Burn for Me

by Lauren Blakely

  He hadn’t scripted out the night.

  He hadn’t come to the party to try to get close to Jamie.

  But only because they were friends, and had been since he moved to town from Georgia a few years ago after he’d finished college. He’d restrained himself, knowing he wasn’t her type, and wanting to keep her as a friend. Sure, they had fun together, and they could chitchat for hours like they had at the bar tonight. But he knew anything more was unlikely. She’d always gone for the more serious, more studious, more buttoned-up kind of guy.

  But with the sheen of a buzz backing him up, a dance sounded like the perfect nightcap. He’d take what he could get, and just the chance to be closer to the woman he wanted would have to be enough.

  When they reached the quiet back room, he pulled her in close, his hands on her waist, hers on his shoulders. Her fingers were restless, as if she was unsure where to place them.

  “You ever dance before, Jamie Lansing?” he asked, unable to resist teasing.

  “Yes I have, thank you very much.”

  “What kind? Ballroom? Swing? Salsa?”

  She rolled her eyes, but went with it, grabbing his hand and positioning their arms together in a sharp line as if they were poised to tango. “Tango, of course,” she said, and he threw his head back and laughed at her attempt. “Or would you rather we square dance?” She asked in a fake Southern accent. “That more your speed?”

  “Oh, make fun of my heritage, why don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Can’t resist,” she said, mimicking his drawl.

  “You are too much. Why the hell do I put up with you?”

  “I could say the same to you,” she tossed back.

  “Same,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.

  “You are such a goof. You’re never serious,” she said.

  He rearranged his features in a dour look. “Better?”

  “Maybe,” she said, but she was smiling, so he tugged her in closer. “So how’s the construction going? Are you almost done?”

  He shrugged. “Soon, I hope. I’ve been getting calls to do other jobs, and would love to take them on too. But I’d have to hire some men before I do that.”

  “So hire some men to help you,” she said as if the answer were that simple. And sure, it was that simple to her, and he got that. They were close friends, but he rarely shared the inside details of his business with anyone, even her. He kept certain things to himself. A man’s work was a man’s work.

  “That comes with its own damn set of problems,” he said, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice, though he wasn’t annoyed with her for asking. He’d been wanting to expand his business and take on some new jobs, but the last time he’d hired new employees, one of them had stolen some jewelry on a job. Since then, he’d handled every job solo. Better to do it himself. The last thing he wanted to talk about was work, and problems, and the things beyond his control. He wanted to stay 100 percent focused on this moment and nothing more—the present was what mattered. “Besides, I’m all about avoiding problems. I don’t care for them,” he said, shooting her a lopsided grin. “Let’s talk about something not involving work.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “No more work talk.”

  They danced silently for a moment, and she pressed her hands lightly against his shoulders, as if she were nervous to hold him.

  “It’s okay,” he said, eager to take the teasing to another level. Jamie was always so buttoned-up and proper in how she spoke, never uttering a swear word, and he would love to see her loosen up. With him. “Your hands aren’t weighing my shoulders down.”

  “I was terrified they were,” she joked.

  “Or were you trying to cop a feel?”

  “You wish,” she said with a pouty curve to her lips.

  “Maybe I do,” he countered, stripping away the sarcasm as they moved slowly in the dark corner to the sexy beat of the music, their shadows casting doubles of them across the exposed wood of the wall. His fingers wrapped around her hips, his thumb gently stroking her hipbone once, twice. Damn, she felt good.

  She stiffened for a moment. “You do?”

  “Maybe,” he said, with a shrug.

  Why was it so hard to just tell her what he wanted? Because he knew that if anything were to happen physically, she’d push him away. Especially once she heard the things that would come out of his mouth. He knew this woman and what made her tick—how fiercely she loved their small town and all the people in it, to how close she was with her sister, and most of all how she had a thing for poetry. He might not be a fan himself, but sometimes he’d peek at whatever book of poems she had her nose in at the time. He’d seen her reading once in the town square, and could tell by her contented sigh and the dazed look in her eyes that she liked the words.

  “And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love’s refrain,” he’d read out loud, over her shoulder. “Got a naughty little book there, Jamie?”

  She’d promptly snapped the book shut and given him a sharp glare. “Wouldn’t you like to know what I think is naughty.”

  Oh, yes he would. He would absolutely like to know what she thought in that department, because he wanted to know what she thought about nearly everything. He’d never gotten along so easily with a woman who was so very different from him. Besides, Jamie came from the perfect family, white picket fence and all, while he’d grown up an only child with two parents who cheated on each other and then divorced in a flurry of anger. He’d tried like hell to get them to stay together to no avail. He half-wondered if that was part of what drew him to Jamie—she had all the things he’d longed for. She had a fierce devotion to her parents and her sister. But though he might admire her connection to her family, to this town, to her job, and even to her books, did that mean they were right for each other? He was a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy, rough-hewn from the tougher circumstances of his childhood.

  They might get along just fine, but deep down they were so different. That didn’t stop him from wanting her, though, and he hadn’t been able to get her out from under his skin since he’d met her. He found himself tugging her closer. He gently fingered a strand of her hair, touching the soft waves.

