Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  He closed the trunk, opened the driver’s side door, set the red vinyl kit on the ground at his feet. He crouched down, her foot at eye level—along with most of the rest of her. The slippery dress was barely covering her panties. First he applied antiseptic, then antibacterial cream.

  “Your tetanus shots up to date?” He ripped opened a bandage and smoothed it on the wound.

  “Yup.” As soon as she could, she brought her legs back over to her own side, wriggling to pull her skirt down.

  “Is it hurting?”

  “Not bad now,” she lied. “Thanks, John.”

  “My pleasure. Very much my pleasure.” He put the kit back together, tossed it in the back seat and slid into the car. He put his shoes on and then turned and gave her a smile, reaching across, running one finger slowly down the line of her cheek before he inserted the key in the ignition and started the car.

  He put a CD into the player, Rod Stewart, and the hard beat of the guitar and the raspy voice filled the space between them, singing, “Tonight’s the night, it’s gonna be all right—”

  If only. To distract herself, she said, “Where are you staying, John?”

  “At the Bayshore.”

  “Nice enough, but noisy, I’ve heard. You must be looking for somewhere to settle.”

  “Yeah, I am. I’m on the lookout for an apartment or a condo to rent.”

  “My cousin Matthew’s in real estate. I’ll have him give you a call if you like.”

  “Yeah, do that. I’d appreciate it.”

  John hardly sounded like someone who was leading a double life. The more she knew of him, the more confused she became.

  When he pulled the car up in front of her house, he said, “Stay where you are.”

  He got out and came around, opening the door and helping her out of the car.

  When he made a move to pick her up again, she shook her head.

  “My neighbors are nosy, and they have vivid imaginations. Just help hold me up, okay?” She’d put one high-heeled sandal back on, and with John’s arm around her waist, she hopped awkwardly around the side of the house to the back door.

  “Oh, Lordy. That stupid ramp.”

  “Nobody can see you here.” He lifted her again and carried her up to the door. “Got your key?”

  “In my handbag. Put me down and I’ll find it. Somewhere.” She fumbled for it, and when she finally located it, he took it from her and opened the door, helping her through the kitchen and into the living room, where he deposited her on the sofa. He propped her foot up on a cushion. “You need a sock or a slipper on that foot to protect the bandage.”

  “There’s socks in my sports bag, just inside the closet.”

  He rummaged through the bag and found one.

  “Thanks.” She pulled it on and stuck her feet out, one in a high-heeled shoe and the other in a gray sports sock. “Classy, huh?”

  “Sexy. Put your feet back up on the pillows.” He arranged them for her, and then said, “Okay, what else do you need? Want me to take the dogs for a quick trip around the block?”

  “Yes, please. They’ve been in their pen all evening. Their leashes are hanging on the rack in the hall.”

  “Can I get you anything first? Something to drink?”

  She considered telling him she was desperate for the bathroom, just to see what he’d do, but she decided against it. He was far too unpredictable. “With this sock on, I think I can manage to limp around okay.”

  “Stay off it as much as you can. It’ll heal quicker.”

  Shannon snapped off a salute. “Yes, sir, doctor, sir. Whatever you say.” She turned her tone into a growl. “Ooh, you medical guys are just so domineering. It’s such a turn-on.”

  He gave her a warning look and his eyes darkened. “So you wanna play doctor, huh?”

  There was a dangerous edge to his voice and her heartbeat sped up. Damn right she wanted to play doctor.

  John leaned down and tipped her chin up. His mouth was closing in on hers when someone banged hard on the kitchen door.

  Cursing softly, John straightened. “Stay where you are. I’ll get it.”

  She heard him open the door, and a man’s voice she recognized said, “Hi, I’m looking for Shannon. Is she around?”

  Shannon blew out a frustrated breath and considered just letting John deal with this, but that wasn’t really fair to either man.

  “Hello, Diego,” she called. “Come on in. I’m in here.”

  When the two men entered the room, she made the introductions, a little amused by the sudden tension in the air.

