A beautiful black girl hovered in the doorway. She seemed unsure as to whether she should enter. There was something about her big light-brown eyes that were familiar. But what? He dragged his gaze over her face. She was definitely familiar. She was young, somewhere in her twenties. She had an elegant air about her, and he found himself drawn to her despite his better judgment.
She wore her hair up, in a bun on top of her head. Diamond studs that probably cost more than his truck sparkled in her earlobes. He couldn't stop his eyes from traveling the length of her body. She had long, shapely legs, encased in gray tights. Expensive looking leather flats adorned her feet. She wore a hoody, unzipped, revealing a low cut pink leotard underneath. Her small breasts rose and fell with each breath. He felt his cock jump below the thin hospital blanket. He moved to sit up, his pain all but forgotten. Who was this girl?
“You lost?” he asked, his heart beating faster in his chest. The girl was not for him, but damn, he was enjoying looking at her.
“Sgt. Sebastian O'Donovan?” she asked, her voice slightly low and husky.
“In the flesh,” he said, feeling like an old pervert basking in the glow of youthful perfection. It always was the rich girls that got his dick hard, he mused. Dumb-ass.
“Do you remember me?” She stepped further into the room, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Her perfume was sharp and tangy and fresh. It took him by surprise. He would've assumed she would smell like some kind of fragile flower.
“No,” he said simply, finding it suddenly hard to think. “Should I?”
“Can I sit?” She motioned to the chair in the corner. He shrugged, and winced again.
“Fuck!” he hissed at the pain. She paused, glancing at him.
“You okay?” she asked, her big eyes wide as saucers.
“Just peachy, lovely,” he said, squeezing his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to pass. Then it hit him. The West Side highway MVA, two years ago. His eyes flew open and she was staring at him with a slight smile on her lips.
Shit.
She was older, but damn if it wasn't her. His eyes raked over her face again, remembering those soulful starry-eyes staring up him. He hadn't forgotten her. Hell, no. He still sometimes thought of her in the middle of the night. He would remember how he held her on the cold ground, her body against his. And he definitely remembered what happened in the hospital later...
She grabbed the arm of the chair and pulled it closer to the bed, the leg scraping against the linoleum floor. His eyes drifted to her well-shaped ass, despite all of his efforts to keep them diverted. She's still too fucking young for you, he reminded himself. Then she plopped down and cocked her head, mere feet from him, a mischievous look passing over her features.
“You do remember me,” she said. “Whew! I'm relieved. It would have been really awkward if you didn't.”
“What the hell do you want?” he said, deciding that being an asshole was his only defense against her.
“I saw your name in the paper,” she said, crossing her legs, her posture perfect. She was so damn elegant. What was it about an elegant woman that got him so hot and bothered? “So I came all the way out here to see how you were doing.”
“You want a fucking medal?”
“No.” She furrowed her brow. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Why? What do you care?” he said, shaking his head.
“After what you did for me, it's the least I could do.”
“Well, you feel better now? If so, fuck off, so I can get some sleep.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you always this much of an ass? Or is it the pain talking?” He couldn't help it. He snorted out a laugh.
“I think I got the Irish asshole gene from my father,” he said, adjusting his leg and wincing. His dick was painfully hard now. He prayed the blanket hid his massive erection from her. He felt like he was 15-years-old again, trying to hide his morning wood from his home-room teacher. Please Lord, don't abandon me now, he prayed. “It's a serious affliction.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, leaning closer to him, her eyes on him. He felt naked, like she could see every little bit of him. The air was suddenly thick in the room, and he dropped his eyes to her slim ankle, not wanting to look her in the face. But then he started thinking about the accident, specifically the cracking sound her bone made when he'd broken it. He gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes up to the TV.
“You know, you're just as good-looking as I remember,” she said, breaking the silence, and he almost swallowed his tongue. She thought he was good-looking? He was a grizzled, scarred-up sack of shit compared to her glowing beauty. He flicked his eyes back to hers, to check if she was joking. She was staring at him intently, no amusement in those intense eyes of hers.
