Seeing Red

by Jill Shalvis

  At his car, she stopped. “You said I could drive next time.”

  “One more next time.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said, her voice craggy.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t want to think about it.

  “You coming inside tonight, Joe?”

  He stared down at her bent head, her hair in his nose and so full of smoke he nearly choked. Try to resist this one, Walker. “Yeah, I’m coming inside tonight.”

  She set her head on his shoulder, and didn’t open her eyes as he walked her around the car. She didn’t move anything more than her feet, as if doing so was too much of an effort for her poor, exhausted body. “You called me baby,” she whispered. “Before.”

  “Did not.”

  She let out a ghost of a smile. “Know what I think? I think I still have a shot at getting your friendship back.”

  “Is that what you want? Friendship?”

  “Well friendship with benefits would be nice. But after having to beg all of my family to like me for the past three weeks, I can’t handle another rejection, so you’re safe.”

  Is that what she thought? That she had to beg him to like her? Couldn’t she see the truth all over his face every time he so much as looked at her? “Red—”

  “Did you throw out the chips I brought you?”

  “No. I ate them. Every last one. And then bought more. I’ve had to run an extra mile every day since, damn it.”

  She laughed, then winced, clutching her throat.

  “Don’t. Don’t talk. Don’t do anything.” He got her in the car. Eyes closed, face pale and filthy, her lips curved into a wry smile as he pulled the seat belt across her hips and fastened it for her.

  “You’re good at that,” she said.

  He took an inappropriate second to sweep the hair out of her eyes. And then another to take a gentle swipe with his thumb over her filthy cheek. And then one more to just look at her. Christ, he was bad off. “What am I good at?”

  Lifting up a hand, she held his fingers to her face. “Taking care of people.” She turned her mouth into his palm and kissed it, then let out a shuddery sigh. “And you know what else?”

  He was absolutely certain that the look in her eyes should not make his heart soft. Or that the feel of her lips on his palm make the rest of him the very opposite of soft. “What, that you talk too much for a woman who should be resting her vocal chords?”

  “No.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I was going to say the way you shoved to the front of all those other firefighters to get to me was really sexy.”

  He sighed.

  “And also, you’re cute when I make you squirm.” She actually laughed softly. “I have more chips at home.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  “And a heavenly ranch dip.”

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes were still closed. “It’s really a shame I’m too messed up to take advantage of you tonight, Joe. This newfound quiet sarcasm you have going turns me on.”

  She thought she was messed up? She should jump into his head. “Yeah, too bad.” And he put the Camaro in gear and drove her home.

  Chapter 10

  The engine of the Camaro lulled Summer as Joe drove. It felt good not to move, but the problem with drifting off into la-la land was that it all came back to her in vivid detail.

  Waking up in the beanbag chair.

  Surrounded by smoke.

  Facing her nightmare.

  She’d been saved by the grace of her cell phone. As long as she lived she’d never forget the long breathless wait for the sirens, which in reality had probably been only a few minutes, but had seemed like an eternity.

  Trapped.

  And all she’d been able to think about as the smoke filled the room around her, as she’d finally been forced to lie flat on the floor for any air at all, was that she couldn’t die, not like this, not like her father. She hadn’t lived enough, damn it. Granted, she’d lived hard and good and well, but not enough.

  She started in surprise when Joe scooped her up. She hadn’t even realized he’d turned off the engine, or heard him come around and open the passenger door, but now here she was, in his arms, being carried toward her front door.

  He felt warm and comfortably solid, and so achingly familiar she wanted to hold on tight and never let him go.

  “Keys?”

  She frowned and tried to think, but it was beyond her.

  “Never mind.” Still holding her as if she weighed nothing, he strode around the back of the small cottage and shouldered open the unlocked back door.

  “How did you know?”

  “You never used to lock your back door. Where’s your bathroom?”

  “Down the hall.”

  He passed through the bright sunshine yellow kitchen, down the hall and straight into the bathroom. Setting her on the counter, he flicked on the light, making her blink in the harsh brightness of it. The small pale blue room was well lived in. The lace shower curtains were flung over the top of the rod because she’d taken a bath that morning. Her towels were still on the floor, as were her favorite peach bra and matching panties. She had her things scattered over the counter: her favorite body lotion, a fistful of scrunchies in every color under the sun, her big round brush, her strawberry cream lip gloss, and an assortment of other necessities.

  “First-aid kit,” he said, looking baffled by it all. His eyes darted around, landing on her peach panties.

  “There’s some Band-Aids in the drawer.”

  He went hunting through the messy drawer, past a box of tampons and hair dryer without a word, but the box of condoms stopped him.

  “Three,” she said to his unasked questions.

  He lifted his gaze to hers.

  “Three are gone,” she clarified. “You wanted to know, right?”

  “Not really,” he muttered, and shoved the box to the back with more force than was necessary.

