Fan the Flames (27 page)

“Oh.” Whatever was flying around in her stomach felt too big to be butterflies. Bats, maybe. Or pterodactyls.

His gaze slid toward her as he backed his SUV into his driveway. “Unless we're already at that point on the timeline?”

Her body enthusiastically answered in the affirmative, bringing a hot flush to her face and warmth to other parts. During that horrible, interminable time while she waited for him to come out of Julius's burning house, something had clicked inside her. She wanted Ian. For as long as she could have him, she wanted him, and she was sick of wasting time. “Yes.”

The SUV jerked as he hit the brakes harder than necessary. “What? Really?”

“I'm there.” His flabbergasted expression brought back her uncertainty. “Unless you're not there? Because we don't have to do anything you don't want—”

His happy laugh interrupted her. “Are you kidding? I've been there for
years
.”

Ian turned off the engine and leaned toward her. Startled, she leaned away from him.

“What's wrong?” he asked, stopping midlean. “Didn't we just agree we were
there
on the timeline?”

“We're not at the kissing-in-front-of-the-neighbors point, though.”

“It's okay. They're not awake yet.”

Rory stopped his forward advance with a hand on his chest and looked pointedly at the dashboard clock. “They're awake. It's not
that
early.”

“My neighbors are lazy.”

“All of them?”

“It's an epidemic in this neighborhood.”

“An epidemic of laziness.”

“It's sad.”

“You're a liar.”

“Hey!” Ian sounded offended. “This accusation from the woman who denies that I'm a better shot?”

“No way you're getting a kiss now.”

“Shi—oot.” He backed off a little. “Not even a tiny one?”

Reaching behind her, she pulled the handle and opened the door. “You're punchy. Get inside and go to bed.” As she jumped out of the Bronco, she had to smile. Punchy Ian was kind of cute.

He was waiting for her when she rounded the back of the Bronco. Although Rory was half-expecting him to tease her more, he just wordlessly escorted her to the side door. As he unlocked it and held it open for her, his phone beeped.

“It's Steve,” Ian said as he checked the text message. “He's headed over to your place for chicken duty, and he'll leave Jack there.” There was another beep. “Afterward, he'll swing by my house and leave the keys in the mailbox.”

A ripple of relief coursed through her. “Tell him thanks.”

His fingers moved over the screen before he returned the phone to his pocket. “Done.”

“I owe him one.” She stepped out of her boots. Her legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each.

Helping her out of her coat, Ian suggested, “He's always in need of babysitters.”

“Uh…” She let him pull off her coat as she stared at him in horror. “Would it be rude if I told him I owed him one but not to ask me to babysit?”

“Not rude, just very…specific.”

She groaned. “I don't know how to take care of kids. I'd probably lose one or accidentally kill it. He'd be smart to keep his offspring as far away from me as possible.”

“Don't worry about it today.” He tugged off her stocking hat and leaned to kiss the top of her head. Just that small touch erased her exhaustion. She tilted her head back, hoping for more now that they were out of the neighbors' sight. By the look in his eyes as he backed her against the wall, her hope was about to be realized.

He leaned toward her, his mouth getting closer and closer until her eyes slid shut and her heart thundered. Her breaths were quick and shallow, and she knew he could feel them against his lips. There was a pause before his kiss landed on her chin.

Her eyes popped open. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” he answered between pecks, following the line of her neck.

“You missed my mouth.”

“I do miss it.” He started back up her throat, nipping when he got just under her jaw. “Every time I'm not kissing you.”

She groaned, goose bumps spreading from where his teeth had connected.

“Sorry. Too cheesy a line?”

“What? No.” Her answer was distracted. “I just really like it when you bite like that.”

With a growl, he flattened her body against the wall, wasting no time in finding her lips. Her arms looped around his neck as his hands roamed, stroking along her back and cupping her ass, lifting her off her feet and holding her sandwiched between him and the rough plaster.

