Ring of Fire (11 page)

“So what should I do?” Lark took a big bite of her panini.

Karen, a thoughtful woman, didn't rush into an answer. They'd both eaten a few mouthfuls before she spoke. “You want to sleep with Eric. If you do, you could try to keep it a secret, but that would feel wrong to you. It's different when you have a fling when you're off at some conference or training course. Eric's in town, in your family's life. You'd feel dishonest, sneaking around.”

How well her friend knew her. Lark poked her salad. “So you're saying it's a bad idea?”

“No, just that you should be honest about it. I mean, not have sex with him in your house with Jayden and your mom there—”

“Eww!”

“Exactly. But you could, like, touch him on the arm, hold his hand, give him a little kiss. Let him do the same with you. Just be open. I know you worry about Jayden getting his hopes up, but most single moms date. That doesn't mean they're serious about each guy, or that they're looking to get married again. Jayden ought to be able to understand that.”

“You make it all sound so normal.”

Karen chuckled. “Dating
is
normal, Lark. Go for it. Have some fun with the guy.” She picked up her chicken wrap again. “Mary'd be okay with it, right?”

“Should be. She knows I have casual relationships now and then. She doesn't want me to get hurt again, so she'd want to be sure I know what I'm doing.”

Karen, mouth full, raised her expressive dark eyebrows.

“Which I do,” Lark answered.

“So go for it.”

As they finished off their lunch, the conversation shifted to last night's fire at the apartment building. Karen hadn't been on duty, but she'd heard about it that morning. It had been a bit of a mess, with the responses from fire, police, and ambulance service not organized as effectively as they should have been.

“At least it didn't impact any lives,” Lark told her friend, “but it was frustrating as hell.”

“It's not the first time,” Karen said. “Dooley sucks as emergency services coordinator.”

“I know.” Fred Dooley was the supervisor of the ambulance service, and for some reason the town council had asked him to also coordinate emergency services with the other responders. The poor guy didn't have that kind of knowledge or expertise, nor did he really want to do it—but, being a “want to please” kind of man, he'd agreed.

“Caribou Crossing's large enough that we should have a full-time position,” Karen said. “To handle emergency responses, and also to improve general communication and coordination among all the services.”

“And to liaise with the community,” Lark added. “And consult with other towns to see what we can learn from them.”

“I know. Listen, how about I talk to Jake about it?” Sergeant Jake Brannon was her superior officer, the man in charge of Caribou Crossing's RCMP detachment. “Maybe you and he could present a joint proposal to the town council, Lark. You could involve Dooley, too. I bet he'd love an excuse to pass the task over to someone else.”

“We could cost-justify it,” Lark said thoughtfully. “If we use resources efficiently, that'll be a cost saving. Not to mention how a really good coordinated response could save lives and property.” She was getting excited about the idea.

Karen nodded, and swallowed her last bite of chicken wrap. “It would sure be important to hire the right person. There must be qualified people out there. It'd be nice if it was someone who already has knowledge of the region.”

“You'd be perfect for that job, Karen. You should do it.” She doubted her friend would agree, though, because she loved working for the RCMP.

“Nah, not me.” Karen grinned. “You should do it.”

“Hah. I'm happy where I am.”

“Hey, Lark,” a male voice said from behind her.

Two words, and yet her body thrilled with awareness. She turned to see Eric, sweaty, masculine, and totally appealing in sweatpants and a gray tee with the sleeves ripped out. Thank heavens he hadn't shown up a few minutes earlier and overheard the previous conversation. “Hi, Eric. Meet my friend, Sergeant Karen Estevez. RCMP, as you can see from her uniform. Karen, this is Eric Weaver. Major Weaver, Canadian Armed Forces.”

“Sergeant,” Eric extended his hand and Karen half rose from her seat to give him a firm shake. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, Major.” With a glint in her eyes, she added, “I believe I've heard Lark mention your name.”

Lark sent her a warning glare as Eric glanced between the two of them.

“So, ladies,” he said, “is this a business lunch or a personal one?”

“Business,” Lark said quickly. “We were saying that Caribou Crossing needs a full-time emergency services coordinator.”

“When your son grows up,” he said, “I bet he'd be good at that job.”

Karen's eyebrows flew up, telegraphing her surprise that Eric knew Jayden so well, and then she gave Lark a knowing, approving smile.

Lark said, “I think so, too. But sadly we need someone now. Of course first we have to convince the town council.” She turned to her girlfriend. “Karen, why don't you set up a meeting? You, me, and Jake. Let's strategize before we talk to Dooley about it.”

