Fire & Desire (Hero Series)

by Monique Lamont

  Snapping his seatbelt, his thoughts returned to the prior day’s events. Everything had been going well until he’d come face to face with Tiffany Selina in the kitchen. He hadn’t expected the strong attraction between them. He’d thought revenge was something he could do, and then walk away.

  He remembered walking into the kitchen to retrieve the bowl of ice Tiffany was supposed to have prepared for his last act. He had stopped instantly at seeing her.

  Tiffany stood in silence at the window, draining a glass of water as if it were a gift from

  God. Her eyes closed as she sipped the cool, clear liquid.

  She looked as though she was in rapture. As if she were being touched in deep and intimate places only a lover would know.

  He remembered instantly yearning to be that lover, if only for a moment. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one to put that look on her face. That had been his goal that night…to set the stage, then make love to Tiffany Selina before the evening was through.

  One of her friends had given him the perfect opportunity to fulfill his plan with Tiffany when she asked him to stay and party with them, but he couldn’t do it. He had been fooling himself to think he could be cruel and heartless enough to sleep with a woman just to get back at Manning. He was not into casual sex. Sex was too intimate and intimacy was personal, so he’d left and returned to the casino hotel.

  The squeak and rattle of the food cart in the coach section of the plane pulled him from his thoughts.

  “Hello, Mr. Wayne, would you like to hear the meal choices?” The first-class attendant stood next to his leather captain-style seat with a bright smile.

  Trevor felt nauseated. His queasy stomach reminded him how disgusted he had been with himself. “No, thank you. Just a ginger ale, no ice, please.”

  “No problem, sir.” She walked away, disappeared around the corner of the mini kitchen and returned with a tumbler glass of bubbling soda, matching her personality. “Here you go, sir.

  Please let me know if you’ll need anything else.”

  Trevor gave her a nod of confirmation.

  His mind drifted once again. Last night he’d arrived back at the hotel after his performance, showered, got dressed and went down to the casino. It was not in his nature to gamble or drink, but he’d given in to the urge and placed a few nickels into a slot machine.

  Trying to erase not only the disappointment he felt toward himself, but also attempting to drown away the realization that he would probably never get back at Manning. He had realized that, with all of his strategic planning, his conscience was not warped enough to play on his nemesis’s level.

  After he had finished his fifth drink and debated on whether he wanted a sixth, Tiffany came around the corner with her friends. They all were extremely drunk. He knew none of them recognized him, nor would they without his half mask.

  He’d sat back and watched them in action. Tiffany sat next to him and began to chat and flirt with him. She became the epitome of a rambling drunk. She told him how constricted her life was and how, at times, she just wanted to be Tiffany without all of the responsibilities of being a governor’s daughter. She desired the freedom to marry anyone she wanted without having to worry about what others thought. Everyone expected her to marry Christopher Manning, but marrying Christopher hadn’t even made the last item on her “to do” list.

  With that, a new plan had formed in his pickled brain—his opportunity had come back around even better than he had dreamed.

  Sitting on the plane, it amazed him that, while drunk, an idea always appeared to be the most brilliant.

  What better way to get back at Manning than to marry the girl he wanted before he had a chance. Acting on his drunken thought, he’d asked Tiffany to marry him right there by the nickel slot machines.

  She’d thought about it for a minute, then turned to him with a big smile that lit up her alcohol-glazed eyes and said, “Why not?”

  She’d found one of her friends and told her she would see her in the morning. She was going to get married.

  Her friend, who was just as drunk as she was, had looked him over, laughed and said, “Whatever you say, Tiffy.”

  Then they’d left and stopped at the first chapel of love they had come upon. He hadn’t even remembered the name of the place until he’d looked at the certificate while Tiffany dressed that morning. All of it had seemed like a dream when he awoke.

  He barely remembered the quick kiss he had given her at the chapel. And he had a foggy memory of them arriving back at his hotel room. He vaguely recalled Tiffany giving him a striptease and his reaction to her body. He had a vivid recollection of being rock hard. Even now, his penis swelled in his pants with the thought.

  The only thing that was clear to him was the fact he had stuck to his resolve not to have sex with her. He had touched, fondled, nibbled and played with her until she’d passed out on top of him. He had found it very difficult to keep them from taking the next step during those heated moments. He’d never professed that he was a monk, but after last night, he would probably have enough good deed points to qualify for his own robe.

  No sex. No kissing. He had stuck to his personal rule. Even with Tiffany’s lips looking appealing and full. She had a mouth made to kiss.

  Nevertheless, kissing was personal and intimate. It was something he couldn’t give without investing his heart.

  In an attempt to ease the pressure in his jeans caused by his straining manhood, Trevor fidgeted in his seat.

  That morning when he’d awakened and watched her while she slept, he had tossed around his options to the situation. Deciding that the only way to see his actions through and have the ultimate revenge was to stay married to Tiffany, just for a little while.

  Just long enough for her to break the news to Manning. He knew there was a possibility of Manning coming after him, but as a soon to be congressman elect, there was only so much he could do without tarnishing his own reputation. The thought of Manning’s character in question brought a smile to his lips.

