Fire and Flame

by Anya Breton

  Sara inhaled a long breath for serenity. “I see that. But where is he if he’s not here?”

  “Somewhere else,” was Derrick’s oh-so-helpful answer.

  In a tight voice she asked, “When is he going to be back from somewhere else?”

  His shoulders lifted—a motion she spotted out of the corner of her eye. “When he’s back.”

  And then he left her alone in Fintan’s office. Her gaze touched on countless objects she could throw at the door in an effort to exercise her aggravation. But she’d never forgive herself for giving into her aggression or for destroying something of her daddy’s. There was so little of Fintan truly left. She couldn’t afford to lose a single item.

  Even if he had made her life miserable when he’d left. She still loved him for the happy years he’d given her. Sara could have ended up like Brenton, unhappily living in his aunt’s house after his mother had run off.

  Yes, final wish aside, Fintan had done far more good for her than bad. This was only a speed bump on the road to her wonderful future.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The clock on Sara’s bedside table claimed it was half past four. Afternoon sun streamed into the windows beside her bed, casting frilly shadows on the white carpet. Sara picked at her toenails nervously in her spot on the edge of one of those shadows.

  Brent was back. Perry’s Dodge Challenger had pulled into the driveway at three this morning. Brent had crossed the pavement to the porch using his familiar aggressive gait. Downstairs there’d been a few noisy greetings before it had gone quiet.

  Colin had been on keep-Sara-in-the-house duty when she’d gone for cereal at ten. She’d expected Brent to speak with her then. He hadn’t.

  And then she’d waited all afternoon for him to visit. His voice had echoed up the stairwell as he’d spoken to Colin three hours ago. It had been the only thing of Brent’s that had come up the stairwell.

  He was avoiding her.

  He’d been gone for two full days and now refused to explain where he’d gone. Perhaps he didn’t owe her that but he sure as hell owed her an explanation for why he’d let three of his friends invade McKenna House without her permission. And why he’d allowed those three to bully and insult her.

  Did she want the explanation badly enough to brave the company of the jerks downstairs? She didn’t think so. She’d wait to see how dinner played out before she made any decisions.

  ****

  Twice Sara considered going back upstairs and to bed. Her guard had fallen asleep in the cushioned chair beside the rungs or else she wouldn’t have gotten this far. Perry was a piss poor guard. Perhaps Brent would realize that fact if she knocked on the door as she’d planned.

  Sara drew in a quick breath, and then knocked softly twice. There was a long pause in which she heard nothing in front or behind her. She waited longer still before giving a third knock.

  A muffled thump was heard through the door. Dull thuds of feet smacking against carpet made their way to her. Brent yanked the door open far faster than she’d anticipated. The whoosh of air and creak of wood made her jump a half inch.

  Brent was shirtless and glaring. But…shirtless.

  “Decided to knock this time?” he growled.

  Sara flushed because she assumed he was referring to how she’d burst into the room on Tuesday in search of him. There’d been no knocking then.

  She kept her gaze on his face to avoid seeing any other parts of him. His eyes focused on her, and then widened in surprise.

  “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” Though it was less of a growl, it was still plenty sour.

  It was her? What did he mean?

  Jealousy sliced through her gut when she worked out the answer. He’d thought Vanessa had woken him in the middle of the night. During the few seconds she fought the green monster of jealousy, Sara couldn’t recall why she’d come downstairs. It soon came to her.

  Sara couldn’t demand the regional high priest give her explanations where his underlings could hear. But she didn’t want to ask for an invitation into his room, especially not after what she’d recently heard.

  She gestured to the office door. Sara started for it without waiting for his agreement. There were no footsteps immediately but she was confident he would follow. She flipped on several lights around the desk then took the seat in front of it while she waited.

  When he did arrive it was with a shirt covering his chest. “I’m tired, Sara,” he told her after closing the office door. “This had better be good.”

  He’d probably said something far nicer to Vanessa.

  “Why did you invite three witches here without telling me?” she blurted out.

