Once Burned (Firehouse Fourteen Book 1) (12 page)

Mike bit her lip, trying to silence her moan when Nick pushed himself into her with surprising speed. Her head fell back as sensation tore through her with each of his frantic thrusts. This is what she had asked for, what she had wanted. No, what she
needed
. To feel him deep inside her, thrusting, burying himself.

She lifted her hips and wrapped her legs tightly around him, pulling him even deeper. Her eyes drifted closed and she let herself be swept away, abandoning all thought, wanting—needing—only to feel. The hard length of his body on top of hers, the feel of heated flesh melded together. The taste of his mouth on hers, the touch of his tongue against hers, thrusting, mating, claiming. Mike ran her hands through his hair, her fingers tangling in the damp wavy strands that fell against his neck.

Heat burned her from the inside, searing, spreading with each thrust, eclipsing the pain of her bruised ribs. She pulled her mouth away from his and dragged her lips across his throat and over his shoulder, arching against him, accepting and demanding more. Harsh breathing echoed around her, his and hers, drowning out the sound of the rain hitting the roof above them. The heat grew, spiraling outward, turning into a promise of more. She buried her face in his shoulder, gasping, reaching, waiting.

"Kayla, look at me," Nick's hoarse voice rumbled in her ear, demanding. She shook her head, not wanting emotion or connection, only sensation. "Look at me."

"No," she muttered, arching her back more, thrusting her own hips to meet him, searching.

"Dammit, Kayla, look at me!" Nick pulled back, easing himself away from her. He reached out and grabbed her hands, pulling them up over her head and forcing her to look at him. His dark eyes blazed with emotion, intense and terrifying as he held her gaze with a force of will she hadn't expected. Slowly, agonizingly, he thrust back into her, watching her as he pulled out. "This isn't a one-night stand."

"Y-yes."

He buried himself, then pulled back, still holding her gaze. "No, it's not."

Mike closed her eyes and moved under him, ignoring his words, seeking only the fulfillment his body promised hers. He pulled away even more, until her resolve shattered. "Nick, please."

"Not until you look at me."

Against her will, she opened her eyes, her gaze immediately trapped by his. He lowered his head and kissed her, hard but promising, then pulled back and looked down at her. "This is not a one-time thing, Kayla."

"Nick—"

"Tell me," he demanded, easing himself back inside her, thrusting twice before pulling away, tormenting her. His gaze still held hers, refusing to let her look away. "Tell me."

"O-okay. Just—please."

His mouth claimed hers again, the kiss nearly violent in its intensity. He broke the kiss with a growl and pulled away, his dark gaze searing as he watched her. As he thrust deeper inside her, harder, faster. Her eyes drifted close as sensation pulled at her, groaned when he stopped moving.

"Look at me, Kayla. I want to watch you, to see you."

Oh God, why had she thought this would be easy? With a groan of frustration, she forced her eyes open and looked up at him. A second of pure torture went by before Nick resumed his thrusting, his gaze holding hers, his body demanding a response. The spiraling inside her twisted then tightened, pausing before exploding in white-hot fragments that tore through her, splitting her apart in numbing sensation.

Nick lowered his mouth to hers and swallowed her cries, thrusting faster, sending shards of pleasure tearing through her already shattered nerve endings. She pulled her hands from his grip and wrapped them around his neck, holding him to her as he shuddered with his own violent release, their mouths still melded together.

Nick gently broke the kiss and trailed his lips along her jaw and neck. His hand caressed her chest and side, the touch soft and light. Mike stiffened under the sensations, wondering why he was still stretched out on top of her, suddenly wanting to be by herself. Nick sighed and pushed himself up, watching her with an unreadable expression. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Dammit, I knew it. Shit." He opened his eyes and gazed at her for another few seconds then, muttering, rolled off her and stared up at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. Mike reached down for the sheet and pulled it over herself, shy and wary as she watched him from the corner of her eye.

"Knew what?"

"I knew this was a mistake, that this was going to happen." Nick sighed and ran his hands through his hair, then abruptly turned to face her, his expression fierce. "I didn't think you'd regret it this fast, though."