  However, it was what he didn’t want to happen to Tiffany, a stained reputation. That’s why he left it completely within her power to get an annulment on the grounds of an unconsummated marriage. He contemplated telling her this morning until he noticed the debased look in her eyes as she looked at the bed.

  She seemed appalled at the thought of sleeping with someone in his class. Trevor thought she should have felt grateful. He’d given her an out to the possible marriage with Manning. In her own words marrying Christopher hadn’t even made the last item on her “to do” list. He quickly put the thoughts aside and stuck to his decision.

  Two

  Tiffany was glad about the four and a half-hour flight back to the East Coast because she planned to put on her headphones and sleep the entire way. She and five friends sat in first class.

  Tiffany was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Josephine didn’t say anything to her about last night when she entered their room. Josephine just wished her good morning, then walked out, leaving Tiffany to her own musing.

  Tiffany didn’t understand how she’d allowed herself to do three things she had never done before with little regard for propriety.

  She hadn’t even thought about marriage sober, even with the media and Christopher both hounding her. She never drank more than one or two glasses of Champagne or wine at any time.

  And the third…

  As she reclined back in her seat, she knew why she had gone way beyond that limit.

  She’d tried to drink until she forgot what had taken place at the party—her first mistake.

  Tiffany remembered standing on the outer fringes of her zealous group of friends, her body on fire as she watched the dancer. He had called himself The Fireman…dressed in a black and yellow striped assault coat and pants, black boots, gloves and waving a bright yellow Pelican flashlight suggestively in his hand. His costume wouldn’t have been complete without the red helmet with reflective patches and it’s large bla
ck shield on the front that read Engine Co. 69.

  Her friends were in a frenzy as soon as he removed his first piece of clothing, the coat, revealing his bare chest and red suspenders. The crescendo of screams in the house roared to an almost ear piercing level, by the time he teased and taunted them. He stood in front of one of her friends with the flashlight hovering before his crotch. He repeatedly prompted her to take it as he flicked it off and on, finally surrendering it to her. Then he began tossing his gloves out one at a time. Placing his helmet on top of another woman’s head, revealing the smooth chocolate skin of his baldhead as he stepped back to the center of the room.

  After a few more insinuating gyrations, he removed his assault pants with a snap, leaving himself in nothing but a mask, suspenders, boots and a leather bikini. She could hear moans and sighs slipping past the lips of her friends.

  She was having a hard time stifling her own reactions. Thoughts of having his strong arms lifting her, pulling her tight against his chest as he carried her out of a flaming building made her burn with desire. Desire to know what it felt like to be pressed against the scorching heat of his body and—

  Her fantasy was interrupted as her friend Karen yelled out, “He can drive his fire truck down my lane anytime.”

  The other women around the room hooted and hollered; Tiffany exhaled.

  From where she stood, she had a full frontal view of him. The Fireman was magnificent, sculpted, every firm ridge and plain vivid and evident. God must have molded him by hand incredibly slow. The skin on his pecks seemed so tight that if his nipples became erect, the flesh around it would beg for mercy. With her twenty-twenty vision, she couldn’t spot a single imperfection, except for the scar on the side of his knee.

  At one point in the show, he’d filled the bride-to-be’s hands with baby oil and told her to rub it across his chest. Diane didn’t hesitate a moment before leaping out of her honored chair in the center of the room.

  “Michelangelo had to be gay,” Diane said as she rubbed his chest, “because the excitement I’m feeling would inspire someone to want to chisel a sculpture like David.”

  The atmosphere in the room vibrated with the envious laughter of the other ladies.

  He pried Diane’s hands off him. One of her friends yelled, “Now Diane, what would Todd think about your hands being all over that sexy male specimen?”

  With a coy smile, Diane let go and returned to her seat.

  He looked at Tiffany with cool black eyes and winked—his signal for her to start the music.

  Blaring music thumped through the speakers as he danced around Diane, contorting his entire body into one enticing move after another. The music continued to play with punctuated background vocals from a trio of friends. They seemed to fall in sync to the beat.

  “Can he work it or can he work it!” Karen wiggled as a shiver ran down her spine.

  Sonya sighed, “Oh my…” as if she couldn’t quite think of the words to describe what she saw.

  “Thank goodness life is a box of chocolates,” Josephine shouted. “And I’m glad they come in king size treats.”

  At one point in the song, as he traveled around the ladies, Tiffany thought he would pass her. Instead, he stopped in front of her. His eyes issued a challenge, daring her to say something or bolt. Earlier when he’d arrived at the townhouse, she had informed him that she would handle anything he needed, but she was only there to make sure things went smoothly, not to be entertained by him.

  As he stood before her, she couldn’t move. Her feet felt as if they had been nailed to the floor.

  He walked closer to her, reached out and placed his hands on both sides of her waist, then pulled her body into his until she was flush against him. His hands felt like fire, even through her clothes.

  She looked down at his torso. The baby oil Diane had liberally bathed on him made the beads of sweat appear to glisten in the soft glow of the lights. She raised her head to peer into his eyes, wondering if he could feel her heart racing against his chest. A sly smile crossed his lips, letting her know he did.

