Playing with Fire (9 page)

“I’ve never seen your hair down,” he
murmured.

She tossed her head. “I usually pin it up.
It’s cooler that way.”

“I like it down.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat and beat
her libido into submission. “Are you settled?” She planted herself
in the chair beside the bed.

“Liberty, you can’t sleep in that chair all
night.” He sighed. “Let me take you home.”

She scanned the depths of his eyes. “Do you
want me to go?”

“No.”

Then scoot over
. Liberty released a
hard breath. “You have a spare room?”

“Yes, next to this one.”

“I’ll move there after you’re asleep.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She flipped the lamp switch beside the bed,
casting the room in darkness. Resting her head against the back of
the chair, she listened for several long, lust-filled minutes to
the sound of his breathing. His magnificent, carved chest rose and
fell in a steady rhythm, moving that pesky sheet in the process.
Liberty squeezed her eyes closed and willed herself to think of
something other than how utterly naked he was underneath. How the
sheet would probably shift if he turned over.

She rolled her head to one side and opened
her eyes. His breaths were now slow and even. She needed to run
while she could. Satisfied he was soundly asleep, she kissed two
fingers and touched them to his lips before tiptoeing out of the
room.

My lungs are on fire. I think there’s a snag
in my hose. Am I close? Remember that game we used to play in the
swimming pool? Marco ... Marco ...

You’re supposed to say Polo. C’mon Zach,
answer! We’ve got to get out of here. This fire is burning fast and
hot.

Sonuvabitch!

The floor is falling, piece by piece. We’ve
got to go! Something’s hanging from the staircase. Yellow. Maybe
Dylan hung a marker for us. No, I don’t think it’s a marker.

Oh God, Zach ... Zach ... ZACH!

Shane shot out of bed, gasping for air as the
nightmare began to fade. Pawing his aching chest, he managed to
swing both feet over the side of the bed and cram his head between
his knees. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he fought
the urge to punch a hole in the wall. After several seconds, he
lifted his wrist. Three thirty a.m. Right on time.

He glanced at the empty bedside chair. Thank
God Liberty kept her end of the bargain. Convinced he could
maneuver to the bathroom without collapsing, he stood and untangled
the damp sheet from his waist. He paused and listened to the
silence. Liberty didn’t seem to be disturbed.

Once inside the bathroom, he snapped the door
closed. The shower knobs squeaked as he turned them, reassuring him
help was on the way. He stood under the tepid water while tears
raced the droplets down his body. He didn’t even try to stop
them.

He braced his arms against the wall and
rested his forehead on top. One step forward, a hundred back. Maybe
he should just ask Liberty to commit him. At least then they’d
shoot him full of mind-numbing medication. He’d sleep and drool but
at least he wouldn’t dream.

He reached down, turned off the water, and
then yanked a towel from the rack. He rubbed his body from head to
toe, as if that would wipe away the remains of the nightmare. If
only that were possible.

He knotted the towel at his waist and stepped
from the shower just as a knock penetrated the silence.

“Shane?”

He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He was
still too raw, too vulnerable, too weak. Instead, he turned the
doorknob and the door popped open. Moisture coated his hands as he
ran them through his wet hair. He squared his shoulders and did his
damndest to hide his pain.

Without a word, Liberty took a step forward,
molded her soft curves to his hard, aching body, and wrapped her
arms around him. She squeezed tight, as if she could strangle the
nightmare from his mind.

He relaxed into her touch and filled himself
with her strength. He felt safe there, as if the universe was truly
balanced in her arms. Warm, soft, secure. Far away from the demons
in his head.

“Fred Flintstone?” she whispered.

He smiled and tucked a wayward tendril of
hair behind her ear. “Yeah, as soon as I get dressed.”

She returned his smile and turned to
leave.

“Liberty,” he croaked.

She stopped and looked over one shoulder.
“Yes?”

“You have a healing touch.”

Her cheeks colored under the heat of his
gaze. “I’ll turn on the television.”

