Phoenix Ablaze (BBW / Phoenix Shifter Romance) (Alpha Phoenix Book 1)

by Isadora Montrose

  “I’m afraid he’s going to wear that costume out before Halloween,” Tina murmured apologetically. “But I don’t seem to have the energy to stop him.”

  “I’m glad he’s getting good use out of it. It won’t fit him long, and Emily is unlikely to want to dress up as Batman — however much you plan to raise her gender-neutrally.”

  “True enough. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed curling up with Emily when she had her nap this afternoon. Thank you. I know that Ricky would have been pestering me to read to him or watch him race his cars.”

  “He’s used to being an only child,” Diana pointed out.

  “I know.” Tina’s voice was rueful. “And I don’t mean to neglect him, but I am flat out exhausted. This lump wants to nurse twenty hours out of twenty-four.” She gently rocked the infant at her breast. “So what’s the deal with you and tall, dark and hunky?”

  “He’s a wounded officer, waiting to be fit for service again.” Diana shrugged. “We seem to have hit it off. But I don’t imagine it will go anywhere.”

  “He looks smitten,” said Tina with a grin. And then to Diana’s relief, Ricky charged into the room in his Batman costume and interrupted the gentle interrogation.

  “I want to show Mr. Angelo,” the little boy shouted. Diana noted with resignation that there was a rip in the cape.

  Emily jerked at the noise. Her rosebud mouth lost its grip. Milk spurted. She wailed. It was easier for Diana to lead Ricky outside than to try and calm him down. Pierce was duly impressed with Diana’s handiwork and eagerly accepted Ray’s invitation to help hand out candy and take the boy around the neighborhood on Halloween.

  It was dark when they finally pulled away from Tina and Ray’s house. They had refused Tina’s offer to stay for supper. “Can I take you out for a bite to eat?” Pierce asked.

  Diana was tempted. But he had already paid for a meal at the Dairy Queen and for breakfast. Three meals out in one day would be utterly profligate. “I bought a chicken to roast,” she said. “You better come and help me eat it.”

  “I’d love to.”

  * * *

  Arnold Hermann snorted as he watched Jones’ woman being escorted into her building by some military issue poacher. Jones had paid for the complete package. This job was going to be pure pleasure. If ever a whore needed a lesson, that whore did. Jones said the disloyal slut had called the DEA down on him and then divorced him the minute he was arrested.

  And now she was spreading her legs for some officer type like the cum-dump she obviously was. She definitely needed to be taught her place. It would be even better if he could arrange to have the boyfriend watch while he did the bitch. But that would be extra. Jones hadn’t paid for extras.

  Hermann watched the tall woman and taller man trot up the stairs. The lights came on in the apartment. Next time Fatso went out, Arnold would pay her a visit and figure out what the bitch had on hand that could be used for her discipline.

  * * *

  Pierce hadn’t expected to be invited to dinner. He had helped Diana carry her groceries up earlier, but he hadn’t made it past the tiny kitchen. It was small. And her apartment matched. He had seen the entire living room from the front hall. Despite its size, it was a warm and comfortable space. As neat as his own home. What could he say? He was a product of the military. He liked things ready for inspection. Everything about her place made him feel right at home.

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  Diana turned from the sink where she was washing her hands. A tiny frown creased her forehead. “Why don’t you grab a beer and sit down?” she said. “It’s a tiny kitchen.”

  “I can’t stick you with all the work,” he said. When she grabbed the kitchen towel on the fridge handle, he took her place at the sink. “There must be something I can do?”

  “I’m just going to spatchcock the chicken and cook some potatoes and green beans,” she said.

  He laughed. “I can peel potatoes,” he said. “I don’t know that I have ever dispatched a chicken.”

  Diana bent over and removed a roasting pan from the stove drawer and set it on the counter. “Spatchcock,” she said chuckling. “I devoutly hope that chicken is already dispatched.” She reached for the kitchen scissors which were hanging on the magnetic strip over the counter by the stove.

