Ring of Fire (15 page)

The thing that broke them apart was a cough and an amused, “If I wanted X-rated, I'd have gone online.” It was Quinn.

Lark and Eric jerked apart, gaping at his sister.

“Water,” Quinn said. “I came for a glass of water. To drink. Though now I'm thinking maybe it should be ice-cold water and I should toss it on the pair of you.”

“Quinn,” Eric said with that warning tone.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your . . . whatever.” She cocked her head and studied her brother. “So it was Lark you had to cancel on last night.”

At Eric's nod, Quinn turned her gaze to Lark. “He bought flowers. Just so you know. And I am sorry about last night. I didn't mean to get in the way.”

Lark cleared her throat. “It's okay. It wasn't a big deal.” Only sex. Really great sex. With flowers, apparently. Eric had bought flowers. That was pretty sweet.

Quinn said, “There must be a movie theater in town, right?”

Puzzled by the change of subject, Lark said, “Yes, there's a cinema. With two theaters. Early and late evening shows, and matinees on Saturday and Sunday. Why?”

Sister turned to brother. “You know how this goes. Give me money for a movie, popcorn, and a soda, and I'll get out of your hair for at least two and a half hours.” To Lark, she said, “We did this when I was twelve or thirteen and he was supposed to babysit me, but he'd pay me to go to a movie and then he'd invite his girlfriend over. I thought we'd outgrown it, but whatever.”

“You're the one who turned up on my doorstep uninvited, Q,” Eric pointed out. “And if you decide you're going to stay in Caribou Crossing for a while, and
get a job,
” he said with emphasis on the last three words, “we'll find you a place of your own. But in the meantime, I'd go for the movie deal. Lark? Any chance tomorrow would work for you?”

He was impatient. Good. So was she. “Well, I did respond to a callout last night.” She added teasingly, “Since I had nothing better to do. So I guess I could clock off duty tomorrow evening.” She glanced at Quinn. “Late show work for you?” That would let Lark spend more time with Jayden.

“Late show's good,” she responded. “If Eric slips me another ten, I'll even find a pub afterward and get myself a beer. That'll give you guys another hour.” She gave an exaggerated wink. “Think that'll be enough time?”

Lark refused to blush. They were all adults, and there was nothing wrong with good, honest sex. “I'm sure we'll make good use of the time.”

* * *

Unlike the first time Lark had come over for sex, tonight Eric was relaxed and thoroughly looking forward to their evening together. When she arrived on his doorstep Monday at 2100 hours, he greeted her at the door with a kiss. “Come on in.”

She stepped into the living room. “Quinn's gone?”

“Yeah.” He glanced around, noting all the signs of his sister. Her large, well-worn backpack sat in a corner and her flowered tote bag rested on a chair. A romance novel lay facedown on the coffee table, a pink sweater was folded over the arm of the chair, and fluffy slippers poked out from under the couch. “She's taken over the living room,” he said ruefully. “The good news is, I get the bedroom. Want some wine?”

“No, thanks. I might get a callout later.”

What? He'd thought that they were going to have three uninterrupted hours. He must have frowned, because she clarified, “Later, meaning after I go back home. I told dispatch I'm not on call until midnight.”

He was relieved, but concerned about her. “Do you ever sleep?”

“I only need four, maybe five hours a night. And if I have to miss sleep, I do pretty well for a couple of days.”

“Like me.” And certainly he'd never seen her looking worn-down. She always seemed to be full of vitality. “Want anything else? Tea, coffee, a snack?”

Her lips curved up. “A snack. Definitely. Let's go get naked so I can nibble on you.”

“Now that's a plan of action I can get behind.” She hadn't been put off by his injuries, and she'd come back for more. With his old confidence back, he put his arm around her, gave her fine ass a squeeze, and guided her toward the bedroom.

He had moved the flowers, which had held up well, from the kitchen table to the bedroom dresser. Today, while he'd been giving Quinn a tour of the town, she'd insisted he buy a couple of chunky candles. He hadn't told her about his PTSD, much less that fire could trigger a flashback, and he figured surely he'd be able to handle the small flames of two candles.

Quinn had stuck them in saucers and placed one on the dresser and one on the bedside table. She'd also made him buy a box of chocolate-covered cherries, though since she'd eaten a third of the box herself, he wasn't convinced those were for mood-setting rather than her own self-indulgence. Anyhow, a generous handful of the treats sat in a bowl on the bedside table.

Eric left Lark at the door and went to turn on music. Normally, he'd have played something romantic, but the mood sure wouldn't be romantic if the candles triggered a flashback. So instead, playing it safe, he chose what he'd come to think of as Lark's song. The music seeped into him, and when he lit the candles he was calm.

