Sparking the Fire (21 page)

“You could just stay here,” Gage said, apparently oblivious to Wyatt's body language. “I won't harass you about giving me a part in the movie. Much.”

“That's not it.”

“Then what's the problem? Don't say the position of sassy gay friend is taken.”

“I don't . . .” She slid a glance to Wyatt, who was watching her with his typical unreadable intensity. “I don't want to make things tougher for you all with Roni and her mom. If the press finds out I'm staying with you, then that brings heat on you when you don't need it.”

“Holy shit, have you met us?” Gage shook his head. “We can handle whatever you bring. Apart from the bad-tempered teen, the moody Cajun chef, and the crabby lumberjack firefighter next door, we're actually fun to be around.”

It all sounded so reasonable coming from Gage, yet she couldn't. First off, Wyatt. Second, oh, WYATT.

Gage was still making his case. “Besides, haven't you heard? I'm fucking the poorest example of gayhood ever. I love him to death but he doesn't even know who Jennifer Lawrence is!”

That pulled a tension-relieving giggle from her. “The things I could tell you about her.”

“See? You're meant to be here. And you won't have a better meal than what I serve up in this kitchen.”

“Truth,” Wyatt murmured. “No better eating than at this table.”

Furious heat scalded her cheeks. Just when she thought Wyatt Fox longed to see the back of her, he made sexy incendiary comments like that.
Pick a lane, Marine.

Gage divided a curious look between them and settled on Wyatt. “What's that on your face?”

“An overgrown mink, according to Alex.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant the other thing. It's like this weird hook shape at one corner of your mouth and then it's . . .” He leaned forward and squinted theatrically. “It's matched on the other side. You see that, Molly?”

Eager to do anything that diverted attention away from her own acute embarrassment, she played along. “It looks like . . . but . . . it couldn't be. Is that a
smile
?”

“Cute,” Wyatt said morosely. He motioned to the stove. “Still waiting on those eggs, Chef.”

Molly's phone rang. Stephanie's grim countenance stared back at her from the screen. “Sorry, that's my agent.” She moved to step outside into the backyard.

“Make it quick,” Gage called out. “I'll have an egg-white omelette ready for you in five.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“Let him cook,” Wyatt said. “It's the only thing that shuts him up.”

Gage waggled his eyebrows. “Not the only thing.”

P
hone to her ear, Molly left the kitchen with Wyatt's eyes sealed to her very fine ass.

“Take a pic, bro. Might last longer.”

“Shut it. And you shouldn't be asking her to stay. Luke's gonna go mental.”

“Luke doesn't live here anymore. I decide who stays and goes.” Gage flipped a Denver omelette onto a plate and put it down before Wyatt. “You gonna tell me what's going on with you and our special guest star?”

“Nothin'.”

Gage groaned. “Have you met the guy I'm currently shacked up with? Broody fucker, built like a linebacker, goes by the name of Brady Smith?”

Apparently this was rhetorical because Gage was now in full flight.

“As soon as he started opening up to me, good things happened. He smiled more, laughed on occasion, and now his sex life is off the charts. So how about you pry apart that tightwad mouth of yours and tell your favorite brother how you feel?”

To be honest, he did want to talk about it to someone, and Gage, despite his image of me-me-me, was actually a good listener with a heart that eclipsed even his gigantic ego. Of all the Dempseys, the kid was the most open, this big ball of puppy dog love from the minute he'd walked into this very kitchen when he was ten years old. Bold as brass, with Sean's strong hand on his shoulder, he'd announced he was gay before anyone could look at him crooked. Bravest little fucker Wyatt had ever met. The rest of them had been surprised when he fell ass-over-elbow for Brady, who was bound tighter than a fist, but not Wyatt. Gage's gift was to leave a room, having touched every person in it with his sunshine. He saw Brady's pain and wanted to make it better. Medic of the heart.

Wyatt did a quick recce on Molly's location out back, making sure she was out of earshot. He might have let his gaze linger on her sweet curves in those ass-hugging yoga pants that were going to be the death of him.

“I've met her before. Five years ago.”

Gage's face almost split in half. “You sneaky little shit.”

“Don't tell the others.”

“Lips are zipped as far as telling tales go. But I need deets, bro.”

“It was this brief thing before she moved to LA and hit it big. We didn't even know each other's names.”

“Nameless sexing. Been there, got several T-shirts.” He sounded wistful. “Must have been a real mind fuck when you saw her in the movies. So now she's here and there's all this sexy vibery, what are you waiting for?”

“It's not so simple.”

“You two have enough chemistry to blow up a high school science lab. Why would you want to let that go to waste?”

“Not everyone leads with their dick, Gage. I have other things to consider. Like Roni.” At least, that's what he was telling himself. He was most definitely not thinking about how he had let Molly go once and that he'd rather eat a bowl of rusty nails than put himself in that position again. Their lives did not mesh. She was Hollywood designer duds. He was Chicago Dumpster diving.

And he wanted her more than his next breath.

As for that dick he wasn't supposed to be leading with? All it wanted to do was point in Molly's direction, especially after what had happened yesterday on this table. Christ. Forbidden had never tasted so good. But more worrying was how her vulnerability had squeezed his heart and burrowed into dark, usually inaccessible places.

Yep. He was going to break that fucking rowing machine before the summer was through.

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

M
olly eyed Roni sprawled on the patio sofa, her fingers orange-crusted with delicious fairy dust. Also known as Cheetos. The state of the teen's hands seemed to have no impact on her ability to text or whatever it was she was doing on her phone. Molly's mouth watered, but junk food was on her to-don't list.

