Fanning the Flames

by Victoria Dahl

  The day Sawyer had left for college, she’d bought herself the silkiest little black robe she could find. She loved the feel of it against her skin. She might not be taut and twenty, but she loved being herself so much more now. She loved her own hands on her skin and the way her body worked. She needed to embrace that. Not with Jake. And maybe not with a twenty-something French guy, either. But with herself... Oh, with herself, she was getting pretty darn confident.

  That was something good, and a girl had to embrace what she was good at...and then leave behind all the other crap that she couldn’t quite manage.

  She’d almost talked herself into a good mood, but before she could get out of the kitchen with her wineglass—and the bottle—someone knocked on the front door.

  Lauren froze, bottle and glass clutched in her hands, gaze sliding toward her front door. If she’d been more proactive, she could’ve made a break for it. She’d been meaning to frost the little window in the front door for years so that no one could see inside and she could ignore visitors at will. But she’d never gotten around to it and now the man on her front step could see straight through her tiny living room into the kitchen beyond, where she stood like she’d turned to stone.

  And because it was still light out, she could see him, too.

  Jake. Of course.

  He raised an eyebrow. She raised one back.

  She knew he wasn’t going to go away, but she gave him a few seconds just in case. As the past twenty-four hours flashed through her mind, her heart stepped up to an anxious pace. Then it scrambled from anxiety to alarm. Shit. She really didn’t want to do this. Now or ever. But especially not now.

  He cocked his head, and Lauren forced herself to walk toward the door. She set down the wineglass on the little table where she kept her keys, then she unlocked the door.

  Jake was holding yellow roses. Her heart stopped its flailing and fell into the pit of her stomach.

  “Lauren,” he said simply.

  She stared at the flowers for a long time before she took them.

  “I hoped we could talk.”

  “Sure,” she breathed. But she just stood there, flowers in one hand, bottle of wine in the other, as if they were about to begin a night of sweetly meaningful debauchery.

  She shook her head, trying to force her shock away, then opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  For a moment, everything inside her told her to throw the roses out the door. She didn’t know why, but she needed to get rid of them. They weren’t right. But she hadn’t had enough wine to be that irrational, so she took the wine and the flowers to the kitchen and left them both on the counter.

  “I didn’t know what to say last night,” Jake started.

  Lauren didn’t want the flowers, but she started fussing with them now, because that was better than facing him. “You didn’t need to say anything.”

  “Everything happened so quickly.”

  Yes, there was that. She’d quickly pulled him down on the couch, quickly kicked off her panties and very quickly come for him. She’d been just seconds from jumping straight into quickly getting him inside her.

  He’d probably been in shock, just as she was now, filled with lust that was shot through with horror. Even now, she wanted him. Badly.

  Lauren cleared her throat. “I know this is awkward. We’ve known each other a long time. We probably should have thought of that before picking each other up at a saloon.”

  She heard his footsteps draw closer as she reached up to pluck a vase from a cabinet. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “A really good idea.”

  Oh, God, his deep voice was so close now. Two more steps and he’d be pressed to her, his mouth at her neck. That was when she remembered that she was wearing a black silk robe. It only came to mid-thigh. He could open it with a flick of his fingers and touch all of her. He could have her just the way she wanted to be had.

  Lauren spun to face him. “You shouldn’t have brought flowers.”

  “It was no big deal. I—”

  “No, I mean you shouldn’t have brought them. I’m not...” She waved a frantic hand. “Like that.”

  “Like what?” He looked puzzled. Of course he was. His wife had probably been ga-ga over flowers. He’d probably bought them for her every week, and she’d loved them and had never forgotten to water them and had never killed them within forty-eight hours because she was ungrateful and unromantic and unfeminine and just plain un-.

  “Jake,” she sighed, “last night was a mistake. I’m really not your type.”

  He looked left and right as if he was trying to figure out who she was talking about. “My type?”

  “Yes. So let’s nip this in the bud before we make a bigger mistake.” Her gaze slipped involuntarily down his body. A bigger, harder mistake, dammit.

  “Lauren, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I really haven’t dated much, so even I don’t know what my type might be.”

  “I’m thinking it’s something along the lines of ‘nice girl.’”

  He flinched and took a step back. “What?”

  “You brought me flowers!” She punched a finger toward the bouquet. “Did last night seem romantic?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap.

  She pushed on, feeling like she was kicking a puppy. But she had to say it. She couldn’t fall for him. “I was looking to get laid. I got dressed up and I went out and I was looking for sex. That’s the kind of girl I am. I was on the prowl. I was a cougar. You just got caught up in it. It was a mistake.”

  His jaw jumped with tension. “A cougar. So you’re saying I’m too old for you.”

  “What? No!” Lauren looked around for her wineglass, before remembering it was all the way across the room. Desperate, she picked up the bottle. “Excuse me for a moment.” She tipped it up and took two gulps. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Look at me. This is what I’m talking about.” She jiggled the bottle.

  “Lauren—”

  She rushed on before she lost all her nerve. “You’re a good guy, Jake. I can’t do this. Not with you.”

