Sparking the Fire (9 page)

She walked over to Gage, offered a bottle of Zin as tribute, and accepted his kiss on the cheek. On his apron was the F-word followed by a list of check boxes for
You, Me,
and
Off
. Very cute.

“This yard is absolutely amazing,” she said. “Did you do it all yourself?”

“Wyatt helped, though he should have kept his efforts for the rain forest next year. Pretty sure there are velociraptors mating in the undergrowth.”

“Hilarious,” Wyatt said as he grabbed a beer from a cooler and held it up in query for Molly. “Where's the real chef, kid?”

“The real chef is Brady, my hot-as-fuck boyfriend,” Gage explained to Molly. “He owns a restaurant called Smith & Jones in the West Loop, and right now he's in Louisiana seeing his parents for his once-every-five-years visit. Probably gator wrasslin' in his downtime. So whatcha think of Wyatt's face blanket?”

Sneaky, sneaky, tacking the question onto the small talk like that. Was it so obvious that she'd just been wandering her fingertips all over that sexy pirate jaw?

Before she could defend herself with
the beard made me do it!
Gage shook his head pityingly at Wyatt. “Might be time for an intervention, brother mine. If I checked your closet right now, would I find worrying amounts of flannel? A ukulele on your nightstand, Wilco on your iPod?”

“Shut it,” Wyatt said, not unkindly. He passed her a beer. “You wanted this.”

She suspected he wasn't talking about the Sam Adams IPA.

“And she's about to get it.” Gage's gaze slipped past Molly to a point behind her. “Welcome to the Seventy-Eighth Hunger Games.”

Two couples had walked through the side-door entrance from the street, comprising a cool blonde, an inked brunette, and a pair of tall, tatted hunks. Luke Almeida and Beck Rivera, or the Hothead and the Boxer, as she had christened them in her research. Men she could handle—she'd been handling them all her life. Women were another story. The hate piled onto her over the last year, most of it from the so-called sisterhood, kept Molly in a state of perpetual alert around women she didn't know.

You're just a gal from Missouri, Mol.
Thrusting her hand forward, Molly opened with, “Hi, I'm—”

“We know!” the stunning woman with the tattoos shrieked, clasping Molly's hand. “Gage said you'd be here. I'm a big fan.” She nudged the Latino streak of heat beside her. “Beck, tell her.”

“She's a big fan,” he confirmed with a blinding grin.

Molly's hand felt like it might drop off, the woman was shaking it so hard. Horrified, the new arrival looked down. Let go. Goldfish gaped. “So. Sorry. I'm acting like such a star fucker. Crap, I said I wouldn't swear but I'm just so fucking nervous.” She made a self-deprecating face. Adorable. “Starting over. I'm Darcy and this is my husband, Beck.”

“Think she knows,
querida
,” Beck said, amused. “She's done her research.” One hand was slung around his wife's waist while the other rubbed her stomach protectively.

“Oh, you're pregnant,” Molly said.
Nice going, dummy.

Thankfully, she'd called it. “Yeah, five months gone. I'm a body artist and Beck's worried the baby's going to come out fully inked.”

“It could happen,” her husband commented with a look of such love for Darcy that Molly's heart melted.

The blonde behind them stepped in, hand outstretched, all business. “I'm Kinsey, nice to meet you. This handsome devil here is Luke.” Luke gave a curt nod, not ready to be won over just yet. “I love your dress,” Kinsey said, genuine appreciation in her voice.

“Thanks.” Molly wasn't used to that. After the fakery of Hollywood, sincerity was a rarity. She'd spent a good hour deciding and undeciding what to wear. Dior, Saint Laurent, Michael Kors—nothing seemed suitable for a low-key barbecue with the Dempsey clan. She didn't want to appear like she was trying too hard, but neither did she want to look like a schlub and be judged for not making the effort.
Us
magazine had a monopoly on the “They're Just Like Us” feature; she certainly didn't need to hear it muttered with disdain from the mouths of the women who Molly suspected, despite Wyatt's claim to the title, were the true gatekeepers to the inner circle.

