would I do that, honey? Oliver and I came to a mutually-beneficial arrangement. I heard you were engaged, so I thought you’d have known that.”

  “No. I don’t know anything about an arrangement.”

  He laughs. “Still up to his old ways, then, isn’t he?”

  “Please tell me, Benny. What arrangement did you make, and did it have anything to do with me?”

  “No. Well, not directly. But I suspected it might hurt your commissions since he agreed to work primarily as an agent for my paintings.”

  “What?”

  “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

  “Please.”

  “I didn’t go to the police, and in exchange, Oliver agreed to pimp the shit out of my work. It’s the most genius move I’ve ever made. I’ve made twice the money in the past three months than I made in the past year.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re blackmailing him? That makes you no better than him, Benny.”

  More laughter comes through the phone, and I get the idea this guy may be out of his mind on drugs. “You sit on your high horse and preach to me? Well, let me tell you something you obviously don’t remember. While I was being fucked over by Oliver Compton, his girlfriend was busy being fucked as well—by me.”

  All of my breath escapes me, along with more tears. Everything I’ve learned in the past five minutes is like something from a Lifetime movie. Only it’s my life.

  “I … I have to go.”

  “Sure thing, baby. I hope you get your memory back. Because if you do, you’ll know I was the best fuck you ever had.”