Up In Flames (Flirting with Fire Book 2)

by Jennifer Blackwood

  He ordered the two beers and carried them back to the table.

  “Heard about it from one of my friends.”

  “Your friend has good taste.”

  He took a long pull from his beer and set it down, his thumb streaking down the condensation of the glass. “Listen, I’m kind of new to this. The whole going-on-a-date thing. But I’m glad I’m doing it with you.”

  Sloane’s lips pulled into a grin that hurt her cheeks. She could give him a hard time, say something that would be a jab, but that didn’t feel right. Not after they’d been getting along so well lately. “Me too. Besides the date with Aaron, this is the first one I’ve been on since I broke it off with Brian.”

  His lips curled like he didn’t even enjoy the mention of her ex. “He was an idiot.”

  Sloane nodded. “He was. But hey, not everyone can be as awesome as us.” She lifted up her beer, and he clinked her glass.

  “To not being idiots,” he said.

  They both took a sip.

  Something about this felt so odd, like she’d rolled out of bed using the left side instead of the right. And yet, it was like she’d been dating him for years, and going to swanky art places and drinking good beer was a normal thing they did. She kind of wanted it to be.

  After deciding on a slogan she wanted to put on her piece of wood, she looked at the paint options on the floor-to-ceiling shelving unit on the other side of the shop. After picking out indigos, blues, and greens, she carried the jars and brushes back to the table.

  “What are you making?”

  “I think I’m going to paint ‘Home Is Wherever the Hell You Want It to Be.’”

  He laughed, and his dimples appeared. Her heart sputtered in her chest. Reece was flat-out gorgeous when he dropped the grumpy facade. “It has a certain ring to it.”

  She glanced over at his design. “You’re making a dog?” From what she could tell of the template, it was a smaller dog, his tail sticking straight up in the air.

  “Peaches will love it. Although I might add a little puddle under the dog to make it more realistic.”

  She giggled. “I’m glad you two are getting along so well.”

  “A lot has changed lately, that’s for sure.” He glanced over to her, his eyes searching hers.

  Sloane couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t just talking about the dog.

  Reece was sweating. His hands were clammy, which didn’t help with the hammering. He was forty nails into his seemingly endless project. He didn’t think he’d be nervous taking Sloane out. He’d purposefully picked a place that didn’t feel like a date. He knew Sloane would appreciate that. She’d said as much when she had mentioned that the French restaurant was stuffy. With the luck she’d had on dating sites, he just wanted her to have a good experience. And for him not to be lumped into the same categories as those guys. He didn’t even know why this felt important, but it did.

  “How’s it going at the hospital?” Come on, man. That’s the best you can do?

  He was running out of things to talk about. And was it over a hundred degrees in this place? He tugged at the collar of his shirt and took another sip of beer.

  “The hospital?” She gave him an odd look. “I guess it’s fine.” She set down her paintbrush and turned to him. “Reece.”

  He swallowed hard. He deserved to deck himself in the face for making this awkward. But it was like civilians at a fire. They couldn’t help but stare in horror while the whole building went up in flames. And here he was holding the Zippo. “Yeah.”

  She let out a deep breath that ruffled the blue yarn he’d set between them on the table. “I’m nervous.”

  He caught her glance out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t usually do small talk. I like that we know each other. I already know the little annoying things about you.” She continued swirling her brush on her canvas, the sky in her painting a deep blue.

  “I think you meant to say amazing.”

  She rolled her eyes at this.

  He continued. “I’m nervous too. I’m sweating all over this stupid hammer.”

  She giggled, and the sound pulsed deep in his gut. He liked to see her smile. Gave him the same adrenaline kick that happened every time he was dispatched to a fire. Maybe even more so.

  “There. See.” She pointed the paintbrush at him. “You can make a joke out of anything. I like that about you. So let’s save the ‘Oh crap, I’ve run out of things to talk about’ stuff for another time.”

