Nicky's Fire

by Nancy Fornataro

"I won't tell Max about this." Chloe sat back, "It's just a woman thing. By the way, Rhonda, your man is fine. I was checkin' him out the other night. Yeah, he's fine."

  Rhonda frowned. "I never really thought--"

  "Oh, yeah. He is. You're lucky, girl. I envy you."

  Play the part, be the woman, Chloe thought, and lie your ass off.

  Rhonda gazed at Chloe with wide eyes. "Really?"

  Chloe nodded, and tried to look sincere. "Yeah. You're the lucky one. I'm stuck with well, while you have well, whatever."

  Chloe counted the seconds. Rhonda was thinking hard. And it took her a while to get the gears turning. Then, the woman got up. "I guess I'll get over to the clubhouse." Her look was almost apologetic.

  Yeah, thought Chloe, you do that. "Okay," she said, casually, "see you around."

  The woman left, and Chloe let her breath out in a gasp. Jesus, where was Nick?

  But later, she felt him slide in the bed beside her.

  "Your girlfriend paid me a little visit," she said softly.

  "Who?"

  "Rhonda, who else? Don't tell me there are more of these infatuated women around."

  "Oh, God. What happened?"

  "She pulled a gun on me. Said she'd kill me." Her back was to him, and they weren't touching. She smelled his masculine scent, leather, mixed with soap, sweat and beer. And she resisted the urge to slide next to him.

  "I see she didn't," he said slowly.

  She was angry now. "No. She didn't. I told her you were a drunk, and you couldn't keep it up. Somehow, after I told her that, she didn't want you so badly." She heard his breath escape. The room was silent, but for their breathing.

  "I'm sending you back," he said finally, "this is too dangerous for you. Too dangerous."

  "Fuck you," she said, "I'm staying. I love danger. Danger's my middle name, Action."

  She heard him laughing softly. "You're too much, Chloe. Too much."

  His hand came out and stroked her hair, but she moved further away. "Yeah. Right."

  The next five days passed the same way. He'd go out in the evening, returning late. They slept in the same bed, not touching.

  During the day, he'd work in the garage. She'd fix him dinner, which he'd eat in silence, with no thank you, no comments, nothing. He'd been so morose lately, she just didn't understand it. And she thought she'd done something wrong, but what?

  However, the time was approaching for them to go to Mexico with Tessie and Max. And she needed some kind of reassurance from him.

  "So, Mexico tomorrow?" Chloe asked over dinner the fifth night. Nick's hair was still damp from the shower, and it shined in the bright light of the kitchen. He'd just shaved, and looked fairly presentable, she thought.

  "Yeah," he replied, "we're flying. In the morning."

  He continued eating in silence, tiredly shoveling food into his mouth. She'd made baked chicken, and she'd tried hard to make the dinner as appealing as possible. But he seemed not to notice.

  "You like the food?" she said irritably.

  "Yeah." He sat back and wiped his mouth. "I like it a little too much."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  His piercing blue—gray eyes came up and met hers. "You're growing on me, and I don't like it. I'm used to being alone and working alone. You fix these dinners," he gestured to the plate, "you fix up the house. You wait for me. You're here." His look was intense now, as he stared at her, "You haunt my days and nights. There isn't a moment I'm at peace. I know you're here waiting for me, and it makes me nuts."

  She smiled. "Why? Do you want to sleep with me or something?"

  His eyes raked over her, then he sat back lazily. "Or something."

  "Well, why don't we just get it over with then?"

  She saw his lips twitch, then he burst out laughing.

  "What's so funny?" she snapped.

  "You," he gasped, "you're so damn practical sometimes. You slay me, Chloe."

  "Well," she said dryly, "I'm glad I'm good for a laugh." She started clearing the dishes and he grabbed her around the waist.

  "Come here," he said, still chuckling as he pulled her on his lap.

  "Hey," she said, "this could lead to something. Be careful, Action." She'd missed him. She had to admit, she'd missed his touch, missed the feel of his arms around her. And they were around her waist now hard and strong.

  "Yeah," he breathed, "my woman."

