Sparking the Fire (36 page)

“Uh, starting to get that.”

“There was never a question of me not being happy to see you. You, here in my city with my family—with
our
family—is all I've ever wanted. My life is a million times better with you in it.”

“Really?”

“God, yes.” He hugged her so tight that squeezing the life out of her was a real possibility. Never wanting to let go, he loosened up enough to allow her to draw a breath, but she grasped tighter and buried her face in his neck.

“So the Dempseys have a motto, Roni. Sean used to say that fire is stronger than blood and defend the people you love to the last ember.”

“Because you're not related by blood and you're all firefighters,” she said, her voice muffled from where it was buried in his skin.

“Right. We were chosen by Sean and Mary to be Dempseys, all of us, but some us are also blood. You and me and Logan, we are blood, and that doesn't just mean something. It means everything.”

She nodded against his neck. He felt her tears against his skin, the vibration of her soft sobs and sniffles. A few moments passed until she spoke, her voice a rusty whisper. “We're blood but I also choose. I choose to be Dempsey.”

His heart shattered into a million shards. There was a reason he did not do emotion. This cuttingly painful joy in his chest was the reason.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you all.”

“I know, sweetheart. And we love you. So much.”

One day he'd tell her the rest, about the scams and the hurts and the childhood on the lam. For now, all she needed to know was how her dad got his start in the lifesaving business when he showed up that day in juvie. How she had been Dempsey from her first drawn breath.

F
eeling more than a little glum about her fight with Wyatt, Molly wandered into Gage's backyard after a day on the set and found planning in progress. Gage was rolling a giant TV out to the center of the patio. Just as it looked like it might topple, Molly reached forward to steady it.

“Thanks. You Hollywood divas sure are worth every penny they pay you.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, intending that to come off as good-natured but not quite making the grade.

“Uh-oh, what's eating you? Other than—”

“Do not dare say his name. He's asshole non grata right now.”

“Well, he's made up with Roni. They went downtown for some uncle-niece time. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?”

Her heart cheered at this happy conclusion, but for Gage's question, she redirected. “What's with the TV?”

“PJ party for Roni's last night. Wy's driving her home to Bloomington tomorrow, so we're going to stay up all night and watch movies. Everyone's coming over.” He crossed his arms. “You, too, Cade.”

“I've got work to do. Scripts to read.” This was Dempsey family time and she'd rather let them get on with it. Better acclimatize to a life without their rambunctious cheer. Her heart squeezed, thinking about Wyatt and how much he would miss Roni. It didn't squeeze hard enough to forgive him for doing the caveman club-and-drag on the set, but she understood it would be tough for him. For them all.

Gage threw an arm around Molly. “You won't want to miss it. We're watching the great feminist manifestos of cinema.”

“
The Hours
and
Frida
?”

“
Pretty in Pink
and
Grease
. And I've got the perfect onesie for you. Been saving it for special.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You're coming. End of.”

Several hours later, Molly was cursing Gage Simpson's ability to talk anyone into anything. She looked in the mirror, sighed at what she saw, and headed downstairs.

Brady was pulling a tray of minipizzas out of the oven. On seeing her, a crooked grin split his face in two.

“Lookin' good, Molly.”

“Hey, you're not wearing one,” she protested. Brady wore plaid PJs and a black tee that shaped his broad chest and made him look the opposite of hot mess.

Screw this.
She went to turn only to feel her progress arrested with a hand on her arm.

“You look awesome.” Gage wore a SpongeBob onesie. Okay, she didn't feel quite so ridiculous. “Come on, everyone's here.”

“I can't believe I let you brainwash me like this.” Out in the twilight-shaded yard, the entire complement of Dempseys was gathered—living, laughing, and loving. Thankfully, she and Gage weren't the only ones dressed up. A combination of superheroes and film characters greeted her, including Roni dressed as some unrecognizable animal-vegetable-mineral that probably came from manga.