  She put her hand on his wrist and waited until his eyes swiveled back to hers. She was aching from the cuts on her legs now, her throat felt as if she’d swallowed glass, and her head…she was certain some little guy with a jackhammer had made himself at home between her eyes. She’d lived through a nightmare tonight and yet suddenly she felt like smiling at the brooding look in Joe’s eyes. “None of the stuff in that drawer is mine,” she told him. “It all belongs to the person who rents this place full time, who is Chloe’s college roommate. I told you about her, remember? She went home to Maine for the summer.”

  To his credit, he laughed a little at himself, then it seemed to back up in his throat when she pulled one foil packet from the box and tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans, her fingers brushing his gun as she did so. “Just in case,” she murmured.

  He went still for a breath, then busied himself finding some antiseptic to go with the Band-Aids. He straightened with both in his hands, and no longer looked remotely relaxed.

  Not that he’d been relaxed to begin with, but his jaw was all bunched and the muscle in it was leaping. His eyes were like smooth glass but filled with things he’d kept to himself.

  He unraveled her from the blanket and nodded to her skirt, which was stuck to her in places, with little spots of blood soaking through. “Lift it.”

  Instead, she held it down, feeling oddly self-conscious. “The paramedics already looked at the cuts.”

  “But you didn’t let them put anything on them.”

  “And what makes you think I’m going to let you?”

  He simply bunched the material of her skirt in his hands and firmly but gently shoved it up.

  “Hey—”

  Leaning in, he put his hands on her thighs, holding her skirt up, his face right in hers, eyes flashing, mouth grim. “I watched you get dragged out of that inferno tonight, watched you relive an old nightmare. A nightmare, by the way, you never let me help you through the first time.”

  “Joe—”

  “Back then I had
to stand by helplessly as you stayed unconscious for too long, too damn long, bleeding—” His eyes were filled with agony as he broke off. He drew a slow, purposeful breath. “Then you went away, and stayed away. Tonight I once again stood by as you were trapped in a fire, watched as you went into shock. Now finally, there’s something I can do for you, so damn it, let me.”

  She stared at him. The silence stretched taut. His face was composed but the vibrations of emotion radiated in waves from his body as he stood there, her skirt in his hand, eyes locked on hers.

  “I didn’t stay away to hurt you,” she finally said.

  The rushing frustration seemed to drain from him, and he gently set his forehead to hers. “I know.”

  She curled into him. “I’m not going to run away, not ever again.”

  “Shh.” With a gentleness that reminded her of the boy he’d once been, he treated each of her cuts, slowly, carefully, and when she bit her lower lip at the sting of the antiseptic, he made a hoarse apologetic sound and bent closer, one hand holding up her skirt, the other cradling a thigh in his palm, blowing lightly on her throbbing skin.

  “Better?” he murmured. His jaw brushed her knee. He hadn’t shaved, and the growth brought out a set of goose bumps along her flesh, which he stroked with his hand in a heart-melting gesture.

  “Much better. God, I was so scared.”

  He lifted his head and searched her gaze. He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer empty, meaningless words, just slowly nodded.

  And because of it, because it was him, she could admit the rest. “I thought I was toast.”

  He let out a low, rough sound and gathered her close.

  “It made me so mad,” she whispered, fisting her hands in his shirt. “I was going to die sitting there doing nothing more complicated than feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “Because I was alone, damn it. I hate being alone.”

  “You’re not alone now.”

  She lifted her head and stared into his eyes, not sure if she’d heard him right. “I smell like smoke.”

  “I noticed.”

  But he didn’t object when she lifted her hands and sank them into his shaggy hair. “You need a haircut.”

  His hands went to her hips. “And you talk too much.”

  “What else is there to do?”

  His eyes darkened. He nudged closer, wedging his body between her thighs.

  Oh. Oh my. She tightened her fingers in his hair. “No more talking then.”

  “Yeah. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

  He was right. She’d never been able to keep her mouth shut. She was going to try to do so now. In a minute. “The other night…you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to even talk to me.”

  “You hadn’t just almost died.”

  “So this is what, just adrenaline?”

  He sighed. “What happened to the no more talking thing?”

  “Right.” She pressed her face to the crook of his shoulder. “Then make me feel alive, Joe. Hurry.”

  A gravelly sound of understanding tore from his throat. His arms came around her, and she braced for the delicious, quick, hot, fast assault like the week before.

  But he went for another tactic this time, sliding his fingers in her hair, tugging her face up, leaning in slowly, nibbling first one side of her mouth, then the other, until her lips trembled open and a moan escaped. Nudging her back into the mirror, he pressed her between that cool surface and his warm, hard body and kissed her. When his tongue touched hers, she nearly cried in relief but he kept at the unbearably leisurely pace until she wanted to scream.

  She wanted hot. She wanted hard and fast, and her fingers bit into his biceps as she moaned, opening her legs further, doing everything she could to urge him on and still he didn’t rush. She could feel him hard against her stomach, through his jeans, and she pressed closer still, melting under the palm he stroked languidly up and down her back.

  She shivered and tried to deepen the connection but he held back. Impatient, she bit his lower lip. He inhaled sharply as his arms tightened on her. “I’m trying to warm you up here,” he said.

  “I’m warm. I’m hot. I’m burning up.”

