Sparking the Fire (32 page)

Okay.
Did Wyatt really think he wasn't good enough for her to be seen in public with him? That this was the reasoning behind her preference for privacy?

Before she had time to defend herself against the implied accusation, he patted her ass. “Let's eat. Gotta keep your strength up for what I got planned.”

“I
t stunk something awful.”

Bellies full, and surrounded by the ruins of their room service feast, Molly had just finished telling Wyatt about the body farm where she did research for her role as an FBI agent in
Deadly Pursuit,
a thriller she starred in a couple of years ago.

“Yeah, well, dead bodies'll do that.” He'd seen his fair share, after all.

Against the headboard, he lay with an arm behind his head, watching Molly sitting cross-legged on the bed in his CFD tee. No small amount of satisfaction heated his chest at the view. “So how long did it take you to learn to ride a horse for that one about the rodeo?”

“Two months,” she said, making a face. Fucking adorable. “Two long, painful months with my butt and thighs screaming that they'd get their revenge. They made a pact with Ben and Jerry and loaded on twenty pounds once we wrapped.”

“Then you lost it for the sci-fi film.”

Whip-fast, she straddled him and splayed her hands on his chest. “Wyatt Fox, have you seen every one of my movies?”

There was a reason why he kept the chat to a minimum.

“Wyatt . . .” she warned when he refused to answer. “Fess up now.”

“Movie theaters are usually the coolest places in summer.”

“Oh. My. God.” Her mouth fell open in genuine wonder. “You're a fan.”

“Wouldn't go that far.”

She grabbed a pillow and whacked him hard on the head. “Admit it. You are a fan!”

They tussled for a moment, though he maintained the gentlest hold possible as he pinned her and maneuvered between her legs. Best place on Earth.

“Yeah, I'm a fan,” he admitted. “Sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers, I'd look up at that big screen, riveted by the way you move and smile and talk and that little crinkle you get at the side of your mouth when you're callin' bullshit. I know her, I'd think. I've been inside her body, felt her tight and wet and hot around me. I had this secret, this moment in time that belonged to me. A few days with a goddess when I forgot my shitty life and my responsibilities and what lay behind and ahead. When it was just me and her.”

She was breathing heavily, her CFD tee–covered breasts rising and falling, rising and falling.
When it was just me and her.
Like now.

If she had devoted a single thought to him over the years, she didn't say so, and he was glad of it. He wouldn't want phony conciliation thrown out merely to make him feel less alone in his nostalgia.

“I'm not a goddess,” she whispered. “Just a regular girl. Or trying to be.”

“Goddess/mortal determinations exist only in the eye of the beholder.”

His gaze fell on her plump, kissable lips. He had a lot of favorite parts when it came to Molly, but her mouth was definitely top three. A wicked little miracle.

Now it curved in query. “Where did you come from, Marine?”

“I arrived fully assembled, like GI Joe. Just changed my marine threads to firefighter ones.”

“So I can move your legs and arms and dick-less torso around for my pleasure?”

“Yours to use and abuse, babe.”

She held his gaze, staring at him, into him. Maybe it was some acting trick to make your scene partner feel important, like the center of the universe. Whatever it was, it worked. Probably because he wanted to be tricked.

“Before the Dempseys, I spent a lot of time on the road. Billy—my dad—wasn't really a straight-and-narrow kind of guy.” He inhaled a sharp breath. “He was a con man and we were part of his schemes. Me and Logan.”

Her brow furrowed. “What kind of schemes?”

“Shills and scams. You name it, Billy did it. He'd put us to work buttering up anyone who would listen. Logan, really, because he had the gift. Could talk to anyone.”

“Did your dad get arrested? Is that how you ended up with the Dempseys?”

Not quite. “We were running a Murphy Game. Selling knockoff phones from the back of a van. You show the mark the working one, then switch it out for a dud. We were careful to never go back to the same neighborhood twice, but someone recognized us. Called the police. Dad and Logan got away, but I was caught and put into juvie.”

He'd been in a thousand objectively more terrifying situations since: desert bunkers surrounded by enemy fire, airless basements with his oxygen tank on zero, working up the courage to talk to the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. But none of them held a candle to that first night in juvie. The smell of Clorox and body odor, sex and violence. The knowledge that even if you made it through the night without getting shanked, the days were no safer.

She rubbed his chest, right over the knotted ache behind his breastbone. “How old were you?”

“Had just turned ten.”

“But they knew about your dad? How it was his fault?”

“Yeah, but he didn't step forward to explain or claim me or anything, not when it would have placed his own ass in danger.” He felt a brief stab. After all this time. “Logan was the useful one. Could charm the dogs off the meat truck, always had a way with the old ladies. I was just another mouth to feed.” And a stuttering one, at that.

“But Logan wasn't his son.”

Just the son he'd wished he had. “No. His stepson, my half brother. We had the same mom but she died of a drug overdose when I was nine. Billy never stayed in one place too long, so we had no chance to go to school. I was pretty behind by the time I got to the Dempseys.”

Those big eyes, like something out of a children's storybook, held him on lockdown. “How long were you in juvie?”

“A couple of months. Thought I was left for good with all these big kids who would as soon crack a slap across your head as look at you. You know what Logan did? Got himself caught so he could protect me. He knew I'd be beaten stupid because I was pretty scrawny back then. Saved my life. Then Sean and Mary saved it again.” Most foster parents had no use for a weirdo who could barely mouth a greeting, but Logan would insist they were a package deal. Miracle of miracles, the Dempseys were drawn to the fuck-ups who needed them most. A match made in heaven.

