Fiona's Flame

by Rachael Herron

  Fiona nodded, her lower lip between her teeth.

  He turned her, keeping his touch soft, so that she faced him, standing in front of him in nothing but two pieces of dark lace. ‘This,’ he touched the top of her bra and skimmed a finger along the top of her panties, ‘this is a frame, too.’

  ‘But … my bed needs a frame to stand up …’ she said uncertainly and Abe caught immediately what he’d said wrong.

  ‘No, no. Not like that. You don’t need this, are you kidding me? Let me show you.’

  ‘What are you …’

  Abe slipped one strap off her shoulder and then the other. Then he ran his fingers along her shoulder blades, loving the way her skin felt as goosebumps rose, following his touch. She shivered as his arms went around her. With one hand he unsnapped her bra, and with the other, he tugged off the black lace, tossing it onto the floor.

  ‘Hey,’ she said weakly. ‘That’s eighty bucks.’

  He rocked back on his heels. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I may wear boy clothes on the outside,’ she said, ‘but I like pretty underthings.’ She said it as though she had to justify it.

  ‘That is,’ Abe said, ‘the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.’

  She lit up again, her face brightening. God, he loved doing that to her.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, bringing his lips to her neck again. He couldn’t stop touching her there, the skin underneath her jaw so soft he could barely feel it. She smelled of jasmine, the wild, open sweetness he associated with night. ‘It is.’

  Still gently, so as not to spook her, he led her to the bed. Never breaking the kiss, he leaned her backward and slid off her panties. Even though she was kissing him, meeting his touch with her own, she was still holding something back. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked until the peak of it was hard. Then he released it and blew, the shock of the cold air stiffening it even more. Almost as stiff as he himself was. Jesus, he wanted her.

  But he wouldn’t rush her. She reminded him of a little sailboat he used to have – no matter which direction he’d wanted her to turn, he had to make sure he wasn’t too rough or she’d spook.

  Cupping her other breast in his hand, he slid up her body until he was lying alongside her. He willed himself to breathe deeply. Pace yourself. There was no hurry. They had all night. Might as well face the fact that he was thinking about tomorrow night, too.

  ‘Tell me what you want.’

  Fiona didn’t hesitate. ‘I want you.’

  Did she have any idea how hot she was? Those words forming in her mouth like that?

  ‘I want you, too,’ he said, and he couldn’t help the growl that formed in the back of his throat as he nipped the side of her jaw with his teeth. ‘I also want to know that you’re totally here. With me.’

  Fiona moved onto her side so that they were facing each other. ‘I’ve wanted you forever.’

  And I’ve wanted you for days.

  It was different, this need. He knew that. And he hoped that it could be enough for her, for tonight.

  She took a condom from a drawer next to the bed. He put it on, never breaking eye contact with her, her hands helping him roll it on. Abe kissed her again, and before he could decide what she might like best, what he should do to please her exactly the right way, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him onto his back.

  ‘Whoa, there.’

  ‘Let me be in charge.’ She straddled him, agonizingly slowly.

  Well, hell. If that’s what she really wanted … ‘You can do whatever you want, honey, as long as you don’t stop what you’re –’ He broke off as she put him inside her. ‘But go as slow as you need …’

  Fiona didn’t heed him. In one smooth, fast stroke, she slid down his cock, taking him completely inside. He heard a silent roar in his head, and the fever that blazed awake in him, low inside, was matched by the fire in her eyes. Without saying a word, she lifted herself, slowly, so slowly, slower, and then slid down him again. She tilted her head back, finally breaking their eye contact, as if she had to focus on something deep inside.

  She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her breasts, high and small, nipples tightly budded and dark against her skin. Her stomach, flat, with that snowflake, blue and lacy, just above her hipbone. Now that she tipped her head away from him, her hair fell so far back that he felt it brush his knees – he’d never known such a light touch could make him feel like his world was about to tear apart.