She stepped into the room, closing the door. “Well, well. I seem to recognize that music.”

“Mary played it for me one night and I liked it, so I downloaded it.” Some other time, he'd tell her that it helped soothe his nerves, but this wasn't the moment to discuss his issues.

She moved over to the dresser, smelled the flowers, and said, “Mmm. And the candles are a nice touch.”

“Thanks.” Shamelessly, he took the credit.

She wandered over to the bedside table. “Chocolates?”

“Chocolate-covered cherries. Do you like them?”

“What woman doesn't?” She picked one up and bit into it. Liquid ran down her lower lip and she swiped it up with a finger. Did she have any idea how sexy that was? After chewing the first half of the cherry, she popped the other half in her mouth, savored it, and then put her syrup-coated finger in her mouth and sucked it. Slowly, deliberately, seductively. Oh, yeah, Lark knew exactly what she was doing.

His dick rose like a magnet.

She gave a knowing smile. “You're gaping. Are you coveting my . . . chocolate? You could have one of your own.”

“I'd rather enjoy it secondhand.” He reached out and cupped the back of her head with one big hand, then he leaned in and took her mouth. First, he licked her lips, tasting a slight residue of sweetness. Then, when she parted her lips on a sigh, he delved inside, savoring her as thoroughly as she'd enjoyed the treat. He wasn't big on candy himself, but the combined tastes of chocolate, maraschino cherry, and Lark Cantrell created a recipe he could get addicted to.

She sucked his tongue the way she'd done her finger, and his body throbbed with arousal. He was tempted to ask her if she'd like to put something else in her mouth and suck on it, but he didn't know how she felt about blow jobs and he didn't want to be crude. Besides, the kiss felt so great, he didn't want to break it by speaking.

Tonight Lark wore jeans paired with a pretty blue-and-gray plaid flannel shirt. Half the shirt buttons were undone, to reveal a blue tee underneath. Eric ran his hand under the shirttail at her back, and eased the tee from the waistband of her jeans. He touched the bare skin at her waist, and ran his hand up her back under the soft cotton of the tee. When he encountered a bra strap, he fiddled with the clasp until it came undone. Then he stroked the long, firm, sleek line of her back from shoulder to waist.

She shivered, made murmuring sounds of approval, and broke the kiss. Her hands caught the hem of the gray tee he wore untucked over his own jeans, and she tugged it upward. Obliging her, he eased back a little as she pulled the tee up to his chest, and then he let go of her so she could tug it off over his head. She was so tall that he barely had to duck down.

He undid the remaining few buttons of her shirt and was about to slide it off her shoulders and arms when she stepped back, away from him. In a quick, decisive motion, she grabbed the tails of her shirt and tee and yanked upward, pulling everything—including her bra—over her head. Leaving her naked from the waist up, and amazingly beautiful.

“There's something to be said for candlelight,” he commented, admiring the way the light played over her skin, creating golden brown curves and mysterious shadowed valleys.

“There's something to be said for naked.” She ran her hands lightly over his torso, as if checking whether her memory of him was accurate. Or maybe just enjoying touching him.

“Then let's get naked.” He gazed into her eyes, reassured by her steady gaze. “Want to do what we did last time? Or do you want to watch me take off the prosthesis?”

She didn't pause to reflect before saying, “I'll stay.” She reached for his waistband and began to undo his jeans.

Last time, the idea of Lark seeing him naked and legless had doused his erection. But tonight, with her helping with his jeans and watching as he made fast work of removing his prosthesis, his erection remained strong.

His clingy boxer briefs did nothing to conceal his arousal, and they hit the floor next.

He sat on the edge of the bed, not hiding his stump. “Come here.” He reached out a hand and, when she took it, he tugged her to stand between his thighs.

She smiled at him. “You're hot, Major Weaver.”

“And you're wearing too many clothes, Chief Cantrell.” He unfastened her jeans and peeled them down until gravity took over and they fell to the floor.

She stepped out of them. Now she wore only an abbreviated pair of blue panties.

Holding her by the hips, he leaned forward to bury his face in her breasts. With his nose in her cleavage, her firm curves pressing into his cheeks, he breathed her in, flowers and woman.

She rested her hands on his shoulders and bent to drop a kiss on the top of his head. “Eric. I've been wanting this ever since last time.”

“Me, too.” His voice came out muffled, and he pulled back so he could repeat the words. He cupped her breasts in his hands, molding their soft weight and lifting them one by one to his mouth. He teased her with kisses and licks, and sucked her budded nipples until she whimpered with need and her hips twisted urgently.