  Brent came to a stop three feet from the door. He squinted in confusion. Then he let out a long sigh that brought his shoulders low. “They were here for your protection. I didn’t realize I had to tell you first. Especially not after the attack in the cemetery.”

  “I thought the house was mine.”

  His eyebrows slanted inward even as his back straightened. “I have to ask you for permission before having a slumber party?”

  His derision riled her further. But his meaning was clear.

  He was now regional high priest. He shouldn’t have to ask a lowly witch for permission to invite people to his home.

  But it wasn’t his home. It was hers.

  Slowly, because it was the only way to keep from shouting, Sara said, “First it was Vanessa, who you know I can’t stand. Then Colin. And now Perry and Derrick, both of whom haven’t bothered to hold their tongues while they’re here.”

  “What have they done?” It was a quick question spoken in a worrisome dark tone.

  Perhaps she should have held her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say something that would get them in trouble. She’d only wanted them to leave.

  Sara shrugged her shoulders as flippantly as she could manage. “The same thing everyone else does.”

  “What does everyone else do?”

  “They called me princess or your majesty or a stuck-up spoiled brat.”

  The muscle in Brent’s cheek began twitching. “Who called you that?”

  She jabbed a finger at him. “You did, so don’t get all righteous on them.”

  He took a step back. His head lolled along with the movement as if someone had hit him. “If you don’t want me to get righteous on them then why did you wake me up in the middle of the night to make me listen to you complain?”

  Sara’s cheeks flushed pink because she didn’t have a valid answer. She had been complaining. Her anger over his days of avoidance had kept her awake and it had ultimately driven her downstairs for an accounting.

  “If you hadn’t avoided me all day I wouldn’t have had to wake you up in the middle of the night.”

  His eyes shot wide. And stayed that way for several seconds. “You’re angry that I avoided you?”

  Rapidly she shook her head, illustrating exactly how much she wasn’t angry over his avoidance.

  He let out a quick laugh. “That’s it! You’re unhappy because I’m not dancing attendance on you.”

  Brent was making fun of her. His friends had made fun of her. Vanessa had made fun of her. Her home had become little better than the schoolyard. She wanted to go back to college where she’d reigned as a veritable queen. There she’d been appreciated. Why was she still here where she was only miserable?

  She didn’t have to remain in the room with him while he insulted her. Sara got to her feet and started for the door only to have Brent step in her way.

  “You know, Sara, running from an argument makes you a coward, not a pacifist,” he taunted with his green gaze fixed boldly on her face.

  “I don’t care what you think of me,” she retorted as he had days ago. “Get out of my way.”

  “Or what?” His lips quirked in a small smirk. “You’ll complain until I move?”

  Jealousy over his nights with Vanessa, anger how he’d insulted her as much as his friends had, and frustra
tion that she had no one but him to turn to made her want to hurt something. No, she wanted to hurt him because he was the source of all of her recent problems.

  If it hadn’t been for Brent, Fintan never would have specified her duty in his will. If not for Brent, the funeral would have been a miserable weekend and then she’d have gone back to school on Monday.

  Sara channeled days of fury, years of frustration, and a life ruined into her arm. Her limb moved before she’d fully understood what she’d done. A half second later Brent’s head snapped to the left from the impact of her hand, and then he stumbled to the side.

  Brent’s attention whipped toward her as she shook out her aching fist. His eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them. Determination soon filled them with a swirling gleam. She stepped back, worried he’d hurt her for the pain she’d caused him.

  His taunt that she was a coward kept her steady when he started across her daddy’s office with a manic glimmer in his gaze. Sara gasped with a different sort of worry when his hands found their way into her hair and behind her back.

  Brent was going to kiss her!

  She inhaled another startled breath when his mouth slanted over hers. Brent’s tongue slashed through her lips with the same ruthless gestures he’d used Monday night. And despite the multitude of bad emotions she’d been feeling, Sara didn’t shove him away. Instead her body heated instantly with muscle memory that remembered exactly what he’d done to her days ago.