  He took a deep breath, making her want to reach out and touch his broad chest. “Lauren, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

  She had to be blunt. She had to just say it. He deserved that, at least. He hadn’t even gotten an orgasm out of this disaster.

  Lauren held up a hand and took one last swig of wine. As the warmth of the alcohol sank into her, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her pulse. “What I’m trying to say is... If I could just have sex with you and walk away, I would. Like, you have no idea how much I would. But we practically work together, and you’re friends with Steve, and even if it were only a one-night stand it would be so awkward, but I like you, Jake.”

  For a moment, he still frowned. His jaw clenched again. Then he shook his head. “That’s not really a problem, Lauren. I like you, too. And I liked last night. We don’t need to decide everything right now. We could just date. Just see if this could be—”

  “I’m nothing like Ruth!”

  That brought confusion back to his face. And shock. And a little hurt. He took another step back.

  Lauren wished she could take it all back. Everything. Even that first touch of his skin. Even that first kiss. Her heart was going to break a little, after all.

  “What?” he finally breathed.

  “I’m nothing like her, Jake. I’m not selfless or sweet.”

  “You’re sweet—” he started, but she shook her head.

  “No. I’m sure I seem nice enough. Ha! A middle-aged mom. A quiet, small-town librarian. But I’m not sweet. I’m not good. I was happy to get divorced. I was relieved. Do you know that? I was so tired of all the arguing and compromi
ses. I never want to get married again. And I love my son so much, but I’ll tell you a secret... Everybody else is sad when their kids go to college. You were sad, right? I’m not sad. I’m not sad, Jake! I’m thrilled to have the house to myself! I can do anything I want! I can walk around in black silk. I can have you over. I can drink straight from a bottle of wine in the kitchen!”

  He only looked more dumbstruck. He probably couldn’t process it. A divorcée empty nester who didn’t regret her solitude? She was a goddamn unicorn of selfishness.

  “You...” She pointed at him, letting one fingertip touch that chest she wanted so desperately to caress. “You are a good guy. You need a nice woman. And we can’t just hook up. It’s too much. I like you. It won’t work for me. I’m sorry.”

  He stared at her. His eyes were dark with something she couldn’t decipher. Also, the wine was really taking hold, and his chest was starting to distract her. Granted, he was wearing a shirt this time, which was helpful. But somehow her one-fingered gesture had accidentally lingered, and now she was trailing her fingertips over his muscles.

  “Why does everyone think I need a nice woman?” Jake finally asked, his low words rumbling up through her hand.

  “What?”

  His fingers closed over hers to stop her petting. “Everyone wants to set me up with a nice woman. This whole damn town wants to set me up with a nice woman. Why?”

  She shot him a wry look. “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t get it.”

  She smiled at her greedy hand, caught by his fingers, but still pressed to his chest in an attempt to cop a feel. “They want to protect you from women like me. You don’t know what we’re like.”

  “I think I can take care of myself.”

  “How can you be sure? You probably think all women are kind and sweet and perfect. You—”

  “Ruth wasn’t perfect. She was sweet, yes. She was wonderful—”

  She pushed off his chest. “Jake, she was a goddamn first-grade teacher! The kind of first-grade teacher every kid wants! Pretty and sweet and patient and generous. Do you know how much time I can spend with a dozen six-year-olds? Fifty-five minutes. I’ve timed it. Fifty-five minutes, and then I have to lock myself in the office and fantasize about the Scotch I’m going to down three minutes after I leave the library. I’m not like her!”

  “What the hell does that matter? Yes, she was wonderful. And I loved her. I loved her. Not some caricature of who she was. Not some type.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t bake cookies. I don’t want to take care of a man. I’m bitchy. I’m demanding. I want my own space and free time, and when I’m in a bad mood, I’ll tell you and I’ll use bad language while I do it. Speaking of, I like to fuck.” She poked his chest again. “I. Am. Not. Sweet.”

  He caught her hand again. “Jesus, Lauren,” he said laughing.

  His chuckle irritated her, and she tried to snatch her hand back, but he held tight. “Fine. You’re not sweet and patient and selfless. You’re stubborn. And bold. And irritable. And you’re mean enough that you’re the only one who ever dares to come over and yell at me about my firefighters. They’re heroes, you know. You’re supposed to be generous to them.”

  “They’re also loud and obnoxious,” she grumbled.

  His half smile blossomed into a grin. “They are loud. They also stink like you wouldn’t believe, and they’re rowdy and immature. They’re like first graders, sometimes. And you’re the only one who ever points it out.”

  “See?” she muttered, but she spread her fingers out again, wanting to feel him one last time.

  “Lauren.” He tugged her closer. Closer. Until his arm wrapped around her waist and her chest was pressed to his. She wanted to sigh. She did. She sighed as his mouth brushed her temple and brought sudden tears to her eyes.

  “You’re amazing,” he whispered. “You’re fiery and strong and intimidating. And you turn me on like crazy.”

  “Jake...” She didn’t know what to say, and her throat was so tight. She could be his dangerous fling. The wild woman he dated before he settled down again. She could get what she wanted, and she wanted it so much. But to watch him fall for some sweet young thing afterward? God, that would be too hard.