Fuck. Danger. Danger!
“Look, whatever your name is, I'm a married man. So, don't bother.”
“I'm Antoinette St. James. But you can call me Toni.” Her eyes dropped to his left hand, and he cursed himself for telling such an obvious lie. “You're not wearing a ring.”
“They had to cut it off.”
“But your hand isn't injured.”
“Fuck! I say I'm married, I'm married. Got it?” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“Got it.” She leaned back in the chair, swinging a long leg. She stared at him for a long moment, and he could see her brain working behind her eyes. He wondered if she was remembering the same thing he was remembering. 'Cause damn, it was a doozy.
Two Years Ago
“Wait!” Toni called after him. Then she was overtaken by a fit of coughing. He turned back, and poured her another glass of water. His movements were quick and angry, and water sloshed onto the table.
“Stop trying to talk,” he said, handing her the cup.
O'Donovan knew he should have gone. But it was hard to turn his back on the beautiful girl with the starry-eyes who looked so small and alone in the hospital bed. And dammit if female tears didn't get him every time. She was barely out of her teens, he guessed. And skinny as a rail. Her collarbone jutted out from above her hospital gown and her jaw was slight. She'd said she was a ballet dancer. What were the odds of that? He'd never met a ballet dancer before. But she definitely had the looks of someone born into the upper-crust. She reminded him of Gwen in that way. A girl with perfect taste and style. Her features had an elegance about them that attracted him, despite his better judgement.
Her dainty ankle and foot were wrapped in a cast and elevated. Briefly, he felt a pang of regret for having had to break it. But then he pushed the thought aside. He knew that without his quick and brutal action, she would be dead. The thought sent a jolt through him. Less than two hours ago, they both could have been killed. When she touched him, her fingers were graceful and light, and suddenly, the room was stifling. He could barely breathe. He was this close to ignoring the fact that he was a fireman who saved a victim from certain death. This close to ignoring anything other than the fact that she was a woman and he was a man. He had to get out. Get back to his normal life and his girl. Gwen. Who was waiting for him.
But then she'd called for him. Antoinette. And despite his better judgement, he turned back. She held out her arms for him in a wordless request.
“You're pushing it, lovely,” He said.
“Please,” she mouthed. He nodded and moved into her embrace. She closed her eyes, and held him, her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.
“Forget it,” he said.
“Never,” she said, taking a deep breath. And he hugged her with his whole self, like a total asshole. Then shit got out of hand.
***
One hug. A bit of comfort. That's all Toni wanted. And then she would let the stranger go, and get on with her life, as it was.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Forget it,” his gruff voice tickled her ear.
“Never,” she said as she breathed him in. He smelled of smoke and charred things, but a h
int of spicy aftershave still lingered under his jaw. She realized she was going to kiss him a moment before she did it, her chapped lips roughly connecting with his. At first, she was afraid he would push her away. But he didn't. He reacted to the kiss immediately, and his big arm tightened around her waist and pulled her closer to him.
The kiss wasn't gentle. She kissed him with the intensity of all the emotions that were storming through her. Fear. Want. Need. She held on for dear life, his body hard against hers. He answered in kind, yanking the hospital gown to expose her slight shoulder. The hospital room disappeared around them as he pushed her back against the pillows. He dropped his head and ran his teeth along the ridge of her collarbone. She felt her eyes rolling back into her head. His lips were magical.
She took his face in her hands and guided him back to her mouth, wanting to taste him again. She hadn't been with anyone in a long time, and this stranger was exciting her in ways that she'd never felt. She sucked at his tongue in her mouth. He dragged a hand down her front, finding her hard nipple under the thin gown. She moaned under him and arched her back. She wanted him. She needed him. And she didn't even know his name.