  ‘Holy mother of –’ He couldn’t finish whatever it was he might have been saying. Fiona was speeding up now, raising herself and pushing back down onto him in a perfect rhythm. His hips matched her thrusts, and when he put his hands at her waist, fingertips at the small of her back, thumb pressing in just below her hipbone, she tipped forward again, landing with her palms pressed against his chest, mouth on his, never stopping that perfect, perfect rocking. He was so close now. He shouldn’t be – God knew he should take more time with her, so much more time – make her come first, make her come hard, but he couldn’t stop, not when she moved like that …

  Fiona put her lips to his ear and whispered, ‘Abe, Abe, Abe,’ in time with the motion of her hips.

  He lifted one hand to the back of her head, threaded his fingers through her hair and said, ‘Jesus, Rayna.’

  Fiona stopped moving. Completely.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Of course, no matter what you call it, a left-leaning decrease will always be a left-leaning decrease. – E. C.

  It took all Fiona’s will to stop moving when every single fiber of every muscle was screaming at her to keep riding, keep rocking, with Abe sunk so deep inside her she didn’t know where she ended and he began.

  But she stopped. She held herself so still that she felt the molecules inside her cells freeze. Slowly, carefully, she pushed her arms straight, lifting herself off, rolling to the side and then all the way over, so her back was to him on the bed. The air felt like ice on her overheated skin.

  ‘Fiona.’

  If she ignored him hard enough, maybe she wouldn’t have to tell him to go away, maybe he’d just figure it out like a rational adult, and she could just lie here and die of embarrassment by herself.

  ‘Fiona, I’m so fucking sorry.’ Was his voice shaking?

  Of course it was. He’d been so close. She’d felt the heat rising through him. Another twenty seconds … and she would have regretted it even more than she already did.

  He put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off violently. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘I don’t know what happened. It just slipped out. Rayna and I haven’t been together in … so long.’

  Fiona kept her back to him, kept her mouth shut. What could she say?

  Abe rolled to his side of the bed, and Fiona felt the mattress bounce as he stood. She heard him walk around the bed, and then watched through slitted eyes as he knelt in front of her. He was still naked, and she wished he didn’t look so fucking good, still so hard and so ready.

  ‘Snowflake …’ He reached out as if to touch her hair and then pulled back as she glared. ‘Fiona. Please listen to me.’

  Fiona reached behind her and pulled the blanket up. She shivered. ‘Can you please put your clothes on?’

  ‘Fiona …’

  ‘Just put your damn clothes on before you say another word? Can you do that, please?’ It was imperative, somehow, that he be dressed. That she not even have the option of reaching out to him, of touching his skin again.

  Abe stood and pulled on his jeans, then his shirt, which he left unbuttoned.

  ‘I wish I could take it back,’ he said, kneeling at the side of the bed again.

  ‘I wish you could, too.’ He’d felt amazing inside her. She’d felt … Fiona had felt so pretty when he’d looked at her that way.

  ‘It’s just that … with your long hair and those big eyes …’

  Fiona stared at him with horror and then sat bolt upright, dragging th
e blanket with her. ‘Are you saying what I think you are?’

  ‘No, not –’

  ‘You’re saying I look like her? So, what? It’s my fault you called me the wrong name?’

  ‘You don’t look like her.’

  ‘I know that,’ snapped Fiona.

  ‘You look nothing like her. She’s just Rayna. You’re Snowflake –’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘You’re incredible.’

  ‘Go. Get out,’ she said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Fiona, you’re beautiful. So fucking hot that I couldn’t handle it. My brain melted down somehow. Reverted.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t begin to apologize in the right way.’

  Fiona looked at him. He looked miserable.

  Good.

  ‘Go,’ she said. It felt like the only word Fiona had left. Under it, the pain sat, hot and leaden – molten iron she wouldn’t be able to twist into anything else.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Some people are lucky enough to have their mothers be their first knitting teachers. – E. C.

  Fiona barely slept. After Abe left, she’d stripped the bed and remade it, but the air had still smelled of him somehow, like salt and wood. Leaving both windows open made her shiver while she lay under the covers, but at least the foggy damp finally cleared the room.