There was no fear this time, no nervousness. Rory threw herself wholeheartedly into the kiss, allowing her hands to explore his perfect physique. Watching him do his job—fighting fires and helping accident victims and pulling people out of burning buildings—made her appreciate his body even more. He wasn't just beautiful. He was
useful
. The beautiful part was just a bonus. The other guys teased him about being their cover model, but he honestly didn't seem to care much about his looks. His body was a tool he used to help him do what he loved.

His hips pressed into hers, tearing her from her reverie. She had experience at the kissing and touching part, but anything beyond that was still a mystery—a slightly nerve-racking mystery. As she hesitated, Ian started kissing her favorite place under her ear.

“Um…” She wiggled and then froze at his groan. “We're moving through the timeline pretty fast.”

Ian went still, his teeth locked lightly on her earlobe. He released her, exhaling in a light puff against her ear. That made her shiver, too, and she wondered why she'd stopped him. Everything he did felt so
good
. She wished she could stifle that part of her brain that went into panic mode when his hands and mouth went to certain places, and her center went all gooey.

When he pushed away from the wall, caging her in the brackets of his arms, her body felt chilled at the loss of his body heat.

“You're in control of the timeline,” he said, his eyes steady on hers. “When you say stop, we stop. When you say go”—his eyes went molten—“we definitely go.”

“Okay.” It sounded good in theory, but she didn't trust her body not to get carried away.

“Okay?”

She nodded.

“Does that mean go?”

Catching the inside of her bottom lip in her teeth, she hesitated and then nodded again. As soon as her head made the barest motion, his mouth was on hers again, fierce and hungry. This time, there was no gentle lead-up to passion—the kiss exploded in an immediate conflagration.

Her hands locked around his biceps, her clenching fingers barely denting the hard flesh. She kept them there as all her attention focused on the feel of his lips and tongue and teeth, and all the marvelous things he was doing with them. His mouth dropped to her neck again, and she twisted her chin up and to the side to give him access to her vulnerable throat.

She became aware of her hands locked around his upper arms, and she softened her fingers, sliding her palms over his fabric-covered biceps. A sudden urge swept over her to see him bare-chested, to run her hands directly over his skin without the barrier of his shirt blocking her touch. Without hesitating, she slid her fingers up his arms and over his shoulders before grabbing two handfuls of his shirt and pulling.

His head came up, and he looked at her, as if checking to make sure she really wanted what her tugs were asking. When she hauled at his shirt again, he shifted back so her grip on his top pulled it over his head, and he lifted his arms so they slipped from the sleeves as well.

When his shirt was completely removed, it dangled from Rory's nerveless fingers as she studied his bare torso, shock and lust and anxiety fighting in her stomach. He really was perfect, as calendar-worthy as the guys at the station teased him of being. As he stood there, so gorgeous and muscled and hot, Rory suddenly felt unworthy, thinking of her small breasts and slim figure, her average features and inexperience.

“You're so beautiful,” he said, contradicting her thoughts as if he could read her mind. Reaching toward her face, he smoothed her hair away from her cheek. “Sometimes, at the station, I'll be working on an engine or rolling hose or whatever, and you'll pop into my head.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. “I have to quickly think about something else—something really not sexy, like Chief in a Speedo—before I embarrass myself. The guys would never let me live that down.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she couldn't help but smile. Keeping his hands on either side of her shoulders, Ian lowered his head until his mouth met hers. As they kissed, she first kept her hands at her sides, straight down by her hips so she wouldn't accidentally touch his bare skin. Soon, though, the temptation proved to be too much.

Tentatively, she brushed her fingers against his forearms, exploring the texture of the prominent veins and the tickle of hair before sliding over his elbows to the biceps she'd discovered earlier. They felt different without a fabric covering, harder and softer at the same time. She moved to his shoulders and neck and back again.

As she explored, his kiss changed. Rory matched his reaction to what she was doing, learning where he was sensitive and what spots were a little ticklish. It was a powerful feeling to make his breath catch in his chest, all without touching anything below his waist.