  “I knew you couldn’t do it.”

  “Do what? I’ll do anything—”

  “Not shut up you won’t—” He caught her laughing protest with his mouth, swallowed it whole and worked on capturing her tongue, whipping it into submission with long, wet, hot strokes that had her whimpering, aching, dying…all while his hands kept up that maddening slow perusal of her body, up and down her back, her sides, her ribs, and finally, finally, palming her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her aching nipples until she wrenched free to gasp in air.

  “You feel alive now?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Head back, she closed her eyes to let the mindlessness of it close over her, but then he did the worst thing possible.

  He stopped.

  She cracked an eye open to find him watching her, eyes hot, body tense. “What?”

  “Don’t escape. Stay with me.”

  “I’m right here,” she said with a little laugh.

  “Then keep looking at me.” He nudged her with his erection. “Say my name.”

  She laughed again.

  He did not.

  Her smile faded. “You mean…now?”

  “You said you want to connect, then connect with me.” He made another pass at her nipple with his thumb and her eyes drifted shut on a sigh.

  And just like that, his hand was gone.

  Her eyes opened. “I’m sorry, I…” Can’t, she realized. She’d experienced her fair share of lovers, both devoted and otherwise, but never in her life had she been completely swept away by a man. Sex was an escape. She never kept her eyes open. Never whispered a name.

  Not even for him.

  “It’s me, Red,” he said roughly. “Me, goddamnit.”

  He didn’t understand that only made it more difficult, not less. With him, she could really fall, and that terrified her because the fall would be harsh. The fall would hurt.

  You couldn’t climb back up from the fall.

  Joe stared at her, clearly waiting for her to say something, and when she didn’t, couldn’t, he wrenched free and blew out a breath.

  “Joe—”

  “I know. You just want the oblivion of it. I know.” He shoved his fingers into his hair and turned in a circle. “I wanted that too. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He turned away, reached for the door. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re going to go?” she asked in disbelief as she sat there halfway to orgasmic bliss. “Just…run away? Really?”

  Letting go of the door handle, he came back to her, slid his hands up her hips and gripped hard. “You think I’m the one running?” One arm slid around her and brought her up against his body. The other cupped her breast. Her entire body quivered, and with a sigh, she sank into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

  He went utterly still, then pulled free again, leaving her to sag back against the sink. “Let’s be clear, Red. You’re the one who runs when I touch you. You’re the one hiding.”

  “No. I want you.”

  “You want the kick, not the intimacy.”

  Okay, yes, damn it, she wanted the kick. And maybe, deep down, something more. Just a little. But she needed some help here because it was harder, much harder to accept than she’d expected. And hell if she’d admit that while he stared angrily at her. Hell if she’d admit how badly she needed him when all she ever did these days was beg the people in her life to want her. She was sick of that, sick of it.

  “So what now?” he asked wearily.

  Her eyes burned and not from just the smoke. Her throat wouldn’t work. She was an inch from falling apart, with no idea how to put the pieces back together, she could only shake her head. “You don’t have to stay. I’m good.”

  Had there been warmth and tendern
ess in his eyes only a moment before? It was all gone now. “Yeah, you’re good. You’re good on your own,” he said, his stance deceptively relaxed, his anger tautly controlled. “Too good, I’m thinking. But I’m not leaving you alone tonight, I’m not running. Do you understand? I’m hanging right here.” He backed up to the door and crossed his arms over his chest, his gun on his hip, looking big, bad, pissed, and stubborn to boot.

  And no less sexy for it either. Feeling like a mess such as she did, she resented that, she really did. “Stay, leave,” she shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  But she did, so very much. If he left now, she’d fall apart. “I’m taking a bath.” Gingerly, she hopped down from the counter. Lifting her chin rather than whimper at the contact, she pushed off her skirt, then pulled off her shirt. She ignored his low, choked oath, though the rough sound of it made her nipples hard. Standing there in a sports bra and panties, she turned her back to him and bent over to turn on the tub.

  He swore again.

  It did something to her temper, turned it into a smug sort of womanly power, which only increased when she slowly added bubbles to the water. Oh yeah, if she was miserable, then she’d make sure he joined her in that misery. The scent of cocoa butter began to override the smoke she couldn’t get out of her nose. Still facing away, she pulled off her bra and kicked off her panties. Then she spun around for a washcloth, making sure Joe got the full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view before stepping into the tub.

  Given the pained sound that escaped him, the way his eyes landed and skimmed over all of her, including the belly ring, she had success. Woo hoo. She sank down beneath the water, and abruptly forgot all about being a sex kitten because her cuts burned like fire.

  He squatted next to her, mouth tight and grim. “You okay?”

  “Peachy,” she said as the bubbles made their way up to her chin.

  His eyes never left hers. They were dark and scorching. “You know you’re torturing me, right?”

  She lifted her arm and put a dab of bubbles on his nose. “Yes.”

  He stared at her, so fierce, so serious. With bubbles on his nose.

  The phone rang, shattering the silence. Blowing out a breath, he rose to his feet and left the bathroom.