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to, Kayla. It's written all over your face." His expression softened. He reached out with his hand and gently caressed her bruised cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you want me to leave now? Then you can blame it on the medication in the morning, tell yourself it made you too mellow."

Mike flinched at his words, not because of the gentle way he said them, but because they were true. She had wanted Nick to make love to her but she hadn't wanted to admit it. Not to herself, not to him. She still didn't. And it
had
been a mistake, just like Nick said. But not for exactly the reason he thought.

Yes, she regretted it—but only because she wanted more. She had thought she could take one night. That she could pretend, for one night, that they were back in the past. Only now, she didn't think she could.

Because she wanted more.

And now she wasn't sure what to do. The smartest thing would be to act the charade out to its end. To tell Nick to leave, to pretend nothing had happened, to be cool and aloof the next time they saw each other.

Mike shifted on her side and looked at Nick, noticed the concern etched on his face and the softness in his eyes as he watched her. God, she had been a fool to think she could get near him again and not feel anything, to think she could pretend she didn't care. She bit her lower lip and slowly shook her head. "No, I don't want you to go."

He rolled so he was resting on his stomach, his arms crossed in front of him, his head close enough that he could rest it on her shoulder if he wanted. He watched her for a long minute, the room silent around them, then leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the swell of her breast. "Are you sure?"

No, she wasn't sure. But she nodded anyway. Nick gave her a small smile then reached out and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer, tucking her protectively against him. Mike stiffened, then finally allowed herself to relax. Maybe she could have just one night. One night of make-believe.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift off, Nick's embrace and her dreams of pretend her only company.

Mike wandered into the kitchen and poured a glass of water then popped two more pills, wincing against the pull in her side. The ache was a dull throb, beating in time with her pulse and making sleep difficult. She sighed then reached for the bottle of brandy sitting on the counter and poured the dark liquid into the glass, taking a long swallow. Might as well go for complete relaxation, she thought, grabbing the bottle and glass and walking into the darkened living room.

She put the bottle on the table then sat down on the sofa, curling up in the corner and pulling her legs into her chest. Complete relaxation would be nearly impossible, at least for a little longer.

Until Nick woke up and left.

Mike shook her head and took another swallow of the brandy, still not sure how tonight had ever happened. Talk about being a Class A fool. What had ever possessed her to have sex with Nick? Hormones, medication. Loneliness. It had been too long, and she had wanted it. Needed to feel that brief connection, if only for a few minutes. She wanted release and foolishly thought she could use Nick to get it.

Her mistake was thinking she could have casual sex with Nick then act like nothing had happened. With Nick, of all people! Sex had always been great between them, even when they were younger and didn't know what they were doing. At least, she didn't. But Nick had been right about one thing tonight—it
had
been more than just sex all those years ago.

Mike was very much afraid that it had been more than just sex tonight.

She didn't want
more
right now. Not with anyone, and certainly not with Nick. Never again with Nick. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And she had nobody to blame but herself.

"Damn," she muttered, her voice hoarse and scratchy. The word didn't come close to summing up the whole situation. The best she could do was pretend nothing had happened. Just go back to the cool detachment of the last month whenever she saw Nick.

And try to see him as little as possible.

And not think of the heat between them, or the instinctive way her body reacted whenever she was around him.

She took another sip of brandy then frowned, knowing that all of that was easier said than done.

The sound of footsteps drifted down the stairs and Mike tucked herself further into the corner. She wasn't fool enough to think that Nick wouldn't see her, despite the shadows that shrouded her. After all, he was bright enough to notice she wasn't in bed, and there weren't many other places she could go. She drained the brandy and poured another glass, then looked up when Nick finally came into the room.

He leaned against the wall, watching her, though she wasn't sure how well he could see. The night light from the kitchen dispelled enough shadow that she could see him clearly, though, and she wished she couldn't. He stood there, wearing only his jeans, which were unbuttoned and unzipped, calling attention to the one part of his anatomy that she didn't want to notice.

