Wrapped in Flame

by Caitlyn Willows

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I look forward to savoring a new experience at your very talented hands.”

  “Yikes.” She licked a path over his lips. “The pressure’s on.”

  “Tell me about it. Shall we?”

  “By all means.”

  Erica kissed his chin, laced her fingers through his, and led him down the trail of discarded clothing toward the bedroom. Her panties lay at the foot of the bed. She’d staged other things for play as well. Front and center was her wooden hairbrush. She skirted past him to retrieve it, then returned to his side at the end of the bed, eyes filled with mischief.

  He curled his fingers around the handle and took it from her. Her breasts quivered with every breath. Her nipples were taut, as if begging for his mouth. Dancing his thumb over the soft bristles, he paced a slow circle around her, marveling at her curves, her smooth skin, and that she was all his.

  “You’ve been a very good girl, and that deserves its own reward.” He tickled the bristles over her ass. Her shaky gasp rewarded his action, made him feel like a king, and nearly turned his cock inside out.

  Mike flipped the brush and lightly swatted her bottom. Her groan nearly brought him to his knees with his face buried in her pussy. He tightened the belt around his erection.

  “Lie down,” he told her. “Faceup.”

  Erica did so without hesitation, stretching into position with catlike grace, parting her legs ever so slightly and lifting her arms above her head to grasp the pillow. He hardly knew where to start, but he did know standing at the foot of the bed to admire the view wasn’t going to cut it.

  He knelt at her feet, let his gaze take a leisurely stroll upward, then slowly brushed up the inside of one leg and paused at the top just shy of heaven. Erica spread her thighs farther and writhed closer. A swat to her thigh startled a gasp-groan from her.

  He swept the bristles over her belly as he crawled between her legs. Thrusting two fingers into her heat, he toyed with her clit and moved the brush over her nipples. Eyes closed, she thrashed her head from side to side.

  “Oh please,” she cried. “I’m going to come.”

  “You bet you are. Every single chance I get.” He eased his fingers from her, continued his crawl up her body, and seated his cock in a slow glide that was damn hard to control. “You deserve to be well loved.” He pushed the belt knot against her clit. “Well fucked.”

  Mike shoved his hands under her. One flip had him on his back and her right where he wanted. He ran the brush down her spine, over her perfect backside, then turned it and gave her a swat.

  Erica tossed her head up on a hard groan.

  “That’s it, baby. Ride me. Ride me hard while I warm your sweet ass.”

  Mike locked his focus on raining light smacks over her cheeks, hoping it would be enough to keep him from coming prematurely. But damn she was hot. The more he had her, the more he wanted. She raised her ass into each stroke, then writhed into him when she got it. Whimpers, groans, pleas for “more, harder” drove him to distraction. If he could have remembered the alphabet at that point, he would have recited it backward and forward. But his mind, his body, and yeah, his heart and soul, were too filled with this woman. His woman.

  Erica came with a deep-throated growl that screamed to the feral man buried inside him. Mike clamped his fingers onto her hot ass and came with her.

  His head buzzed in the aftermath. Every muscle in his body felt like liquid. She slid to his side and tucked into the cove of his body, head on his shoulder, hand pressed over his heart. This was perfect. She was perfect.

  Mike curled one arm around her, wrapped his free hand over hers, and kissed her forehead. “God, I love you.” It felt good to say it out loud. He planned to say it a lot, to show her every day.

  “I love you too.”

  Damn straight she did. Knowing that made him feel like a king. Blessed sleep started to creep in. His balls were empty, his stomach full, his arms wrapped around the love of his life.

  Leave it to fate to have their damn phones ring. Neither of them moved.

  Erica sighed. “The last time we didn’t answer our phones, my house was on fire.”

  “When you say it like that…”

  Mike left the bed when she reached over to grab her phone from the nightstand. His phone was still in the living room. By the time he reached it, he’d missed the call but saw it was from Craig. One punch redialed. Craig picked up right away.

