Fire & Desire (Hero Series) (2 page)

He originally thought about turning her down, not wanting to
jeopardize the contract he was bidding for. Then he discovered the party would
not be held at the governor’s family home in Northern Virginia, nor the
Governor’s Mansion in Richmond, but in Las Vegas—over 2,400 miles away.

This was a golden opportunity to get even with Manning for what he
had done to him years ago. He knew he would never be able to hurt Manning like
he’d been hurt, but he figured he could at least wound Manning’s pride. For men
like Manning, sometimes that was the best place you could attack them.

He agreed, and within days, his plan was moving into action. When
he met Tiffany Selina at the door of the town house, the first thing that
struck him was her smile. Her face lit up in a way that the news camera’s lens
couldn’t capture. As she gave him a tour, she was warm and friendly, but left
no doubt a stripper party was not her type of entertainment. She told him it was
something she did per her friend’s request. In no way did she want to be
involved in his act.

That was okay with him because the striptease was just how he
planned to set the stage.

He’d met women like Tiffany before, women who appeared to keep
themselves aloof during the party, but after the show, they were the main ones
trying to get him in their beds—a big no-no in his aunt’s company. The
reputation of her business was important to her.

He was willing to risk his aunt’s wrath to get back at Manning.
This was the last job.

“United Airlines flight number A320 from Las Vegas non-stop to
Dulles International is now boarding.”

The efficient voice of the airline’s female ticket agent crackled
across the overhead speaker and broke into Trevor’s thoughts. He pulled out his
first class ticket from the side pocket of his laptop case and got in line. He
flowed with the line until he was able to hand the agent his pass, walked down
the jet-bridge, nodded toward the flight attendant, located his seat on the plane,
then stowed his laptop case and small overnight bag in the compartment above.

Snapping his seatbelt, his thoughts returned to the prior day’s
events. Everything had been going well until he’d come face to face with
Tiffany Selina in the kitchen. He hadn’t expected the strong attraction between
them. He’d thought revenge was something he could do, and then walk away.

He remembered walking into the kitchen to retrieve the bowl of ice
Tiffany was  supposed to have prepared for his last act. He had stopped
instantly at seeing her.

Tiffany stood in silence at the window, draining a glass of water
as if it were a gift from

God. Her eyes closed as she sipped the cool, clear liquid.

She looked as though she was in rapture. As if she were being
touched in deep and intimate places only a lover would know.

He remembered instantly yearning to be that lover, if only for a
moment. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one to put that look on her face. That
had been his goal that night…to set the stage, then make love to Tiffany Selina
before the evening was through.

One of her friends had given him the perfect opportunity to
fulfill his plan with Tiffany when she asked him to stay and party with them,
but he couldn’t do it. He had been fooling himself to think he could be cruel
and heartless enough to sleep with a woman just to get back at Manning. He was
not into casual sex. Sex was too intimate and intimacy was personal, so he’d left
and returned to the casino hotel.

The squeak and rattle of the food cart in the coach section of the
plane pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hello, Mr. Wayne, would you like to hear the meal choices?” The
first-class attendant stood next to his leather captain-style seat with a
bright smile.

Trevor felt nauseated. His queasy stomach reminded him how
disgusted he had been with himself. “No, thank you. Just a ginger ale, no ice,
please.”

“No problem, sir.” She walked away, disappeared around the corner
of the mini kitchen and returned with a tumbler glass of bubbling soda, matching
her personality. “Here you go, sir.

Please let me know if you’ll need anything else.”

Trevor gave her a nod of confirmation.

His mind drifted once again. Last night he’d arrived back at the
hotel after his performance, showered, got dressed and went down to the casino.
It was not in his nature to gamble or drink, but he’d given in to the urge and
placed a few nickels into a slot machine.

Trying to erase not only the disappointment he felt toward
himself, but also attempting to drown away the realization that he would
probably never get back at Manning. He had realized that, with all of his
strategic planning, his conscience was not warped enough to play on his
nemesis’s level.

After he had finished his fifth drink and debated on whether he
wanted a sixth, Tiffany came around the corner with her friends. They all were
extremely drunk. He knew none of them recognized him, nor would they without
his half mask.

He’d sat back and watched them in action. Tiffany sat next to him
and began to chat and flirt with him. She became the epitome of a rambling
drunk. She told him how constricted her life was and how, at times, she just
wanted to be Tiffany without all of the responsibilities of being a governor’s
daughter. She desired the freedom to marry anyone she wanted without having to
worry about what others thought. Everyone expected her to marry Christopher Manning,
but marrying Christopher hadn’t even made the last item on her “to do” list.

