Going Under (Wildfire Lake Book 2)

by Skye Jordan

  “You’re good to go,” he says, pulling off his gloves and tossing them on the tray. “These won’t dissolve on their own, so you’ll just need to see your regular doctor to have them removed in two or three weeks.”

  “Guess I’ll have to get a regular doctor, then.”

  He winds gauze around my forearm and secures it. “Best to keep the wound dry. You can use saran wrap or a plastic bag to cover them when you shower. The nurse will be in to give you care instructions—”

  “No need. I know all about stitches.”

  Time for a bold move on my part. He’s clearly more of a beta type. I pull a pen from my purse, slide off the table, and reach for his hand to jot my phone number on his palm. The shocked confusion on his face makes me laugh.

  “In case you need help with that bunk bed,” I say, “I’m a night owl, and I live on a boat at the marina, right around the corner from you.”

  He looks at his hand, clearly, adorably flustered. He’s definitely not your average good-looking guy. “Oh, wow. That’s a nice offer, and I would seriously take you up on it, because putting that monster together is the last thing I want to do when I get home, but I’ve got these professional ethics to deal with. The whole doctor-patient thing makes it complicated.”

  I slide my purse strap onto my shoulder and smile at him. “Not a problem.” I step into his space, lift my hand to pat his chest, and make deliberate eye contact. “Because you’re fired.”

  2

  Ben

  I really shouldn’t text her.

  Not because of the professional ethics—as there is no expectation of continued professional relationship—but because, a: she intrigues the hell out of me, b: I don’t have time for a relationship, and c: I don’t have a lot to offer a woman at the moment except a hell of a lot of work that’s not her responsibility. Not to mention KT is ten years younger than me.

  But damn, it’s been a long time since I met a woman that interesting. Or that beautiful. Or that sexy.

  I lean back against the wall of Jazz’s room and look at the bunk parts strewn across the floor. As usual, all the girls are asleep in my bed. Tonight, that gives me the time and space for assembly, but I really didn’t plan this well. I don’t usually wait until the last minute for things, but with the move, Christmas really snuck up on me.

  When I look at the instructions again, they blur in front of my eyes. I sigh and pick up my phone. This is probably a really shitty idea, but a shittier idea would be to have this bed still in pieces when the girls wake up in the morning. I can too easily picture the disappointment on Jazz’s face when she sees her gift all over her bedroom floor.

  I glance at the time again. It’s midnight, and I’ve been at this for three hours. I can’t take it anymore. I transfer the number on my hand into my phone and text. Still awake? It’s Ben, from the hospital. I’m caught in a maze of bunk bed parts, and I can’t get out.

  I hit Send, drop my head back against the wall, and close my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because the sound of my phone wakes me. It’s KT texting me back.

  I’ll put the bed together if you deal me Advil. I’m out.

  I smile and type You got it along with my address. Then I get to my feet and move to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and run my hands through my hair. I’m still just as lame with women as I am with furniture construction, both things I should have figured out by now.

  By the time I’ve pulled Advil from the medicine cabinet, there’s an almost inaudible knock on the front door. I didn’t expect her so quick. No time to change, so I jog downstairs in my sweats and a tee shirt, and find KT on the porch, holding an orange canvas bag with the name of a tool company emblazoned on the side. She’s wearing leggings, cross-trainers, and a hoodie, her hair in a messy bun on the back of her head. I instantly like her even more.

  “Hey,” I say in a hushed tone. “Thank you so much.”

  “First things first,” she says in a stage whisper. “You got the drugs?”

  Grinning, I lift the bottle of Advil.

  “Thank God.” She takes the bottle and moves into the kitchen where she sets her tools down. “The numbing is gone, and I’m ready to chew my arm off to escape the pain.”

  “Want something to take those with?” I open the fridge door. “Juice, water?”

  “Juice.”

  I pour her a glass, then find her struggling to get the bottle open. I take it from her, open it, and drop four pills into her hand.