  “You called, Chief?”

  “I found Betty. Someone saw the news this morning. She checked into rehab Friday night down in Palm Springs. I’m going down there now to see her.” The relief in his voice made Mike smile. They still had a long way to go to repair their marriage, but at least Betty had gotten help.

  “Send her our best thoughts. Let us know how it goes.”

  “Will do. Thank you both for everything. I… Just…thanks.”

  Mike left the phone on the table and returned to share the news with Erica. She’d dressed in bra and panties and was reaching for a pair of jeans she’d tossed over her overnight bag.

  “Do you need to go back in?” she asked.

  “No. Tim will cover for Craig.”

  “Good. Posner called,” she said. “He says it’s urgent that he speak with me. He’s on his way over. I saw no point in lying about where I was.”

  He supposed not. Under the circumstances, it was important they be as up front as possible about their relationship. They wouldn’t flaunt it, but they wouldn’t be able to hide it either. They’d be spending every second they could together, either at her place or his.

  He hurried himself to dress. They worked together to right the bedroom and were in the middle of cleaning up from breakfast when Posner showed up. Erica let him in without pause. Mike motioned him to a seat.

  “I won’t be long.” Posner waved off the offer. “I wanted to get this news to you before it hit the airwaves.” He drew in a deep breath, then released it. “The body found in your house wasn’t your husband, Mrs. Randall.”

  Fuck.

  “What?” Erica gasped. “Who—”

  “Right now, we don’t know who it is. But it’s not Keith Randall. This man has pins in his hip and thigh from a recent injury. Coroner says within the last six months.” Posner cleared his throat. “We’ve uncovered some more information about your husband that will be unsettling.”

  She clutched her fingers. “Just tell me, and get it over with.”

  Posner gave a quick nod. “Your husband—”

  “Stop calling him that,” she snapped.

  Another nod. “Keith Randall was previously married. Twice.”

  “What?” she shouted this time. Mike didn’t blame her.

  “Both wives died under what seem like suspicious circumstances,” he added.

  “Explain,” she demanded. “I didn’t know he’d been married before.”

  “First wife died of an overdose. And”—he grimaced, looked everywhere but at Erica—“his second wife lost her footing during a hike in the mountains.”

  Erica pressed her hand over her mouth. Mike caught her as she staggered, then wrapped her trembling body against his.

  “He’s alive, then. You think he intends to come after me?” Her voice shook with every word.

  “Over my dead body,” Mike growled.

  “We don’t know the answer to any of that, ma’am. We’re diligently searching for his stolen vehicle, hoping to find something, anything. The 911 call reporting the fire looks like it came from a burner phone. No leads there. Were you able to find his sister?”

  “No.” Wasn’t that for the best under the circumstances? After all, Keith wasn’t dead.

  Posner looked Mike’s way. “I’m hoping you can help us get some answers from the fire scene, Captain. We need you in there to investigate. There’s no reason now to keep you out.”

  Erica was in possible danger, and he had to work? Duty and love warred.

  “Go.” She pushed him to
ward the door. “I want this bastard found. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Go do your job, Captain.”

  He dragged her close, kissed her quick, and headed for the door.

  Mike caught Posner’s glance from the corner of his eye as they both cleared the door. “Just because we weren’t together before doesn’t mean we aren’t now. I don’t want to hear any snide comments or speculations from you. Got it?”

  “Loud and clear,” he replied. “Just like it’s gonna be to Keith Randall when he finally shows up. I have to admit, I’m concerned about her safety. One wife dead is tragic. Two is suspicious. Nothing to keep him from adding a third. I can see if my lieutenant will assign a team to her.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got my own team.” And they’d take Keith down in a New York minute before they’d let him so much as breathe in her direction.

  Chapter Thirteen

  So this is what a panic attack feels like.

  Erica paced the floor, a fist pressed against her heart to quell the racing. She wanted to scream. Sheer will kept her from doing so. That and the fact she was fairly certain once she started screaming, she wouldn’t stop.