He peeled her panties down. When she had kicked them aside, he shifted backward on the bed, tugging her by the hips so she came with him. Once he was lying flat on his back, he urged her up so she straddled his face and he could taste her moist center, a sweetly intimate, musky elixir that was the definition of
aphrodisiac.

She seemed to be totally into what he was doing, so it was a surprise when she pushed herself up and swung a leg across his shoulders.

“Lark? I'm sorry, don't you like that?”

“God, Eric. So much.”

Then she was back, straddling him again, but this time in the opposite direction so her head pointed toward his feet. No, toward his dick. That was her target. Her lips opened and took him in, and her tongue laved him in hot, wet strokes.

“Oh, shit.” He sighed in thanks.

Pleasure rocketed through him with each swipe of her tongue, some firm and some teasingly light. With each slide of her mouth up and down his shaft, each swirl and suck.

More than half out of his mind with sensation, he returned his attention to her pussy, trying to convey his appreciation for what she was doing, and to share the bliss with her.

When she clenched, gasped, and came in surges against his mouth, he almost climaxed, too, but he hung on to his self-control by a slim thread. Caught up in her own release, Lark had eased her grip on him and he pulled away from her to grab a condom from beside the bed.

By the time he'd sheathed himself, she had recovered enough that she now lay on her back, watching him. Though he was desperate to be inside her, he couldn't resist pausing a moment to take her in, naked in the candlelight.

That whole tall, lean body with the toned muscles and sweetly curved feminine lines. Her long, lovely neck. Her striking face, flushed now. Her black hair gleaming, the short locks no longer neat but tousled. Dark coffee eyes shifting from glazed to attentive as her lips curved slowly and she scanned his body.

He didn't really get how she could find a one-legged guy sexy, but there was no mistaking her expression, and he was damned happy about it.

She raised her arms and used both hands to beckon. “What are you waiting for?” In a throaty purr, she added, “You look like you're more than ready, soldier.”

He chuckled. How amazing to laugh, to feel so relaxed and accepted as well as aroused. And then he went into those welcoming arms and, with her full cooperation, drove the both of them out of their minds.

Chapter Eleven

Lark lay contentedly with Eric, the covers pulled up to their waists. She was on her back and he had curled into her. He'd thrown his good leg over her hips and his arm across her torso as if to make sure she didn't get away. Not that she had the slightest intention of doing so. Her hand lay on his arm, holding him there.

His head rested on her chest, his breath warm against the upper curve of her breast. “I like hearing your heartbeat,” he said, sounding as lazy and satiated as she felt. “And feeling it. Every time you breathe, your breast rises and falls a little.”

“A lot slower than a few minutes ago.” With her other hand, she stroked through his hair, the strands so short and crisp against her fingers. “We're pretty amazing in bed together.”

“You can say that again.” He pressed a kiss to her skin. After a moment, he said, “How do you want this to go, Lark?”

“More of the same would be good. Or there's still a thing or two we haven't tried.”

He chuckled. “Sounds good to me. But what I really meant was, outside of bed. Quinn knows we're together. Your mom knows you've come to my place. . . .”

She answered his implied question. “She knows about us. I told her after the first time. She likes you; she's fine with it. As for Jayden . . . Well, you know I'm concerned that he doesn't get unrealistic hopes, but I shouldn't overprotect him. So yeah, I'm going to tell him we're”—she considered—“dating, I guess I'll say. And that it's a friendly, casual thing, and neither of us wants to get married.”

“So it's okay to hold your hand, have an occasional kiss?” Quickly, he clarified, “Not like the one Quinn walked in on.”

“No, not like that.” Though once her lips touched his, she tended to lose her common sense. “But yes to the rest.”

He shifted over in the bed, lying on his side so he faced her. “What about Sally and Corrie? The rest of the town? Could I take you out for dinner some night?”

Dinner with Eric, maybe at the Wild Rose Inn. The dining room in the historic inn was lovely, and the food was amazing. She almost never went out for a fancy dinner.

But the food and ambiance were only a small part of the appealing image that formed in her mind. What would it be like to dress up a little, to sit across from Eric in a public place, to let the world know that she and this terrific guy were more than friends?

No, wait. Why should she want that? She'd always kept her hookups private before, and outside of Caribou Crossing.

“You think your reputation will suffer from being with me?” he asked, his tone neutral.

She snorted. “More like it'd be enhanced. The townspeople probably think I'm celibate. But there's no reason at all that people shouldn't know that you and I are, uh, seeing each other on a casual basis.”

“Dinner, then? Would Mary mind if you went out and left Jayden with her?”