  “Diego Larue, John Forester.”

  They nodded at one another, no handshake, no spoken greeting.

  Ahh, so there was a testosterone thing going on here.

  “Sorry to barge in on you at this hour, Shannon,” Diego said, clutching his bike helmet under one arm and running a hand through his mop of blond curls. “I saw your lights and figured you were still up.” He was dressed head to toe in tight black leather, and no doubt about it, he was a fetching hunk of ripe manhood.

  Too bad he didn’t push any of her buttons. Not the way Forester did. John had moved over to the foot of the sofa and was perched on the arm nearest her feet, making it subtly clear that he’d been there first.

  Totally ignoring him, Diego said, “I just finished a long shift and wondered if you’d like to go for a ride. It’s a great night out there.” He noticed her foot. “Hey, what did you do to yourself?”

  She raised her foot and pointed at the sock. “Stepped on a broken bottle at the beach. John got the glass out and patched it up for me.”

  “Want me to take a look?”

  “No, I’m sure it’s fine. John’s a fireman—we do excellent first aid.”

  “Well, if it gives you any trouble, just call. You’ve got my cell number, right?”

  “I do. Thanks, Diego.”

  “Okay, then.” He hesitated and then finally said, “Well, if things are under control, I’ll head out. Night, Shannon.” He turned and gave John a curt nod. “Good to meet you.”

  He sounded as if it was anything but.

  “And you.” John’s voice was cool. He got up and walked behind Diego to the door. Shannon heard it close with a little more force than necessary.

  There was a pregnant silence when he came back.

  “What?” Shannon frowned up at him.

  “Nothing. I didn’t know you liked motorbikes all that much.”

  “I told you, I love them. Diego’s got a Harley, like you. I’m surprised you didn’t mention yours.” She was enjoying this little show of male antler butting.

  “So what does Diego do, besides ride around at midnight on his Harley?”

  “He’s doing a residency in surgery at the hospital.”

  “Ahh. So that’s why…” He gestured at her foot.

  “Yeah.” She was a little annoyed with him, and a little amused. She wasn’t going to volunteer anything more about Diego, but then she changed her mind. “I told you I wasn’t in a steady relationship, John, but that doesn’t mean I don’t date now and then.”

  It wouldn’t hurt him to think she was a man magnet. He didn’t have to know she’d been trying to get rid of Diego for over a month now. The man was nothing if not persistent.

  “Shannon, hey, I’m sorry.” John made full use of that beguiling grin, and his dimples flashed. “I’m being a jerk here. You don’t owe me any explanations at all.” He sat down on the sofa and took her feet on his lap, caressing the bare toes of her good foot and sending ripples up her leg. “I couldn’t figure out why some guy would be banging at your door at this time of the night. And I was pissed because he managed to do it just as I was about to kiss you.”

  “Coitus interruptus.”

  He laughed. “Not nearly close enough. Although…?” He bent his head and gently bit her toe.

  Shocked, she jerked her foot back. “God, John, my feet aren’t all that clean.”

  He lifted her foot a
nd pretended to study the sole. “It’s not that bad. There’s just this little blob of something right here…” He tickled her.

  “Stop that—I can’t stand it.” She tried to pull her foot away but he held on.

  “John Forester, are you some sort of sexual deviant with a foot fetish? You can be honest here. I’m not easily shocked.”

  He pretended to consider her question and then shook his head. “Not by nature, unfortunately, but if that’s what does the job for you—”

  Shannon squealed as he sucked one of her toes into his mouth, but she had an immediate and shocking sexual reaction, as well. Heat shot up her leg and into her abdomen. She was still laughing, and he was, too, when they heard the sound of a key fumbling in the lock of the kitchen door.

  John whispered, “Another one? And this guy’s got a key?” He managed to look comically horrified.

  “No, you idiot. That has to be Willow, my upstairs boarder. Let go of my foot. She thinks this is a respectable establishment.” Shannon struggled, but was no match for him.

