Burning Up

by Susan Andersen

  Voices could be heard coming from the dining room, along with the sound of chairs scraping back from the table as her relatives’ boarders gathered for dinner. Macy smiled to herself at the discovery that she was still every bit as curious and fascinated to see what the dynamics would be of the current group Lenore and Bud had taken in as she’d been as a kid.

  But when she reached the doorway she stopped in her tracks, causing Janna to bump her crutch’s rubber tip against her heel. “Seriously?” she demanded incredulously.

  Because there, seated midtable, his big shoulders taking up a small person’s worth of space on either side of him, a slight smile on his face as he placed a napkin on his lap and listened to a young man she didn’t recognize, sat the very last man she expected to see.

  Freaking Fire Chief Gabriel Donovan.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GABE HEARD MACY’S VOICE and for a second everything stilled.

  Then the planet recommenced its rotation, platters clattered onto the table as Lenore transferred them from the cart and he got his game face on before turning away from Mike Schwab, one of the three boarders studying farming methods at AAE, the experimental agricultural project outside of town. Because what the hell? Women didn’t stop his world. Not to mention it didn’t say a helluva lot for his deductive abilities to be caught flat-footed at finding O’James here. He knew she was the Watsons’ niece; this was the only logical place for her to be.

  But, observant wonder boy that he was, he looked across the table and didn’t even recognize her at first. His gaze went straight to that sassy blond hair, only to realize it didn’t jibe with the face of the wearer. Janna’s full-leg cast probably should have been his first clue, and he looked away from her to the woman holding Janna’s crutches while she eased onto a chair.

  Heat promptly streaked down his spine.

  He ignored it by focusing on the reasons he hadn’t copped to Macy being Macy right away, because, face it, she wasn’t exactly a woman who was easy to ignore. Yet except for the sailor shirt she still wore, nothing about her looked the way it had out on the road.

  Her hair was a different shade of blond—actually more the amber-brown of good ale—and its long style and blunt-cut bangs emphasized her cheekbones while the short platinum wig had been all about her eyes. Which, he saw in the early-evening sunshine pouring through the windows, were hazel, not green. Well, part of her irises were a clear green, but they were ringed in a darker shade and striated with amber near the pupils. As for her clothing, she’d ditched the shorts for worn, snug jeans and was currently barefoot. She looked more farmer’s daughter than forties pinup. Same woman, different fantasy.

  Maybe that was why she did so well on all those music videos—she was a chameleon, able to change her look at will without losing her ability to remain the average guy’s dream girl.

  “Hey there, Mr. Grandview,” the dream girl said in her throaty voice, looking at the old man two seats down from him as if he were God’s gift. “It’s so nice to see you again. You still breaking hearts right and left?”

  For God’s sake, Gabe thought in disgust, the man was eighty-five if he was a day. Apparently O’James’s sole requirement for flirting was a pulse.

  Not that Grandview appeared to object. “Yes, ma’am.” He agreed with a chuckle. “Come senior afternoons down at the grange hall, I got wimmen buzzing around me like bees on mint.”

  She flashed him a smile of admiration. “You always were a devil with the ladies.”

  Lenore handed a big bowl of peas to Dawson on her left and took her seat. “Let’s get my food passed around before it gets cold, people. Everyone, this is my niece, Macy O’James. Macy, this here is Brian Dawson,” she said of the man with the bowl. “He and Mike Schwab and Jim Holstrom—” she indicated the men as she introduced them “—are studying farming methods at the Experimental. The lovebirds there,” she continued, nodding to a young couple whispering and exchanging surreptitious touches at the far end of the table, “are Justin and Tiffany McMann.”

  “Newlyweds?” Macy asked them, accepting the platter of pork chops from Tyler and spearing one onto her plate. She turned to her cousin. “You want to split one of these?”

  “Sure,” Janna agreed, taking the platter and passing it on. “Just don’t expect me to relinquish my share of the potatoes.”

  Macy turned back to the couple. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ask a question, then not listen to the answer.” But tumbling to what the rest of them already knew—that the just-wed teens paid attention to no one but each other—her lips crooked in a wry smile. “O-kay. Who says talking’s required to get a straight answer?”