  In the early dark hours, after nightmares in which she climbed a huge tree root to get to the top of a mountain only to discover she was too scared to climb back down, she woke and showered. She got out the toolbox she kept in the house, laid the kiln brick on her kitchen counter, and fired up the small blowtorch. Earrings. Intricate ones. Long, silver dangles with angles and arcs that curved around themselves – she made the tangled tree root of her dreams and then used the pliers to bend them. To master them.

  As dawn broke, without asking herself why, she went through her closet and found her good jeans, the black ones she kept for special occasions. She’d bought them because Daisy said they made her butt look curvy. Then, instead of an old black t-shirt, she pulled on the red v-neck that she only wore out to breakfast with friends.

  In the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were as puffy as if she’d cried herself to sleep – she hadn’t – and her cheeks were pale. She didn’t allow herself to look at the stubble burn Abe had left on her lower jaw. Instead, she scrabbled in the drawer next to the sink. It was full of sticks, tubes, and lotions, things she didn’t often use but liked, more than anyone knew. She didn’t wear makeup to the shop, but sometimes, at home, alone in the evenings, she liked trying different techniques using tutorials she found online.

  Fiona surprised herself with how steady her hand was as she drew the thick cat-eye line on her upper lid. She took the time to curl her eyelashes and then stroked each one thickly with mascara. Dark lip liner, then, followed by a deep gloss.

  She took out the box of hair chalks she’d bought the year before. Some of the chalks were more used than others – the pinks and greens, for sure. Fiona separated out a long hank of hair, wetted it, and picked the purple chalk. Purple today, right next to the bright blue streak Daisy had given her. She grated it along the lock, stubbornly pleased by the bright color. Setting it with the hair dryer, she watched as her cheeks took color back from the heat.

  Abe didn’t matter.

  What he said didn’t matter.

  She didn’t want to be Rayna.

  Fiona took out the curling iron from under the sink and brushed off the dust. Just because she didn’t use it often didn’t mean she didn’t know how to use it. She did her hair in long, loose waves, smoothing it over her shoulder. It was almost as good as something Daisy would have done to her.

  She looked in the mirror and a different Fiona met her gaze.

  Good. Yet another new one.

  It was busy at the shop, and Fiona fixed a running lamp, replaced a step bumper, and calmed a nervous Toots Harrison when she thought her tire felt loose. ‘It looks lower. Doesn’t it look like it’s losing air? An inch of air? On the right side?’

  ‘It looks fine,’ said Fiona, steering her to the couch and pressing a cup of tea into her hands. ‘Do you have your knitting with you?’

  ‘Can you check it? What if it just falls right off while I’m driving and my car drives over it? Would it be like tripping over your shoelace? If a car lost its tire?’

  ‘It probably won’t fall off, but I promise I’ll check.’

  Toots got out her knitting, a teeny red sock. ‘Do you have a level? Can you check it with a level?’

  ‘I promise I’ll use my level.’

  The tire was deemed fine. Fiona worked her way through two more mini-emergencies, drinking more coffee than she knew was a good idea. The harder she worked, the less time she would have to think about Abe.

  She just wished that was actually true.

  In the afternoon, Daisy and Tabitha stopped by. Daisy wheeled in, a small white bag on her lap. Tabitha kissed Fiona’s cheek with a smack and ran to the couch, where she buried herself in The Haunted Showboat.

  ‘She won’t put it down. It’s all Nancy Drew, all the time. She’s read everything the library has and now she wants me to buy the rest.’ Daisy opened the paper bag. ‘Do you have any idea how many books that beeyotch Carolyne Keene wrote? She’s trying to break me. Besides, she’s seven. Should I even be letting her read them?’

  ‘What,’ Fiona said, ‘you’re scared of all the sex and violence in them? You don’t want her to start saying “shucks”?’

  ‘She should be reading Clifford the Dog books.’

  ‘She also shouldn’t be obsessed by French and by the pheromones of moths.’

  Daisy shrugged. ‘True that. Here. You have to eat half this bear-claw.’

  ‘If I put that much sugar in my body, the top of my head will come off. You have any idea how much caffeine I’ve had today?’ Fiona reached behind the counter. ‘No, you have this bran muffin. It’s good. Applesauce is the secret. That’s what Whitney said. Here, one for Tabby, too.’