With that, a new plan had formed in his pickled brain—his
opportunity had come back around even better than he had dreamed.

Sitting on the plane, it amazed him that, while drunk, an idea
always appeared to be the most brilliant.

What better way to get back at Manning than to marry the girl he
wanted before he had a chance.
Acting on his drunken thought, he’d asked Tiffany to marry him
right there by the nickel slot machines.

She’d thought about it for a minute, then turned to him with a big
smile that lit up her alcohol-glazed eyes and said, “Why not?”

She’d found one of her friends and told her she would see her in
the morning. She was going to get married.

Her friend, who was just as drunk as she was, had looked him over,
laughed and said, “Whatever you say, Tiffy.”

Then they’d left and stopped at the first chapel of love they had
come upon. He hadn’t even remembered the name of the place until he’d looked at
the certificate while Tiffany dressed that morning. All of it had seemed like a
dream when he awoke.

He barely remembered the quick kiss he had given her at the
chapel. And he had a foggy memory of them arriving back at his hotel room. He
vaguely recalled Tiffany giving
him
a striptease and his reaction to her
body. He had a vivid recollection of being rock hard
.
Even now, his
penis swelled in his pants with the thought.

The only thing that was clear to him was the fact he had stuck to
his resolve not to have sex with her. He had touched, fondled, nibbled and
played with her until she’d passed out on top of him. He had found it very
difficult to keep them from taking the next step during those heated moments.
He’d never professed that he was a monk, but after last night, he would
probably have enough good deed points to qualify for his own robe.

No sex. No kissing. He had stuck to his personal rule. Even with
Tiffany’s lips looking appealing and full. She had a mouth made to kiss.

Nevertheless, kissing was personal and intimate. It was something
he couldn’t give without investing his heart.

In an attempt to ease the pressure in his jeans caused by his
straining manhood, Trevor fidgeted in his seat.

That morning when he’d awakened and watched her while she slept,
he had tossed around his options to the situation. Deciding that the only way
to see his actions through and have the ultimate revenge was to stay married to
Tiffany, just for a little while.

Just long enough for her to break the news to Manning. He knew
there was a possibility of Manning coming after him, but as a soon to be
congressman elect, there was only so much he could do without tarnishing his
own reputation. The thought of Manning’s character in question brought a smile
to his lips.

However, it was what he didn’t want to happen to Tiffany, a
stained reputation. That’s why he left it completely within her power to get an
annulment on the grounds of an unconsummated marriage. He contemplated telling
her this morning until he noticed the debased look in her eyes as she looked at
the bed.

She seemed appalled at the thought of sleeping with someone in his
class. Trevor thought she should have felt grateful. He’d given her an out to
the possible marriage with Manning. In her own words
marrying Christopher
hadn’t even made the last item on her “to do” list.
He quickly put the
thoughts aside and stuck to his decision.

Two

Tiffany was glad about the four and a half-hour flight back to the
East Coast because she planned to put on her headphones and sleep the entire
way. She and five friends sat in first class.

Tiffany was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Josephine
didn’t say anything to her about last night when she entered their room.
Josephine just wished her good morning, then walked out, leaving Tiffany to her
own musing.

Tiffany didn’t understand how she’d allowed herself to do three
things she had never done before with little regard for propriety.

She hadn’t even thought about marriage sober, even with the media
and Christopher both hounding her. She never drank more than one or two glasses
of Champagne or wine at any time.

And the third…

As she reclined back in her seat, she knew why she had gone way
beyond that limit.

She’d tried to drink until she forgot what had taken place at the
party—her first mistake.

Tiffany remembered standing on the outer fringes of her zealous
group of friends, her body on fire as she watched the dancer. He had called
himself The Fireman…
dressed in a black and yellow striped assault coat and
pants, black boots, gloves and waving a bright yellow Pelican flashlight
suggestively in his hand. His costume wouldn’t have been complete without the red
helmet with reflective patches and it’s large black shield on the front that
read
Engine Co. 69.

Her friends were in a frenzy as soon as he removed his first piece
of clothing, the coat, revealing his bare chest and red suspenders. The
crescendo of screams in the house roared to an almost ear piercing level, by
the time he teased and taunted them. He stood in front of one of her friends
with the flashlight hovering before his crotch. He repeatedly prompted her to
take it as he flicked it off and on, finally surrendering it to her. Then he
began tossing his gloves out one at a time. Placing his helmet on top of
another woman’s head, revealing the smooth chocolate skin of his baldhead as he
stepped back to the center of the room.