  Lenore snorted. Pointing to Gabe as he speared two pork chops onto his plate, she said, “The big boy across from you is Gabriel Donovan. Our new fire chief.”

  He half expected Macy to pretend this was the first time they’d seen each other. But she merely gave him a brief nod before turning her attention on her aunt. “We actually met out on the highway,” she said. “Johnny Angelini pulled me over for driving ten above the limit and Fire Chief Donovan was with him. I didn’t know he was living here, though.”

  “I’m in the process of building a house,” he said with the aloof courtesy that was his default manner with anyone he didn’t know, then shot Lenore a smile. “I’m not sure how I’m going to tear myself away from your cooking, though, when the place is finished.” Turning his attention back to Macy, he invited perfunctorily, “Call me Gabe.”

  When Brian, Mike and Jim tripped all over themselves inviting her to call them by their first names as well, he shook his head. Not that he had a problem with them seconding his invitation. But Jesus. You’d think three grown men would have more pride than to tumble all over themselves like a litter of eager puppies.

  He transferred his attention to Janna, absorbing the change in her appearance. “You sure look nice tonight.”

  Color touched her cheeks. “Thank you. Macy dolled me up.”

  “Mom looks really pretty, doesn’t she?” Tyler piped up. “And she didn’t even hafta dye her hair from one of those boxes.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie agreed around a mouthful of sweet potato fries. “That’s a wig of Ty’s Aunt Macy’s.”

  Resisting an unusual urge to check out Aunt Macy sans her wig in more microscopic detail than he’d already done, he kept his focus determinedly on Janna. “It looks good on you.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Lenore agreed. “And it’s sure nice to see some color in her cheeks.”

  “Johnny slap you with a ticket, sweetheart?” Bud asked Macy in a low voice, promptly diverting Gabe’s attention. He looked across the table at her, wondering if she’d invest the story of being pulled over with the same hint of attitude he’d sensed when it had been happening.

  But she merely shrugged. “Nah. Johnny’s always been a pretty decent guy. He just gave me a warning.”

  Charlie leaned forward to look around Janna’s boy at Macy. “My sister says you’re, like, a movie star, or something.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’ve tol’ him and tol’ him you ain’t.”

  “You’ve told him she’s not,” his mother corrected.

  “I know! But his sister Amy keeps insistin’ she is.”

  Macy gave the boys a crooked smile. “Tyler’s right, Charlie. I’ve made a name for myself in the music-video industry, but movie star–wise I’m not even a little fish in a big pond. I’m more like a minnow in the ocean.” She indicated the basket next to his elbow. “Pass me those rolls, will you?”

  The basket was handed to her, and holding it in both hands, she brought it up to her nose and inhaled deeply, her lips quirking up and her eyes sliding closed in appreciation.

  But her eyelids promptly reopened and she gazed straight at Gabe, catching him watching her. He felt that look like fingers running down his chest. Then her tongue commenced a slow glide across her full bottom lip and his balls tightened.

  Damn. He didn’t understand why those eyes
and that voice and, hell, every goddamn thing about her kept having such an impact on him. Women didn’t usually get under his skin. He didn’t allow it.

  Yet here he sat, waiting to see how outrageous she’d be in the company of her aunt and uncle.

  “You’re right to worry about who’ll do the cooking when you move into your new house,” she murmured. “Because Auntie Lenore is, hands down, the greatest cook in the world.”

  And as fast as she’d locked gazes with him, she turned her attention to selecting a roll and passing the basket to Janna.

  Leaving him irritated as hell that he felt…let down.

  And itching for something he couldn’t even name.

  MACY HAD JUST GOTTEN Janna settled in the over-stuffed chair in their room when her cousin swore and started levering herself out of it again.

  “Whoa!” Macy put a hand on her shoulder. “Sit. Stay. What do you need?”

  “Me, nothing. But I forgot all about Ty’s uniform for tomorrow’s Little League game. Dammit, I meant to check earlier to make sure it was clean and not moldering under his bed since the last game.” She planted her hands on the arms of the chair as if preparing to push herself back onto her feet.