  “You’re right. There’s really no need to be nervous when we both know I’m going to make the better art project.”

  She scoffed and made another stroke across her canvas. “Says the person who draws stick figures.”

  “Hey, at least they’re anatomically correct.”

  She shook her head, and they fell into an easy rhythm, one where Reece didn’t feel the need to bring up small talk for the rest of the evening. Instead, they created a happy balance of goading and comfortable silence. Just being next to Sloane, breathing in her rose scent, put him at ease. Watching her hands work across the canvas, her tongue peeking past her lips as she concentrated on each stroke, squeezed something in his chest. He could watch her do this all night. And, in between hammering and wrapping yarn around nails, he did.

  Two hours later, they held up their pieces of art.

  His was a dog that closely resembled Peaches. And he had, in fact, added a tiny blue puddle underneath. “I have to admit, this came out better than I was expecting,” he said.

  “You’re just really good at nailing things, huh?”

  He raised a brow. She really just walked into that one. “I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. “On that note, I think I’m ready to hang this up in my apartment. Care to help me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sloane slid her key into the lock of her apartment, not quite ready for this night to be over. Reece held on to her painting while she shucked off her coat and hat and hung them on the coatrack.

  “I think I want to put it above my bed.”

  Yep, she was leading him straight to her bedroom. If she were psychoanalyzing the reasons behind this, she might come up with something like:

  She wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

  He was good with his tongue. She wanted to see what the rest of him could do.

  She might have been catching the f-word. The nondirty one.

  Feelings.

  She swallowed hard and led him to the narrow hallway that ended at her bedroom.

  Reece blew out a low whistle behind her, his breath ruffling the hair against her neck. “Your room’s so . . . colorful.”

  She took a look around. To her, it was home. All the blues and purples of the paintings, the vases and books stacked by color instead of by author. She had a rainbow in her room. “See? I told you I went easy on your apartment.”

  “My mom loves what you’ve done, by the way. Although I still get shit for having throw pillows from the guys.”

  “They’re just jealous. Plus, I know for a fact Erin will put all sorts of decorations in Jake’s house whenever they decide to tie the knot.”

  “Hey, what’s this?” Reece strode over to her nightstand. He lifted up the pamphlet from the firefighter auction.

  She didn’t want to admit the truth about why she’d kept it. At first, it’d been a nice reminder of how she had Reece just where she wanted him. And now, it was because this was what had brought them together.

  “That?” She snatched the pamphlet. “Oh, nothing. Guess I forgot to throw it away.” She set it down on her dresser.

  “A month after the fact?”

  She sighed. “Fine. I keep mementos, okay?”

  “Nothing wrong with having something that reminds you of me in your bedroom. I can think of other things, though.”

  She swallowed hard. Oh yes. She’d like that. She’d been thinking about it all night.

/>   “The painting.” He lifted it. “Jeez, what did you think I meant? Get your mind out of the gutter, and stop objectifying me, Sloane.” He gave her a wicked grin. One that promised everything she’d been desiring for the past week. She wanted his lips on her again. Everywhere.

  Ass. “Not even dignifying that with an answer.”

  He jutted his chin to the painting he still held. “Do you have a hammer and a couple nails?”

  “Yeah, they’re in the hall closet.” She left Reece in her room while she disappeared into the hallway to grab the supplies. She held the hammer in her hand and took a deep, shaky breath.

  What are you doing?

  Did she really just invite Reece into her bedroom to hang a painting? Even to her untrained dating eyes she could see how desperate this looked. But at the moment, she didn’t care.

  She came back into the bedroom and found Reece sitting on her bed. His bottom lip was hooked between his teeth, and he clasped his hands between his spread legs. The painting was set next to him. Both were nice additions to the room.

  She cleared her throat, and he immediately shot up, looking as if he’d been doing something wrong by being there. She wondered if he had ever just lain in a woman’s bed and not screwed around. According to the women in her nursing unit . . . no.