“Will do. And on that note”—Karen rose—“I need to get back to the police station. Lark, I'll catch Cindy on the way out. It's my turn to buy lunch. Why don't you stay and have coffee with Eric? I'm sure you two have lots to talk about.” She winked.

“See you again,” Eric said to her. Then, after she'd gone, he said, “How about it? Want to have a coffee and keep me company while I get some lunch?”

“For a few minutes, then I need to get back to work, too.”

As he took the seat Karen had just vacated, Lark said, “You've been for a run?”

“Earlier this morning. For the past couple of hours, I've been at the fitness center, working out.” He cocked his head. “Come to think of it, I'm in there a lot and I've never seen you, yet obviously you exercise. You're in great shape.”

“There's a gym at the fire hall. And I run, too, often after Jayden's gone to bed.” A long run followed by a relaxing bath made a great end to the day. Although, gazing at the lean, well-muscled, attractive man sitting across from her, she could think of an activity that would definitely top a run and a bath.

Cindy came over and plunked a glass of water in front of Eric. “Hi, Eric. Nice to see you. Lunch? And, Lark, can I tempt you with dessert?”

“I'll be strong-willed. Just a skinny latté. In a takeout cup, because I can't stay long.”

Eric, who'd drained half the water, said, “I'll have a bowl of carrot ginger soup and a grilled chicken panini, Cindy. Full size on both. And more water, please.”

After Cindy left, Eric rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward Lark. “So you're not in a mood to be tempted?” His teasing, seductive tone made his meaning absolutely clear.

She gazed at his arms and his hands: brown-skinned, masculine, powerful. Imagining his fingers stroking her breasts, her nipples tightened. Arousal pulsed between her legs.

“Not by carrot cake or a chocolate brownie,” she joked, stalling for time. Had she made up her mind? Would she take Karen's advice—and do exactly what her body urged her to?

Chapter Eight

Eric couldn't remember when he'd last been so nervous. It was Tuesday evening and he hadn't seen Lark since she'd left Big & Small, latté in hand, yesterday afternoon. After telling him that yes, she wanted to have sex with him.

That was how she'd phrased it. Have sex with. Not any of the euphemisms like “hook up,” “sleep with,” “be lovers,” or “be friends with benefits.” On the one hand, he enjoyed her straightforwardness. In the old days, that would've been perfect for him. But now, with this new, flawed version of the old Eric, he almost wished she'd prettied it up a little. Maybe he'd feel less pressure that way.

He used to pride himself on having a good, fit body, on being strong and flexible and knowing the right moves, on being attractive to women, on giving them pleasure and satisfaction.

After his surgeries, it had taken some time to get used to the sight of his new body, with one ugly scarred leg and one stump. He'd avoided looking, avoided the mirror. But that had changed gradually, thanks to thousands of hours of rehab, not to mention donning and doffing several varieties of prostheses. He'd come to terms with the fact that this was his new reality and there was no changing it. And yet he noticed the glances any time his prosthesis wasn't covered by a pant leg.

Now Lark was coming over, with sex a very real prospect. For him, the first sex in more than a year and a half. For her . . . well, he'd guess that with her openness about casual sex, it had been less time than that. He'd also guess that her last lover hadn't been missing any body parts.

Eric's naked body was more likely to evoke revulsion or pity than to arouse a woman. Despite what Lark had said about not caring about his leg, she could hardly miss noticing that he wasn't a whole man. What if it proved to be more than she was ready for, and was a total turnoff?

Besides, while he could run twenty miles without a problem, he couldn't be as agile in bed as he once was. Agile? Hah. Clumsy, more likely, as he figured out how to maneuver his three-limbed body. Not to mention, he'd be self-conscious about how he looked and about his clumsiness.

Even if he and Lark survived the initial awkwardness, was he going to be able to make it good for her? He wanted to give her pleasure. He wanted her to be glad she'd chosen him when there must be dozens of guys who wanted her.

She was coming over after having dinner with her mom and Jayden, and helping the boy with his exercise routine and homework. She'd said she would notify dispatch that she wouldn't be on call.

Eric had bought a bottle of red wine and a couple of wineglasses. Now he decided it wouldn't hurt to put out some cheese and crackers, too. He and Lark could ease into sex by starting with some social time. And some alcohol. Being a basic control freak, he was wary of mind-altering substances, but right now he could use help to relax.

If they didn't get around to having sex tonight, that would be fine. Actually, maybe it would be for the best.