  “Lauren, I don’t need someone to bake for me or take care of me or replace my wife. And Annabelle doesn’t need a mom.” He kissed her ear. “I was twenty-one when I got married, and I loved my wife like crazy. But she’s gone, and I’m a grown man, not some kid in college. I’m old enough to know what’s worth trying. To know what turns me on. I’m old enough to know what I like, and I like you. Not some type. Not someone who needs me, but someone who wants me. You, Lauren.”

  She drew in a shaky breath.

  “And,” he whispered, “I’d be so damn happy to be the guy you fuck.”

  His mouth was on her throat now, so hot and demanding, and Lauren groaned. He’d said all the right things and kissed all the right spots, but she was still scared. “And after?” she whispered.

  “Does there have to be an after already? We haven’t even started. I just want to try. To see what happens when we’re by ourselves. With no one else between us.”

  “What about—?”

  “No one,” he growled, and his teeth found that spot that made her nerves shake. “Just us.”

  “Oh, God,” she breathed. “I want to fuck you.”

  His pained laugh chased over her skin. “If that’s supposed to scare me off, you’ve clearly underestimated how much I want to fuck you, too.”

  “Don’t say that,” she moaned. “I won’t be able to resist.”

  “Thank God.” His hand snuck beneath the front of her robe and he growled when his thumb grazed her bare nipple. She wanted him to tear off her robe and do her right there on the kitchen counter, but he was wiser. “The bedroom this time,” he said. “Behind a closed door.”

  “Good idea.” After all, anyone who came to the front door could see right in. But she wouldn’t have resisted if he’d picked her up and taken her right there. She was too desperate for him.

  As it was, he gave her a long kiss and caressed her breast before giving in and herding her toward the hallway.

  Laughing, she tugged him to her bedroom, her lust brightening into something sharp and dangerous when she saw the hard length of him beneath his jeans. She’d fantasized about him this morning, thinking she’d never get her hands on him again. Now she was starving.

  He was kissing her before they even got to the bed, as if he were starving for her, too, so Lauren gave up any pretense of patience and unbuckled his belt. She didn’t need to be seduced. Hell, she didn’t even need foreplay these days. He slid off her robe and she let it fall to the floor. Only the bedside lamp was on, but it cast more than enough light to reveal everything. Still, she stood straight before him, letting him look his fill. She wasn’t self-conscious anymore. She wanted him to look. And judging by the way his cock thickened, he liked looking.

  She took him in her fist and slowly stroked him, hoping the feeling was as soul-breaking as his fingers had felt inside her last night.

  His hands framed her face as he lowered his head. “Jesus,” he hissed, pressing small kisses to her mouth and jaw as his breath grew rough. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

  He was as thick as he’d been the night before, and so damn hard, and she loved it. She loved making his hips jerk and his breath catch.

  When his thumb brushed her mouth, she licked it and his eyes narrowed to slits. He touched her again, and she sucked his thumb between her lips and rubbed her tongue against him. “Oh, God,” he said, as she sucked it the way she wanted to suck his cock. As she stroked him and made him feel exactly what she wanted him to feel.

  He slid his thumb free, and she loved the way it slipped warm and wet over her lips. Lauren went to
her knees in front of him.

  He was gorgeous. Straight and veined and so thick. He would have made her nervous in her youth, but now... Now she went wet and weak at the sight of him. She wanted that. All of it.

  She stroked his cock and watched a drop of liquid form at the tip. Jake didn’t say a word. She wasn’t sure he even breathed. She tasted it. Just a tiny touch of her open mouth. Then another as the salty drop melted over her tongue.

  He tasted perfect. And he smelled delicious. As she opened her mouth for him, her clit felt tight and swollen. She’d forgotten how good a man could taste, how the scent of sex could take you over. But now she felt as needy as an animal. She wanted to roll around in him. Stretch out and purr her pleasure.

  But he wouldn’t have heard. As soon as her lips closed around him, as soon as she sucked, Jake groaned her name.

  Yes, that was what she wanted. She took him deeper, letting the weight of his shaft slide over her tongue. Letting him feel how much she wanted it. She tightened her hand around the thick base of his cock and worked her mouth and fist at the same time.

  He urged her on with his hips and his growls of approval. His fingers brushed her hair, and she knew he was being polite, trying not to do what he really wanted, trying not to cup his hand around the back of her skull and urge her deeper. But she wasn’t a delicate flower. She wanted everything, so she reached for his wrist and pulled his hand to the back of her head.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned, his fingers spreading over her hair. “Oh, God, Lauren.” His touch was light, but she still took him as deep as she could, loving the way he pressed against the back of her throat. His fingers tightened. He thrust deeper as she worked him, his movements rougher as his breath tore from his throat.

  “Stop,” he said, though his hips begged for more. “I don’t want to come like this. I...”

  But she didn’t stop, and his hand fisted in her hair as his thrusts quickened, and then his cock jumped against her tongue and he flooded her mouth. He gasped her name as she swallowed him down. His hand trembled against her head. His body curled around her.