  That thought was a cold splash of water to the desire coursing through her veins. He’d been with her friends. The people she worked with. And treated them as nothing more than passing mile markers on the interstate. Would he . . . do the same to her? She tried to shove that thought out of her head and handed him the hammer and nails.

  He kicked off his shoes and stood on the bed, grabbing the painting with one hand and the hammer with the other while biting a nail between his teeth.

  Five minutes later, there were two new holes in the wall above her bed and a freshly dried painting. “How does it look?” he asked, straightening the frame.

  “Good.” But all she could look at was the way his thick legs fit in his jeans. The sliver of exposed skin on his back where his shirt rode up as he reached for the top of the painting. She wanted to glide her hands over his skin, for her fingers to trail around to the front of his jeans. She wanted her fingers to slip underneath them, to his boxers, until they met the one part of Reece she’d never seen before.

  “I can feel your objectifying eyes on me again.” He turned around and found her staring at him.

  “That would require me to be interested enough to objectify you.” Okay, she totally was.

  “Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that one. It’s okay to stare. I know I’m a lot of man to handle.” He grinned.

  “Full of yourself much?” She was so far out of her depth here. Because, really, she was debating the proper protocol for begging for great oral sex again. That was where her mind was headed. And there came the nerves again. She thought she’d been nervous at Club DIY, but right now, her hands were shaking, and her heart was pounding enough that she seriously questioned if she was going into a cardiac episode. “I think I’m going to need some wine. Do you want any?”

  “Sure.” He followed her out to the kitchen, and she grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge and a corkscrew from the silverware drawer.

  Her fingers fumbled to open the bottle of wine, but she managed to get the cork out without breaking it.

  Just wine. Just Reece. No need to freak out.

  She took a deep, calming breath. In, out. In, out. Then her thoughts went in a completely different direction because even her inner monologue wasn’t safe from her teenage-boy mind.

  As she reached to pour the wine into the glasses, her sleeve caught the bottle, and it bounced on its side on the counter, splashing Reece. Huge red drops went everywhere. On his shirt, his stomach, even a few on his pants.

  “Oh no. I’m sorry.” She raced for a towel and dabbed the front of his shirt, but the fabric was blooming red with the wine. “Crap, that’s going to stain.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a shirt.”

  “Take it off. I’ll throw it in the wash real quick.” She motioned to him to hurry. She’d had enough wine spills over the years to know that the quicker something was washed, the more promising the outcome.

  “Is this all part of your master plan to get me naked? I promise you just have to ask.”

  “I’d kick you out, but I don’t think your head will fit through my door.”

  “Guess that means you’re stuck with me.” Playful hazel eyes looked up at her, followed by a smirk. He unfastened his shirt, making quick work of the buttons, and then handed it to Sloane. Her mouth went dry. As a nurse, Sloane saw all kinds of bodies. Small ones, larger ones, skinny ones, muscular ones. And in her seven years she’d never seen a chest that made her want to salivate.

  He stood in front of her, his bare chest inches from her touch. His pecs were dusted with sandy-blond hair. More hair started at the bottom of his navel and disappeared into the band of his dark jeans.

  She grabbed his shirt and moved out of the kitchen to the laundry closet and shoved it in the washer, giving her hands something to do.

  Reece had found a spot on the couch when Sloane got back to the living room. He looked so large on the sofa that comfortably fit her and her two friends. The muscles in his broad shoulders bunched as he propped his arms on the back of her couch. Her gaze laser-focused on his biceps and sinewy forearms corded with veins.

  She stopped, barely able to breathe. A low hum coursed through her veins, heading straight to the space between her thighs. It throbbed in a rhythm akin to an SOS message: Must. Mount. Sexy. Firefighter.

  She hadn’t been with a man in more than a year. Hadn’t even thought the possibility was near, not by a long shot.