  “Going to tell me what spatchcocked means?”

  Diana reached for the roll of parchment paper. “I’m going to cut the chicken down the back and lay it flat on the roaster so it will cook in half the time,” she explained.

  “Ah.” Pierce pulled the poultry out of the fridge and put the entire package in the sink and set to work unwrapping it. “Where do you want it?”

  “Dry it a bit with a paper towel, and I’ll cut it open in the sink.”

  Pierce shook his head. “No point both of us having raw chicken on our hands. Hand me the scissors and tell me where to cut.”

  She slapped the scissors into his outstretched hand and didn’t comment as he cut through the ribs along the backbone as she had directed.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  She opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of green stuff. With her other hand she put the roaster beside the sink. “Dry it again, and put it on the pan. Press down on the breast bone until it snaps and the bird lies flat.” Pierce followed her instructions, and tucked the wings underneath so that they wouldn’t burn. He dealt with the wrapping and dried his hands on a paper towel.

  Diana sprinkled a tiny amount of her green powder on the chicken. A strong smell of herbs and garlic filled the little kitchen.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Seasoned salt. Thyme, rosemary and sage ground up with salt and garlic.”

  “You’re not using much.”

  “It’s amazing how concentrated it is. It’s saltier than plain salt.”

  “Probably because the salt is finer and occupies the same volume.”

  “Probably,” she said. “I make it in the food processor. Let me get some olive oil and you can rub the skin and underside.”

  He hoped she noticed how easily they shared the tight kitchen. They were both big people but they didn’t bump into each other. They might have cooked together for years. By the time the oven beeped to announce it was hot, she had visibly relaxed and was humming. He matched his whistling to her melody and embellished it with a few trills of his own. Fate had found him a musical mate. A deep sense of homecoming settled into his bones. For the first time since Syria he felt peaceful and happy. Fuck. He felt joy.

  “I always wipe down after chicken.” Her humming stopped and she looked worried again.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’m on it. Won’t take long.” He tried her tune on her again.

  Her face cleared and she reached into one of the bottom cupboards for a giant pot. Inside was a five-pound bag of potatoes. She chose six. “I like to make extras so I can have leftovers,” she said as if she expected to be criticized.

  “Good thinking. My mom always called them planned-overs. Of course with six kids, there usually weren’t any — or if they were, we planned to eat them before bed.”

  “You come from a big family?” she asked.

  He found the potato peeler on the rack next to the knives. “Three brothers and two sisters,” he said. “What about you?”

  “I have one of each,” she said putting the potato sack and pot back. She took out a smaller one and filled it at the sink. “Mashed or cooked in milk?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “What’s cooked in milk?”

  “You simmer the potatoes in milk until they start to break up. They’re like a cross between scalloped potatoes and mashed.”

  “Let’s try that. Sounds like one of those recipes that is easier than what it replaces.”

  She chuckled. “I think so. Mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up. It was a weeknight recipe for sure.”

  Her humming started. This time the tune was quite different. He listen
ed and responded. It was some sort of working song. Its rhythms coordinated the task. Or maybe it was his imagination. “How small should I cut the potatoes?” he asked.

  “One-inch dice, or smaller, if it’s no trouble.”

  “You got it.” He dumped the little cubes in the inch of milk she had put in her non-stick pot. She disappeared into the living room. The slider opened and she returned with a long sprig of thyme. She put in on top of the milk and potatoes and added a grind of pepper and a pinch of salt. “What’s next?” he asked.

  She put the pot on the back burner on low. “Now we stir this from time to time, so it doesn’t stick.” She laid a clean wooden spoon across the top of the pot, and left the one she had stirred with sticking up.

  “Why a second spoon?” he asked coming up behind her. He was close enough to put his arms around her waist although he kept them by his sides. Her fragrance tempted him.

  “The one across stops the pot from boiling over. Nothing nastier to clean up than burned milk. And the one in the pot reminds me to keep stirring.”