  She looked down, and saw one of his hands was bruised, and the knuckles raw. "What happened?" she asked, as she touched it gently.

  "Bob," he said. "He always thinks he can beat me. We'll probably end up shooting each other one of these days."

  "Right. I'll get you some ice, Mister Macho." She filled a towel with ice cubes, and made him put his hand on it.

  He fixed her with a level stare. "I think I'll stay home tonight, Mom."

  "Well, glory be," she said sarcastically, "wonders will never cease. What do you want to do?"

  He grinned at her. "What do you think?"

  Sitting across from him, she replied, "I don't think it's a good idea, Nick."

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond.

  "It's just..." she struggled for the words. How could she tell him what she felt? She wasn't sure she understood it herself. "It's like I've known you all my life sometimes," she said slowly, not looking at him, "but there's also a part of you that I don't know. And that scares me. When you're with the guys, something clicks and you're different. I almost think you like it, all the macho bullshit."

  "I do," he said, "in a sense. All guys do. It's innate. We're all on a power trip of one kind or another. Businessmen, bikers, athletes. Men are hard. Women are soft. That's life, babe."

  "Bullshit!" she said, looking at him now with angry eyes.

  Laughing softly, he said, "Maybe that's what attracts you to me."

  She sniffed. "Who says I'm attracted to you? How do you know I don't think you're repulsive?"

  "I don't know how you feel about me. You're not very up-front about it, except when you're drunk."

  Frowning, she asked, "What did I say?" She remembered very little about the seven-drink night.

  "I'm not telling," he said, as his eyes twinkled, "but you were good, Chloe. Don't you remember?"

  "Oh no you don't. I'm not falling for that again. I didn't do anything with you, and you know it."

  He grinned. "Well I guess you'll never know for sure, now will you?"

  "Besides," she said, "you told me you were unforgettable, remember?"

  "I am!"

  "Well, then we didn't."

  "You'll never know, I guess. Why don't we do it tonight, and refresh your memory?" His eyes narrowed until they were half-closed.

  "I don't think so."

  "Why not?"

  "Because," she said slowly, "I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship."

  "After five years? Besides, who said anything about a relationship?"

  "Go to hell!" she said angrily, "You are repulsive! You're conceited and an asshole besides!"

  "I love to watch you get mad," he said lazily, "you're a spunky little thing, Chloe, and when you get mad, I want to do this." He leaned across the table and kissed her hard. But his hand dropped something down her back, and she screamed as she realized it was an ice cube.

  "Damn you!" she spat, as she rose and tried to pull her tank top from inside her jeans.

  He strolled over, and stood behind her. "Allow me," he drawled, as his hand plunged down the back of her tank top.

  "Get your hands off me!" she yelled, as her elbow flew back into his stomach.

  "Chloe, now be nice." He grabbed the ice cube, but also grabbed her around the waist with his other arm, "or I'll have to do this..."

  She screamed again, as she felt the shocking cold ice cube on first one breast, then the other. But he held her so tightly she couldn't break free.

  "Stop it!" she yelled, trying to stomp his foot.

  "No!" he yelled back, "I want the
truth out of you, and I'm going to get it, if I have to freeze both your tits off!"

  Her rage increased with the cold, but he was too strong for her.

  "Now," he said loudly, holding the ice cube an inch from one breast, "Am I conceited?"

  "Yes!" she spat, but as she felt the shock of cold against her, momentarily, she said quickly, "No! No, you're not." And she started laughing, in spite of herself. But then she smelled his clean, soapy scent, and felt the bulge in his pants as he sat down and pulled her on his lap.

  "Well finally," he said, now holding the dripping cube away from her other breast. "Now," he whispered in her ear, "do you want to make love to me?"

  Squealing as the cold drips hit her, she said, "No...agh," the cube came down on her breast, "Yes!" She was laughing again.

  Feeling his breath against her ear, she heard him whisper, "Do you love me, Chloe?"

  She sat still, very still, and all she could hear was the distant sound of traffic. "I don't know. Do you love me?"

  He didn't respond, but simply removed dripping ice cube and set it on the table.

