Safe From the Fire (12 page)

With
a burst of understanding, Matt realized the truth.  They knew.   They knew
about Grace, what she wanted, what she liked.  Evie, Grace, and Fiona were
thick as thieves, and Colin had known her since grade school.  Suddenly, he
felt…off.  These were Grace’s friends, the people she trusted with the intimate
details of her life, who didn’t judge.  He’d only been taken into confidence
the night before, and practically under duress at that, and he abruptly felt
foolish sitting there, knowing that they knew what Grace wanted him to do to
her, what he was willing to try for her sake.

It
was unsettling.

“I
said
no!
” Grace’s voice drifted back to him, more than a little pissed
off. 

They
all looked up to see Grace straining to get away from one of the drunken
fishermen, a young idiot with brown hair and sun-chapped skin who had wrapped
his arms around her by the bar and was now sliding rough hands toward her ass. 
She twisted, trying to knee him in the balls, but he just laughed and held her
tighter.

“That
purple hair is hot, baby,” he slurred, “Is it purple everywhere?”

Matt
didn’t think.  He didn’t reason.  He didn’t even note that Grace had managed to
grab one of the fisherman’s roving hands and twist his finger up at an awkward
angle, forcing him to let go.  Matt just lost it, completely and utterly.  In
seconds, he was across the room and had knocked the bastard away from Grace
with a mighty heave.

“Keep
your fucking hands to yourself,” he growled.

“Matt!” 
Grace’s shocked voice barely cracked the red fog that filled his brain.

He
felt like he was underwater as he stomped toward the fisherman, who was scrambling
to his feet as the crowd stopped everything to watch.

“What
the fuck, man?  I was just showing the lady a good time.  She wanted it.”

Mine.

It
felt good to sink a fist into the guy’s face, and it would have felt even
better to pound him into a bloody pulp, but he felt hands holding him back as
his opponent sank to the ground in a less-than-graceful slump, out cold.  Matt
savored the sting in his fist.

“Oh
my God!”

He
turned to face Grace and
froze.
  She and half the restaurant’s patrons
were looking at him in shock.   Worse than that, underneath the shock was fear
– the same kind of fear that filled his nightmares.

“Matt?” 
Grace’s voice was soft, tentative.

Matt
couldn’t breathe, choking on regret.

“I’m
sorry,” he gritted out, and then he was rushing out the door, past Evie, who
frowned at his abrupt departure.  He blindly found his SUV in the dark parking
lot, and got the hell away before he did any more damage.

GRACE
PEELED OFF HER clothes, set her glasses on the counter, and stepped into the
bathtub, letting the warm lavender-scented heat envelop her body and soak away
some of the night’s tension.  She was grateful that Adam had been asleep when
she arrived, and noted with amused surprise that he’d done a credible job of
fixing the faucet, though he probably would have done better with some actual
tools.  She was going to have to break down and buy him that toolkit.

She
sank lower in the water, trying to force herself to relax, but knew it was
impossible – Matt had scared her tonight.  Really scared her.  Never mind that
she’d been about to inflict some serious damage herself.  Grace had never seen
his incredible strength used against another person, and had never thought she
would.  It had taken her an hour to convince the fisherman with the swollen jaw
not to press charges. 

And
okay, a little blackmail.
 

Grace
should feel worse about that, but didn’t – the guy needed to learn that not
taking “no” for an answer was considered assault.

But
Matt…

He’d
never been anything but gentle with her, and she’d never seen him lose his
temper like that before, either.  He’d obviously been horrified by what he’d
done.

Is
that why he’s so terrified by the thought of domination?  Is he afraid he’s
going to hurt me if he loses control?

That
made sense, and she realized with a sinking heart that it was a valid concern. 
She’d heard horror stories at some of the clubs – how a spanking could become a
beating, how a possessive nature could become crazy jealousy and paranoid
stalking.  It was the chief reason she’d been so careful about her partners,
and why she tried to stay emotionally detached – falling in love with a
potential psycho seemed far riskier than any of her bedroom fun and games.

Could
she trust him?  Grace sensed that she could, but there was no way she was going
to rely on gut instinct in this case.  Anger issues were not something to be
taken lightly.  Besides, she was handicapped by the memory of that meltingly delicious
interlude in the parking lot.  Despite the hot water, Grace shivered, again
feeling his fingers relentlessly thrusting between her thighs while he
whispered dirty little things in her ear.  When he’d ordered her to come, she
was helpless to resist, feeling sensation course through her body in a molten
rush, his hard muscled form holding her up, holding her safe.  It was nothing
short of epic.

She
sat up straighter.  She basically had three options.  A day or two earlier she
would have gone with “end it now,” but that seemed like the coward’s way out,
went against everything she felt, and made a mockery of Matt’s impassioned
campaign to convince her that they belonged together.  The second option was
simple blind faith that she could trust him – she wasn’t that stupid.  No,
Grace was a librarian, and she was going to do what her kind did best.  She was
going to make an informed decision, and that required just one thing.

Research.

MATT
LAY AWAKE MOST of the night, staring at the ceiling, hating himself.

I
blew it,
he
thought. 

Forget
Grace’s kinky preferences, it was his own more serious issues that would keep
them apart.  He tried to remember what the therapist had said – he’d gone to
see her for a few months after his father’s death, resentful and directionless
after his knee had blown out.

There’s
nothing wrong with being angry.  It’s what you do with that anger, Matt.

Well,
what he did last night was punch out a drunken moron for touching his girl.

Or
the girl that
could have been
his girl.

What
a mess.