He pulled a pair of clean sweats over his
hips and ran his hand across his chest, amazed that the pain
dissipated. Her soft embrace shook him. Her touch left him edgy. He
glanced at his erection and shook his head.
You are one cocky
sucker
.

He reached for a clean t-shirt and then
changed his mind. Liberty seemed to appreciate his chest. He headed
back to the living room. Maybe it would distract her from
therapy.

“I have an idea,” she suggested as he sat
next to her on the sofa. “Since you’re awake early most mornings,
why don’t we use that time for your sessions?”

“You don’t mind getting up at three o’clock
in the morning?”

“No,” she admitted softly.

His interest piqued at her admission and he
wondered if she realized what she suggested. The powerful, magnetic
attraction between them would make it impossible for their
relationship to remain professional - not that he would be
disappointed. But would she? Her desire to help him was crystal
clear, but sooner or later her good intentions would be
tempted.

“I’m in,” he agreed quickly.

“Good,” she said. “What channel?”

He palmed the remote and pushed the
pre-programmed button. Fred and Dino greeted them personally.

Forensic terms pulsed and blurred as Shane
strained to focus on the arson reports scattered across the desk in
front of him. The last two hours of reading had once again proved
uneventful. Not only because he hadn’t found anything new buried in
the evidence, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about
Liberty.

Even though she witnessed his vulnerability
firsthand last night, he felt encouraged. Rather than talk him to
death afterward, she seemed to accept his silence and offer nothing
more than understanding. Yet, her reaction confused him. Especially
since she’d made sure to place a kiss on his lips before she left
the bedroom. He grinned in satisfaction. He’d been awake and she
had no idea. He rubbed his hand across his forehead.
Therapy
between them wouldn’t last much longer.

Dylan sauntered in the office and parked in a
chair on the other side of the desk. “Late night?”

“Yeah,” Shane said carefully.

“How long did Liberty stay?”

Shane stared, speechless.

“Jake drove by about four o’clock this
morning. Your light was on in the living room.”

He chose non-response in an effort to
dissuade Dylan’s questioning.

“She was wearing your t-shirt and sweats,
Hartwell,” Dylan drawled.

“Jake was doing surveillance outside my
window?”

“The front curtains were wide open.”

Not exactly disappointed by Dylan’s
assumption, he dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. “She
spent the night.”

“And?”

“She slept in the spare room.”

“What?”

“She slept in the —”

“I heard you. Why?” Dylan’s eyebrows met in
the middle of his forehead. “Oh no. Your equipment isn’t
malfunctioning is it?”

His eyes bulged as he sat up straight.
“SShhh! Damn, Carmichael! My equipment works just fine.
Exceptionally fine around Liberty.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m her patient. She can’t let it go.”

“So? Fire her.”

“It’s not that easy. She’d see right through
that move anyway.”

“Now what?”

“I wait.”

“Wait?”

He nodded. Waiting was his only option. Once
she figured out she couldn’t fight her feelings, sparks would
fly.

“Good luck with that.” Dylan snickered as his
cell phone chimed.

Shane took a hopeful breath as he waited for
Dylan to read his screen.

Dylan stood and flashed a cocky grin. “I’ll
be back in an hour. Call me if you need something before then.”

Relieved that Dylan was distracted, he
mumbled an acknowledgment over his reports and kept reading.

Dylan unbuckled his belt and worked his shirt
loose from his waistband while he drove home. He glanced at the
test message displayed on his phone again.

LUNCH
?

His blood heated. Lunch, indeed. He burst
through the front door of the house, kicking off his boots and
unbuttoning his shirt on his way to the bedroom.

“Hi, handsome.”

His jaw hit the floor at the sight of Maddie
braced in the doorway. Stark naked. In hooker heels at least four
inches tall. Slinging a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs.

“Damn.” He swallowed tightly, paralyzed with
arousal.

“Dylan,” she scolded as she fumbled with the
remaining buttons on his shirt, “I’ve only got an hour.”

He inhaled a sharp breath as she unzipped his
pants and slid her hand inside to squeeze his aching cock. “Sorry
baby, you just look so good.”

“Mmmm.” She stroked him from tip to base and
back again.