Not that she wanted to notice the rest of it, either. That didn't stop her from looking at him, though. Her eyes drifted up from his bare feet, paused at the opening of his jeans, then continued up. Past the ridges of his flat stomach to his broad chest, tight with muscle and firm skin, dusted with just enough dark hair to run her fingers through.

Mike swallowed, the feel of that naked chest against hers branded indelibly in her memory. She swallowed a groan, hoping he wouldn't hear it, and took another sip of brandy to distract herself from looking at his body.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft in the darkness, husky from sleep. Mike nodded then realized he may not be able to see her.

"Yeah, fine." She cringed when the words came out as a squeak. Just her luck that Nick sounded sexy and she sounded like a mouse.

He leaned against the wall for another minute, just watching her, then slowly straightened and walked over. He hesitated, almost as if he was trying to decide something, then finally sat down. Mike let out the breath she had been holding when he chose to sit on the loveseat instead of the sofa with her. He stretched his legs out and leaned over to put on his socks and shoes; Mike watched him over the edge of the glass as she sipped, hoping the darkness hid her gaze.

Nick straightened then worked at turning his t-shirt and sweatshirt right side out. He leaned forward to put the shirts on the table then paused. A full minute went by before he straightened and stared at her, his jaw tight.

"What are you drinking?"

"What?" Mike made no effort to hide her confusion, wondering at the flatness of his voice. Before she realized what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed the bottle of brandy from the table and held it up to her.

"Are you drinking this?"

"Yeah."

"Did you take anymore medicine?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Jesus Kayla. What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was cold and angry, accusing. She straightened and stared at him in surprise, not understanding the reason for his sudden change, not like the defensiveness that leaped within her.

"What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm having a drink. You have a problem with that?"

"You're mixing alcohol with pain medication! I thought you were smarter than that. Are you trying to knock yourself unconscious?"

"Excuse me? One or two drinks aren't going to make much difference. It's almost five o'clock in the morning and it's not like I'm going anywhere. And what the hell business is it of yours, anyway?"

Nick stared at her, his expression hard and unreadable, then he muttered a curse she hadn't heard from him since his wild days. Bottle in hand, he turned and stormed into the kitchen. Mike almost laughed when she heard him drain the contents down the sink then throw the empty bottle into the trash. He returned a minute later and grabbed his shirt from the table, pulling it over his head with jerky movements.

"Do you feel better now?" She asked, not hiding her amusement. He mumbled something from inside his shirt, then finally poked his head through the opening and glared at her.

"Yeah, laugh. It's all one big joke to you, isn't it? And you call me a hypocrite."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your drinking. Do you realize that every single time I've seen you these last two months, you've been drinking? Not once have I seen you with anything in your hand besides alcohol."

"Bullshit."

"Really? Think about it. Except for when you're working, you've always been drinking. Don't you think that says something?"

Mike laughed and took a swallow of brandy, then shook her head. "Yeah, Nick, sure. And except for the few meetings we've had, you've seen me what—five times? Six? That really says a lot, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I think it does. Especially when one of those times, you threw up on me." His voice was flat and calm but Mike could feel the tension oozing from him, so strong that it wrapped around her, suffocating. She stared up at him, honestly confused. Why was he making such a big deal about nothing? He was starting to sound like Jay and the rest of the guys at work. And she was getting a little tired of everyone commenting on her drinking.

"Knock it off, Nick. Just because I've been drinking the few times you've seen me doesn't mean that's all I do. There's nothing wrong with a drink here and there. I'm sure you even have one now and then."

"No, I don't. I told you, I don't drink anymore."

"Yeah, that's what you keep telling me. Excuse me if I have trouble believing that."

Nick lowered his head and rubbed his hands over his face, then let out a long sigh. He looked back up at her, his expression serious. "I'm an alcoholic, Kayla."

His admission hung between them, as loud as if he had shouted it in the silence of the room. Mike stared at him, understanding the words, but not quite grasping their meaning. Nick, an alcoholic? She had trouble putting the image together with the man sitting just a few feet away from her. He watched her expectantly and she realized he was waiting for her to say something. Mike cleared her throat and searched her mind for something, anything, but came up blank.

"Um, okay."