With
a sigh, Matt gave up on sleep and headed downstairs to make some coffee.  He
was going to have to face Grace eventually, but not today.  He had an
appointment to keep.  Twenty minutes later he was on the road out of town, with
a brief stop at the florist’s for a bouquet of pink and orange gerbera daisies.

Sunrise
Glen was on the water across the bay and looked more like a luxury resort than
an institution, which was one of the reasons Matt had picked it.  It cost the
Earth, but the only decent thing his bastard father had ever done was leave a
life insurance policy behind – he hadn’t taken care of his wife in life, it was
only fair that he make up for it in death.  Ironically, he’d been sober when
his car had been plowed into by a drunk driver.  In his lowest moments, Matt
had thought that there was some poetic justice in that.

The
pretty blonde nurse smiled at him as he stepped into the lobby.

“Good
morning, Matt.  She’s in the conservatory.”

“Thanks,
Erin.  Could you find me a vase?”

“Of
course.  Those are lovely.  I’ll bring it to you.”

Matt
nodded and walked the familiar path to the conservatory, a bright room paneled
in windows, filled with plants and a bubbling fountain.  May Harris sat in a chair
on the bay side, looking out at the water.  She was petite, with neat dark hair
that was just starting to gray, and blue eyes in a sweet face.  The thin white
scar along her forehead was barely noticeable.

“Mom?” 
Matt kept his voice gentle.

She
turned around, and for a second, her features froze into terror.  Matt knew
what she saw – a big, muscular man, with the features of the husband who abused
her for decades – even though his eyes were hers.

“It’s
me, Mom.  It’s Matt.”

Her
face relaxed into a smile, and he felt his insides unclench as he stepped
forward to kiss her on the cheek.

“Matt. 
Of course, you’re Matt,” she said, reassuring herself, patting him on the
cheek, “Did you have a nice day at school?”

Matt
pulled up a chair.

“I
finished school, Mom, remember?” he said patiently, “I’m a firefighter.  I live
over there.” 

He
pointed out the window to Bright’s Ferry across the bay and May shook her head,
laughing at herself.

“That’s
right.  I remember.”

Matt
handed her the flowers.

“For
me?  They’re beautiful, Matty.  Thank you.”

Erin
appeared with a vase full of water, and while May busied herself arranging the
bouquet, Matt launched into an account of his week, talking about his progress
on the house, how busy he was at work, but leaving out mention of the arsonist. 
May nodded and smiled.  He wasn’t sure how much of it made sense to her, but
she seemed to enjoy hearing it. 

Matt
squashed the usual kernel of rage that unfurled during these sessions – rage at
his dead father, whose last drunken rampage had sent his petite wife flying
down the stairs and landed her in a coma in the hospital two nights before his
own untimely death.  When she woke a week later, she was different, barely able
to comprehend the loss of her husband and her sudden freedom, often uncertain
about the people she’d known her entire life.  The doctors assured him that the
brain was a marvelous instrument, and she might improve at some point, but it
was a miracle that she was awake at all.  When the neighbors found her
wandering two blocks away for the third time, Matt realized that something had to
be done, and that path led him to Bright’s Ferry.

“Hey
Mom,” he said, a little hesitant, though there was almost no chance that she’d
remember this conversation, “I met someone.  I think you’d like her.”

May
turned at this, surprised.

“A
girlfriend?  Oh, Matty, that’s wonderful.  What’s her name?”

“Grace. 
She’s a librarian.”

“Your
father and I always wanted grandchildren,” she mused, and then frowned as
though trying to remember whether that sentiment had been expressed last week
or a decade ago.

“We’re
not there yet, Mom.  We just started dating,”

And
possibly just broke up,
he added silently, but couldn’t squelch the pang of
longing at the thought of Grace in his bed every night, in his house, raising a
bunch of smart, outrageous kids.  He shook his head to banish the image.

“When
you’re ready, dear,” May patted his hand, “you should bring her by.  But not on
a school night.  You have finals coming up.”

“Sure,
Mom,” he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat as he gently held her hand
between his.

LANSKY
CONSTRUCTION WAS BOOMING, and Adam tried to swallow his nerves as he walked
from Grace’s car to the main offices, which consisted of a double-wide trailer
next to a fleet of pickup trucks and a row of supply warehouses.  Nobody gave
him a second look as they bustled to and fro, and he wiped sweaty hands on his
freshly ironed jeans as he knocked on the door.

“Adam! 
Good to see you, bro.”

Russell
bumped fists and ushered him inside.  The space was utilitarian – a desk and
computer, a few filing cabinets, and an overgrown ficus in the corner.  Darryl
was shaking hands with a fit, forty-something man with a genial face.

“Thanks,
Darryl,” he said, “my supplier left me high and dry.”

He
shook hands as he got up out of the visitor’s chair.

“Anytime,
Cal.  Just glad I could help out.  Talk to Gordon, he’ll get you set up.”

 Cal
turned to Russell and Adam, who was still trying not to let his nerves show.

“Cal,
this is Adam Mallow.  Adam, Cal Iverson.”

Cal’s
eyebrows went up, but he shook hands.

“Nice
to meet you, sir,” managed Adam.

“My
stepdaughter Fiona is a great friend of your sister’s.”

Adam
frowned as the pieces clicked into place.

“That’s
right, I remember Grace said that Miss Althea had gotten married again. 
Congratulations.”

“Thank
you,” grinned Cal, and clapped Adam on the back, “and good luck.”

With
a wink, he stepped out, taking Russell with him, who was looking between Adam
and the stoic Darryl with anticipation that bordered on anxiety.

The
door closed with a final “click,” and Darryl sat down to rifle through
paperwork, waving Adam into a chair.