Burning Up

by Susan Andersen

  And he didn’t want to watch her walk away, which she was doing even as he thought it. “As long as you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful.”

  “Excuse me?” She turned back. “I’m not your lackey, Donovan.”

  “C’mon. These boards take a lot longer when I’m handling them on my own—we could get the mudroom sided in a snap if you’d lend me a hand.”

  “And that’s supposed to matter to me why?”

  “Beats the hell outta me.” Sparring with her always made him feel somehow lighter, and a big laugh rolled out of his chest. “Because you’re a decent woman who hates to see Sugarville’s overworked, underpaid fire chief spend his few free hours working in the broiling sun?”

  “Pffft. That doesn’t bother me at all. Now a grown man whining like an eight-year-old, on the other hand—”

  “A big fire could burn something to the ground because I’m way out here when it starts.” Okay, it was hard to keep a straight face with that one, since his guys took turns staying within a reasonable distance of the truck. And she had to know it, given the other night.

  But it worked. She blew out a sigh. “Oh, all right. Whatever.”

  Her sulky tone tickled him and he shot her a grin. “You’re a doll.”

  “Damn straight. So what is it, exactly, that you want me to do?”

  Oh, mama. He looked at those lips, those legs. There was a lead-in if ever he heard one. But having learned a thing or two over the years, he merely hopped off the work bench and reached for a new length of HardiPlank. “Climb up on the other end. Here—let me get you something to bridge the gap.” He thunked a pier block in front of the scaffold at her end and offered her a hand up, shrugging when she snorted and stepped up unaided.

  He climbed on with the board, showed her how he fit it beneath the already-applied siding and had her hold it in place while he worked his way down the wall with the nail gun. His shoulder and arm brushed hers as he leaned in to tack her end of the board.

  “Ty hasn’t stopped talking about the fire the other evening,” she said. “I think his current plan is to be a fireman when he grows up.” She shrugged. “Well, that or a rock star like Jack. He told me, though, that you said Driscoll’s fire was arson.”

  “Yeah. One more in a string of them.”

  “Whoa.” She looked at him. “That doesn’t sound like Sugarville.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.” And it burned his ass that not only were the fires happening on his watch but apparently escalating in seriousness. “I mean to put an end to them.”

  He reached her portion of the plank again and she leaned back when he leaned in front of her to finish securing the very end. There was only so far she could go on the narrow bench, however, and that simply made his biceps brush her breasts this time instead of her arm or shoulder. Heat shot down his spine and he didn’t stop to think. Turning to her, he reached out to turn her toward him, as well. “God, you make me crazy,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve got to—”

  She came up onto her toes and kissed him.

  Yes. He closed his eyes in sheer pleasure, absorbing her addictive flavors. His hands tightening possessively, he yanked her to him, making body slap body, his heat to her cooler skin, nothing separating them but a scrap or two of cotton and denim.

  Her hands tightened on his shoulders as well, nails flexing and retracting like a cat’s as he spun them a half turn until her back touched the wall of the porch. Releasing his grip, palms flattening against the boards on either side of her head, he leaned into her, rubbing chest to breasts, hard-on to belly, while his tongue stroked and twined around hers. Then he bent his knees, aligning his sex with hers.

  She moaned deep in her throat and savage satisfaction flared through him. Yes. Like that. Mine.

  The thought jarred him. No. He tore his mouth from hers, staring down at her for a second while confusion roiled in his gut. What was he thinking? He didn’t do possessive. He was just looking for a nice uncomplicated fuck. Yeah. Uncomplicated. None of that flowers/chocolates/lovey-dovey shit.

  He lowered his mouth to hers once again.

  Yet even as his mouth ravaged hers, even as the rock, the press, the rub of his body against hers drew forth more soft sounds from her throat, his thoughts jumped to the kiss he’d caught Savage giving Grace outside the Red Dog. Which made him wonder just what the hell Macy’s relationship was with the guy.