He wasn't saying this for sympathy. He just needed to share with her something he hadn't told anyone else. His family knew the broad brush strokes, but not what Logan had sacrificed. Not how Wyatt owed him for everything.

“What happened to your father? To Billy?”

“They found him dead in an alley about three years ago. He'd been beaten and robbed. A lifetime of bad decisions caught up with him at last.” That could have been Wyatt—his slow reflexes as a ten-year-old had probably saved his life, putting him on the path to the Dempseys. He knew how Roni felt, how the failure of the people who were supposed to watch over you could keep you from making that leap.

Molly stared at him, soul-penetrating, and Wyatt embraced the intimacy of the moment. Let it warm him right through.

“Told you I was trouble, babe.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Well, I should have. Is it too late?”

Because it was for him. He'd already fallen hard for this woman. As if she knew the crazy stream of thoughts running through his head and wasn't quite ready to deal, she lay down in the crook of his shoulder and snugged in tight. He closed his eyes. Pretended he was worthy.

“Roni won't say it, but I can feel her curiosity about her dad,” he whispered in her hair. “It's just hard for her to get the words out.” Funny how his niece was more like Wyatt than Logan in that way.

“I think she'd like to hear about the father who loved his baby brother so much he got himself arrested so he could watch over him.”

He had no words, nothing left to give but his arms and chest and cock, so he pulled her tighter into the hold of his body. All he'd wanted was a night to worship her the way a quality woman like this deserved. Now he was completely and utterly—what was the word?—
hosed
.

His mind wandered back to his confession about being a fan of Molly Cade, the woman on the big screen. Seeing the face that launched a thousand hard-ons up there a couple of times a year had kept a piece of her close inside, and though he wouldn't expect it from her, he had to ask.

“Did you think of me sometimes?”

Her body sighed into his, and it was a few seconds before she answered.

“Some days less than others.”

He didn't believe her, but it sure was nice to hear.

 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“C
ut!”

Mick rolled his eyes and gestured to his chest. “Gideon, mate, we've been through this. Me, director. You, actor. Which means I'm the only one who gets to yell that.”

Gideon squared his admittedly impressive shoulders and jerked a chin at Molly, his signal for
private meeting, now
. She walked with him off the set of the firehouse locker room to Mick's director chair.

“What now, Gideon?” Mick asked with a sigh.

“He keeps ogling me.”

“Who, mate?”

Gideon threw a nervy glance over his shoulder to where Gage Simpson stood gloriously shirtless, mysteriously sheened, and looking hot enough to burn down the set. “The firefighter extra. The gay guy.” He whispered that last phrase because even Gideon was self-aware enough to know that rumors of homophobia would tank his career.

“In your dreams, Gideon,” Molly said, though she silently conceded that her nitwit costar was right. Gage had definitely been checking Gideon out in the scene where the firefighters change out of their bunker gear and head to the showers. The guy was an equal opportunity flirt, and as he had told Molly earlier, “I'm in a monogamous relationship with a guy I'd walk through fire for, but neither am I dead.”

Mick turned to Molly. “Just have a quick word in the firefighter supermodel's ear, darling.”

Part of her job as producer involved keeping the talent happy, so back she went to Gage, who was busy explaining something to Wyatt with a lot of hand gestures. As usual, Wyatt remained his sexy-stoic self until finally raising an unconvinced brow at the conclusion to the story.

“So. Gage,” Molly said.

“Molly!” A puckish gleam brightened his eyes. “What's got Giddy-Up's boxers in a twist?”

“You know full well. Could you stop leering long enough for us to get this scene done?”

Gage's grin shifted to all sexy affront. “I've never leered in my life. Lechers leer. Perverts leer. I
flirt
with my beautiful eyes.”

Wyatt growled. “Gage, quit fucking around. Some of us want to go home tonight.”

“Is that all you kids ever think about? Okay. Must not flirt with hot movie star. Must not flirt with hot movie star.” He winked at Molly. “You can bring Giddy-Up back. I'm ready for my close-up.”

Off the set, Molly watched while Wyatt headed over to talk to Roni. A regular visitor of late, today she sat near the catering service, Beats on, head down, while she alternated between checking Facebook and reading scripts for Cade Productions. Wyatt said something, and a moment of unchecked joy overcame her before she caught herself and returned to her task.

His loving gaze lifted and sought out Molly, and the smile he hit her with knocked her sideways. Not because of its rarity, though that was a shock in itself, but because he smiled at her like they were old lovers who had known each other for years.

Heart punch.

She'd gone to that downtown hotel, playing yet another role, and left feeling more like herself than she had in years. Connected to her body and mind in a way she had forgotten was possible. Listening to Wyatt sharing his pain had drawn her closer to this brooding man. Dangerously closer.

“Cut!” Gideon again.

Wyatt's sexy shrug—and only this man could make shrugging sexy—said it all.

This is what happens when you get involved with those damn Dempseys.

How about with one damn Dempsey?

A
n hour and a half later, a scene that should have taken fifteen minutes to film was in the can, and Molly was still chuckling as she threw open the door of her trailer and stepped inside.

She froze.

Something about the air was different, a pungent sting to her nostrils. Dolce & Gabbana Velvet cologne, the preferred scent of assholes everywhere.

“Hey, honey. I'm home.”

Her blood turned to ice. The man who had almost destroyed her sat on the sofa of her trailer wearing an Ermenegildo Zegna suit and a smile so smug it sickened her. Knowing Ryan, he would choose to interpret her shock as heart-stopping awe at how gosh-darn handsome he was.