“I like it,” she said. “So hardcore. Makes me want to go crazy!”
“You've made your point,” he said. “But Sabbath stays on.”
“Ugh!” She threw up her hands. “So what else do you listen to? Just this crap?”
“Rap sometimes,” he said, shrugging. “Jazz if I'm smoking.”
“Oh, really?” Toni almost hopped up and down in her seat at the thought of getting high with O'Donovan. She wondered vaguely if getting high got him as horny as when he drank?
“I grew up in New York. I have diverse tastes.”
“Cool.” She nodded, forcing herself to focus on the conversation. “We should smoke together.”
“You get high?” he looked at her with an eyebrow raised.
“Hey. I have a high stress job. I need to unwind sometimes.”
“I have a high stress job,” he said. “You dance.”
“Slow your roll,” she said, holding up a hand. “You may save lives and all that, but being a professional ballerina is no walk in the park.” He looked at her again, not fully convinced. “Any day now, a muscle could give and I'd be finished. When I broke my ankle in the accident I thought I was done for sure.”
“But you came back from that,” he said, his eyes back on the road.
“I did. With a lot of hard work. But I'm just now getting promoted to soloist.” She swept a hand through her hair, trying not to feel annoyed about the situation. “I've been dancing since I was six. I'm almost in my prime.”
“You're a baby. How are you almost in your prime?”
“It's the way it goes.” She shrugged lightly, letting her eyes trace the lines of his broad shoulders, hidden under his T-shirt. She could practically feel his warm skin under her hands. She shivered, remembering the massage she'd given him earlier. She'd wanted to lick him from head to toe. And those freckles! She'd noticed the freckles on his shoulders the night before and she'd wanted to run her tongue over them ever since. His body was so damn delectable. What she wouldn't give to touch him once more...
“Where am I going?” he asked, jolting her out of her fantasy.
“Lincoln Center,” she said. He nodded, clenching his jaw. They cleared the bridge and he made a sharp left, turning onto second avenue. She felt a tinge of nervousness in her stomach, and she took a slow breath. The tension between them was thick, all of a sudden. Or maybe that was just all in her mind? She decided it was time for drastic action. More drastic than the peach pie defense.
“Let's sleep together,” she blurted out, before she could rethink it. He looked at her sharply, his eyes unreadable. Then he looked back at the road. She felt her ears warming with embarrassment, but she pressed on. “When neither of us is inebriated. One night. We could just go crazy on each other. And then you could go back to nursing your broken heart.”
“Who said I had a broken heart?” he asked, in that rough tone he used when he was trying to intimidate her. Toni just shrugged, thinking about his ex-wife, wondering what kind of woman would leave a man like O'Donovan. “Shit,” he hissed, like she'd uncovered his deep, dark secret. “I don't have a broken heart.”
“Okay,” Toni felt a little prick of hope in her chest. Please be telling the truth, she thought. But as he drove past Columbus Circle, the hope turned to desperation. She was about to leave O'Donovan, and she was unsure if she was ever going to see him again. He made a sharp U-turn in front of oncoming traffic and then they were in front of Lincoln Center. She felt her body clench as she suppressed a squeal at his terrible driving. He braked and they jerked to a stop. 8:55 a.m.
Toni turned in her seat to look at him, her heart pounding in her throat. Her nerves were rattled and the silence was killing her. “Just admit it, O'Donovan!” she yelled finally, when she couldn't take it anymore.
“Admit what?”
“Admit you like me,” she said, watching his face for a reaction.
“You're nuts, you know that?” he said, finally. Yeah, nuts over you, you jerk, she thought to herself but kept her mouth shut. “You're going to be late,” he said, tapping the clock.
“I don't care,” she said. He ran his hand through his hair and looked everywhere but at her.
“Toni,” he said simply, working his jaw, like he was trying to figure out what to say. The silence stretched on, and he didn't say the words she wanted to hear. But he didn't reject her either. An idea came to her when she saw a pen in the center console. Before she could tell herself not to, she scribbled her number on a scrap of paper.