  Pushing Mike out the door had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She wanted to cling to him and never let go. He would have stayed too, something Erica couldn’t allow. He needed her to be strong so he could do his job. Nothing must ever interfere with that. He had to face the potential for danger on a daily basis, had to stay focused on his work. Erica wouldn’t have him distracted over worry for her. She needed him safe. He needed to know she’d manage in his absence.

  You can do this. Take control. Slow down. Deep, slow breath in and out. Focus on something else.

  Repeating the mantra eased her mind by slow degrees until order lingered where panic had prevailed. But she could feel it gnawing on the edges of her mind, ready to take over at the least provocation. The first thought that leaped into her head didn’t help. Why am I still alive?

  Panic gained a toehold again. Before it took over, she tried to attack with logic. Why are his first two wives dead? That thought brought out her anger. Keith had been married two other times and withheld that information. Why? If he were innocent in the deaths of those wives, a man like Keith would have milked being a sad, lonely widower for all it was worth. That screamed guilty in her mind. Damn it all, she felt stupid. She was still married to the son of a bitch.

  “Not for long.” Hell, she’d go to the courthouse right this second and file her own divorce paperwork. Fuck, she’d have to find him first to serve them. Although he had filed. If she agreed, then wouldn’t it go through without any problem? Her anger built to full rage. Keith had tied her hands by filing for divorce, making himself petitioner and therefore in charge of all the paperwork. The marriage wouldn’t end until he filed the final papers.

  Fine. Attorney it is. It’d cost money. That was fine. She had money. God, did she have money. Using it… Well, Mike was about to find out how very much she trusted him.

  At least Keith had filed for divorce rather than kill her. Then tied her hands in the process. Probably trying to milk her for every last dime. Or maybe hoping to frame her for murder by killing someone else and making the world think it was him.

  Erica resumed pacing, trying to puzzle everything out. Keith wasn’t stupid. He’d know forensics would prove that wasn’t his body. Besides, what good would it do for him to frame Erica? Revenge? For what? Unless he suspected her relationship with Mike was more than it had been. If he’d been lurking about, he’d have that proven by now. Still, it was a dumb move. If he suspected such a thing, he would have raked them both over the coals, not planned a murder to get back at her.

  She stopped pacing a moment. Unless it wasn’t planned. An accident, perhaps? The body found did sustain a blow to the head. Then why not report it as such? No, definitely murder. She continued walking. The whys and wherefores hardly mattered. A man was dead and the house set on fire to try to hide it. Keith had killed before. Two dead wives proved that. Or was it a horrible coincidence? Maybe someone getting back at him for something? Why kill them when divorce was cleaner?

  An old argument filtered through her head. The one about life-insurance beneficiaries. Panic laughed at the new opportunity to latch on. Keith had made her the beneficiary of his life-insurance policy within days of their marriage. As his “show of love and devotion.” Erica never reciprocated and had refused to do so, despite his temper tantrums as a result.

  “I needed money. You had it.”

  Erica snorted. That was the reason she was alive today. That was the reason he filed for divorce. She’d bet he’d been setting himself up to request spousal support too. He still could. He could drag this out for years if he wanted…and have the fight of his life too. Erica refused to let him win.

  “Time to make a list.”

  She pulled her ever-present notepad from her purse, plopped onto the sofa, and began.

  Move in with Mike. She’d eat the cost of the money she’d already put out for the rental house if she had to, though it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the real-estate office.

  Call Realtor.

  As for the move… Word would have spread through the fire-station personnel like wildfire. Erica suspected their friends would be arriving shortly—outraged and protective. They’d get her moved without delay. Besides, she didn’t need much—her personal items and the things Mike had sent over from his place. And the rest? There went the guilt again. She’d figure out something.

  Lawyer. Erica would ask around, find out who was the best.

  Bank. Not yet. She needed to talk to Mike first. The transition had to be seamless.

