Sparking the Fire (29 page)

A moan of pleasure escaped her. “You are an awesome kisser, Wyatt Fox. Bossy as hell, but an awesome kisser.”

“Takes two, Mol.” They kissed again, all that sweetness of her and the alcohol combining to make him dizzy.

“I needed that,” she said against his lips.

“Me, too.” God, he did. His troubles with Roni were starting to wear.

His body shook with the effort to keep this casual. Because he had needed it more, likely much more than her, and she was making it sound like he'd done her a favor. Just another thing that amazed him about this woman.

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed, her mouth parted expectantly. Desire shimmered between them, slippery, intangible.

“What else do you need?”

“My face between your thighs and those little sounds you make when I give it to you hard. But—”

“Butt? I've had a few, but you'd better not be thinking about a little sneaky backdoor action, Wyatt Fox!”

Well, he was now. “I was about to say I refuse to take advantage of a woman in your condition.”

“You're not. You won't.” She poked him in the chest. “Drunk, sober, any state, I would be doin' you tonight, Mister. Lucky. That's what you are. A total BILF.”

“BILF?”

“Beard I'd like to fuck.” She fumbled with the back door of the Camaro and wrenched it open after a couple of tries. In she clambered, all legs and ass and giggles.

“Backseat. Into the bubble.”

“Molly, we're not doing this.”

She ignored his protests. Off came her jean shorts and the top with the thin spaghetti straps. Just beautiful Molly in a—
groan
—strapless bra, all white purity and sexy sin. Leaning back against the window, she propped one foot up on the front seat and spread her legs wide. She still wore underwear, but the scraps of virgin lace were more revealing than if she'd been wearing nothing. Hottest thing he'd ever seen.

The only sounds? His socks being knocked off and his dick climbing to full mast.

“Come and get it, Stone Cold Fox.” And then she slipped a finger inside her panties, and he was lost.

M
olly awoke with a start, her mouth dry, her head fuzzy. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark as consciousness stole up on her. She lay fluid in Wyatt's arms, cradled by his body, in the backseat of the Camaro. She was sobering up, though she resisted, preferring the hazy glow engulfing her body.

Alcohol, sex, Wyatt.

Her brain rewound and shone a fuzzy light on the three-letter word: Had there been sex? She'd enjoyed little enough of it in the last three years and plenty enough in the last three weeks that she knew when her body had been well used. This was not a body well used. She was in her underwear, though, and . . . she coasted her hand down Wyatt's chest to his waist. Hard as a wall, but still dressed.

So, no sex. Just . . . cuddling.

Uh-oh.

He nuzzled her temple. “Welcome back. You thirsty?”

She nodded, and he produced a bottle of water out of thin air. After sucking down half of it, she finally spoke.

“I offered myself on a platter and you didn't eat me up.”

“Tempting as hell, Hollywood, but I draw the line at being used by a drunk-off-her-ass woman for salt
and
sex. I need to be wooed better than that.”

“So . . .”

“We made out like teenagers and you fell asleep. A couple of hours ago.”

Nope, not embarrassing at all. She only hoped she hadn't said something stupid about how his kisses were more addictive than a Class A drug or he made her ovaries scream to be mated.

She shifted. “You must be uncomfortable.”

Against her temple she felt the curve of his lips, the scruff of his jaw, his breath warm and easy. “If this is what it takes to hold you all night, I'll happily surrender all feeling in my arms and legs.”

A joke, with an undercurrent of something terrifying. Their nights together in olden times had been characterized by insatiable sex fests broken by brief dozes to refuel. Seeing a night through in each other's arms was an intimacy their earlier affair would never have allowed. But now they were increasingly entwined in each other's lives. Work, home, family.

This was dangerous. She needed to pull back and not allow this sanctuary of comfort and sex he'd created suck her in.

“I should go back to bed.”

“I'll walk you back.”

“No—no, it's fine.” She fumbled and found her cami and shorts, balled in a lump at her feet.

“You got Tylenol at home?”

At home.
It was just a figure of speech, but now everything was loaded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Take two. Drink a couple of glasses of water.”

He rubbed her back as she opened the door. She didn't dare look to see if he was disappointed that she didn't kiss him good-bye.

“Text me if you need anything.”

She nodded, not knowing how to respond without cracking open and oozing out all over the garage floor. Her heart trip-hammered in her chest, forecasting the hangover that would likely hit her tomorrow. Hell, today.

And if she let Wyatt Fox invade her senses any more, she was going to have the mother of all hangovers when shooting on the movie wrapped. One a couple of Tylenol wouldn't be able to fix.

 CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
he last thing Wyatt expected to find when he walked into Gage's kitchen on a coffee mission was his niece and Molly sitting at the table with a pile of what looked like scripts spread out between them.

“This one's on fleek,” Roni was saying. “Time travel's popular right now. With
Outlander
and
Doctor Who
.”

Molly picked up the script Roni had singled out. “On fleek?”

“It means awesome,” Roni said, but she didn't sound her usual annoyed self when she had to explain something to the unhip adults.

Heading to the Keurig, Wyatt hovered and read over Molly's shoulder. A Post-it stuck to the title page of the script was covered in tidy writing:

Strong female protag. Great world building.
Pirates
. Drags a bit in the middle, but I marked where it could be tightened. Good pace in last quarter. B Test, yes.

More than a little confused, he continued his quest for coffee. Neither of them had acknowledged his presence.

“What about the May/December romance?” Molly picked through the stack. “This one?”