For the next ten minutes, she sipped her beer and chitchatted with the Dempseys, her nerves in a jangle while she waited for Alex to show. Wyatt had disappeared, not that she was tracking his every movement or anything.

“My award-winning Gage-a-rita,” Gage said, holding out an oversized margarita glass.

“Okay, before I commit to that bucket of awesome, I'm going to need to use your bathroom.”

He motioned with his free hand toward the house. “Top of the stairs. No snooping in the medicine cabinet.”

“Spoilsport,” she muttered with a grin.

When she entered Gage's kitchen, a shower-fresh man scent tingled her nostrils. Yum. And then her stomach did back flips at the sight of Wyatt standing with his back to her, complete with deliciously bitable ass, broad shoulders, and damp hair. Only when he spoke did she realize he was on the phone. (She'd started her perusal at butt level. So sue her.)

A heated conversation was in progress, or as heated as this man was capable of. “Jen, this can't go on. We have the perfect opportunity here to make this right.”

Jen?
Molly edged back, reluctant to intrude.

Wyatt was still talking. “I've done every single thing you've asked. There's only so long I can keep this up.”

Seconds passed, then: “I'm not threatening you. But it's been a year.”

A moment later, he hung up.
Très mystérieux.
Tension barreled off him, and she had a sudden urge to touch the back of his neck, massage out the stress that phone call had put there.

With a rather clichéd interrupting cough, she made her presence known. He turned and
whoa
. Across his vast chest, a blue, red, and white target stretched taut, the logo for the Who. Butter-soft jeans clung fondly to his thick thighs. And she'd thought the vista from the back was spectacular.

“Just headed to . . .” She waved to some point above their heads.

His expression turned a few notches up on the broody scale, and wordlessly he stepped back, creating a (too) wide space for her to pass on by. Given what had happened in the garage, that distance was probably not the worst idea.

A few minutes later, Molly emerged into the yard to find that the woman of the hour had just arrived and now stood hand in hand with one of the handsomest men Molly had ever seen. Apparently the Dempseys had some sort of monopoly on sex gods, both in house and out. All this hotness concentrated in one small area? Surely there was a disturbance in the world's gravitational pull.

Alex Dempsey was even more of a knockout in person, Wonder Woman herself in the flesh with smooth olive skin and a riot of gorgeous copper-streaked dark hair. For a woman who supposedly wore her emotions on her sleeve and then liked to brag about the soiled shirt, she was remarkably unreadable as Molly approached. There was
one, two, three
seconds of slice-through-butter tension where the entire gathering seemed to hold a collective breath.

“Looks like we've got Hollywood royalty in the house,” Alex said, a luminous grin breaking wide. “Has Gage finagled his way into the movie yet?”

“I was going to wait until my Gage-a-ritas got her good 'n' sloppy,” Gage called out from his spot at the grill. “I know there's a walk-on part with my name on it.”

“Hi,” Molly said, sticking her hand out straight to mask its slight shake. She'd met actual royal personages; she'd lunched with Meryl Streep, for heaven's sake. Yet meeting this woman she admired so much was more nerve-racking than her first screen test.

Alex narrowed moss-green eyes at Molly's hand, ignored it, and went in for the hug. A tight, bone-crushing,
you're my new best friend
hug. “Shit, you are tiny. You planning to bulk up before the shoot?”

Molly loosed a breath of relief. “We'll CGI in some muscle.”

“The hair, too? Eli would never forgive you if you didn't get the hair right. He's obsessed with these handfuls of sin.” Alex winked at Molly over Eli's grunt of discontent. Definitely not the male reaction she was used to, which made her appreciate his attitude all the more. He was worried about Alex, and his obvious love for her refused to be diminished in the face of a Hollywood smile.

Alex hadn't agreed to Molly's as-yet-unspoken pitch, but her reaction so far definitely boded well.