“Next time you need someone to make breakfast for, give me a call,” she said, trying to laugh it off. She tossed the paper in his lap and pressed a kiss to his rough cheek before she could think better of it. “Thanks for the ride.” She wrenched the door open and before she knew it, she was running across the courtyard. She told herself not to look back, that he didn't deserve it. But she couldn't resist. His truck still sat there, and the sight set the butterflies off in her chest.
Yup, she was still a sap.
It was only when she got to the locker room and began to undress that she saw the spot. Just a small white spot, on the left thigh of her jeans. She had Sebastian O'Donovan's come on her, she realized. With a groan, she dropped down on the bench, remembering how he felt in her hands, his moans of pleasure in her ears, his lips on hers. She could only laugh as she ran her finger over the spot. If she didn't get sex soon, she was going to spontaneously combust. She wanted him so damn bad, but she wasn't going to beg. The ball was in O'Donovan's court. For now.
Chapter 9
Brigid O'Reilly's big blue eyes were trained on O'Donovan and he couldn't help but smile back. The only daughter of his captain, she was definitely off limits. Well, if he didn't count that one time he'd slept with her, when he was a rookie. He hoped the captain never found out about that. The last thing the captain needed to know was that he'd gone down on his daughter in a public park and then fucked her in a McDonald's bathroom after a Fireman's Picnic. That was one headache he could do without.
Now, Brigid was about thirty-five and had been divorced for a year or so. He knew all of this through the grapevine, because he hadn't actually talked to her in years. She had long red hair and a curvy figure, but her eyes were where it was at. A man could get lost in those eyes. They used to be lively and full of life. Now, they looked a little tired and sad. But she was still pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. She sidled around the firetruck, tucking her hands in her cardigan pockets.
“Hey, O'Donovan,” she said, her voice light. “How have you been?”
“I've been alright,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, and ignoring the slight pain in his back.
“Good.” She ran her eyes down the front of him, and then back again. He allowed his eyes to make the same trip, taking in her loose blouse and knee-length skirt. Brigid was a school teacher, and she definitely could have that sexy librarian thing going on if she tried. But she was a good girl, he reminded himself. “Dad said you got injured a few weeks back?”
“Just a few burns, no big deal.” He shrugged. “Tommy got it worse.” Brigid nodded, furrowing her brow with concern.
“I get so worried about you guys,” she said. “But I should be used to it by now, right?”
“Yeah you should,” he said, not able to resist a flirtatious smile. He was still horny as hell. He hadn't seen or heard from a certain thorn in his side in almost two weeks, but that didn't mean she didn't haunt his thoughts. The second he laid his head on the pillow at night, he was thinking about her. About her lips. About the little lacy bra strap he'd gotten a glimpse of. About her ass. About her laugh. Antoinette St. James had a hold on him, and he needed to get laid. Getting laid would solve all of his problems.
Brigid matched his smile, and he wondered when was the last time she'd had a roll in the hay. He knew it was dangerous, but then again, Brigid was an adult. She could make her own choices. She'd gotten married around six years ago to a cop, and he knew it had en
ded badly when the asshole cheated on her. He remembered they'd had chemistry all those years ago, although their lust had been partly fueled by alcohol. Maybe he shouldn't count her out, he thought. Brigid could be just what he needed.
“Well. I just wanted to say hi,” she said, her eyes glued to his. “I'm back in the neighborhood, so if you ever wanted to have a drink or something, I'm around,” she said, her voice a little rushed, like she was nervous.
“I'll remember that,” he said, knowing his three days off started that night and he would need a distraction from all the nothing he had going on. There was only so much drinking, masturbating, and TV-watching one man could do.
“Please do,” she murmured, just as Captain O'Reilly came around the side of the fire truck.