  She sat back against him, aware of her wet shirt, feeling his hardness, and wondering whether she did love him. Her nipples were contracting now, from the cold, but the sensation was not an unpleasant one.

  Then, as if sensing it, his hands came up and began lazily caressing her breasts. "Chloe," he crooned in her ear, "tell me you love me."

  "No," she said weakly, "I can't say it if I'm not sure."

  "But sweetheart," he said softly, "I've got another ice cube here with your name written all over it."

  "I don't care," she said, "you can torture me all you want, but I can't tell you if I'm not sure."

  As he rubbed both her hard nipples between his fingers, he whispered, "You do. I can tell."

  Her ache was back, and uncomfortably intense. Shivers went down her spine, not from the cold, but from the nearness of Nick. She closed her eyes, and felt him unbuttoning her jeans. He was laughing softly, as his hands worked them down, slowly, until they were almost to her knees.

  Lazily, his hands moved back up her thighs, and he cupped her breast with one hand, and weaved into her ache with the other.

  She gasped as his fingers slid inside her, then back out.

  "Mmmm," he murmured, "you're ready. You can lie to me, Chloe, but your body tells me the truth."

  His fingers slid in and out again, and he whispered, "I love you, Chloe."

  As her eyes flew open, he laughed softly. "Yeah," he said, his fingers still moving sensuously, his lips brushing her ear, his warm breath playing with her senses, "You didn't know that, did you?"

  He kissed her neck, his tongue teasing playfully, and she closed her eyes again. Her body began moving with his thrusts, then she cried out as his fingers rolled onto her bud.

  "There it is," he breathed, "yeah, there it is. You like that, Chloe?"

  She nodded her head.

  "Tell me," he urged.

  "I like it," she said weakly, as his fingers manipulated expertly, "I like it, Nick."

  Her breath came in gasps now, as he continued his play, and she cried out and writhed, as she quickly reached her peak.

  His lips sucked on her earlobe, then he whispered, "What else do you like, Chloe?" His fingers explored then plunged inside her again.

  As they moved rhythmically, he murmured, "Do you like that too?" His hand gripped her waist, pulled her closer, and he pulsed against her.

  "Yes," she gasped, feeling her ache tighten around his fingers.

  "Mmmmm," he said, "but I think we should wait.

  She stiffened, as his fingers stopped their play, and moved slowly out of her. "Why?"

  Laughing softly, he replied, "Because you haven't told me you love me yet," he crooned in her ear.

  "Bastard!" she spat, as she quickly sprung up and pulled on her pants. He was teasing her, and she didn't like it. Her body screamed for relief, and she was miserably uncomfortable now. More so than ever before. And she didn't believe for a minute that Nick loved her.

  But, he grabbed her arm, as she moved past him. "You'll tell me, Chloe. Eventually."

  Looking down at him, trying to compose herself, she said angrily, "Don't count on it! And don't count on that happening again, either!"

  And she heard him laughing as she slammed the bedroom door.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, Chloe wondered why they were flying to Mexico instead of driving. Mazatlan was quite a long way down the peninsula, but it would be easier to smuggle drugs in a car. Security measures were tight at the airport, and they would have to pass through customs on their way back. But at least, she realized, neither one of the two men had a gun and neither did she. She could shoot a gun with precision, and being without one on any kind of assignment made her nervous.

  Tessie had loaned her a peasant blouse and a long skirt to wear, along with sandals, and Chloe felt very festive as they boarded the plane. And that made her nervous too. She never wanted to let her guard down.

  But Nick returned to his surly mode, as he sat next to her, silently drinking whiskey after whiskey.

  "You're going to be sorry you drank all that," she told him, "when you have to pee and their cart is blocking the aisle."

  He didn't respond, but then finally said, "I hate planes."

  "You? Afraid of planes?"

  "I didn't say I was afraid,I said, I hate planes. Probably because their carts block the aisles."

  She was silent and observed him. He looked uncomfortable in the seat, but then, his shoulders were really too wide for it. His hair was tied back, and he looked fairly presentable for once. Neither men wore their colors. Both wore white t-shirts, jeans and boots, but they still had the aura of bikers about them. Or dangerous men. Or both.