The buzzer sounded from the front door of the apartment building. He answered, and buzzed Lark in. The building was a rectangular box three stories high, bland and functional, and the furnished one-bedroom unit he'd rented was on the top floor. He guessed that Lark was a person who shunned elevators the way he did. Which gave him the space of three flights of stairs to pull himself together.

He'd showered and put on fresh jeans and a navy button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. Looking around the living room, he thought how drab it was. The furniture had all come with the apartment and the only personal touches he'd added were a basic sound system and a few thrillers he'd picked up at a used book store. As an adult, he'd never had many possessions anyhow. There hadn't been a point to keeping an apartment because he was frequently posted to a new location, and often overseas. Since he'd returned to Canada after being injured, he'd acquired very few things because he was anticipating a new posting. The items he'd brought to Caribou Crossing had been destroyed in the fire, and since then, he'd purchased only the basics.

In an effort to acquire a taste for country music, he had bought and downloaded several “best of” albums and tonight had cued them to play. He knew Lark liked country and classical, and he didn't know enough about classical to pick anything that might set the right mood.

Right now, a female singer was singing about how she was falling to pieces, which didn't exactly boost his confidence.

The wine bottle and glasses were on the coffee table along with a cutting board with cheese and crackers. Plates. Women liked plates. He hurried into the kitchen and got a couple, along with some paper towels, which he dumped on the table when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

As he strode toward the door, it opened. Lark stepped in and closed it behind her.

She looked . . . like Lark. She hadn't put on some skimpy little dress or high heels. She wore the same jacket as when they'd gone walking on Sunday night, over slim-fitting jeans that hugged her curvy hips and long legs. Her fingers were working the buttons of her jacket, and a moment later the garment landed on a chair. All she wore under it was the same kind of snug, thin-strapped tank top she'd worn the first night he went for dinner. This one was turquoise. The woman looked pretty much perfect to him.

“Hi,” she said, standing a foot away from him.

“Hi.”

Before he could usher her farther into the room and offer her some wine, she stepped closer, getting right into his space. “We can say hi better than that.”

And then her arms looped around his neck and their bodies were pressed together from chest to thigh, and she was kissing him.

Instantaneously, he was on sensory overload. His arms circled her, feeling the tensile strength of her back. When his fingers caressed her bare shoulder, the skin was silky soft. Her flowery scent reminded him of a summer garden.

Her lips were like her breasts, applying firm pressure, yet soft underneath. Her tongue wasn't the least bit shy in exploring his mouth and teasing his tongue. When he dipped inside her mouth, he found it hot and minty. She made a pleased, humming sound in the back of her throat.

Her hips shimmied seductively against his. Behind his fly, his erection was painfully swollen already.

Lark broke the kiss and leaned back in the circle of his arms. “Now that's what I call a proper hello.” Her cheeks were flushed and her black-coffee eyes gleamed.

Trying to ignore the urgent demand of his body, Eric said, “Would you like some wine? I have snacks, too, if you're hungry.”

She tilted her head. “Such a polite host. But no, I think there's something we both want more than food and drink.”

“I won't disagree.” When was the last time he'd felt off balance with a woman in a sexual situation? Probably not since he was fourteen and lost his virginity to the bold eighteen-year-old who lived across the street. “Uh, shall we go to the bedroom?”

“An excellent plan.” She clasped his hand.

It was the first time they'd held hands, and it felt right. As they walked down the short hall, her fingers interwove with his, her touch warm and confident. It might've taken Lark a while to make up her mind whether she wanted to do this, but tonight all her signals said she was into it one hundred percent.

He released her hand and stepped aside to usher her through the door, then he entered behind her. For the first time since he'd moved in, Eric wished the bedroom were a little less pedestrian. Yeah, he'd bought fancy new high-thread-count sheets, but Lark was special; she deserved better than the discount store furniture in fake wood and the plain tan comforter on the bed. Just like she deserved better than a guy with a fake leg. And yet, none of that seemed to dull her enthusiasm as she went to work on his shirt buttons.

She spread the shirt wide and gave a purr of approval.

Eager to see her breasts and feel them against his naked skin, he reached for the bottom of her tank top and peeled it upward—and realized he was holding his breath.

The view was even better than he'd anticipated because she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were full and utterly beautiful with large, dusky rose nipples that had tightened with arousal. God, he wanted his mouth on her.

He wanted
her
. Now.