  She tosses them back and downs the glass of juice, then sighs. “Thanks.” She hands me the glass, picks up her bag, and asks, “Where’s our patient?”

  That makes me laugh. Like, really laugh. And the situation is only made funnier by the fact that we’re both trying to be quiet.

  “Upstairs.” I gesture toward the wide curving staircase leading to the second floor. “Last room on the right.”

  When KT steps into the bedroom, she looks around at the unpacked boxes and general disarray I’ve pushed into one corner of the room, then stands over the bunk bed a long moment, her gaze skimming the parts.

  “Sweet deal, dude,” she says in a whisper. “It’s half playhouse, half bunk bed. What a killer idea. I want one.” When I laugh, she smiles at me. “Where are the kids?”

  “They’re in my bed. They always start off in their own beds, then migrate to mine at different times of the night.”

  “We won’t wake them?”

  “No, it’s on the other side of the house.”

  She nods and returns her gaze to the bed. “Your girl’s gonna love this.”

  There is something about her that’s so fresh and unexpected. Her humor is dry, her manner matter-of-fact. There are no games even in the proximity of her agenda, and I can honestly say I’ve never met a woman like her. The MD behind my name doesn’t seem to intimidate or impress her, and she’s at home in this house—a house that made me stand in awe when I first saw it. I also get the impression she has no freaking idea how gorgeous she is.

  “She’s not gonna love it if it’s like this in the morning,” I say.

  “Heck no. This won’t be too hard. Though it may take longer than I expected. It’s so detailed. There are a lot of parts.” She picks up the booklet of assembly instructions and flips through the pages, then leans down to feel the material of the major components. “Real wood. It’s going to be heavy. I’m going to have to have you do the manual labor until the Advil kicks in.”

  I spread my hands over the carnage on the floor. “Just tell me where to start.”

  “Have any wine? We should start there.”

  “Wine. Done. Red or white?”

  “Whatever.” She sets the tools down and sits on the floor, head bent over the directions.

  When I return with glasses and a bottle, I’m half expecting KT to say anything from You’re a fucking idiot to How did you expect to get this done in one night by yourself? But she just pulls out some basic tools—screwdrivers, ratchets, drill.

  I pour the wine, then slide to the floor and lean against the wall as she repositions parts with a lot of murmured “This goes here, and that goes there, then comes this, followed by that.”

  Within ten minutes, she’s got the bunk playhouse laid out in a precision so neat, even I can envision where things go.

  She picks up the directions again, glances at the finished image of the bed, compares it to the parts and gives an affirmative nod.

  Then she looks at me. “Finish that glass before we start. You’re going to need it.”

  Four hours later, we’ve drained two full bottles of wine and are working on our third. KT has downed a dose of Tylenol and is ready for another round of Advil. But she never complains, never hints at quitting, and is endlessly patient with my poor spatial acuity.

  I use a closed-end wrench to tighten up the bolts on the roof covering half of the top bunk while KT uses an Allen wrench to finish adding the fake flower boxes and shutters to every window.

  We meet at th
e wall where we sit beside each other and stare at the little playhouse bunk bed, both of us grinning with accomplishment.

  “It’s just as awesome as it is in the photos,” I say.

  “The pink accents really make it pop.”

  She’s right. Against the white walls and rails, the bright pink accents really give the furniture a fun and happy vibe. I’ve got a bittersweet knot in my stomach because I’m so comfortable with her that in some ways, I feel like I could be sitting beside Jana, both of us looking on this accomplishment with the anticipation of parents. In some ways, I feel like Jana is here now, giving approval—of the move, of the gifts and, maybe, even of KT.

  “What’s going on?” KT asks. “Are you disappointed?”

  “Hell, no.” I smile, then shake my head and decide to keep those strange thoughts to myself. “I’m just amazed.” I look at her. “And so grateful. This is going to mean a lot to Jazz.”

  “What a cute name.”

  “Thanks. She’s a cute kid. They all are.”