  He shoved it out of his head. Because what the freaking hell did he care what their relationship was? It wasn’t as if this was leading to anything exclusive. But the sweet heat of Macy’s mouth, the soft compliance of her body moving against his, made ignoring it pretty much out of the question. He tried. But the deeper he kissed her to make himself forget, the more he wondered. Had she moved like this, moaned like this for Savage? No matter how hard he worked to push the question away, his mind kept circling back to worry it like a puppy with a knotted rag.

  Until finally he tore his mouth free and demanded, “Does it bug you that Savage was kissing Grace the other night?”

  “Wha?” Licking her lips, she blinked at him as if she were in a fog. Slowly her eyes focused. “Jack kissed Grace?”

  Oh, hell. “Yeah. I thought you knew.”

  No, she didn’t. And wasn’t that interesting, Macy thought. She’d spent several hours with Jack this week, arguing over which song should be Aussie Kiss’s first release from their upcoming album and thrashing out the finer points of her concept for its video. And Jack, who wasn’t usually shy about discussing the women who interested him, hadn’t said boo about locking lips with Gracie.

  But that was something to consider later when her body wasn’t throbbing with unsatisfied lust. Now, she looked up at Gabe. “What do you care if he was or not?” she demanded. “You dumped her, but nobody else can kiss her?”

  “I didn’t dump her! And that’s not the point—”

  Her heart dropped. “Are you two still together?” Oh, crap, that wasn’t what Grace had said.

  “Well, no, but—”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “But nothing, bub. Unless… Did she break up with you?” Although, again, that wasn’t what—

  “No, but—”

  “Then you did dump her, Donovan.” And yet here he was, less than a week later, putting the moves on her. Not that she hadn’t liked every moment of it. But still, he was kissing her but thinking about Grace? “Jeez! Men are such dogs.” Shaking her head, she stepped back from him, careful to watch her step so he’d have no reason to touch her again. “And what the hell am I doing here, anyhow, helping one of your species?”

  She jumped down. “Do your own siding. And don’t forget to bring Auntie’s cooler back!”

  “Dammit, Macy!”

  She stormed off, refusing to acknowledge that her anger might have less to do with Gabriel’s interest in Grace than it did his effect on her. Everything about him lit her up: the way he looked—all that heat and muscle and smooth, taut skin. The way he moved, so lithe and powerful. And then there’d been his laugh—God, that laugh. It had turned her inside out every bit as much as his scorching kisses. It had rolled up from his belly and stopped her heart—then set it thundering again.

  The man made her just plain stupid, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the thumping pulse, the kiss-me, do-me, kiss-me impulses that sparked through her veins, along her nerve endings, simply because he was near. This wasn’t her. She’d learned a long time ago to slap on a front, to laugh and flirt and call the shots. But Gabe left her feeling all out of control. Every damn time.

  Well, screw that. Stalking over to the ’Vet, she climbed in and cranked over the engine with a roar. Slamming it into gear she backed in a tight circle, then threw it into First and roared back down the drive.

  Screw it, screw it, screw it. That crap stopped now.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GABE HEARD MACY talking to Lenore in the kitchen and came to a halt out in the hallway. He had to rein in his first impul
se, which was to march in there and demand to know what her problem was. He’d asked one pertinent, perfectly reasonable question the last time they were together and her response was to get all bent out of shape and storm off? Not to mention that for the past week and a half, ever since that day, except for the occasional well-chaperoned glimpse at dinner, he’d barely clapped eyes on her.

  For someone so red-hot conspicuous, she sure as hell had a knack for disappearing when the mood hit her.

  “Isn’t he cute, Auntie?” he heard her say now. “He followed me home. Can I keep him?”

  “Depends on how house-trained he is,” Lenore replied dryly.

  She’d allowed a dog to follow her home? What was the story on that?

  He snorted. As if he’d be the first one she’d rush to tell. But he’d bet the farm it was a male critter she’d flirted with until it’d had no choice but to dog her footsteps.