Molly's hungry gaze shifted to the table set up for the snacks, which also happened to be where Wyatt stood, dressed in a— She blinked.
Oh wow.

St. Louis Cardinals PJs.

His unnerving gaze softened to appreciative at the sight of her gussied up like—may the Cards forgive her—a Cubs fan. “Welcome to the Dark Side, Cade,” he murmured.

Damn Gage. Or, perhaps damn Wyatt. There was an element of Stone Cold Fox deliberation about this. As if she weren't mad enough at him.

He covered the distance between them with silky marine speed. She crossed her arms over the offensive logo, not ready to give up the real good mad she was holding on to.

“Is there a point to this?”

“Trying to walk a mile, Molly. Also trying to tell you I screwed up.”

“You're admitting you're wrong?”

“It happens.”

“Hold on.” She unpocketed her phone. “I need to time-stamp this.”

“Funny.” He took her face in both hands, holding her still so there was nowhere to hide. She had missed his touch so much, and that was just one day without it. How the hell was she going to manage when the shoot wrapped in a week and she was back in LA?

“I'm apologizing here, babe. I saw him all over you and the next thing I saw was red. I wasn't thinking of how it might look to the rest of the crew. I wasn't thinking that you're weak and I'm the only one who can defend you. I wasn't thinking at all. That's what happens when I'm around you. My brain shuts down.”

Speaking of organ failure—her heart and lungs had stopped working.

He'd stood up for her at the set against Ryan, something that maybe she wished she could have done for herself. True, she hadn't asked for it, but werewolf protectiveness was entrenched in his DNA. Instead of seeing this as Wyatt flexing his dick, perhaps she should look at it as an example of his need to protect.

What woman wouldn't count herself lucky to fall under Wyatt Fox's giant wingspan?

“Forgive me,” he said, his eyes burning holes in her heart, his voice low and rough with things unsaid.

“Yes.”

And that was that. She didn't need long speeches or heartfelt monologues. Wyatt Fox's brand of communication was enough, each precious word loaded with significance.

Someone groaned. “For God's sake, just kiss her,” called out Luke.

Wy-brows rose. That carnal mouth curved. He kissed her, a lazy, languorous smooch in front of his entire family. Claiming her just as he had on the set. On and on he plundered and unraveled her, showing no sign of stopping, even when she heard a few high-pitched whistles and Beck say something about how they were embarrassing the koi.

It was up to her to break the kiss because Wyatt showed no intention of doing so.

She murmured against his sensuous lips, “That outfit of yours is really much too tight for this to continue, Marine.”

He looked down to the space between them, now filling with . . . oh dear. “You walk in front,” he muttered.

“Maybe a visit to the kitchen for a hot dog?” She was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Another glance down, and she lost it. “Perhaps some Polish sausage?”

“Sizing not quite right, but you're getting there.” He pulled at her hand with the clear intention of taking her inside the house.

“Don't even think about it,” Luke said with a side glance at Roni. “Pretty sure that ground rule number one was thou shalt not sneak off to have S-E-X during family gatherings, Wy.”

Roni looked annoyed. “Uncle Luke, I'm fifteen, not five. Molly, sit with me.” This from the girl who could barely shrug a greeting a month ago.

Molly grabbed a beer from the cooler, the hand of her honey, and sat down beside Roni. “So what's first on the bill?”

“
Pretty in Pink,
” Beck sang in a deep-graveled voice to match the Psychedelic Furs' soundtrack. Sure enough, the original Molly—La Ringwald—was already on screen rocking her red tresses and hand-sewn clothes, and rolling her eyes at Duckie's adorkable jokes.

Wyatt sat on Roni's other side, his arm along the top of the sofa, his hand massaging the nape of Molly's neck. After that kiss in front of everyone, her brain was spinning, her heart was pounding, and her sex was throbbing, so she took out her pent-up frustration with popcorn hurled at the screen every time Andrew McCarthy fed one of his vacant, doe-eyed stares to Molly Ringwald.

“I hate that she ends up with Blane,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Should have been Duckie.”