“Eli, be nice to our guest,” Alex said to her scowly-faced man. “Or I'll take back my yes.” She held up her left hand, its fourth finger twinkling with a pink diamond ring, and displayed it HSN-style to the group. “Look what happened to me last night, family unit.”

Kinsey and Darcy screamed, and even Molly found herself going a bit gaga. Love was in bloom and that was always a reason to turn into a squealing imbecile. Alex recounted the proposal, something about a domed platter at a restaurant and a letter on a legal scroll, and it all sounded like the stuff movies were made of. As if these two could get any more cinematic. Eli watched his fiancée like she was more precious to him than a million of those diamonds on her hand.

He'd be a tough nut to crack, but Molly was used to hard-asses.
Prepare to be charmed, Mr. Mayor.

 CHAPTER FIVE

S
o that was it. Another one of Wyatt's sibs officially shackled. Not that there had ever been any doubt about the direction Alex and Eli were heading. The guy was nuts about her, had been from the minute he laid eyes on her, and not even a punch in the face from Wyatt stopped him from going after what he wanted. Wyatt couldn't help his admiration for that. And the ice-pick gaze Eli was laying on Molly said it all—he'd protect Alex with his dying breath.

While the ladies went into nuclear meltdown over Alex's ring, Wyatt handed a beer to Eli, and they both stepped out of the fray. After a couple of drafts, Eli spoke.

“Want to tell me why I'm in such esteemed company?”

“Had no idea you thought so highly of me.”

Eli snorted a laugh that didn't quite make it. “So what's going on here, Fox?”

“Gage.”

That earned Wyatt the Cooper side-eye. “Yeah. Gage.”

It was admittedly weak. Technically, Gage had invited her, but Wyatt had set this mess in motion when he stepped up and took that job. He'd convinced himself he was doing it to keep Molly on a leash (so
not
the time to be thinking of that harness). Bullshit. He'd wanted to see her again. He'd put his own desires before the needs of the family—of Roni—and now that lapse in judgment was coming back to bite him.

“Not sure this will help your case,” Eli said.

As the only person who knew about the shit pool Wyatt was currently wading through, Eli had made a good sounding board the last few months. Keeping Roni under wraps had weighed on him, but Eli never judged. Just stowed it in the vault, assuring Wyatt that his position was weak. That, for the moment, he was playing his cards right.

“Alex wants to say yes to the movie,” Wyatt said.

“She does.” Eli grimaced. “And if it's what she wants, I can't stop her. But you could if you came clean about the real reason why this is a bad idea.”

Keeping secrets was not Wyatt's natural inclination—he didn't have Eli's sneaky dexterity in moral gray areas—but locking down his emotions was definitely in Wyatt's wheelhouse. He had always operated at a slight remove from the rest of them, the Dempsey least likely to fit the mold. This little white lie was merely an extension of his characteristic reserve. He was the least excitable of them all, and cool heads were a necessity right now.

Whether they'd see it that way was another story.

Wyatt's greedy gaze found Molly again, ostensibly to check in on how she was doing. She'd looked pretty surprised at Alex's reaction, which had been both typical Alex and wholly unexpected. The one thing Wyatt could say with certainty is that his sister was predictably unpredictable. Now Molly was chatting easily with everyone, charming their flip-flops off. Even Luke seemed to be on board, if that deep, bass laugh was anything to go by. His brother had always been the family bellwether. So Luke goes, so go the Dempseys.

“But aside from the obvious,” Eli murmured, “it looks like you have another problem on your hands.”

Wyatt waited a beat. Then another.

“Guess all those dates Gage used to set you up on were missing one thing.”

“What's that, then?”

“Molly Cade.”

Cheeks warming, Wyatt took a slug of his Coke while Eli chuckled evilly. So, his attraction was obvious. To look at her was to want her.

He wasn't evolved enough to react to Eli's observation with grace, so he simply muttered, “Shut the fuck up, Cooper.”