  With a shrug, he continued into the dining room to take his seat, absentmindedly returning greetings to the AAE boys and Mr. Grandview. What the hell did he care? It was nothing to him what Macy did, and besides, he was bound to hear the entire story at dinner, anyway. Still, if she had picked up a stray mutt somewhere, he’d put money down it wasn’t a real dog like a golden retriever or a Weimaraner. She’d probably adopt one of those bug-eyed little ankle nippers that seemed to spend their lives wearing weird-ass outfits and riding around in chicks’ purses.

  It turned out he was wrong—and he came halfway out of his seat when a geeky-looking guy, staring at Macy as if he’d won the Mega Millions Lotto, trailed her into the dining room. Then Gabe resettled. Gave his shoulders an impatient roll. So, again, big deal. No skin off his stones.

  “Hey, everyone, meet Jeremy. Jeremy, this is…everyone. Grab a seat,” she urged him, grasping his scrawny wrist and hauling him over until they were directly across from Gabe. “Here’s a couple together.” She grinned at the guy, plopped down next to him when he sat, then quickly went around the table solicitously identifying everyone for him.

  Since she and her pet nerd were the last to arrive, the platters started around the moment she concluded introductions. Gabe watched as she fussed over the weedy little guy, helping him select the choicest piece of fried chicken from the platter and picking the plumpest biscuit for him.

  Today she wore her hair puffed at the crown and her eyes more thickly lashed than usual, as well as dramatically outlined in black. She had on tight black capris, high-heeled sandals and a black polka-dotted white bra—or so the latter garment appeared to him.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “I guess if it’s Tuesday, it must be sex-kitten day.”

  Jack grinned. “Macy likes to channel her inner Brigitte Bardot occasionally.”

  “You’d know.” Gabe glowered at him, too, because…hell, he didn’t know why. Just for drill.

  “Don’t bark at Jack,” Macy snapped.

  “You’re right. Sorry, pal,” he said without taking his gaze off her. “I’m just wondering why it doesn’t bother you she’s wearing her underwear in public.” The two of them being so tight and all.

  “Probably because he knows the difference between underwear and this,” she retorted in a tone suggesting he was an idiot.

  And he must be, because given its underwire cups and lingerie straps he sure as hell couldn’t see the distinction. Brows furrowing, he gave Jack an Is she serious? look.

  Jack merely shrugged. “Don’t ask me, mate.”

  Bud leaned forward to look down the table at Macy’s date. “So, Jeremy, you new in town?”

  The geek tore his gaze from Macy’s cleavage. Squinted at the older man. “I’m just visiting my cousin Henry.”

  “And yet instead of hanging with him,” Gabe muttered, “here you are. At our table.”

  Macy slapped her hand down on the table. “Listen, you ass—”

  “Where you visiting from?” Janna asked.

  “Spokane.”

  “Nice town. What do you do there?”

  “He’s an accountant,” Macy said, giving the back of Jeremy’s hand a brotherly pat. “Don’t you just love a cerebral man?”

  Gabe’s cell phone rang and he said a heartfelt, “Thank you, Jesus,” because for some damn reason he felt seconds away from snatching her hand off Mr. Cerebral’s arm and dragging her out to the porch for a little…discussion.

  Why he couldn’t exactly say. Still, he was grateful for the interruption. The screen showed it was Bundy, one of his volunteers. Please, he thought, hitting the button with his thumb. Let this be a nice big fire. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m at the Feed and Seed, Chief,” Bundy said. “Got a possible lead on the arsons.”

  “I’m on my way.” Shoving his phone back in its holster, he tore a hunk of meat from the chicken breast on his plate and stuffed it into a biscuit as he surged to his feet. “Sorry about disrupting your dinner, Lenore,” he said and loped from the room.

  What the hell’s the matter with you? Scowling, he climbed into his rig, shoved his key in the ignition and, firing it up, slammed it into gear. Now you’re wishing for fucking wildfires to cancel your own lack of control every time you get near the woman?

  Jesus. For over a week he’d been obsessing over that damn kiss. It had been hot and fierce and sweet—and he couldn’t seem to get it out of his head. He prided himself on being an in-charge kinda guy. But she was making him just flat-out crazy. Not in charge at all.