  “Plant your butt,” Macy ordered. When Janna narrowed her eyes at her, she snapped, “Don’t give me that look. This is exactly the kind of thing you wanted me here for. So take a deep breath. I’ll run up and see if he has it. And if it is under the bed, I’ll make him fish it out and we’ll bring it down and run a load of laundry. You know that’s no biggie. There’s always something needs washing in this house.”

  “Okay.” Blowing out a breath, her cousin sagged against the cushions. “Thank you.” She scrubbed a hand over her mouth. “God, I hate this. Every little molehill turns into frigging Mount Everest.”

  “I know. But that’s what you’ve got me for—I’m your designated mountain climber. So prop that leg up. Grab your book. Or I can turn on Wheel, if you prefer. You always were better at that game than me. You want anything from the kitchen?”

  “God, no. I’m still stuffed from dinner.”

  She grinned. “Yeah. I wasn’t kidding when I told the fire chief your mom puts on one dynamite spread.”

  But the last thing she wanted to think about was Gabriel Donovan. She hated the fact she was so aware of the man while he was all cool-eyed disinterest when he looked at her.

  “All right, then,” she said briskly. “I’ll go find out the status of Ty’s uniform.”

  She took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor and strode down the hall to the Closet, where she rapped on the door.

  “Who is it?” Tyler’s muffled voice demanded.

  “Emissary from your commanding officer, Seaman Purcell. Open up.”

  The door whipped open. “I’m not a seaman, Aunt Macy—I’m captain of the sub!”

  “My mistake, Cap’n. So, you all ready for tomorrow’s game? You have your uniform in tiptop shape?”

  “Yep. Grandma washed it up for me and it’s in my closet. On a hanger and everything.”

  “Excellent. How ’bout your shoes, mitt, all that sorta thing? They ready, too?”

  “Uh-huh.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Can me and Charlie get back to our game now?”

  Over his shoulder she saw Charlie twist around to stare at her and hooked her elbow around Tyler’s neck to haul him in for a noogie. “Yes, you may,” she said, turning him loose. “As you were—”

  He shut the door in her face.

  “—men.” A huff of laughter escaped her. “Am I racking up the points with the under-twenty crowd tonight, or what?”

  She was smiling when she turned around, but yelped in surprise as she smacked into someone. Reaching out a hand to steady herself, she jerked it back when it touched the abdomen of whatshisname, one of the guys studying at the Experimental.

  “Steady there.” His hands grasped her upper arms.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” She stepped back, breathing easier when the man’s hands dropped away. Jeez, girl, get a grip. This was a shy young man, not Jack the Ripper. “Um, Brian, right?”

  “Yeah. Hey, at dinner, I didn’t get a chance to say how much I enjoy your videos. That Aussie Kiss one, Burn, Baby, Burn? Man, you smoked in that!”

  A corner of her mouth ticked up. “Mr. Dawson, are you punning me?”

  “Huh?” Then he chuckled. “Oh. I guess I did make a pun. Not on purpose, though. I just can’t believe I’m meeting you and want you to know how hot I thought you were in that video.”

  Because he didn’t leer at her as he said it, she swallowed a sigh. But, God, she was tired of being told how hot she was and so glad to know that her career had recently shifted from being on-camera to working behind the scenes. All the same, because the guy was perfectly sincere and he hadn’t leered, she slapped on some sass and ramped up the appreciation factor. “Aren’t you a doll? I’m so gratified you enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, man, I really did. I liked all of them, but especially that—” he cut himself off as the bathroom door opened behind her and shampoo-scented steam rolled out into the hallway. “Oh. Hey, Gabe.”

  Damn.

  “I was just telling Macy here how much I enjoyed her in Burn, Baby, Burn.”

  “Isn’t he just the sweetest?” Bracing herself, she turned around—and nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw Gabe clad in nothing but two towels, one wrapped low around his hips and the other slung around his strong neck. Skin warming, she forced herself to give him a cool once-over from the top of his damp hair, to the large hands grasping the ends of the neck towel, to his long bare feet. “Well, aren’t you the picture of big and strong. Do you always walk around half naked, Fire Chief Call-me-Gabe?”