“No, she'd be fine with it, as long as we choose a night that she's not going out.”

“Then it's settled. Dinner. The night of your choice.” He tugged her toward him and she curled onto her side, too, so he could spoon her. “What's your favorite place?” he asked.

She rested her arm atop his. “The dining room at the Wild Rose.”

“Done. See what you can work out timewise, let me know, and I'll make a reservation.”

He sounded happy, and she felt pretty darned pleased, too. A fancy dinner out with a really nice guy. How long had it been?

And had she ever been with a man as nice, as intriguing, as sexy as Eric?

Hmm. That was a rather troubling thought.

He sighed, a soft puff of air against the back of her head.

On the other hand, why on earth should she be troubled by spending time with him? If she'd learned anything—what with being raised by a single mom, marrying a loser, having a son with CP, and being a firefighter—it was that life had its ups and downs. You enjoyed the ups when they were there; it was crazy to second-guess them. So she sighed happily and said, “This is good.”

He didn't respond, but his body tensed, letting her know he hadn't fallen asleep. And suggesting that he didn't share her feelings. Huh?

“Eric? Is something wrong?” She waited, and was about to roll over to face him when he spoke.

“No. Well, kind of. It's so good with you.” He sounded less than enthused. “I was feeling great, and then I thought about Danny.”

“What did you think about him?” She rubbed her hand gently up and down his arm. The previous night, she'd commented to Eric that she wasn't the easiest woman to be with, due to the logistics of her busy life. Now she thought that he wasn't the easiest man either, what with all the heavy baggage he toted.

“Here I am, in bed with this terrific woman, having amazing sex. I'm single and plan on remaining single. Danny was married. He and his wife were crazy about each other. They were expecting a child. He never got to see Ellie again. Never got to hold his kid. It doesn't seem right for me to, uh . . .”

“Enjoy yourself? Be with a woman?”

“Yeah.”

“The two things aren't related, Eric. If you were miserable, that wouldn't bring Danny back.” Was that what his PTSD was about? Not just survivor guilt, but some kind of subconscious self-inflicted penance or retribution?

“Nothing can bring Danny back,” he said flatly. “But I can't see how . . .”

“How?” she prompted.

“How I deserve to be happy,” he said so softly she barely heard.

She gripped his arm. “Because you did your job. You did your best. It was one decision out of all the decisions you've made as a soldier, as a major, and it happened to have horrible consequences. You didn't plant that IED. You had no way of knowing it was there, or that your normally reliable informant had betrayed you. You're not responsible, Eric. And I know that if there was any possible way you'd been physically capable of getting Danny to a medic, you'd have done it.”

When he remained silent, she began to stroke his arm again. “In my work, mostly we get to a fire or accident in time, but sometimes we don't. We have a protocol when we respond, and usually it works, but sometimes it doesn't.” She swallowed and told him about the worst thing that had ever happened to her. “When I was a rookie in Vernon, we responded to a residence fire. We followed the protocol and rescued a husband and wife and their son. But there was a little girl, too. She was scared and she hid. Not under her bed or in her bedroom closet, not in any of the logical places. She went downstairs and climbed into a kitchen cupboard. We knew she was in the house somewhere. The mom was panicked, crying. The dad had some bad burns and was fighting with the paramedics, trying to get back inside. We searched for that child, but we didn't find her in time.”

His arm tightened against her body. “Shit, Lark.”

She remembered how desperate she'd felt, searching for that girl, struggling to maintain control and follow orders. “She must have passed out from smoke inhalation and not heard us calling out, or she was too scared to respond. Anyhow, the building was fully involved and our chief had to order us to fall back.” She exhaled slowly. “That child was feet away from the back door, but we didn't find her.”

“That must have been horrible.”

“We all felt awful, including the chief who'd had to make that incredibly tough call.” As a chief now herself, Lark could relate even better to what that poor man had gone through. “We had counseling. I really had to think about whether I wanted this career, the one I'd been pursuing since I was a kid. I had to find a way of coming to terms with it.”

“And you did.”

She rolled over to face him. Rather than softening his face, the candlelight carved lines of strain into it. Maybe she shouldn't have told him this story, but she'd had a purpose and so she carried on. “Some firefighters believe in God and believe that there's some great cosmic plan, and we need to trust in it. Maybe they're right. Me, I don't believe that there's a god or any plan that has any meaning. What I believe in is random, nasty fate. It's what sets a person on the road at a particular time, putting them in the path of a drunk driver, rather than sending them out a minute earlier or later. It's what makes a little girl hide in a kitchen cupboard rather than run to her parents. It's what puts a soldier's foot down on an IED when he could have walked a few inches to the left or the right.”