“Should have been Steff,” Alex countered as Andie and Blane PG-13 kissed in the parking lot after prom. “Spader was a total stud in the eighties.”

“But Duckie was so cute,” Roni argued.

“Yeah, but the Duckies of this world don't win,” Molly commented. “The bland frat guys and the hot rich guys do. Blane didn't deserve her, wouldn't even stand up for her until the end. Jerk.” She squeezed Roni's hand covertly. She'd had her heart broken by a boy but she'd get over it. She just needed someone as strong and solid as her uncle. Wyatt slid her a glance over Roni's head, and the affection she saw there cut her in half.

But there was more. Somehow she had become part of this rich and thriving ecosystem, the Dempseys and their boundless love for each other.

Annoying tears stung the backs of her eyelids. She would miss them all so much.

By the time
Grease
was over, and Sandy and Danny had flown away—literally—in a magic car to their happily-ever-after, Roni had cheered up enough to list the movie's shortcomings. It'd always been suspect from several points of view, not least of which was credibility. The high school students look like thirty-year-olds. The academic year whizzes by in the space of a week.

“So Sandy wears skintight pants, gets a perm, and starts smoking to win Danny,” Roni said thoughtfully.

This one
was
pretty troubling. “Maybe we should see it as her making a choice to rebrand herself as the woman who goes after what she wants.”

Wyatt grunted. “She took up a life-threatening habit for a guy who was a jerk to her throughout the whole movie and he makes it up to her by putting on a cardigan. Roni, any guy who treats a woman with such little respect is not a real man.”

Life lessons from Wyatt Fox.

“Marine, you have clearly thought long and hard about this,” Molly said.

His grin could wipe out the national debt and end wars. “Told you. I watch a lot of movies.”

L
ess than five minutes after
Grease
's closing credits, ground rule number one was about 95 percent of the way to being smashed to smithereens. Molly and Wyatt covered the stairs to her room with either indecent or Olympic speed, depending on your perspective. Barely inside, he pounced and ripped off her traitor's garb. Buttons flying, zippers tearing, seams rending. Fast and furious, not Wyatt's usual MO at all. He was out of control, primitive and feral, rougher than ever before.

She loved it.

Urging him on, she raked his back with her nails, breaking skin, marking him up good. Claiming this man for her own.

In seconds, he was inside her, the weight of him perfect, the feel of him addictive. This wasn't their usual slow, rapturous joining. This was desperate, zombie-apocalypse, we-might-die-tomorrow sex where nothing existed outside this moment, just their soul-deep connection and the need to affirm it. Her body was so primed that the barest friction was enough to send her over, and her clamp on his beautiful cock triggered his own howling release.

Then nothing but the silence of their bodies speaking more than words could say.

Feeling ransacked, she cradled him close. He lay still, spent, as if every ounce of his life force had left him and entered her bloodstream. With each subsequent night together, he gave more and more of himself. In his arms, she was lost and finally found again.

She shifted.

“Hurtin' you?”

“No. Just wanted to make sure you were still with us.”

His warm chuckle against her neck felt like the most treasured gift. “Barely,” then softly, “Every time, Mol. Every single time.”

Oh, God.

“It gets deeper with you. Find it harder to leave your body.” His breath was hot against her ear, pulsing shivers through her to match those words. “Find it harder to keep it straight. Keep us straight.”

She didn't know what he meant—she didn't
want
to know what he meant. Because it sounded like he was opening his soul to her, and the preciousness of it squeezed her heart to a fist.

He lifted his head, his body with it, and eased his solid weight from her. Air and a distance she hated rushed into the space between them.

“But you've put me straight about Roni. About a lot of things. Five years ago and this summer.”

“Back in that hotel room, there was no putting anything straight, Marine. It was dirty, hot, and kinky.”

He laughed quietly and kissed her nose. Rolling back, he gathered her into his side. “You have no idea, do you?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Back then, I'd just finished a tour and was thinking about re-upping.”

“What happened?”