  He pulled into the feed store a minute later, happy to shelve the subject. Happier yet to whip his cloak of professionalism around him. The Closed sign was up in the entrance’s sidelight, but the door was unlocked and he found Bundy and Joe McFadden, the proprietor, in the back. “What’ve we got?”

  Bundy gestured for McFadden to talk.

  “This may be nothing, Chief,” McFadden said, “But I was hauling some pallets out back when I saw Colin Atkins and the Kaufman boy not far from my Dumpster. Colin had a box of matches he was tossing up and catching. Not that I saw him actually use them. Neither did the boys run away or anything when they saw me. They strolled off easy as you please, so it may be that they were just looking for a place to sneak a smoke. Only—”

  “There’re better places to do that,” Gabe said. “Places where they’d be less likely to be seen.”

  “That was my thought. Plus, something about it just made me think of all the odd fires we’ve been having this summer.”

  “Daylight and business hours, however, doesn’t strike me as the best time to chance starting a fire.”

  “True. Although I did stay late to clean up the pallets the feed shipment came in on instead of going home after I closed the store. But that just strengthens the argument for them thinking it’d be safe to smoke a cigarette or maybe do a little weed back there.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m probably being paranoid.”

  “Maybe so, maybe no.” Gabe gave the store owner a level look. “I tell you what, though, Mr. McFadden, I’d rather be called in to discuss your concerns beforehand than try to save your store after it’s already been set on fire.” He turned to Bundy. “I’m not familiar with either kid. What are the odds of their parents letting us question them?”

  “Without actually catching them in the act? Not great. There’s maybe a chance with Colin—”

  McFadden made a skeptical noise and Bundy nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, probably not. And Jake’s old man is Gus Kaufman. No way in hell he’d allow it.”

  “Damn.” He eyed the two men. “Either of you know whether the boys have access to a car?”

  “I don’t think so,” McFadden said. “Or if they do, it’s not very often. I don’t recall seeing either of them driving around town.”

  “So if they’re out and about at night, it’d likely be around the neighborhoods or the retail area.”

  The merchant nodded. “That would be my guess.”

  Gabe turned to his fireman. “Any chance you’d be willing to do a little surveillance with me this evening?” h
e asked. “I have to tell you up front that the mayor probably won’t authorize payment.”

  “Hell, I’m in.” The beefy fireman shrugged. “It’s not like I got myself a hot date tonight. And unlike you, I don’t share the same roof with the world’s hottest video queen—so there’s no huge incentive to rush home.”

  Gabe flashed on an image of bra-clad Macy fawning all over the nerd, and his teeth clenched. But he managed a wry smile for his crewman. “Maybe I can score you an autograph. You can’t spend it, but I suppose it’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.” Turning to McFadden, he thrust out his hand. “Thank you for calling us. We’ll do our best to follow up on your information.”

  Outside, he turned to his man. “As well-thought-out schemes go, this one is pretty half-assed.” Opening the door of his rig, he looked at Bundy over its top. “But hop in, anyhow. I get the impression you and McFadden consider these kids players, punks, or at least largely unsupervised kids?”

  “Yeah.” They climbed into the SUV and Bundy turned to look at him as they buckled up. “Both families have a history of letting their kids run wild. The Kaufman and Atkins kids don’t have Brady Bunch home lives and tend not to spend a lot of time there. They’re known to get into trouble, but mostly it’s been petty stuff.”

  “Let’s track down Johnny Angelini. If anyone has experience with the town’s troublemakers, it’ll be him. Maybe he can shed some light on where we’re likely to find these two.”

  When they found Johnny twenty minutes later, he gave them places to look where the boys usually hung out. Gabe and Bundy spent the next couple hours checking out the kids’ haunts but failed to run across them.

  Finally, Gabe blew out a breath, pulled a U-ie and headed back to the Feed and Seed where Bundy’d left his vehicle. “It’s going to be full dark in about five and we’re going in circles. Let’s call it a night.”