  The doorbell pealed, startling her from her thoughts. She scrambled to the window for a peek and found Trish outside with Bub, Berto, and CJ coming up the walk. CJ cut from the herd first, charging for the house with his laptop tucked under his arm. By the time Erica had the door open, he was beside Trish and the other two were right behind them.

  Trish breezed inside. “You’ve got me until preschool lets out. Catch us up.”

  “The three of you”—Erica waved her finger between the three men—“should be getting some sleep. It was a long night.”

  “No way,” Berto said. “After news like this, we’re primed for action now. So what can we do?”

  “Besides hunt this bastard down,” CJ added.

  “Honestly?” Erica watched them settle around the living room. “You can help me move into Mike’s house.”

  “On it.” Bub and Berto sprang from their seats and were out the door before she could put on shoes, much less give them a key to the rental. But then, they’d already proven they didn’t need one.

  CJ set his laptop on the coffee table. “Not me. I’m going to see what I can dig up about Keith’s past.” If anyone could do so, he was the one. The man was a genius when it came to ferreting out information on the Internet. He also had the common sense not to go prying into others’ lives unnecessarily. Probably something he was kicking himself for now, considering everything they didn’t know about Keith.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” As if he needed to be told. This was Mike’s house.

  “Hurry up,” Trish said. “Clock’s ticking. Preschool lets out in two hours.”

  “There’s no need—”

  “I’m not leaving you alone for a second, even if it is to just drive over to the other house.” Then she did something Erica had never seen before, never expected from her stalwart friend. She crumpled into tears.

  CJ looked like he regretted not leaving with the others.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Erica wrapped her arms around her.

  Trish clung to her. “He could have killed you, Erica.”

  “But he didn’t. And he won’t.” He had nothing to gain by doing so. At least that was what she kept telling herself. It was the only thing keeping the panic away.

  CJ shut the laptop and vaulted to his feet. “I just realized Berto and Bub left without a k
ey. I’ll be glad to take it to them.”

  Erica retrieved the key ring from her purse, pulled off the house key, and handed it to CJ. “All I want from the place besides my personal items are the red recliner and the bedroom stuff. The rest of it can go back to whoever donated it. If they don’t want it, I’ll figure out something else.”

  “Got it.” He was out the door before she resumed her seat.

  Trish brushed the tears from her face. “What are you going to do, Erica? The divorce…” She gasped and grabbed Erica’s forearm. “What about his bills? If you can’t find him…”

  Erica dropped her hand over Trish’s. “It’ll all work out. I promise.” It was the hope she clung to, the belief she had to live by. Thinking anything else would drive her insane. “Come on. You can help me pack my stuff. We’ll be done well before preschool is out.” She squeezed her hand. “I don’t want you coming back with the kids. I don’t want them exposed to any of this.”

  Trish looked like she wanted to argue. She could see the wheels turning in her head. But as much as Trish loved her, her priorities were clear. Tim and those kids came before anything else.

  “I’ll be so glad when this is over and done with,” she said.

  “Me too,” Erica replied.

  Trish pulled in a deep breath and released it. “Big step, moving in with Mike. Don’t let anyone take that happiness away from you.”

  “Never.” She hugged her. “Come on. Time’s wasting. All I need is shoes, and we can go.” She stood and headed for the bedroom. “We’ll take your van.”

  They were out the door in less than two minutes, at Erica’s rental in less than five. There wasn’t a single news truck in sight. The men had already loaded the red recliner in Bub’s truck. At this rate, they’d be done within the hour, leaving plenty of time for Erica to take care of the other items on her to-do list.

  “You get the food and stuff from the kitchen,” she told Trish. “I’ll get my personal things packed.” Neither would take long, since she hadn’t really done much unpacking or grocery shopping.

  As they passed the men going back inside, her gaze fell to that wonderfully comfortable sofa. Fitting it into Mike’s living room would be a challenge, but she couldn’t leave it behind.