***
Antoinette pressed her luscious lips to his and O'Donovan went crazy. He let himself get lost in lust. His hands wandered down her front. Her nipples were hard under the thin gown, but he resisted the urge to tweak them. Her breasts were small, and again he wondered how old she was. She surely kissed like a grown-ass woman, whatever her age. She sucked on his tongue and dragged her hands through his hair and it felt fucking amazing. He could barely tell where he ended and she began. His cock was hard and throbbing between them. He found himself wondering how her pussy tasted. He wanted to bury his face in between her thighs and kiss her there the way she was kissing his lips.The thought made his heart practically beat out of his chest.
His hand continued down her side, en route to the magical spot between her legs. She arched her back against him, as if trying to guide his hand. Then he heard her breath catch in her throat and she whimpered in pain. She pulled away, her eyes squeezed closed and her mouth open.
“Did I hurt you?” He said, his eyes already scanning her to find the injury.
“There,” she whispered, pointing to her side.
“Broken rib,” he said, reality hitting him in the face like a fist. What the hell was he doing? He stood abruptly, willing his heartbeat to slow and his erection to fade. Now, he definitely had to go. She stared up at him, light-brown eyes big as saucers. He remembered those terrifying moments on the highway, when he held her to his chest and waited for help to arrive. He could feel her heart beat through his shirt. And then her eyes had tilted up to the sky and he swore he could see the stars above reflected back at him...he felt another jolt and then tingling in his brain as all the blood rushed to his cock again.
Nope.
He willed himself to look away. He told himself that it was the adrenaline and the dangerous situation that had him horny as hell. That's all. Gwen was waiting for him, he reminded himself. He had to go. He took Antoinette's hand, and pressed her scratched and raw knuckles to his lips. "Everything's going to be okay,” he whispered. She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes again.
Then he got the hell out of there. He didn't look back, just kept going. He didn't stop until he got to the end of the hallway. He glanced back at her room, feeling an indescribable pull to her. She would be okay, he was certain. But she was alone and scared. He shouldn't have left her alone. He felt as if she were his responsibility, somehow. Indecision kept him in the hallway as the minutes ticked by. He leaned against the wall, telling himself to get a grip. The girl was nothing to him. Their lives were bound only by a tragic event. But he couldn't forget the feel of her lips on his, and the way it felt when she touched him...
When a tall blond man in an expensive suit walked by, he thought nothing of it. Until he saw the man knock and enter Antoinette's room. He stood up straight, angry, his breath coming in short spurts. He wanted to know who the fuck the man was, and who was he to Antoinette? He was tempted to go and demand an explanation.
Christ.
Where the fuck was his head at? Turning, he forced his feet to move. Away from the injured girl. Away from the eerily quiet hospital. Back to his life. Back to his girlfriend. Back to normal.
Present Day
“How old are you?” O'Donovan shot out the words before he could stop himself.
“I'm twenty-five,” she said, eyes shining. “You?”
“Thirty-eight,” he said, hoping... well fuck, he didn't know what he hoped. Maybe his age would turn her off, but he doubted it. She was looking at him like he was a piece of meat she wanted to slice up and eat. And God knows, he wanted to eat her. He was practically salivating, remembering how good she tasted. But he wasn't going to be an asshole. Not that kind of asshole, anyway.
“You look great,” she said.
“What the fuck am I supposed to look like? Am I supposed to walk with a cane or some shit?” he said, gruffly. She cocked her head again, silently laughing at him.
“No. I can tell you take care of yourself. Hospital stay notwithstanding.” Her eyes drifted down his front again, and he had an uncanny feeling she had x-ray vision. “My sister is about to turn forty. She looks amazing, too. I always tell her forty is the new thirty.”
“That's the fucking stupidest thing I've ever heard,” he said, although his cock was saying the opposite. This girl knew how to stroke his ego, that was for damn sure. “But you're so young, what the fuck do you know about anything?” He felt a pang of something in his chest when he saw the hurt look cross her face.
“I can't decide if you're really an asshole or if you're trying to scare me off,” she said, matter-of-factly, shrugging her dainty shoulders. “The Sebastian O'Donovan I remember was a good man. A hero. Not an asshole.”