  Fiona handed over the muffins and then rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Late night, huh?’ Daisy looked smug. ‘The way Abe looked at you at the dance last night … Y’all made up? I’m assuming that’s why you’re all dolled up today?’

  Fiona scowled. ‘What? I am not.’

  ‘Really? Because you look like you’re going out on a date, not about to pull apart a grimy whatever it is your inner grease monkey has to pull apart next.’

  Fiona reached for Daisy’s bear-claw and tugged off a piece. ‘Gah. This is all sugar.’

  Daisy’s eyes danced. ‘That’s why it’s so good.’

  ‘It’s going to kill you.’

  Daisy sighed but tucked the paper bag into her back pouch. ‘Fine, Mom. I’ll just eat it when you’re not looking. Don’t you know that sugar and white flour is the American way? Are you a Communist or something?’ She laced her fingers in her lap. ‘So. What time did he leave?’

  ‘Who?’

  Daisy didn’t bother to answer, raising her eyebrows expressively.

  ‘He just dropped me off.’

  Daisy blew out an exasperated breath. ‘What? You did not avail yourself of the opportunity to jump those fine bones of his? What is wrong with you?’

  Fiona opened her mouth to tell the truth, but the front door dinged. Lucy Harrison, owner of the local bookstore, came in. ‘Oh, good.’ She passed Fiona a twenty. ‘Can I have that on three?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you’re exactly who I was looking for,’ Lucy said to Daisy. ‘We got a new magazine in at the store, Nancy Drew and You.’

  ‘Mooooooom,’ yelled Tabitha from the couch.

  Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘We’ll run by there next. Thanks for the heads up.’

  ‘You bet.’ Already one foot out the door, Lucy turned to look at Fiona. She tilted her head. ‘You look good, Fee.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Fion
a rubbed at a spot on the counter where half a price sticker still clung.

  ‘Different somehow.’

  ‘She’s just showing off the pretty,’ said Daisy, satisfaction in her voice.

  Fiona didn’t look up, but she felt herself blush. ‘Why can’t I just wear a little makeup every once in a while without everyone freaking out about it?’

  ‘Because you never do it,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Do too.’ Fiona knew she sounded childish but couldn’t help it.

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she stared, concentrating. ‘No, it’s something else. You look like someone …’

  Daisy brightened. ‘Maybe like her mother? I always say she looks a little like Bunny –’

  ‘Stop,’ said Fiona.

  ‘No, someone else.’ Lucy snapped, the sound crisp and loud, making Tabby jump on the couch. ‘Rayna Viera. That’s who it is. You look like her. If I didn’t remember when she moved here with her parents from Oregon, I’d swear you two were related.’

  ‘Well, we’re not,’ Fiona said flatly. She scratched at the sticker on the counter so hard her nail bent backward.

  Daisy rolled forward, staring. ‘You’re right! With your hair curled like that? And your eyes all made up? I don’t think you look so much like her as much as you just look as glamorous as she always does.’

  ‘Right!’ said Lucy with a laugh. ‘If she weren’t so nice I’d have to hate her. Always so perfectly put together. So there you go, Fiona. You should feel good about yourself.’

  Fiona couldn’t even answer. And worse, she couldn’t stop the tears that rose to her eyes. Horrified, she covered her mouth with one hand and ran to the back bathroom.

  The overhead crystal chandelier she’d found at a garage sale cast too low a glow to clearly see herself well in the mirror, but she knew one thing. She didn’t look like Rayna. Maybe there was something about her, though, something that made … people … think it.

  Unwilling to wait for the hot water to warm up the pipes, Fiona scrubbed her face with icy water. Boraxo, the powdered soap she used to get grease out from under her fingernails, scraped at her skin. She rubbed it mercilessly along her lips, dragging the soap over her eyes and mascara’d lashes until her eyes stung and burned. After she’d dried her face with shop towels, she raked her hair back into a messy ponytail, securing it with a rubber band she found next to the air freshener. She wished she hadn’t put the extra purple stripe into her hair – it was still visible at her hairline, next to the electric blue. A fun touch. Something for sure that Rayna would do, and she would look adorable and hip and cute.