  “Fair enough.” He yielded to temptation and brought her body against his, being careful not to grind his erection into her. It was way too soon for that.

  She softened and he kissed those dark curls. They were just as delicious as he had thought they would be. She sighed and he kissed her head again and turned her to look down at her face. Her frown was back. He kissed the crease between her brows and let her go. He felt foolish standing in her kitchen uncertain of his welcome. But something was troubling his mate — and chances were it was him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  She couldn’t help it. She froze in his embrace. Pierce looked puzzled. His hot blue eyes zeroed in on her mouth. Involuntarily it parted for his kiss, but he kissed her between her brows and stepped back.

  “What about those beans?” he said as if his pecker wasn’t trying to break through his zipper.

  Diana didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed as she took the bag of green beans from the fridge.

  “Planned-overs?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Her voice was huskier than usual. “I’ll warm them up or eat them cold, or make a salad out of them.”

  “How do you want them?”

  “Just snap the stems off. Unless they’re wilted at the ends, the tails don’t bother me.”

  “Okay.” His hands got busy.

  Diana set a bowl on the counter and put the compost bin on the other side. Pierce moved briskly. He whistled the potato tune and she smiled as she began to hum the green bean melody.

  She had never met anyone else who understood work music. In her family they had a tune for everything. It made the work easier to do and to remember. Pierce’s improvisations made her whole body tingle. She could not recall feeling like this around Cody. Not even in those giddy days of puppy love.

  She laid the table while he riffed on her song. But she didn’t interrupt him. She had laid the table lots of times without music. Cody had claimed her humming was annoying and it had been easier to be silent when he was around. He had been such a mean, controlling bastard. Why had she put up with his petty domestic tyranny for six years? Why had she married him? Because she was a Triple A fool and a rotten judge of character.

  The table looked nice. She found some tea lights and lit one in the center of the little table. She put two on either end of her narrow sideboard. The curtains in front of the slider needed to be closed against the dark evening. Before she closed the blinds and curtains, she made sure the broomstick was firmly in the track.

  “Let me see,” Pierce said behind her. He tested the sliding door and smiled when the stick did not budge. “I bet you have to pry it out with a knife,” he said approvingly.

  She showed him the narrow paint scraper she kept hidden under the couch. “I use this.”

  “Good idea.” He spun in a slow circle. “This is a nice place.”

  “Thank you. I try to keep it clean.” Now she sounded like she was interviewing for a job as housekeeper, instead of accepting a mild compliment.

  “I meant that it was welcoming and cozy,” he said.

  “I better stir the potatoes.”

  “I just did.” A big hand snagged hers and held her gently in place. “I can go as slow as you like,” he said gruffly. “But I need to know we’re on the same road.”

  “What do you mean?” Her voice was a raspy whisper.

  “I want you — not just in bed — I want to be with you. Cook meals. Hang out. And I need to know if that’s what you want. If you’re still pining for your ex — or someone else, I need to know.” His hard face was anguished but his voice was level.

  “I am not pining for Cody. My ex was the worst mistake of my life. But I’m not sure about us,” she admitted.

  “We get along,” he said. “And there is so much electricity between us it feels as though lightning is about to strike every time I touch you.”

  She nodded. “I’m not much for casual sex.”

  He nodded. “Nothing about what I feel for you is casual,” he vowed. “This feels like forever to me.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you?” she snapped and covered her mouth with her hands in shock. Where had that come from?

  “I hadn’t planned on doing so tonight. I thought I would start with a little kissing. Maybe make it to first base.” Masculine humor throbbed in his voice. And desire.

  “I thought kissing was first base.” Great. Now she was flirting with him.

  “Not for grownups. First base is when I kiss you here.” He ran a long forefinger from behind her ear down the side of her neck. Her whole body quivered violently, but he took his hand away. “Are you cool with that?” he asked.

  “If you stop when I ask you to,” she said.