  Using his tight grip on her scalp, Brent whirled them both around. Carefully he backed her until Sara was pressed along the office door with his long, lean body holding her hostage. He kissed her breathless for several seconds longer before withdrawing his mouth to make his way to her throat. Sara let her head fall back against the heavy wood while his lips trailed hot kisses down her neck.

  Brent’s scent was all around her, bathing her in his smoky tang. She inhaled a breath, drawing it within as if the cool air around them held the explanation for why she couldn’t refuse his kiss. The slow throb building between her thighs was probably answer enough. Her body wanted Brent even if her mind knew it was a bad idea.

  His tongue laved over her collarbone with long, heated gestures that made her feverish. Gently he kissed his way down to the scalloped edge of her tank top. But when his nose did little to push aside the fabric, he resorted to shoving it down with his fingers. Cool air rushed over her bare chest, drawing a startled gasp from her.

  Without warning Brent’s hot mouth closed over her left nipple, teasing it to life. Shivers of sensation sprang from it, flying straight to her brain then on downward to where the dampness built between her legs. Sara dug her hands into his scalp. Her vision went black as her eyes rolled up into her head. Seconds later he hissed from the pain she’d not realized she’d been inflicting.

  Brent ducked out of her reach. Her eyes flipped open when his fingers slipped into her waistband. He knelt at her feet. Green eyes gazed along her quivering skin. The dare in his bold expression was obvious.

  Be a coward, he said without words. Run from this conflict.

  Sara held her breath. She could take hold of the doorknob directly beside her. She could run. And after he’d been with Vanessa several times, she should. But she’d only be trembling with the need he’d awoken and terribly furious with herself for missing out.

  Sara exhaled the breath she’d held in a shaking gush. She pushed the elastic waistband of her knit shorts over her hips before she could change her mind. They fell to her ankles with a dull thud.

  Brent drew in a ragged, startled breath. He continued to hold her gaze. The dare in them faded into something softer, something a lot like vulnerability. But Brenton Conley had never been vulnerable a day in his life.

  Carefully, as if he thought he might frighten her, he lifted his hand to the front of her panties. Gently he set it on her mons, perhaps testing her willingness to go through with what they’d begun. After their aggressive start, Sara grew uncomfortable with his shift into caution. Perhaps he needed a little push.

  “What’s the matter,” she whispered in a harsh tone meant to be derisive. “Afraid to dirty the princess?”

  Brent’s eyes flashed evergreen at her challenge. And then he fastened his mouth to the cleft her panties covered. Sara’s breath hitched from the moist heat over her most sensitive parts. When his tongue slid wickedly along the light cotton, her temperature shot into dangerous territory. Soon she writhed beneath his mouth. Moans escaped her too fast to stifle.

  Sara needed more, more he wasn’t giving her. She was nearly mindless from the throbbing. Her fingers dug into his scalp in urging motions that went ignored.

  “Brent,” she begged without understanding what it would mean for them both if they went further.

  Roughly he shoved the drenched cotton aside then ruthlessly slashed his tongue within her heated core. Sara slumped against the door, hardly able to hold herself upright. What should have soothed the throbbing had only increased it.

  “Brent,” she heard herself whimper the roughened plea.

  He let out a moan in return. Then he stood. The vulnerability she’d seen earlier was back, filling his green gaze with an aching sadness. Sara exhaled a ragged sigh.

  She grabbed hold of his shoulders, hauling him closer. The slackened jaw that met her lips hinted he was startled she’d kissed him. Sara didn’t care that the smoky taste on his tongue was from her as long as he finished what had been started.

  Perhaps it had bothered him. His body was stiff and unyielding for several seconds. But once Sara gently prodded him onward with a slide of her tongue through his lips, Brent’s body melted against hers. He was hard, blazing, and ready beneath his vinyl shorts. Shamelessly she rubbed against him to ease the unceasing ache. A nearly pained whimper emitted from his chest.

  Sara dragged her mouth from his long enough to whisper, “Please,” before she kissed him with needy slides of her tongue meant to show him what he was supposed to be doing to her.