  He leaned forward until she could feel her breasts crushed against his upper body. He brought his lips just barely in contact with the shell of her ear, allowing the seductive heat of his hot breath to send a frisson down her spine as he spoke furtively, “Hmm…a perfect fit.”

  He left no doubt to his meaning as he snuggled his gloved organ between her thighs against her sex.

  She had no time to stop the quick intake of air that rushed into her chest.

  His dark eyes twinkled with mischief as he quickly let her go, then continued to the other ladies in attendance.

  She wasted no time in her escape.

  Exiting out of the side door, she stood on the porch, inhaling gulps of air from the cool night. Her ears still rumbled from the husky sound of his voice.

  Through the open doors, she watched him entertain the other ladies. With her limited knowledge of his profession, she knew it was all just an act for him. It was his job to make women feel desired and sexually charged. He was very good at it.

  She took a few more cleansing breaths, then returned to the living room just in time to see him heading toward her friend Charmagne, who sat as quiet as a mouse in a corner chair of the room.

  Just as he had done before with Diane, he poured a generous amount of oil into her palm.

  Tiffany watched as Charmagne plastered a fake smile on her face in an attempt to hide her nervousness. But everyone in the room, except the magnificent specimen of manhood, knew Charmagne was extremely shy; she had been that way ever since college. Tiffany was surprised her shaking hands didn’t spill the baby oil all over the carpet.

  “You want me to put this on your-r-r chest-t-t,” Charmagne stammered.

  “No.” He used a rumbling timbre this time, as he turned and gave her his back, seeming to take pity on the poor girl.

  The sigh that came through Charmagne’s parted lips sounded like the whistle from a boiling teapot. She rubbed the oil into both of her hands.

  “Here.” He accentuated the words with a snap as he removed the fabric from around his waist, which at one time appeared to be the back to his bikinis. Leaving nothing but two firm cheeks separated by the thin black leather material of his thong. Final evidence of what the suspenders were connected to.

  A unified gasp echoed in the room.

  From her angle, Tiffany could see the two chocolate globes, and if she leaned the other way just enough, she would be able to see what held him in front.

  She couldn’t deny she was tempted. She took a step to the right and leaned over just enough to catch an eye full. Her breath caught in her throat as she observed the tight piece of leather that held the Fireman’s genitals in its grasp. The fit of the material didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  She refused to believe the size of his sex her eyes observed. It was common knowledge, most underwear models stuffed for ads. No doubt, the dancer did, too.

  He waited patiently for Charmagne to get up the nerve to massage the baby oil on his lower extremity.

  Karen sat beside Charmagne. She must’ve lost her patience because she grabbed both of the shy friend’s hands and placed them soundly on the man’s rear end.

  Charmagne swallowed noticeably and gingerly applied the oil in a circular motion.

  When she finally began to relax and smile, he flexed his buttock muscles and made them jiggle in Charmagne’s hands. Her eyes and mouth rounded into perfect circles of shock.

  As the music faded away, so did Charmagne in a dead faint, landing in Sonya’s lap. He again winked at her to stop the tape, and then he exited the room to prepare for his last set.

  She turned on some music while her friends snacked and mingled, conversing about the stripper’s abilities. She needed something to drink. Something ice-cold.

  She walked through the living room across the foyer, passed the dining room and the breakfast nook, to reach the kitchen. Today was one day she wished the kit
chen wasn’t located on the other side of the house. She resisted the urge to run.

  Once she arrived in the kitchen, she immediately drained her first glass of ice water as if she had been stuck in the Sahara Desert for a month. She refilled it and sipped.

  Since the moment she met him at the door and gave him a tour of the rooms he would be using, she had been experiencing tingling sensations all over her body. He had been dressed in a suit tailored to fit his body, and his mask covered over half of his face. Nothing showed but his haunting eyes and a set of lips women paid to have. There were no strings attached to the face piece, so she assumed it had to be stuck to his face somehow.

  By the time he had finished stripping, her pulse rate had hit the ceiling. After the moment he’d pressed his body to hers, her temperature had risen to a fevered pitch. Breathing had stopped being a necessity when he removed the small piece of material over his buttocks.

  The ice water cooled her throat, and she actually felt her body heat simmer down as she gazed out the window over the sink. Now grateful for the distance between the kitchen and the living room that allowed her the quiet solitude she needed to bring her nerves back under control.

  She turned away from the window to head back to the living room and froze.

  He stood two feet away from her, leaning nonchalantly against the island in the center of the kitchen. Now, he was dressed as The Dark Knight in black chaps, black leather underwear—another thong she presumed—with a matching vest, cape and the proverbial mask. She couldn’t deny he made an appealing Fireman, but he was downright sexy to her as The Black Knight.

  Just the sight of him caused her body to quiver.

  “I’m sorry I startled you. I came to get some ice.”

  That voice again.

  The sound of it brought to mind naked skin against silk sheets. Both textured and smooth—the kind of voice that came over the airways during late night radio for lovers. It made her want to close her eyes and moan.