After a few more insinuating gyrations, he removed his assault
pants with a snap, leaving himself in nothing but a mask, suspenders, boots and
a leather bikini. She could hear moans and sighs slipping past the lips of her
friends.

She was having a hard time stifling her own reactions. Thoughts of
having his strong arms lifting her, pulling her tight against his chest as he
carried her out of a flaming building made her burn with desire. Desire to know
what it felt like to be pressed against the scorching heat of his body and—

Her fantasy was interrupted as her friend Karen yelled out, “He
can drive his fire truck down my lane anytime.”

The other women around the room hooted and hollered; Tiffany
exhaled.

From where she stood, she had a full frontal view of him. The
Fireman was magnificent, sculpted, every firm ridge and plain vivid and
evident. God must have molded him by hand incredibly slow. The skin on his
pecks seemed so tight that if his nipples became erect, the flesh around it
would beg for mercy. With her twenty-twenty vision, she couldn’t spot a single imperfection,
except for the scar on the side of his knee.

At one point in the show, he’d filled the bride-to-be’s hands with
baby oil and told her to rub it across his chest. Diane didn’t hesitate a
moment before leaping out of her honored chair in the center of the room.

 “Michelangelo had to be gay,” Diane said as she rubbed his chest,
“because the excitement I’m feeling would inspire someone to want to chisel a
sculpture like David.”

The atmosphere in the room vibrated with the envious laughter of
the other ladies.

He pried Diane’s hands off him. One of her friends yelled, “Now
Diane, what would Todd think about your hands being all over that sexy male
specimen?”

With a coy smile, Diane let go and returned to her seat.

He looked at Tiffany with cool black eyes and winked—his signal
for her to start the music.

Blaring music thumped through the speakers as he danced around
Diane, contorting his entire body into one enticing move after another. The
music continued to play with punctuated background vocals from a trio of
friends. They seemed to fall in sync to the beat.

“Can he work it or can he work it!” Karen wiggled as a shiver ran
down her spine.

Sonya sighed, “Oh my…” as if she couldn’t quite think of the words
to describe what she saw.

“Thank goodness life is a box of chocolates,” Josephine shouted.
“And I’m glad they come in king size treats.”

At one point in the song, as he traveled around the ladies,
Tiffany thought he would pass her. Instead, he stopped in front of her. His
eyes issued a challenge, daring her to say something or bolt. Earlier when he’d
arrived at the townhouse, she had informed him that she would handle anything
he needed, but she was only there to make sure things went smoothly, not to be entertained
by him.

As he stood before her, she couldn’t move. Her feet felt as if
they had been nailed to the floor.

He walked closer to her, reached out and placed his hands on both
sides of her waist, then pulled her body into his until she was flush against
him. His hands felt like fire, even through her clothes.

She looked down at his torso. The baby oil Diane had liberally
bathed on him made the beads of sweat appear to glisten in the soft glow of the
lights. She raised her head to peer into his eyes, wondering if he could feel
her heart racing against his chest. A sly smile crossed his lips, letting her
know he did.

He leaned forward until she could feel her breasts crushed against
his upper body. He brought his lips just barely in contact with the shell of
her ear, allowing the seductive heat of his hot breath to send a frisson down
her spine as he spoke furtively, “Hmm…a perfect fit.”

He left no doubt to his meaning as he snuggled his gloved organ
between her thighs against her sex.

She had no time to stop the quick intake of air that rushed into
her chest.

His dark eyes twinkled with mischief as he quickly let her go,
then continued to the other ladies in attendance.

She wasted no time in her escape.

Exiting out of the side door, she stood on the porch, inhaling
gulps of air from the cool night. Her ears still rumbled from the husky sound
of his voice.

Through the open doors, she watched him entertain the other
ladies. With her limited knowledge of his profession, she knew it was all just
an act for him. It was his job to make women feel desired and sexually charged.
He was very good at it.

She took a few more cleansing breaths, then returned to the living
room just in time to see him heading toward her friend Charmagne, who sat as
quiet as a mouse in a corner chair of the room.

Just as he had done before with Diane, he poured a generous amount
of oil into her palm.

Tiffany watched as Charmagne plastered a fake smile on her face in
an attempt to hide her nervousness. But everyone in the room, except the
magnificent specimen of manhood, knew Charmagne was extremely shy; she had been
that way ever since college. Tiffany was surprised her shaking hands didn’t
spill the baby oil all over the carpet.