  “An upstairs boarder, huh? You are just full of surprises, Ms. O’Shea.” Instead of releasing it, he pulled her foot up and rested it on his chest, just over his heart, as Willow walked into the room.

  “Hi, guys.” She studied them for a long moment and then sat down in an armchair. “You having a reflexology treatment, Shannon? It’s very relaxing, don’t you think? Please, don’t let me interrupt. I’d really like to watch your technique.”

  Shannon knew by the twinkle in Willow’s eye that the other woman had a fair idea of what had really been going on. By the rumpled looks of her, Willow had been engaging in a touch of reflexology herself with that scoundrel of an uncle Donald.

  “Yeah,” Shannon said as evenly as she could manage. John was using his thumb to stroke the sole of her foot, and she could feel the reverberations in her armpits. “This nice man makes house calls. You want him to do you next?”

  Willow tipped her head to the side, considering. “I’m tempted, but I’ve had a busy evening myself. So maybe I can take a rain check? Leave me a business card, won’t you?” She wiggled her fingers at them. “Night, now. Enjoy the treatment.” She headed upstairs before Shannon could introduce John properly.

  “Opportunist,” she hissed at him.

  “Coward,” he retorted.

  They could hear Willow chuckling as she closed the door to her room.

  “Maybe we should take a rain check on this whole production,” Shannon suggested. “Damn house is Grand Central Station.” She glanced around at the patched walls. “After a bomb exploded.”

  He considered a moment, then nodded with obvious reluctance. “I was going to take the dogs for a walk. It’s probably best if I just go and do that.”

  “Good thinking.” But she felt powerfully disappointed. What would it have been like, without all the interruptions?

  THE DOGS TOOK THEIR TIME, so John was forced to as well. The ocean breeze meant that the air was cool and damp, which was a blessing, because being around Shannon had made him hot. Damn, the woman made control next to impossible.

  He strolled from one streetlight to the next, studying the houses to stop himself from thinking about her. Residential, low income, in transition to being yuppified. He’d seen it happen in a neighborhood where he and his mother had lived for a while—until the time came when they couldn’t afford the rent. That little problem had been a recurring event when he was a kid, after his father died.

  God, even inside his head, he was starting to change fact to fiction.

  His father hadn’t just died, John reminded himself. He was gunned down. Johnnie Pascal was a small-time gangster who’d become transformed, for John’s purposes here in Courage Bay, into a fireman, a hero, an upstanding citizen. He’d never actually married the showgirl he’d knocked up, the sad, beautiful, impossibly neurotic woman who was John’s mother. Most of the time, John was careful not to confuse fact and fiction in his mind. He was an old hand at taking on a persona and making it sound authentic—one of the primary rules was to keep the cover as true-to-life as possible. The more lies you told, the easier it was to trip yourself up.

  But he prided himself on staying clear as to what the facts really were. So why was it so tough, so soul destroying, to pitch the cover to Shannon?

  Sure, the gap between his fictional background and the harsh reality of what his life had actually been was as wide as the East River, but so what? He’d had to be less than honest most of his life. This gig was no exception.

  Except that she was exceptional. That was where the problem lay.

  John had told himself he was taking her out tonight because it was obvious she didn’t believe his cover, and he absolutely couldn’t let her stir up doubts about him and his presence here in Courage Bay.

  She was connected, he reminded himself. Her family was well-known in this little city. Her brother was the mayor, her other brother a smoke jumper, a local hero, for crying out loud. She could stir up a lot of shit for John if she chose, even sabotage the whole operation. So getting her on side and smoothing her ruffled feathers was very much a priority. And what rule said he couldn’t enjoy himself while he was doing his job?

  Jesus, Johnny boy, stop it. You’re bullshittin’ yourself again, and that’s a serious thing. Con the rest of civilization, but stay honest in your head and your heart, man.