  “Smith,” she said in a low voice, half a warning, half an invitation.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re touching my hair,” she whispered.

  “I know. And I want to touch more of you,” he said, and his heart beat harder.

  “You do?”

  “I would love to have my hands all over you.”

  Her eyes widened and she pressed her hands against his chest, giving herself room to look him square in the eyes. “Is there something going on with Lisa?”

  He was taken aback. “The photographer? Hell no. Why?”

  “Because she was all over you out there,” she said, tipping her forehead toward the party.

  “No. No. No. No.”

  “Four denials?”

  “I swear,” he said, breaking the contact to hold up his hands, as if they were proof.

  Yeah, Lisa had always been flirty with him. She was slated to shoot the annual fireman’s calendar next month, so she was always hanging around, suggesting ideas for locations and even poses. How about if you had one hand on the ladder and Becker was unrolling the hose? Smith had simply shook his head. The calendar didn’t need to be classy, but it needed less Chippendale and more of the rough-and-ready smolder that had made it a bestseller. Hell, the latter was why the battalion had been voted the hottest in the country, and Smith was damn proud of that accomplishment because all of the calendar proceeds went to the burn center at the local hospital.

  “Why are you asking about her?”

  “Just wanted to know…” she said, letting her voice trail off, and the lingering silence felt like some kind of invitation. She looked up at him and her pretty brown eyes held his gaze for a beat. Then one more. She swallowed and her lips parted slightly. She didn’t take her eyes off him.

&nb
sp; Holy shit. Did she want him as much as he wanted her? The possibility that this wasn’t one-sided felt like a bolt of adrenaline shooting through his veins. He’d always figured she’d never give him the time of day. That he wasn’t her type whatsofuckingever. But maybe, just maybe, there was a little something there for her, too. He had to seize the moment. Had to tell her. She probably could figure it out anyway, since she’d been snug against him a minute ago. He swallowed any fear, looked her straight in the eyes, and told her the flat-out truth: “There’s nothing going on with her because the only one I want to have anything going on with is you.”

  She blinked several times, as if she didn’t believe him. Or maybe she was just processing what he’d said. She raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Really?”

  “Yes. Why do you think I wanted to dance with you?”

  “Because you’re a dancing fool,” she said, returning to their jokes.

  But he was undeterred now. “I meant what I said about you being the prettiest woman here and the only one I want to dance with,” he said, then launched into the important question of the night. “If I kissed you right now, would you smack me or kiss me back?”

  She shot him a sly smirk. “Why don’t you find out?”

  “I believe I will.”

  He threaded his hands through her hair, resisting the desire to pull hard and crush her mouth to his, knowing he’d need to take it slow with a woman like Jamie. He might want to devour her, to kiss her hard and fiercely, but he had to rein it in. Restraint was the name of the game. He’d never be the right guy for her the way he wanted to take her. Bite her. Do bad things to her. So he’d allow himself just a kiss.

  He ran the tip of his tongue across her lips. He nipped lightly, tugging her lip in a way that made her gasp.

  Slow it down, he told himself.

  He brushed his lips against hers, holding back as best he could. She tasted so damn good though, the faintest bit of wine still on her lips. Her lips parted, inviting him in for more, and he swirled his tongue against hers.

  The next thing he knew she was backing them up against the wall. He responded by crushing his mouth to hers and twining his hands tighter into her hair. He kissed her hard, ruthlessly, wanting to consume her with deep, greedy kisses, but cursing himself for it. Jamie needed sweetness, tender kisses and touches. He forced himself to ease back, breaking the kiss. She whimpered at the lack of contact, but then he moved to her neck, layering soft kisses on her collarbone that made her sigh hungrily.

  “Oh, Smith, that feels so good,” she whispered.

  She felt pretty fucking good to him too, so he nibbled on her shoulder, and then she grabbed hard on his ass, bringing him close, and that did him in. He pressed his teeth into the sweet flesh of her shoulder, biting down.

  He braced himself, figuring she would pull away.

  Instead, she moaned softly, almost as if surprised. He pressed his lips to the bite mark, soothing away any pain.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be,” she whispered. “Do it again.”

  …

  She’d never been into biting. But then, she’d never been bitten.

  Something about the pleasure and sweet sharp pain drove her wild, though, and heat pooled between her legs, especially when he bit her again. There was the slightest bit of stubble on his jaw, and the bristly feeling of it against her skin ignited all her desire to be taken.

  That word echoed in her lust-swamped brain.

  She leaned back and stretched her neck to the side, inviting more.

  Smith blazed a trail of hot kisses and sharp nibbles along her shoulders and her neck. She grabbed for his waist, pulling his body closer, so she could feel the weight of him against her, his trim stomach, his legs, and the best part of all—that fantastic hardness. She rubbed her thigh against his erection and ran her hands across the firm planes of his belly through his T-shirt. He hissed in a breath at her touch.

  “Damn, woman, when you touch me like that, it makes me want to take you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  He pulled back to look at her, his voice now a low rasp. “Yes.”