  “Of course.” He sniffed. “Gotta stir the potatoes.”

  “I forgot to put the garlic cloves in,” she said to his back. “It’s probably too late, they won’t cook through.”

  He turned to grin at her. “No problem. We can fish them out before we eat.”

  Had she ever spent a day like this with Cody? A day where they operated as equals? She was pretty sure Cody would not have spent half an hour, let alone an afternoon, entertaining a demanding little boy. And Cody had never lifted a finger around the house.

  He would have grabbed the beer Pierce had turned down and watched television while she cooked. He would only have spoken to demand she drop what she was doing to bring him another beer, or to complain that dinner wasn’t ready. And if she had been foolish enough to protest, he would have backhanded her.

  Pierce was not the same sort of man at all. For all that he had an I’m-the-one-in-charge-here attitude, he treated her with respect and courtesy. So why was she so afraid of getting in deeper? In the last two weeks he had shown no sign of a temper. Of course, he hadn’t been crossed.

  “You can’t stay the night,” she blurted.

  He set the clean spoon across the pot and turned. “Okay. We have twenty minutes till the chicken is done, can we try out the couch?”

  * * *

  He had already guessed that Diana’s ex-husband had been no knight in shining armor. But she would not have been the first woman to remain in love with a jerk. It was the loyal, heart-of-gold women who kept the faith. Her skittishness had to come from somewhere. The utter bleakness of Diana’s voice when she spoke of her marriage made him long to have a short, hard conversation with her ex. But he grinned at her as if he had not seen or heard her fear.

  “Come on. Time’s a wasting,” he said as cheerfully as he could.

  She settled next to him on the couch as if she feared he was about to assault her. Her stiff, brave posture made his heart ache. It was a crime that such a luscious woman was so terrified. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Tell me about your family,” he said.

  Her brown eyes rounded. Her mouth formed an o of astonishment. She gulped. “You want to talk about my family?” she yelped.

&nb
sp; “I want to know everything about you.” He kissed her knuckles again and kept hold of her hand. “What is your brother’s name?”

  “Bobby. Well, Robert. But my dad was also Robert, so we’ve always called him Bobby. Now he’s Big Bobby and his eldest son is Little Bobby.”

  “Yeah? How many kids does he have?”

  “Three. Two boys and a girl. Little Bobby, Esther, and Mitchell. Mitchell is only a baby.” She left her hand resting in his grasp.

  “And your sister?” he asked.

  “Sophie has two. Harper and Mason. Guess which one is the girl?” She giggled.

  He shook his head. “Both?” he guessed.

  “Yup,” she said grinning. “I think those are awful names for girls. But Andrew and Sophie were dead set on them. My nieces are adorable, anyway.”

  “How old?”

  “Five and seven.”

  “And you are the baby of the family?” he asked.

  “I am. What about you?”

  That was better. Now she was relaxing. “I’m the youngest brother, but my sisters are five years younger than me. So I’m sort of the baby. But not.”

  “Are your brothers and sisters married?”

  “My second oldest brother is. That would be Lincoln. He got married in June. Harrison is a widower. Some drunk in a pickup took out his wife’s minivan and their three boys. Fortunately, his daughter was with my Mom, so Quin was fine.”

  “How awful,” she gasped. “The poor man. But at least he has his little girl.”

  “Yeah, Quin is a great kid. But unfortunately, Harrison has been deployed most of her childhood. She is basically being brought up by my mom and dad. It’s not ideal. But it’s either her grandparents or strangers.” He shrugged.

  “What does he do?” Diana asked.

  “Harrison is a colonel in the Air Force. We’re an Air Force family. Lincoln spent fifteen years in the service before he retired. Frankie and Eleanor are also in the Air Force. My dad is a five-star general. Or at least he was before he retired last year. Only Grant is a rebel.”

  “What does Grant do that makes him a rebel?”

  Pierce sighed. “He’s an opera singer. If you can believe?”