  “I have no doubt. Is their mother still part of their lives?”

  “Hard to say,” I murmur, contemplating the question seriously. “She passed away three years ago. Cancer.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Ben,” she says, her smile gone, her voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry. I thought— Never mind.”

  “It’s okay. Like you with your dad, I have good memories to cherish. But my two younger kids don’t remember her, so whether she’s a part of their lives or not is hard to answer.”

  “You’ve been raising them yourself for three years?”

  Longer, actually. Once Jana was diagnosed with cancer, there was chemo and radiation. “They’re great girls, and I’m lucky enough to afford help. I can’t complain.”

  “Of course you could. You just choose not to, which is admirable in itself.”

  She totally gets it. Probably went through the same with her father. It feels good to talk to someone who understands.

  KT taps her phone, and the time appears on the screen. “I better go before they wake up. I’d be hard to pass off as Santa.”

  That makes unexpected laughter bubble up. I cover her hand on the floor and roll my head against the wall to look at her. “Will you let me take you to dinner after the holidays?”

  “No, but thank you for the offer.” She turns her hand over and threads our fingers. I can’t tell if the look in her eyes is desire or fatigue. “Though I’m more than open to a hookup sometime.”

  I stare at her, my mind bending to try to understand that statement. “I’m sorry, I’ve been out of the dating pool for so long, I don’t know the current terminology. When you say ‘hookup,’ you mean…what?”

  She’s grinning like she finds me adorable, which isn’t what I was hoping for. “Sex. No befores, no afters. Just hot, sweaty, raw sex for the sake of sex.”

  My mind flashes with sultry images of getting her naked, touching her, tasting her, rolling in the sheets with her. My body reacts faster than it has in years. But I’m still confused. “You’re open to sex, but not dinner?”

  “Now you’ve got it.”

  I’m still trying to get my head around it, but my mouth opens and “When?” pops out.

  A grin brightens her face. She drops her knees toward me, then straddles my lap, and my hands automatically land on her thighs. Heat surges through me, desire so white-hot, it singes my nerves.

  She nudges hair off my forehead, then trails her fingers down my temple, across my jaw, over my lower lip. And her eyes, so vividly, icy blue against her dark hair and long eyelashes, cloud with desire.

  “I’d say right now if I thought your kids would sleep.” Her voice is almost inaudible. “But I remember Christmas morning all too well. So, until we find a time…”

  She lifts my chin with one hand, tilts her head, and kisses me. I’m in completely uncharted territory. She’s so forward and up-front, she’s blowing away all my traditional ideas, and I’m not sure where I stand or what comes next.

  Her lips are soft and warm, and the feel of them haze my brain. My hands find their way to her face, and I kiss her deeper. She welcomes it. Our tongues meet, and lust explodes deep in my body. Lust that burns like a blue flame. Shoving aside all the rituals surrounding sex opens a new door inside me, one that exposes just how hungry I am for passion. The kiss goes from sweet to sultry, sultry to sexy, sexy to erotic almost instantly.

  When we break for air, my arms are wrapped tight around her body, her hands are in my hair, she’s rocking against my erection…and she’s smiling.

  “I had a feeling that passion was in there somewhere. Just had to get past all the preconceived expectations.” Her thumbs slide back and forth across the stubble on my jaw. “I’m going to go before your girls wake up. But you’ve got my number. When it works for you, shoot me a text.”

  She climbs off my lap, throws a couple of tools into her bag, and pauses on her way out the door to give me one last kiss. Then she disappears, and I sit there, shell-shocked.

  “Did that really just fucking happen?” My body is still screaming Hell yeah, but my mind is saturated with confusion. I feel like someone just showed me a dessert case and said, You can eat all you want. Forget dinner.

  I drop my head against the wall and close my eyes, reliving the last few minutes. I haven’t felt passion like that in so long, it’s completely foreign and leaves me so hungry, I ache.

  Then I hear the girls stir, and I force myself to shift gears. Time to forget thinking like a man and become Dad again.