Along with that batch of double chocolate chip cookies Gage had whipped up before heading into work at the Dempseys' bar and dangerous men who could glare her into orgasm . . . okay, back to clearing her mind and body with the power of yoga.

Twilight had thrown a dusky curtain over the sky and Molly inhaled as if she was breathing clear mountain air. This pocket sanctuary in Gage's backyard had that effect, and after her grueling day on the set, she needed to relax.

Molly switched to lotus and took three deep, chest-filling breaths.
Om.
Yoga was about the only thing placing on pause the images of Wyatt parting her thighs and rubbing that beard against her sensitive skin.

“You'd better not be taking photos of me,” she said to Roni.

“As if there aren't enough of you out there.” Roni watched from beneath her bangs but quickly found her phone screen fascinating when Molly looked her square in the eye.

“You're welcome to join me.”

“Lame.”

“So you'd rather sit around all summer on your phone.”

“I'd rather go downtown but Wyatt won't let me out alone.”

Molly gave an unladylike snort. “You have a million relatives who'd take you anywhere.”

“They don't want—” She caught herself with a shrug. “They have better things to do on their days off.”

Molly's heart twanged. Did this girl really think her family would pass up a chance to become better acquainted with their new niece? Alex had filled Molly in on Roni's life pre-Dempsey, from the deadbeat dad-who-wasn't to the life-threatening illness. This kid had been through the wringer, so she was understandably wary of putting her heart in the line of fire, even with a sure bet like the Dempseys.

“So who are you texting?”

“My friend Lili back in Bloomington.”

“About a boy?”

Another bored shrug, which Molly took for a yes. Usually accusations involving boys merited serious denial except when they were true.

“Lili's dating someone?”

“Trying to. The guy's playing it cool.”

Unrequited. The worst. Molly detected a slightly plaintive note, and it wasn't there because Roni was worried about her friend's ability to attract a boy.

“Maybe she should be proactive. Who says she has to wait for the guy to make the first move?”

“Like you know anything about relationships.”

From the mouths of babes . . .

Molly stretched and positioned herself for boat pose. Her hip flexors strained with the effort.
Om.

“Yeah,” she panted in response to Roni. “I'm a fine one to talk. I've made a sh—uh, a ton of mistakes, but I'd hate to think it's going to keep me from trying again.”

The lie tasted like ash in her mouth. Trying again was not on her agenda. A woman in her position—rich, powerful, and hounded—wasn't likely to find a guy who was happy to play second fiddle to her career. She was done with bossy SOBs who had to control every aspect of the relationship. And even if she could find this magical unicorn of a man who didn't feel threatened by her new ball-busting persona, how could she trust her heart again?

No, darling, the prenup doesn't mean I don't trust you. This is Hollywood.

But Roni was young, not (entirely) jaded, and needed woman-to-woman advice. Molly was 99 percent sure the teen was not asking for a friend.

“I'd say she should ask him out, put herself out there,” Molly said against her own innate instincts. “He might appreciate her honesty.”

Roni appeared to consider this, then announced, “Or think she's a slut.”

Or think she's a slut.

Om.

T
en minutes later, Roni had left to visit Darcy and Beck, leaving Molly to her thoughts and a huge pile of scripts. Her phone rang.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Molly purred into her phone like a bad phone sex operator.

Cal laughed. “Hot stuff? Obviously you're not getting as much action as I'd hoped if you have to use those kinds of lines on me.”

She moved the scripts on the patio sofa aside and readjusted the phone to her ear. “Never mind that. How's your gran?”

“Doing better. She's finally agreed to go into assisted living. I'd rather she moved in with me in LA, but she won't have it.”

“Worried she'll cramp your style?”

“Hell no. Worried I'll cramp hers! She's such a ho.”

Molly laughed. She'd missed Cal, though Gage was proving to be an awesome stand-in.

“So are you working your magic on any cute nurses?” Cal had always had a thing for women in scrubs. Something about the bossy/nurturing combo.

“Nurse Billy-Jo has made my heart flutter once or twice. And speaking of fluttering, how's Fire Mountain?”

“I can't keep track of the cavalcade of nicknames. I assume you mean my coworker Lieutenant Fox.”
Stone Cold Fox,
she had been calling him in her head,
ThighTickler
on her phone, even if he was playing at beautiful stranger. “He's not quite as friendly as before.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I mean, it's okay. He's just been pretty cool toward me.” It started this morning. After breakfast, he'd tailed her car to the set, still doing the protector bit, then proceeded to ignore her except for the bare-boned instructions necessary during filming. She supposed she should be glad that there was no one gossiping about them, but after the yoga flirtation and the intimacy of yesterday—welcome to your new digs, here's an orgasm!—she'd thought that there would be more flirty time with her gorgeous marine.

She wasn't sure what exactly had happened to send him from playful, or as playful as Wyatt Fox could get, to downright surly in the span of a few hours. Thankfully, she'd be out of here by tomorrow. She'd found an apartment near the set. Staying here was out of the question; as much as she loved the camaraderie of hanging with the Dempseys, this proximity to Wyatt was driving her mad. Sexy, stoic Wyatt was one thing. Surly-stoic could take a running jump.

“It's for the best. Told you, I'm on a man embargo.”

Slight, disbelieving cough from her friend.

“I am!”

“Well, speaking of men, or one man in particular . . . I heard something.”

Molly stiffened. “If it's about whatever prepubescent girl Ryan is banging I don't want to know.”

Cal paused, the weight of it so heavy Molly felt it press on her across the miles. “It
is
about Ryan, but not what you think. It's about the photos.”