  “How do you want to take me?” Jamie had never been talked to like this before, but it turned her on, she was learning. She’d always liked the flirty way he’d talked with her, but that was just the tip of the iceberg with him. His mouth was so much dirtier than she’d imagined, and his words made her feel alive, electric. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew better. But accessing that part of her brain was becoming difficult. Rational thought crumbled when he kissed her. Reasons to walk away fell through her fingers after he’d touched her.

  “Hard. And fast. And up against the wall.”

  She’d never done it up against the wall. Sex was meant for bedrooms, by candlelight, with soft, sexy music playing. But her body seemed to think otherwise because desire unspooled in her—and so did her own patent curiosity to be with him. She’d figured one dance would get him out of her system, but that was child’s play. To eradicate this man from her head, maybe she needed to do the deed once and for all. A one-night-only performance, and then she’d never have to think about him again. Yes, she reasoned—as much as she was capable of reasoning given the swirls of lust clouding her mind—one time with Smith and then she could wipe her hands of this desire that had lodged a permanent home inside her. She hoped this wouldn’t complicate their friendship, but a one-night stand was safe, she reasoned. They could give in to the lust this time, and still be friends tomorrow, right?

  Of course.

  Besides, she liked the idea of being taken. Liked it a heck of a lot, judging from the way the hairs on her arms stood on end and her skin sizzled. “Storage room. Now,” she said, in between pants.

  She led him to the small room a few feet away. Once inside, she kicked the door closed, dimmed the light, and went for another kiss before she could think twice. Thinking was out of the question now. She’d made her decision—she was going for it. Taking a one-way ride on the Smith train and then she’d get off it for good.

  She zoomed in on his abs again, running her hands across his stomach. My god, he was pure male perfection. He felt even better than he looked in the calendar—and he looked damn spectacular in those pages. She needed nothing more on this earth right now than to map his strong body with her hands. She yanked off his shirt so she could have free rein.

  “Jamie,” he warned as his shirt fell to the ground.

  “What?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure of what?”

  “If you take off anything else, I am going to be fucking you. Got that? This is your warning.”

  She blushed at his crudeness. But it turned her on even more. She had no idea why, especially since she didn’t use those words herself, so she didn’t know what to make of her reaction, but she was aching for him. She trailed her eager hands across his pecs, so solid, so strong. “What if I don’t want to listen to that warning?”

  “Then I am going to need to find out if you’re as wet as I think you are right now.”

  Jamie was used to Smith the sweet talker. Smith the flirt. Smith the upstanding fireman who saved people when they needed to be saved. But Smith the dirty talker? Who knew that would ignite her? She’d always wanted romance, sweet nothings, poetry—pretty words to make her swoon.

  This was beyond swooning.

  She was a live wire, and her veins were flooded with heat.

  “I want you to find out how turned on I am,” she whispered, fingering the hem of her skirt, half-shocked that she was inviting him in like this.

  He arched an eyebrow, and perhaps he was surprised too that she was going along with everything.

  “You better be,” he said roughly, grabbing her wrists, and pinning them over her head, as he backed her up against the shelves. The wood edge pressed into her spine, and it should have hurt, but instead it was yet another sensation that reminded her of how hot he was for her,
and vice versa. “Because if I take off your panties and you’re not fucking soaked through, I am going to have to hold you down hard.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise with his words. She raised an eyebrow, feeling daring and risqué in a way she never had before. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  He grabbed a hand, lowered it, and pressed it against him. She moaned at the feel of his steely length through his jeans. “You think I’m joking?”

  She shook her head, grinning like a lust-struck fool. “I want to touch you.”

  Who was this woman saying these things? But they were coming out of her mouth, matching his dirty words as best she could, as he rubbed her palm over his erection.

  He shook his head as if he were tsking her. “You will, but first things first. Before I let you touch my cock, I need to know how much you want me. I need to feel how”—he leaned in, his mouth buzzing its way to her ear—“slick you are between your legs. I want your panties to be so damn soaked you can’t put them back on afterward.”

  She was on fire, lit up all through her blood and bones and breath. Every cell in her body was comprised solely of desire and reckless need.

  “Please touch me,” she whispered, and he dropped her other wrist.

  With strong hands, he gripped her hips and lifted her onto the shelf, shoving paper towels and washcloths to the floor in one quick sweep of a hand. He was commanding. He was determined. He was a man who knew what he wanted—and he wanted her. She might regret this in the morning. Hell, she might regret it in an hour, but right now there were no regrets.

  She wanted him. She wanted him hard and wild. Like she’d never had it before. One time, one night.

  “I’m going to make you come in my hands, and then I am going to take you.”

  Chapter Three

  Jamie’s panties alone—red lace with a white flower in the middle—were a turn-on. But the feel of them. They were so hot and wet that Smith had no choice but to rip them off. She spread her legs wide, and he felt her against his fingers and cursed. “Fuck, you’re hot, woman.”

  “You made me this way,” she said, her head falling back as she gave in, rolling her hips against his hand.