He thrust into her hand and wrested his shirt
until it lay on the floor. “We may not need the whole hour.”

With one last squeeze, she led him to the bed
and forced his pants over his hips and down his legs to the floor.
He only took time to toss his pager on the bedside table before he
pulled her on top of him and collapsed onto the bed. His erection
quivered as her gentle fingertips caressed the sharp edges of his
chest, the hollow of his stomach and finally danced inside his
boxers to tease his swollen cock. He placed his hands on her hips
and urged her against him.

“Nuh-huh.” She clipped one handcuff around
his left wrist. “No hands.”

He smirked. “I don’t need hands, honey.”

“Good.” She snapped the second cuff closed
and then attached him to the bedposts.

Dylan lay stretched between both posts with
his body at Maddie’s disposal. He lifted his hips to rub his dick
against the treasure between her legs, desperate to be inside.

“Take off my boxers, Maddie,” he pleaded.

She lifted an eyebrow. “You take them
off.”

He cut his eyes at the handcuffs.
“Right.”

His eager soldier saluted as she kneeled
between his legs and hooked her fingers under the elastic of his
waistband. Just when he was convinced relief was on the way, a
pager squealed.

He sighed as she leaned across him. “Yours or
mine?”

“Mine,” she said quickly. Bouncing off the
bed, she kicked off her heels and ran across the bedroom to grab
her clothing. “It’s a code blue. I’ve got to go.”

In a matter of seconds, she threw on her
scrubs, hooked her stethoscope around her neck and ran for the
door.

“Maddie!”

“Oh!” She ran back into the bedroom and gave
him a wet kiss on the lips. “We’ll play tonight.”

Before he could respond, Hurricane Maddie
flew out the front door. He lay in shock in the bedroom. Handcuffed
helplessly to the bed. His erection wilted.

Snapping himself out of his stupor, he
glanced at the handcuff squeezing his left wrist and groaned.
Metal. Whatever happened to cheap plastic? He yanked the iron
bracelet against the bedpost. Fuzzy pink feathers floated in the
silence.
Sonuvabitch
. He stretched his arm as far as he
could in hope it would be far enough to slide the handcuff over the
top of the bedpost. His shoulder screamed in response. His anger
faded to desperation as he lay on his back and racked his brain for
a way out of this that didn’t involve humiliation. Impossible.

He rolled to the side one more time. If he
gathered enough momentum, he could knock the phone off the hook. He
took a hopeful swipe with his left leg. The receiver toppled from
the cradle and fell to the table. He exhaled in relief at the sound
of a dial tone. Now all he had to do was punch speed dial before
the line went dead. Inching himself around on the bed, he managed
to reach the button with his big toe. Sweat coated his forehead as
he listened to the ringing tones.

“Primrose Fire Department, Hartwell.”

“Shane,” he hollered.

“Where the hell are you? You left two hours
ago.”

“Come to my house. Now.” He swallowed the
panic in his throat. “Alone.”

“You sound like you’re in a tunnel. What’s
wrong?”

“Just get over here, Hartwell! And use your
key.”

Shane frowned and stared at the phone, not
really sure if Dylan had disconnected. What the hell was going on
over there? He hung up the phone and stood to dig his keys from his
picket. Suspicion invaded his mind as he left the station. This
better be important. The last time Carmichael called for help in
the middle of the afternoon, he ended up coaxing Mrs. Bradbury’s
fat, lazy cat out of her oak tree.

Still somewhat perplexed, he parked in front
of the Carmichael home several minutes later. He unlocked the front
door, still not quite sure why he used a key if Dylan was
inside.

“Dylan?”

“Bedroom,” Dylan barked.

Shane’s eyes widened in amazement as he
approached the bedroom and saw his best friend in his boxers and
held hostage by the four-post bed. He kicked a pair of red shoes to
the side before he braced himself against the doorframe and
smirked. “No way.”

“Get me loose.”

“Does your wife know about this?”

“Maddie did this!” Dylan spat.

“Why are you halfway dressed?”

“We were interrupted. The hospital paged and
she flew out of here like a bat out of hell.”