  He’d planned on a great dinner, a chance to convince her once and for all that he was who he said he was—simple, straightforward John Forester, firefighter. The choice of restaurant and that walk on the beach were mistakes. He should have taken her somewhere loud, to some club where there wouldn’t be the chance to talk intimately.

  And of course he couldn’t have guessed that she’d step on that damn bottle, or that he’d end up with her in his arms. It was only too true that the blood drained from the rational brain when other parts of the anatomy were aroused. And being around Shannon O’Shea had drained every ounce.

  He tightened his hold on Pepsi’s leash and tried to encourage Cleo to walk in something resembling a straight line while he told himself sternly that Shannon had to be off-limits from here on in.

  You knew she was trouble the minute you laid eyes on her, he reminded himself. He couldn’t remember ever having such an intense and immediate reaction to a woman, and God only knew, there’d been plenty of women in his life, so it wasn’t deprivation that was causing testosterone to go into overdrive.

  So what made her different? He waited impatiently while Pepsi sized up a fence post from all angles.

  “Just do it,” he muttered to the ornery pooch. “It’s a renewable resource. There’ll be plenty left to spray my shoes when we get back.”

  His thoughts returned to Shannon. She was razor sharp, and that could cause him lots of trouble, because in spite of his meticulous cover documents, he was afraid he still hadn’t managed to convince her that he hadn’t been at that damn warehouse.

  He could read the doubt in her eyes. She had the damnedest eyes, the bluest, the most arresting that he’d ever seen. Looking into them made it hard to lie. And it wasn’t just her eyes. It was something about the way her entire face lit up with her smile. It had to do with her upbeat, off-the-wall attitude, her sexy, husky voice, an ingenuous lack of that big-city sophistication that could be such a pain in the ass.

  And those legs, those gorgeous, mile-long, powerful legs…She’d been wearing black panties under that dress.

  So she was a knockout, tall and slender and strong as an Amazon while still managing to be womanly and totally feminine—so what? He’d been with beautiful women; before, beauty per se wasn’t exactly a novelty. Neither was the female species much of a mystery. A lifetime spent trying to keep his mother sober and safe had left him with few illusions about women.

  So just do your job and run, Johnny boy. If things go as planned, you won’t be in Courage Bay all that long, anyhow. And you’ll forget her as soon as you leave town.

  He w
ished he had a certificate attesting to that fact.

  “C’mon, you two. Let’s get this show on the road.” Damn dogs were taking all night, and he needed to climb in the ’Vette and drive away, fast and far.

  One thing was for certain: he wasn’t going to kiss her again, because the job was too important to risk losing control that way. It was a good thing her boarder had barged in when she did.

  “You two are not trained to heel,” he told the dogs. In fact, they weren’t trained at all. Cleo was glued to his pant leg, doing her best to trip him, and Pepsi nipped at his heels if he looked away even for a minute. John finally bent over and scooped Pepsi up under his arm, but the moment he did that, Cleo got jealous and rolled over on her back, waving her paws in the air and begging to be picked up, too.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding—you’re getting home on your own little tootsies,” John told her. “I draw the line at packing a Saint Bernard anywhere.” He finally got her moving again, but the crestfallen look on her huge face had him laughing until he got back to the house. He herded them up the ramp and opened the door.

  Shannon was in the kitchen, balanced against the counter, pouring hot water from the kettle into two mugs. She’d taken off the dress and pulled on red shorts and a white T-shirt. Unfortunately for his good intentions, that outfit was every bit as sexy as the dress had been. Cleo pranced over and licked Shannon’s legs.

  Sometimes dogs had all the luck.

  “You were gone awhile,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Yeah, well, these two animals could really use some obedience training.” He was trying to look only at her face.

  “You’re right, they do need it, but I’m not much good at it,” she said. “Want the job? You could have a coffee before you started.”

  He didn’t want the coffee. He did want her, very badly.

  He also wanted to accomplish what he’d come to Courage Bay to do, and he was pretty certain that Shannon O’Shea would make that more complicated than he wanted it to be. Than he needed it to be.