“You want me to put this on your-r-r chest-t-t,” Charmagne
stammered.

“No.” He used a rumbling timbre this time, as he turned and gave
her his back, seeming to take pity on the poor girl.

The sigh that came through Charmagne’s parted lips sounded like
the whistle from a boiling teapot. She rubbed the oil into both of her hands.

“Here.” He accentuated the words with a snap as he removed the
fabric from around his waist, which at one time appeared to be the back to his
bikinis. Leaving nothing but two firm cheeks separated by the thin black
leather material of his thong. Final evidence of what the suspenders were
connected to.

A unified gasp echoed in the room.

From her angle, Tiffany could see the two chocolate globes, and if
she leaned the other way just enough, she would be able to see what held him in
front.

She couldn’t deny she was tempted. She took a step to the right
and leaned over just enough to catch an eye full. Her breath caught in her
throat as she observed the tight piece of leather that held the Fireman’s
genitals in its grasp. The fit of the material didn’t leave much to the
imagination.

She refused to believe the size of his sex her eyes observed. It
was common knowledge, most underwear models stuffed for ads. No doubt, the
dancer did, too.

He waited patiently for Charmagne to get up the nerve to massage
the baby oil on his lower extremity.

Karen sat beside Charmagne. She must’ve lost her patience because
she grabbed both of the shy friend’s hands and placed them soundly on the man’s
rear end.

Charmagne swallowed noticeably and gingerly applied the oil in a
circular motion.

When she finally began to relax and smile, he flexed his buttock
muscles and made them jiggle in Charmagne’s hands. Her eyes and mouth rounded
into perfect circles of shock.

As the music faded away, so did Charmagne in a dead faint, landing
in Sonya’s lap. He again winked at her to stop the tape, and then he exited the
room to prepare for his last set.

She turned on some music while her friends snacked and mingled,
conversing about the stripper’s abilities. She needed something to drink.
Something ice-cold.

She walked through the living room across the foyer, passed the
dining room and the breakfast nook, to reach the kitchen. Today was one day she
wished the kitchen wasn’t located on the other side of the house. She resisted
the urge to run.

Once she arrived in the kitchen, she immediately drained her first
glass of ice water as if she had been stuck in the Sahara Desert for a month.
She refilled it and sipped.

Since the moment she met him at the door and gave him a tour of
the rooms he would be using, she had been experiencing tingling sensations all
over her body. He had been dressed in a suit tailored to fit his body, and his
mask covered over half of his face. Nothing showed but his haunting eyes and a
set of lips women paid to have. There were no strings attached to the face piece,
so she assumed it had to be stuck to his face somehow.

By the time he had finished stripping, her pulse rate had hit the
ceiling. After the moment he’d pressed his body to hers, her temperature had
risen to a fevered pitch. Breathing had stopped being a necessity when he removed
the small piece of material over his buttocks.

The ice water cooled her throat, and she actually felt her body
heat simmer down as she gazed out the window over the sink. Now grateful for
the distance between the kitchen and the living room that allowed her the quiet
solitude she needed to bring her nerves back under control.

She turned away from the window to head back to the living room
and froze.

He stood two feet away from her, leaning nonchalantly against the
island in the center of the kitchen. Now, he was dressed as The Dark Knight in
black chaps, black leather underwear—another thong she presumed—with a matching
vest, cape and the proverbial mask. She couldn’t deny he made an appealing
Fireman, but he was downright sexy to her as The Black Knight.

Just the sight of him caused her body to quiver.

“I’m sorry I startled you. I came to get some ice.”

That voice again.

The sound of it brought to mind naked skin against silk sheets.
Both textured and smooth—the kind of voice that came over the airways during
late night radio for lovers. It made her want to close her eyes and moan.

Clearing her throat, she finally said, “The ice is in the freezer.
I hope there’s enough for your final act.” She hoped she did not sound like she
was rambling.

He made no move toward the refrigerator. “So what were you
thinking about?”

She fought between wanting to drop the glass at his question and
squeezing it until it shattered in her hand. How do you tell a man you were
thinking about your body’s reaction to him?

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“I know what you were thinking about.” A self-assured smile
decorated his mouth.

“Now, how would you know that? Are you a mind reader as well?” She
was surprised she was able to keep her words on an even note.

“No.”

How could one word be so seductive,
Tiffany questioned
silently.

“Maybe I was just hoping you were thinking about the same thing I
can’t get off my mind,” he said, warm and inviting.