  "Let's take out the middle seat-arm," she said, "you'd probably be more comfortable."

  "Yeah." He jerked it out, and put it in the compartment above. She watched his chest and arm muscles move with his efforts, as did an approaching woman flight attendant.

  "Can I help you with that?" she said, her pretty, carefully made-up face smiling at him. She was blonde and beautiful, and Chloe hated her. Then she realized she was jealous.

  Nick replied, "With what?" Then, he looked at the woman, while he leaned on the seat-back in front of him.

  The woman seemed flustered, blushed, then turned and walked back to her cart.

  "That was a nice little show," Chloe hissed, as he sat down again, "you're supposed to be with me, remember?"

  "I am with you," he replied, as he fixed her with a level stare, "is there any doubt about that?"

  Chloe sniffed and looked out at some fluffy clouds underneath the plane. "I didn't come on this trip to watch you flirt with some bubble-headed stewardess."

  "Get over here," he said under his breath.

  "No. You're repulsive," she whispered, "leave me alone. Go back to your blonde."

  But she really couldn't escape him. He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her next to him. She hit his thigh with her fist, then regretted it. It hurt her hand, and he just chuckled.

  "Chloe, Chloe, what am I going to do with you?" he whispered, with his hand still gripping hard around her waist.

  "Nothing!" she hissed, hoping the plane trip would be a short one. But she soon reclined on his hard chest, and his grip loosened slightly. The drone of the plane's engines relaxed her, and she fell asleep against him.

  The next thing she felt was Nick's hand kneading her breast. The sensation was a pleasant one, until she remembered where they were. Grabbing his hand, she pulled it off and sat up.

  He chuckled. "Figured that would wake you up. Fasten your seatbelt, babe. Mexico is waiting."

  She grew excited. She'd never seen Mexico. Ten years in California, and she'd never gone to Mexico. She and Pete had planned a trip, which never came to pass.

  But as they left the airport, Chloe thought Mexico was hot and ugly, nothing like she'd expected
. The airport was tiny, the dark-haired men hanging around it were rudely ogling her, and the landscape surrounding the airport was flat, scrubby and barren, with only an occasional large cactus for relief.

  The taxi that took the four of them towards town was decrepit and dirty. And, the driver was a maniac.

  Chloe held on for dear life, as they careened down bumpy roads towards Mazatlan. Here and there, littered, trashy settlements dotted the landscape, and Chloe thought she'd never seen such appalling poverty. The tin-roofed shacks looked as if a heavy wind would demolish them. And the women she saw in the doorways, most of them pregnant, had a hopeless look in their eyes.

  "How sad." she said softly.

  "There you go," Max said from the front seat, "barefoot and pregnant. That's the way to keep them, Nick."

  Nick snorted softly, and Chloe frowned, somewhat amazed at the lack of response from Tessie. Any woman in her right mind would rise to that remark. Any woman, Chloe thought, but a biker babe. These women were pitiful.

  But the woman merely turned in the seat, and said to Chloe, "I forgot to tell you guys! I'm knocked up again!" Tessie's gaze then turned nervously to Max, who sniffed loudly. His face was stony, and it was obvious he wasn't pleased, in spite of his 'barefoot and pregnant' remarks earlier.

  Tessie giggled, and Chloe's frown grew deeper, until Nick nudged her. "That's great, really great," she said, trying to sound convincing. Wonderful, she thought, now I'm going to be throwing a pregnant woman and her baby out into the street. Terrific. I can't wait.

  But, Max's house was worth the bumpy ride, however. It sat on a cliff, in an isolated spot, and almost rivaled the size of his other place. It gleamed bright white in the mid-day sun, and overlooked the turquoise ocean.

  "It's beautiful, Tess," Chloe breathed, wishing it was her own.

  Grabbing her hand, the woman showed her around, chattering the whole time.

  They entered, and their footsteps echoed on the intricate, red and yellow inlaid hallway tile. The airy living room, off to the right, sported a big-screen television, and white, over-stuffed furniture. Terra cotta pots held ferns of various types, and the wide, picture window sported a panoramic view of the ocean.