“Maybe you're not remembering right,” he said, although his throat was closing up a bit. She stood, those soulful starry-eyes of hers locked on his. He felt the same thing he felt that night two years ago―protectiveness for her. He didn't want to hurt her. But he couldn't stop. “Oh, fuck. Are you going to cry?” he taunted. What the hell was wrong with him?
Then she surprised him. She slammed her hands down on either side of thighs, leaning close to him.
“Let me guess. Your wife left you and now you're out to take revenge against the female sex,” she said. He felt real anger swell up in him, then. How did she know about Gwen? Was he that easy to read?
“You want me to take out my anger on you, lovely?” he said, grabbing her forearms, despite the blinding pain that shot down his arm. He gritted his teeth, but didn't let go. Her eyes drifted down to his lips.
“She did a number on you, didn't she?” her voice was softer now, and for the first time since Gwen left him, he wanted another woman. Really wanted her. He wanted to get down on all fours and dirty gorgeous, dainty Antoinette up. He wanted to plunge his tongue between her lips while he finger-fucked her. He wanted to pull her on his lap and have her ride him in full view of anyone who happened to walk by. He wanted her to sit on his face and scream while he licked up all her juices. He wondered again how her pussy tasted. He bet it was sweet. Addictingly sweet. But Antoinette isn't for you, he reminded himself, wishing someone would aim a fire hose right at his dick and pull the trigger. No more rich girls that smell like heaven and taste even better.
“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about,” he growled between his teeth. “Now get the fuck out and leave me alone.”
“Let me go and I will,” she said, her voice low. He realized his hands were digging into her soft skin of her arms and he dropped them to the mattress. Red hot pain was vibrating through his body, but he held himself stiff. For some reason, this 100 pounds-soaking-wet 25 year-old girl felt like an adversary. She had the power to get past his defenses. She had the power to make him want her. And if he gave in, he had a feeling he would be the one crawling on his knees. Sh
e took a step back. After a moment, she pasted a bright smile on her lips.
“Well, it was so good to catch up,” she said, her voice like honey and with a slight southern twang. “Hope you feel better real soon, Sergeant O'Donovan.” Then she turned on her heel and was gone.
Shit.
He dropped his head back against the pillow, exhausted. His body ached. His cock throbbed. And his mind was going a mile a minute. Antoinette St. James had just worked him over really fucking good. And he had a feeling she wasn't done with him yet.
Chapter 4
Toni watched herself in the mirror at the studio, as she practiced her routine. But her mind wasn't really on the dance of the Lilac Fairy. No. All she could think about was Sebastian O'Donovan. A.K.A. The Asshole.
He was sexy. He was sexier than he had any right to be. And Jesus, he was almost as old as Annata. But surprisingly, that didn't seem to matter to her. Christophe was younger than Nat and they got along fine. Better than fine. Older men and younger women had been getting together for all of time. Other than the cliché aspect of it, his age didn't bother her at all. But it seemed to bother him. She wondered why.
God. Why did he have to be such an asshole?
They would be good together. The sex between them would be fire. Red-hot. She knew that it would be. She'd wanted to jump him at the hospital, and he was wearing a damn paper gown. She'd wanted to lick his face. Who knew a few days worth of beard and a few gray hairs would be such a turn on? Maybe it was just sexy on Sgt. O'Donovan. Everything about the man was sexy.
She liked the little faux-hawk thing he had going on with his black hair. She liked his long, crooked nose. She liked his strong jaw. She liked his slight Irish accent and his dirty mouth. She loved his green eyes. And those broad shoulders! Toni felt a painful pang of lust ripple through her. She was wet for the man, despite the fact that he was a total jerk. At the hospital, he'd gotten her so riled up, she'd heard the sickly sweet Southern tone her mother used rear up in her voice. That was rare.
Kiss of Fire (St. James Family) Page 3