Nick sighed and shook his head, then flopped back against the cushions. Mike took another sip of the brandy and watched him, still having trouble believing him. She stretched her legs in front of her and shifted into a more comfortable position, resting her head against the overstuffed cushion. She had the feeling that there was a specific reason he had made his confession to her, but her thinking was becoming blessedly numb thanks to the medication and brandy.

Unless
that
was why he had said it. Did he think that she—? She straightened and narrowed her eyes at Nick. "Are you saying you think I'm an alcoholic?"

"What?" Nick raised his head and leveled a cool glare at her.

"I said—"

"I know what you said. And no, that's not what I'm saying. Do I think you drink too much? Yeah. Do I think you could cross that line? Absolutely. But—"

"How dare you! Where do you get off—"

"Forget it, forget I said anything!" Nick yelled, jumping from the loveseat and grabbing his sweatshirt. He didn't even bother putting it on, just tossed it over his shoulder while he searched for his coat. "No matter what I say, you're going to take it the wrong way, so forget it."

Mike slowly stood, swaying slightly with the motion. "Then tell me how else I'm supposed to take that! First you make a comment about my drinking, then you tell me you're an alcoholic. What am I supposed to think?"

Nick found his coat and thrust his arms into the sleeves, the movements short and jerky as he turned to face Mike. Even in the dim light from the kitchen, she could see the flush spreading across his face, see the way he was clenching his jaw. He ran a hand through his hair then exhaled loudly. "That's not why I told you, Kayla."

Mike fought against her own anger, trying to control it like Nick was obviously trying to control his. Except she didn't have his self-control. She stepped around the furniture, steadying herself on the back of the loveseat, then leaned against it, folding her arms across her chest. "Then why, Nick? For sympathy? Hell, it's not like you need sympathy points anymore. You already got what you came for!"

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It had been a spiteful thing to say, completely uncalled for and totally out of line. And so far from the truth. Mike bit down on her lower lip, hard, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that wasn't—"

Nick stepped back as if she had slapped him. He held out a rigid hand to stop her, taking another step away from her. The air between them thickened, becoming so heavy that Mike thought it would suffocate her, and still he didn't speak. He just stood there, watching her, his expression hooded and blank. Time stretched, and Mike's nerves stretched right along with it. She pushed away from the loveseat and took a step closer to Nick, wanting to close the distance between them. She reached a hand in his direction then let her arm drop to her side when he remained still.

"Nick, I didn't mean—"

"You know what Kayla? I don't care. Say whatever you want, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you say, or what you think, or what you feel. Yeah, there's a ton of baggage between us, but that—that was uncalled for and one hell of a lot more than I think I deserve." He paused, his steady gaze holding hers for a long minute before he looked away and buttoned his coat with jerky movements. Mike's breath caught in her chest when he looked back at her, unguarded emotion clear in his dark eyes.

She took another step toward him, trying to think of something to say, anything to stop him from saying what she knew was coming next. Because she didn't want him to say goodbye and she knew that's what he was going to do. After everything that had happened between them—all those years ago, the last month, tonight—the bad history didn't matter because she still couldn't bear to hear him say goodbye. But she knew it was coming, could see it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. And for some inexplicable reason, she knew this would hurt a hundred times more than when he had disappeared from her life without a word ten years ago. "Nick, please, I didn't—"

"I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself, Kayla. Yeah, I might be responsible for some of it, probably more than I want to admit, but I can't watch it. I had thought...well, I guess it doesn't matter what I thought, now does it?" He paused, watching her for a long minute, then took a deep breath and reached behind him for the door knob. "I'll see you around Kayla."

The door opened, letting in a soft blast of cold damp air, then quietly shut behind him when he walked out. Mike stared at the empty space where Nick had been standing just a second earlier, not really understanding what he had just said, not believing what had just happened.

She leaned against the loveseat and continued staring at the door, grateful for the final numbness brought on by the pain medication. And the alcohol.

Mike blinked her eyes hard several times then pushed away from the loveseat, at a momentary loss for what to do. Her gaze drifted toward the stairs, then over to the kitchen. To the empty bottle of brandy sitting in the trashcan.