“There's my baby girl!” the older man said, opening his arms up for a hug. Brigid hugged her father, tucking her hair behind her ear sheepishly. In that moment, she looked like the girl he'd taken into that McDonald's bathroom, young and innocent. He smiled, catching her eye. She licked her lips, and he felt warmth in his belly. She was a good girl, alright. “What are you doing hiding over here?” O'Reilly asked her, greeting O'Donovan with a raised eyebrow. “Don't you have something to do, O'Donovan?”
“Just catching up,” O'Donovan said, shrugging like it was no big deal.
“Well, come on, I'm starving.” O'Reilly slid his arm over his daughter's shoulders, leading her away.
“Talk to you later, O'Donovan,” she said, with a small wave.
“Uh huh,” he said, letting his eyes linger on hers until she smiled and turned away. Yup, Brigid might just be the kind of woman he needed. She met all of his criteria. She was the kind you married, the kind you settled down with, the kind you made plans with. She wasn't an energetic, flirtatious dancer with long legs, big light-brown eyes, and soft lips. She wasn't Toni.
Toni. Her name echoed through his brain. Her number was burning a hole in his pocket. He jogged up the stairs to the firehouse common room, trying to shove her to the back of his mind. He'd gone two weeks without seeing her. He could go for however long it took to forget her, he told himself. Slouching on the couch, he nodded at two other firemen taking their breaks. He zoned out immediately, thinking about how he'd nearly crashed the truck when she'd asked him to sleep with her, as blasé as if she was giving him directions. Like it was no big deal. It had taken all of his strength not to pull her over his lap in the truck and show her how big of a deal it was. He didn't want to do something as mundane as sleep with her, hell no. He wanted to fuck her until she couldn't think straight. There was a difference. A huge difference.
He couldn't help but wonder why she wanted him. Toni could have any man she wanted. All she would have to do is bat her eyes and crook her finger and men of all ages would come running. So why did she want him? They'd shared a moment two years ago, true. It was a terrible moment, but a shared moment, nonetheless. Did she feel the need to repay him for saving her? He didn't know. All he knew was that the torch he'd held inside himself for the scared girl he met on that dark night had almost gone out. He'd almost forgotten her but she was back now, and the flame was threatening to roar out of his control.
If he was honest with himself, things were already out of his control. There was something between them and he had a feeling it wasn't going to go away by itself again. Every day that passed was another day of torture. He couldn't take another minute of daydreaming about her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the crumpled piece of paper with her phone number on it. For the millionth time, he read over the numbers jotted in her scrolled handwriting. She'd made her feelings clear. No bullshit. No games. She wanted him. And he wanted her, too. Badly.
What's the worse that could happen? he thought sarcastically. He knew the worst thing that could happen and it would be disastrous. Falling in love with Antoinette St. James was not going to happen. He couldn't let it. Shoving the paper back in his pocket, he leaned back on the couch and shut his eyes. He needed a diversion. He would get out of dodge for a few days, clear his mind. That would be the answer to all of his problems. But Toni still lingered on the periphery of his mind, and he knew she wasn't going away anytime soon.
***
Toni felt dead on her feet. For the last two weeks, she hadn't taken a day off. She'd been in the studio everyday. She'd needed something to keep her mind off the dumb asshole jerk who hadn't called her. After all that they'd been through. After all that they'd done. She supposed she'd gotten her answer. She'd laid herself bare for him, and she'd been rejected. You win some, you lose some, she told herself. Oh, well.
Toni slapped her hands across her face and screamed, the muffled noise echoing across the large empty dance space. She was slowly going insane, she realized. She wished she was the type to go out and pick up someone at a bar. She wished her vibrator could fulfill all of her needs. But she wanted O'Donovan, and she wanted him bad. Could sexual frustration drive a person crazy? It surely could, at least according to old French movies. What was the one called, with Catherine Deneuve? She remembered watching it late one night when she was in school. Catherine Deneuve played a girl who was driven homicidally insane by her sexual urges. Toni wondered if there was any fact to that fiction. If so, she was damn near on the brink.