“Skeevy,” Roni said with a lip curl of disgust. “But the writing's good. Passes the Bechdel test. Maybe if—”

“The woman was the older one in the relationship?” Molly finished, her finger to her lip and her brow scrunched tight. “Baby cougar.”

“Yeah, the old ladies in your demo would love that.” Roni softened that statement with a grin. A grin! Who the hell was this girl and what had she done with his niece?

“Mornin',” Wyatt said. “Anyone want coffee?”

“I'm good,” Molly replied absently, her attention still on the script. Man, he loved watching her in the zone, even when it resulted in him being shoved out of it. “Susan Sarandon would be awesome.”

Roni wrinkled her nose. “Who?”

“
Thelma and Louise
?” When Roni still looked blank, Molly prompted, “The ultimate ‘bad girls sticking it to the man' movie?”

Wyatt was pretty sure the bad girls died when they drove their car into the Grand Canyon, so sticking it to the man was open to interpretation.

Molly was still trying to jog Roni's memory. “Young Brad Pitt as the hottest cowboy who ever lived?”

“That guy was young once?”

“I weep for your education. I'm going to assign a list of movies for you to watch. Inculcate the classics.”

Wyatt hit the start button on the Keurig. “Here's all you need to know, Roni.
Planet of the Apes
? It was Earth all along.
The Sixth Sen
se? Bruce Willis was dead the entire time.
The Empire Strikes Back
? Darth Vader won't be winning Father of the Year anytime soon.”

“Don't forget to tell her the real identity of Keyser Söze and exactly how close Norman Bates was to his mother, spoilsport.”

“As for
Thelma and Louise
 . . .”

Molly's mouth fell open. “Who hurt you?”

He raised a villainous eyebrow. “It doesn't end well.”

“God, you guys are totes adorbs. Just do it already.” Roni made a gagging gesture in case the brick-thick sarcasm wasn't clear enough, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it. For once, she was acting like a human being and not a teenage pod person.

A blushing Molly lowered her head and tapped out a search on her phone. She showed Roni the screen.

His niece's eyes lit up in appreciation. “That's baby Brad Pitt? Okay, he's pretty cut.”

“Standing right here,” Wyatt interjected.

Molly turned on the mega-wattage grin and he melted under its power. “I'm trying to acquaint your niece with an earlier generation of hotness.”

He squinted at Roni, and knowing it was a long shot, demanded gruffly, “Tell me you're not interested in boys yet.”

Roni cocked her head. “Maybe I'm interested in girls.”

Clearly said for pure shock value. Did she even know him?

“I
wish
you were interested in girls. At least then you wouldn't come crying to me with the news I'm going to be a great-uncle.”

Roni's eyes—Logan's eyes—widened. Why had it taken him so long to figure out? Embarrassment, the ultimate weapon in the generation war. “You know it's okay if you like girls, sweetheart. Whatever makes you happy.”

He caught Molly's eye and the smile she was doing her damnedest to hide. Evidently torn between mortification that Wyatt thought she liked girls and appreciation that he would be über cool with it if she did, Roni colored to fire-truck red.

“I'm coming out right now,” she said indignantly. “As straight.”

“Gage'll be crushed.” He didn't laugh—far too risky, much too soon—and he could tell she was trying not to, either. Triumph at this brief connection howled in his chest.

“Now, about where babies come from—”

“Wyatt!” She finally let loose that laugh, and man, he almost buckled over at that beautiful sound. Her phone buzzed, and she stopped giggling. “That's Mom.”

“Remember what I said,” he warned.

She rolled her eyes in Molly's direction. “Yeah, I know. Big-ass secret. Emphasis on
big
and
ass
.” Molly smiled serenely at that blatant insult while Roni took the phone outside.

Wyatt shook his head as he watched her leave. “That mouth. Spending too much time with Alex.”

“Believe me, people have said a lot worse about my ass.” Molly met his gaze with a saucy smile. “And news flash, Lieutenant. Lesbians can get pregnant, as well.”

“Usually not because a condom broke. So when did my niece start working for a Hollywood production company?”

“She showed an interest a while back, so I thought I'd do some market research. Figure out what the kids are into these days. She's got quite the eye.” She patted the pile of scripts. “We agreed on all but one.”

“Thanks for involving her in something, even if it does have the stench of child labor about it.” Through the window, he watched Roni sprawled on the patio sofa. “Uh-huhs” and weight-of-the-world sighs filtered through as she listened to her mother.

Turning back to Molly, he let his gaze take her in properly. She wore a low-necked tee that showcased the tops of her lovely breasts. A hint of lace peeked above the border, inviting his gaze and turning him hard.

Somehow, he was sleeping with this goddess.

“C'mere,” he said, his voice rougher than he'd intended.

“Wy—”

“Now.”

Desire flared in her eyes and she walked over into his arms with no more arguments. He didn't kiss her yet, just tucked her under his chin, though really, he wanted to ask her how she thought their movie was going to end.
The Wyatt and Molly Story.
A predictable final third or shocking plot twist?

Her eagerness to flee last night after she had awoken in his arms should have been answer enough. Fade to black. A summer fling was all she was after, and that was only right because he wasn't the hero in this tale. Not to her, not to his niece. But he'd take any scrap Molly gave him because five seconds in her burning orbit was worth all the darkness to come.

“About last night,” he said. “You okay?”

The question could be interpreted a number of ways.
Are you hungover? Freaked out? Ready to bail?

She nodded. “I just wasn't expecting that.”

Neither was he. Holding a smashed, half-naked, gently snoring Molly in his arms had been the strangest, most perfect version of heaven. He didn't consider himself a greedy man—being satisfied with his lot was a damn sight safer—but hell if he didn't want more of this woman.