“Wait,” he finally rasped, pulling away and tightly closing his eyes. Rory leaned back against the wall and watched him in concern as he dragged in one quick breath and then another. When his panting finally slowed, he opened his eyes and smiled at her look of concern. “Just got a little wound up. Ready to go again?”

Despite the coolness of the room, he was sweating, the moisture catching the light and making his skin gleam. Rory bit back a smile, thinking of how much he looked like an oiled-up model right now, and how much he'd hate that if he knew. Her hand reached out as if it had a mind of its own and traced the convex lines of his abs. His skin rippled under her touch.

“I'll take that as a yes,” he muttered, before diving down to claim her mouth again.

It felt like forever and, at the same time, merely seconds that they kissed. She'd started sweating, as well, and her top felt stifling. When she pushed at his chest, he rocked back with a reluctant groan.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice rusty.

Shaking her head, she grasped the bottom of her shirt and tugged it upward, stopping around the bottom of her ribs when Ian grabbed her hands and held them still.

“Sure?”

Pulling out of his grip, she yanked the shirt over her head and tossed it aside. “Yes.”

He stared at her for so long her fingers twitched with the desire to cross her arms over her chest. Glancing down at herself, she held back a groan of dismay. Her white bra was home-sewn, old and utilitarian. Even in its heyday, it hadn't been a sexy piece of lingerie. Now it was stretched and faded. The urge to cover herself grew stronger.

“Whoa.” He cleared his throat. “You're so…” When his eyes lifted, meeting hers, the pupils were dilated, and the lids heavy. “I can't believe I'm finally seeing you this way.” When his hand reached toward her, Rory could see a faint tremor making his fingers vibrate. Then he touched her skin, and she couldn't think about his reactions. Everything in her was concentrated on how he was making her feel.

His touch, as light as it was, almost burned. When she glanced down at the spot where his fingers had brushed, Rory half expected to see a singed mark on her skin. Leaning closer, Ian allowed his lips to follow the trail of his hand. She jumped, as if he'd given her a static shock. With his mouth still on her collarbone, he smiled against her skin.

At Ian's nudge, she leaned back, her eyes sliding closed so she could fully concentrate on what she was feeling. His hand and mouth stayed on her upper chest and then moved to her belly, skipping over her breasts. Despite the lack of R-rated action, she couldn't imagine feeling more aroused than she was at that moment. Wanting to see him, she opened her eyes.

This time, when he pulled back, chest pumping with his breaths, she gave a quiet moan of disappointment. The air quickly chilled her mostly bare skin, and she gave in to the renewed urge to cross her arms over her front.

“Okay.” Instead of returning to his explorations of her upper half, he took a step back. “Enough of that for tonight.”

“Really?” Even she could hear the clear disappointment in her voice, and she blushed.

“Really.” Despite his stern tone, his eyes still locked on the exposed skin not hidden by her crossed arms. “I'm about to turn the trip along the timeline into a bullet train, so it's time to sleep. Want the bathroom first? When you're done, I need to shower.” He rubbed a hand over his face, frowning at the black residue still clinging from the fire.

After studying him for a second, she pushed herself away from the wall. Her shirt was halfway across the room where she'd tossed it, so she slipped around Ian and hurried over to retrieve it. Instead of pulling it back on, she just held it in front of her chest.

“Need something to sleep in?” Ian asked. Even though they were separated by several feet, he still looked as intense as when they'd been locked together. “You can borrow one of my T-shirts.”

“That's okay.” For some reason, he seemed disappointed by that. Giving him a baffled look, she took a backward step toward the stairs. “I'll just sleep in my clothes.” Although Ian seemed to accept that, she was curious. “Did you
want
me to wear your shirt to bed?”

“Yeah.” He advanced a couple of steps, and she retreated, keeping a semisafe distance between them.

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, cocking his head. He paused, as if considering it. “I don't know. I just like the thought of you in my shirt.”