  “Difficult to shower with your clothes on.”

  “And yet so easy to dry off and dress in the bathroom.”

  “I think we all got used to it being the Boy’s Club up here,” Brian said edging away. “Well, uh, hey. I better get going. Nice talking to you, Macy.”

  “You, too, cupcake.” She swiveled back to face him. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other regularly.” Watching as he backed down the hall, she gave him a friendly finger wiggle when he stopped in front of the Green Room.

  Ducking his head, he smiled shyly, then entered the room. She drew a deep breath and turned back to Gabe.

  Only to find that he’d taken a giant silent step forward while her back was turned and her nose was practically touching the hard curve of his lightly furred chest.

  “Hel-lo!” Surrounded by his soap-and-shaving-cream scent, she took a nonchalant step back and looked up at him, taking in the gleam of the freshly shaven skin on his cheeks and jaw. “Sneaky son of a gun, aren’t you.” Against her will, her gaze was drawn back to the fine cloud of black hair covering his pectorals.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  A bead of water slid down his tan neck and rolled over his clavicle, heading for the fan of hair. I will not lick it, I will not lick it. She forced her gaze back to his face. “Excuse me?” Her mind replayed his question and she straightened. “Can’t help myself from what?”

  “Flirting. It’s like breathing to you, isn’t it? Wet-behind-the-ears boys, old duffers with one foot in the grave—is there no one you won’t flirt up?”

  “I don’t recall flirting with you. Is that what’s got your boxers in a twist, sugar—you don’t like being left out?” She had a pretty strong hunch this wasn’t a man to mess with and felt her heart gallop. But she’d learned young never to back down, and knew she was going to mess with him anyway.

  Reversing the backward step she’d taken, she touched her fingertip to the drop of water now clinging to his chest hair.

  She wasn’t prepared for the shock such simple contact sent skittering along her nerve endings. Praying its impact didn’t show, she raised the now damp finger to her lips.

  His hand shot out and captured her wrist before she could lick the smear of
water from it. Bringing it to his own lips, he slid her finger into his mouth. Slick, moist heat promptly pulled forth a like condition in every tissue in her body capable of producing it. He wrapped his lips around her finger and sucked hard as he slowly pulled the digit free, and that secret entrance deep between her thighs clenched like the mouth of a drawstring purse.

  In the next heartbeat he’d set her loose. “I’m neither a boy nor an old man,” he said in a low, even voice. “And you might want to rethink making me any offers, implicit or otherwise, if you’re not prepared to follow through on them.” He stepped past her, spreading warmth along her entire left side when the bare skin of his arm brushed her.

  Her heart threatened to hammer its way out of her chest as she turned to watch him, all wide shoulders, long back and longer legs, stalking down the hallway. Yes, she thought hazily, clasping her damp finger with her other hand. I probably oughtta do that. Because, holy shit.

  Holy, holy shit. It had been a simple little suck on one lousy finger, for pity’s sake. He hadn’t dropped his towel, pressed her up against the nearest wall and had his wicked way with her.

  Yet here she stood, rattled so hard that for perhaps the first time in her life not a single comeback popped to mind.

  Because she had a bad feeling she would’ve really liked it if he had.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GABE GENTLY CLOSED his room door behind him, then ripped the towel from around his neck and flung it at the nearest wall.

  It fell far short, drifting harmlessly to the old hard-wood floor.

  “Hell.” Covering the distance to the crumpled terry in a single long stride, he bent and swept it up.

  Only to have the towel around his waist come untucked and slide down his legs to take its place. “Son of a fucking bitch!”

  He swept that one up, as well. Breathing heavily, he stood clutching both linens in white-knuckled fists as he stared blindly at the wall.

  Then he gave a sharp shake of his head and got a grip. He sucked in deep, measured inhalations and slowly exhaled them until his breathing was regulated again. Jesus. What was this? He never had to struggle for control, because he never lost it in the first place.