  3

  KT

  I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep when Chloe and Laiyla come in and wake me up, but it doesn’t feel like long.

  They climb onto my bed, and Chloe shakes me. “KT, loooooook.”

  “What?” I pry my eyes open, and Chloe is holding Laiyla’s hand out. It takes me a second to focus, but when I do, I see a very sparkly ring on her finger. I sit straight up, grab her hand, and focus harder on the ring. Then at Laiyla, whose grin is so bright, it hurts my eyes. “Oh. My. God.”

  Chloe and Laiyla laugh, and I envelop Laiyla in a bear hug. “This is amazing.”

  When I pull away, she has tears in her eyes. “Thanks. I’m still getting used to it.”

  “You and Levi are perfect together.”

  She sighs. “I’m so happy. I haven’t been this happy since our last summer together at seventeen.”

  I give her another hug, and Chloe joins in.

  “When?” I ask. “Where?”

  “I think it should be here,” Chloe says. “She could be the first bride I plan a wedding for. It could be a celebration for everything all wrapped into one—their love, the renovation, and the opening of the marina.”

  “Not a bad idea.” I sit up a little more and lean back against the wall, and damn, I’ve got some strange shit happening inside me. Emotions I can’t identify, some good, some weird. “Wow. Just wow.”

  “I got us reservations in Santa Barbara tonight,” Chloe says. “We can celebrate and still get to look at the lights together—all three of us.”

  “Sounds like a perfect Christmas,” I agree.

  “How is your arm?” Laiyla asks, looking at the bandage.

  “Ten stitches, and it’s hurting now, but I’ll be fine with some Advil.”

  “Where were you last night?” Chloe asks, settling in on the bed. “We came over to show you the ring, and you weren’t here, but your truck was.”

  “Long story.” I smile at the memory of kissing Ben. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t kissed anyone for six months or if it’s because we’ve got killer chemistry, but the man’s kiss lit me up from the inside out. “Short version is that Dr. Delicious and I hit it off, and I was helping him put together a gift for one of his kids.”

  “Kids?” Chloe and Laiyla say at the same time.

  “Have you ever dated someone with kids before?” Laiyla asks.

  “I’ve never dated before. Period. And I’m not dati
ng now. I’m just hoping for a hookup with him.”

  “Out of the three of us, only you could go from meeting a stranger,” Chloe says, “to going home with that stranger on the same day. Christmas day.”

  “Technically, it was two different days,” I say, just because I know it will pull exasperated sighs from both of them. And it does.

  “Did he take you and pick you up?” Laiyla asks.

  “No.” My grin grows. “He owns one of Levi’s houses.”

  “He’s hot and loaded?” Chloe asks.

  “Don’t get excited,” Laiyla tells her. “Only the hot part matters to KT.”

  Chloe lifts her hands as if to say whatever. “So how did it go? What’s he like? How many kids does he have? What happened with his wife? Is he divorced?”

  “Slow down,” Laiyla tells Chloe. “She can’t answer all those questions at once.”

  “It went great,” I say. “He has three daughters, and unfortunately, he’s a widower.”

  Laiyla and Chloe gasp in unison.

  “Oh, no,” Chloe says.

  “With three girls?” Laiyla adds. “Ouch.”

  “How did she die?” Chloe asks.

  “Cancer.”

  Laiyla groans, and Chloe’s expression is truly pained.

  “How long ago?” Laiyla asks.

  “Three years. It’s pretty heartbreaking,” I admit. “But we all deal with whatever life hands us, I guess, though it sure doesn’t seem fair in his case.”

  We all drop into comfortable but saddened silence.

  “You didn’t tell us what he’s like,” Chloe finally says, a little more subdued.

  “He’s…” I search for the right words. “Charmingly beta.”

  “Beta?” Laiyla smirks. “When have you ever gone for a beta? A pretty beta at that.”

  “He’s pretty?” Chloe says with a frown. “You don’t like pretty.”