  It took several seconds of determined kissing before Brent’s hands went to his shorts. They curled around her hips only to find she was still wearing panties. With a fumble, he tugged at the thin cotton without breaking the kiss. Soon the fabric tangled up at her knees. His palms formed around her hips once more.

  With one smooth thrust, Brent buried his heat deep within hers. Sara turned her head to inhale a startled gasp of fresh air.

  “Did that hurt?” he quietly asked against her cheek.

  “No,” she quickly replied. “No. Don’t stop.”

  Though she’d assured him it hadn’t hurt, Brent withdrew with slow care. He slid in with a leisurely motion that made them both moan. Sara dug her fingernails into his shoulders as he pulled out again. She wanted his warmth in her again, faster.

  Sara hadn’t comprehended what the vanilla humans she’d been with had meant when they’d said she was so hot it was almost uncomfortable. But with Brent they were both hot. And it wasn’t the slightest bit uncomfortable. No, this was how it was supposed to be.

  The more her fingernails dug, the faster Brent thrust. She worked out the pattern quickly and then used it to her advantage. Repeatedly he impaled her against the heavy wood. And repeatedly she gasped from the feel of him filling her, of the desire that washed up her insides waking her every nerve.

  Her eyes rolled up into her head a final time as her body reached the fever pitch. Skin aflame, brain mindless, and muscles going slack were the precursors to the finale. One last thrust sent Sara to the peak. She felt as if she’d exploded into glorious blue fire that had surely engulfed the entire office. Brent shuddered against her, bellowing his pleasure for the entire house to hear.

  Somehow, while they trembled from the lingering shocks of pleasure, they ended up on the carpet together. Sara didn’t try to move, knew she couldn’t if she’d wanted to. Brent’s body was damp and surprisingly heavy atop her. Even if he hadn’t weighed her down, her muscles were simply too weak to do anything but rest.<
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  Nothing had ever been that good. Would it always be like that with a Fire witch? Or had part of it been because of who it had been with?

  Sara turned her head away, resolving not to think about it now.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the Phoenix, she really did kiss like an angel. Those feather-soft brushes of her tongue had been Brent’s undoing. But tangled in her limbs he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

  Sex with Sara McKenna had been everything he’d dreamed it would be. And more.

  Goosebumps cascaded over his arms even thinking of what had happened between them. She’d been angry and demanding and needy and sexy—so sexy. Phoenix, he’d never be happy with anyone else.

  This was what he’d feared would happen. There’d be no waiting until tomorrow to decide if he’d gotten her out of his system. He already knew. One night with Sara had burnt an indelible scar on his heart.

  If he’d thought he could move, he would have carried her to her pristine bed where they could lay together in her beautiful scent. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to make it to his bed without falling. She’d taken that much out of him.

  Brent nearly laughed aloud when he recalled what had started this all. She’d punched him. By the Phoenix, it had hurt. He’d have a black eye in the morning.

  He was proud of her. Though she hadn’t used any magic, she’d given into the aggression she’d felt. His pride had little to do with her show of aggression. Pride came at the knowledge that though Sara was as volatile as any other Fire witch, she’d managed to control her emotions all these years. He respected her for it.

  Now he had to teach her how to defend herself and that reacting violently in self-defense wouldn’t morally bankrupt her.

  Brent gently rolled to the side. He couldn’t help but look at her. She was sprawled on the carpet with her hand resting beside her head. Her long honey mane was tousled around her beautifully flushed face with several pieces stuck to her damp cheeks and forehead. It was easy to look at her now with her eyes gently shut.

  He allowed himself to gaze at what he’d never before been allowed to see. His eyes lowered beneath her neck. The sheen of sweat coated her pert little breasts. A wave of hot fire washed over him from the image of her dusky nipples thrust up for his pleasure. Shame pricked at him at the sight of the tank top bunched around her tiny waist. Sara deserved to be loved properly rather than frantically up against the door. By Phoenix, he’d taken her in her father’s office! If Fintan were alive…