“Random, nasty fate,” he repeated.

“And it sucks,” she said firmly.

“That's for damned sure.”

She touched his cheek gently. “If Danny
had
walked a few inches to the left or the right, not only would he probably be alive, but you'd probably be healthy, with two legs. Perhaps you'd be posted overseas. Or maybe you and Danny would have gone to the market the next day and been blown up by a suicide bomber, and you'd both be dead.”

“Huh. I never thought of it that way.”

“When I was a rookie, thinking about whether I really wanted to be a firefighter, what I figured is that even if we don't win all the time against random, nasty fate, as a firefighter I'd be making my life count for something.”

“Damned right you are,” he said strongly.

“Fate took Danny's life, but it didn't take yours. You've always made your life count, first in looking after your sister and mom and then in being a soldier. You'll keep on making it count, and that's the best way you can honor Danny.”

He frowned, looking stressed and older than his years.

“Eric? Are you okay?”

One corner of his mouth twisted. “Pillow talk. This is your idea of pillow talk?”

“You started it.” She wasn't going to apologize. She wasn't the one with all the baggage. If he thought he could just tote his issues into bed with her and not have her tackle them, he didn't know her very well. Trying to lighten the mood a little, she said, “I did warn you I wasn't the easiest woman to be with.”

The mouth twist turned into a slight but genuine smile. “Easy's boring.” He ran a couple of fingers down the side of her face. “You're a beautiful woman and an amazing lover. You say things that make me think. And you make me feel like . . . you care what happens to me.”

“Of course I do.” For a moment she wondered if she cared too much. After all, this was just supposed to be a fun hookup.

“You're my lover and my friend,” he said.

Right. That was why this was different. Why she felt different. They were becoming friends. So it was okay to care. Just as long as she didn't let it go too far—which was something neither of them wanted.

His gray eyes had softened and he smiled. “Guess that makes me a pretty lucky guy.”

* * *

“Tell El-lie,” Danny managed to get out.

But even as Eric made the promise, his hand on Danny's shoulder, he saw the life fade from the young sergeant's eyes.

Other soldiers burst through the door of the burning building and rushed over to them. Too fucking late. And—

Choking on smoke, Eric became aware that his face was pressed into something. Not dirt, but hot, moist, crumpled cotton. His pillowcase. In bed.

“In bed,” he muttered. “In Caribou Crossing.” He coughed, trying to expel smoke that didn't really exist. His legs—real and phantom—both ached. He gripped a fold of sheet, damp with his sweat, between his fingers. “In bed, not in Afghanistan. Alive. Healing.”

Healing. Crap. He'd gone a week without a flashback or a nightmare. He'd begun to hope that he was cured. Reaching down, he massaged his residual limb.

Lark had been here. They'd had great sex, but then they'd had that heavy conversation before he walked her home. It was her fault, stirring up all his dark thoughts.

No, that wasn't fair. He was the one who couldn't just lie back and enjoy the moment. Instead, he'd brought Danny's ghost and his own guilt into bed with him and Lark.

His bad.

Body trembling, throat raspy, he forced himself upright. He was Major Eric Weaver and he wasn't in Afghanistan. He was safe in Caribou Crossing, and he was still fucked up.

Poor Lark was looking for a casual, fun relationship. She didn't need a messed-up guy like him. She hadn't realized what she was letting herself in for.

She was a kind woman. Probably too kind to just dump him, which was what she ought to do. But he was damned if he wanted a woman being with him out of kindness. Maybe even pity. He should set her free.

The sweat had dried; shivers wracked him. His legs burned and so did the adrenaline in his veins.

Lark was whole; she was fit, mentally and physically. She was a fire chief; she saved lives; she saw horrible things and managed to hold it together. Eric had been injured a year and a half ago and still hadn't managed to struggle his way back to being fit. He damned well
would
make it. But he had to admit that, in his heart of hearts, he was envious of Lark. She was stronger than he was.

He put on his prosthesis and then pulled on sweatpants, running shoes, and a sweatshirt. It was only when he opened the bedroom door that he remembered Quinn. Moving as quietly as he could, he went down the hall and peered into the living room. She was an unmoving shape snuggled under a blanket on the couch. Fortunately, his coughing hadn't wakened her.

He collected his keys from by the front door and let himself out, grimacing when the door gave its usual squeal. He really must buy some lubricating oil and see if that fixed it.

The night was clear and cold, stars visible but remote. Unlike the night he and Lark had walked out into the countryside after his flashback, tonight he was alone. He felt alone. Deserved to be alone.