Toni dropped her hands, and took a deep breath. No. She was not going to let O'Donovan have any more power over her. She hardly knew the man. He didn't have the right to make her feel like this. She lifted her arms, holding them tight above her head. She stared at herself in the mirror, checking her form for any flaw. She was a mess on the inside, but on the outside she was flawless. Her body was taut, her muscles were defined. This was what she could control.
When she dropped her hands to her sides, she felt herself sway a bit. She hadn't eaten, she realized. She was falling back into bad habits. Clicking across the worn wood floor in her pointe shoes, she plopped into the chair beside her bag. She dug around inside it, wondering if she had a granola bar or something munch on. No such luck. Finding her phone, she turned it on. She had a message from her mother, a text from Nat, and a number she didn't recognize had also called her. Her heart caught in her chest. It was a New York number. Could it be? No. Could it?
She stared down at the phone, debating on calling it back. It was almost one in the morning, maybe too late for a callback? Who was she kidding? She was dying of curiosity. She pressed the call button and put the phone to her ear. It rang a few times and she gnawed at her lip, considering hanging up. But then someone answered.
“Hello?” said the unmistakeable male voice. That Irish lilt would give him away every time.
“Hi,” she said, all of her breath coming out in a whoosh.
“You know who this is?” His sexy voice said, teasing her.
“I think I just figured it out,” she said, rolling her eyes like he could see her.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm in the dance studio.”
“Isn't it a little late for that shit?”
“Rehearsing? No. I like rehearsing at night. It's quiet.”
“You need a ride home?”
“What? Aren't you in Queens?”
“No,” he said. “I'm in the city.”
“Um. Okay,” she said, her heart in her throat. She'd let O'Donovan drive her the fifteen blocks home, since he'd gone to all the trouble. No problem. But it was strange, she had to admit. Not that she wanted to question her good fortune. She slid on her boots and was out the door in a flash. She didn't want to seem too eager, so she slowed down as soon as she neared the fountain in the center of the courtyard. She scanned the surrounding area, looking for his red truck. She saw it, parked where he'd dropped her off two weeks before. She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She took her time reaching him, scrolling through her Twitter feed on her phone like she could care less that Sebastian O'Donovan had finally called her.
He opened his door and sauntered around to her side. Dropping her phone into her bag
, she allowed herself to look at him. O'Donovan's rugged good looks took her breath away, and it felt like it had been ages since she'd seen him. She felt her mouth curling into a smile before she could even think to react differently.
“Hey, Toni,” he said. He was wearing a faded Pink Floyd shirt that night, she noticed. Dark Side of the Moon. He really was a stoner, she thought with a smile.
“I'm surprised you didn't toss my number out the window the first chance you got,” she said. “I figured it would be floating in the East river right about now.”
“I thought about it.” He opened the creaky truck door for her. “But I didn't.”
“Why didn't you?” she asked, stopping before she slid into the passenger seat.
“You know why,” he said simply, and that answer sent a shiver down her spine.
Total sap.
Smiling with satisfaction, she hopped in and he slammed the door behind her. She turned in her seat, watching him walking around the side of the truck. That's when she noticed the fishing gear in the back of the cab. He got into the driver seat, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Do you normally take the train this late?” he asked.
“I've sworn off cabs, so pretty much,” she said with a pathetic forced laugh.
“Not safe,” he muttered, shaking his head as he navigated into traffic. She rolled her eyes at his seeming worry for her safety.
“New York City is one of the safest cities in the United States, you know. I tell my granny all the time I was way more likely to be the victim of a crime if I stayed in New Orleans.”
“You're from New Orleans?”
“Well, outside of the city, but pretty much. Born and raised.”
“I thought I heard a southern accent in your voice,” he said, getting caught at a red light.
“It flares up, sometimes. Especially when I'm pissed,” she said.
“So you were pissed at me in the hospital?” he asked, raising an eyebrow like he didn't know the answer.
Kiss of Fire (St. James Family) Page 8