Surprising her, and himself as well, he bent and hooked one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, and hoisted her. Thanking God for the marvels of prosthetic limb technology, which allowed him to at least act like a whole man even if he really wasn't, he carried her the few steps to the bed and laid her down on the comforter.

Then he sat on the side of the bed and leaned over to kiss her breast, taste her areola, and then suck that tempting rosy nipple into his mouth.

It had been so long since he'd tasted a woman. He'd forgotten how amazing it was—or maybe it was even more amazing now because it was Lark.

She shuddered and gripped his head with both hands, and then slid her hands down to explore his shoulders and back.

The scent of flowers and Lark was heady as he kissed and fondled her firm breasts, teased both nipples to taut buds, caressed the skin of her upper chest, and stroked the gentle line of her collarbone. A word sprang to mind, one he'd probably never spoken in his life:
exquisite.

She was exquisite, and he was scarred and mutilated.

“Eric?”

He realized he'd paused in his caresses. “Lark, you're beautiful.”

“Don't stop touching me. You make me feel so good.”

Her words helped. If he kept the focus on her, on giving her pleasure, maybe they'd both come through this okay. “Touching you makes me feel good, so that works out just fine.” He bent lower, caressing the soft underside of her breasts, and then kissing a trail over her upthrust rib cage to her narrow waist and the soft inward dimple of her navel just above the waistband of her jeans.

When he unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans, her hands were already there, grasping the waistband and dragging the garment downward as she lifted her hips. She gave a womanly wriggle and freed herself of the pant legs, leaving her clad in only a skimpy pair of black cotton panties. It didn't surprise or disappoint him that she didn't wear silky, lacy lingerie.

He kissed her flat belly above the top of her panties, licked along a silvery stretch mark, and then inched the band down and ran his tongue across the skin he'd revealed. She was so toned, and yet the skin covering her lean muscles was so beautifully, femininely, soft.

As he kept nudging her panties down, a musky scent combined with the flowery one. That scent—Lark's arousal—fired his blood. Impatient, he dragged the flimsy cotton garment down her legs so she lay completely naked to him.

A neat patch of dark curls, springy and vibrant as he ran his fingers through them.

The firmness of her pubis beneath, a resilient cushion under his palm as he cupped her.

Swollen folds between her legs, the same dusky rose as her nipples, gleaming with moisture even before he lowered his head and licked them, lapping up her essence.

She gave a throaty moan, lifted her hips, and spread her legs to give him better access.

He probed gently with his tongue, urged those folds open, found the bud of sensitive nerves, and sucked.

“Oh, God, Eric,” she cried. “Oh, yes.”

His position was awkward, sitting on the side of the bed and twisting his torso sideways. His stump ground painfully against his prosthesis. A full-to-bursting hard-on pressed equally painfully against the fly of his jeans. And yet he was in heaven, exploring this woman's intimate physical secrets with his lips and tongue, and now a couple of fingers.

She urged him on with hip shimmies, panting breaths, and whimpers of pleasure until her body clenched, and then a moment later convulsed as she let out a keening cry.

Sensitive to her body's signals, Eric continued to stroke gently and to lick her, prolonging the shudders of her orgasm. Then he raised his head. Straightening, he stretched his shoulders and gazed at Lark. Her dark eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, her short hair mussed from thrashing her head against the pillow. She looked sultry and sexy and satisfied.

He had satisfied her. Despite his deficiencies, he'd given her pleasure. If the night ended here, he could feel good about it.

Lark's chest rose and fell, rosy-patched like her cheeks. She let out a long-drawn “Whew” that was as much a whoosh of air as an actual word. Then she shoved herself up to a sitting position and gave a contented, knowing smile. “That was a very nice warm-up, Eric. Now let's get on with the real show. D'you have condoms?”

His anxiety returned in a rush. “Yeah.”

“Excellent.”

She gave an agile twist of her body, ending up kneeling on the bed beside him. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she pressed him backward, following him down and kissing him, long and slow and seductive.

His erection surged. He wanted sex desperately, and yet . . . The point of no return was approaching. What if he removed his pants and she was turned off?

Shit. That was one thing he'd never had to worry about before with a woman.

Lark was kissing his jaw now, moving down his neck, and then his torso, nipping here and there as she went. Making throaty sounds. Tugging his focus away from his worries and back to her, and to his physical response.

Through his jeans, her hand closed over his erection.

He groaned with pleasure, with need, with frustration. He wanted her hand on his bare flesh. He wanted her to grasp and pump him. No, he wanted to bury himself between her firm thighs, to thrust deep inside her.