  “Something you see pique your interest?”

  If someone had looked at her with her shirt off, she’d try to cover up every inch of exposed skin. Reece was sitting there, welcoming the stare. “It seems like it’s pretty run-of-the-mill firefighter stuff. I mean, aren’t you all loaded with muscles?”

  Of course this was a lie. Reece was gorgeous. The type who would make women do a double take on the street and say, Dayum. With a body completely covered in tattoos from shoulder to elbows, collarbone to pecs, that wasn’t a surprise. Her eyes and hands would be busy for days exploring. Her eyes flicked to the disjointed scorpion with the fading red scar. The wound she’d stitched.

  “I think we both know you’re lying. You know how I know?” He put out his hand, an invitation to sit next to him. She took it, and he led her down to the spot next to him. The wine had gotten to her. Even if she’d had only three sips, and a beer a couple of hours ago, it still must be the alcohol.

  “How?”

  “You have a tell. Do yourself a favor and never play poker.”

  “What’s my tell?”

  “Right here.” He looked at her for a long moment and then leaned in. The scent of his shampoo and body wash enveloped her, putting her into an even deeper fog. His lips moved to the corner of her lips. Just a light graze. Every inch of her skin lit up, waiting for more. “You tip your lip down when you’re lying.” He dragged his bottom lip across the skin of her cheek line. “And your cheeks turn a delicious shade of red.”

  “They do not.”

  But she didn’t doubt it. Her body felt flush. With something that she felt acutely between her thighs. It pulsed there, almost painfully.

  “Sloane, if you want it, I’ll strip off every single stitch of clothing from your body and make you forget your own name.”

  “I—I can’t.”

  His mouth turned into a wicked grin. “You say one thing, but your eyes say something completely different.”

  “And what do they say?”

  His mouth moved to her ear, his warm breath caressing, sending a shiver down her spine. “That you want me. That you’d beg for me. To fill you.” He pressed against her harder. “To bury myself deep inside you until you scream my name.”

  And she felt the evid
ence of what he could do, thick and swollen against her. She fought back a shudder.

  “I can’t.” Because she couldn’t. She couldn’t give him what he wanted because that was what every other woman in her unit had done, and they’d ended up as one-night stands. Sloane didn’t work that way.

  “I’m patient. I’ll wait.” He pulled away, not pressuring her. If he had, she might have caved.

  Damn it. Why did he have to be such a good guy? It’d make it a lot easier to kick him out of her apartment. Every single cell screamed to take her refusal back. But she was choking. It was like those horrible instant replays of a football game where a player missed a game-changing pass, the ball slipping through his fingers. Her body was the bewildered fans in the stands yelling, What the crap, lady? You had a perfect pass thrown to you. Take it to the end zone. Even if her body was completely ready for him to make good on his promise, her brain just wasn’t on the same wavelength. Yet. And she wanted every part of her to be ready for Reece. Because she knew Reece would be worth it. The good guy who’d been protective of her and Erin as kids. That guy she once knew had been gone for more than a decade, dating around. Now, it was like the fog had lifted, and the old Reece shone through.

  “I’m feeling kinda tired.” Ugh. Would Reece think she was a total loon if she smacked herself right now? She was such a chicken. And she wanted to take it back as soon as the words popped out of her mouth.

  “No problem. You know where to find me.” He smiled that knee-buckling grin and made his way to the coatrack and pulled on his jacket without a shirt underneath. He gave her one lingering kiss that curled her toes, and then he left.

  As soon as she locked the dead bolt, she let out a groan. Idiot. She was so completely stupid.

  She pressed her head against the door. Seriously, what was wrong with her? Right now she could be well on her way to O-Town, and instead, she’d kicked him out because of his past indiscretions. It was for the best, though. She didn’t want to be someone’s one-night stand. Didn’t think her heart could handle it. That was Reece’s MO. So she did what she always had. Shut it down before it could become an issue.