The Valentine’s Day Disaster (8 page)

“I’ve only been living here four months,” she said defensively.

“No judgment. Do you have your cell phone on you? We can use that for light. I left mine in my car.”

“Mine’s in my purse. In your car.”

“No worries,” he said. “Tornadoes don’t last long.”

His foot contacted with the bench and his knee brushed against hers. She sucked in her breath and quickly moved her knee. He sank down onto the seat beside her, heard her shifting around in the darkness.

The room was tiny, designed for six ­people max, and that was only if they were smashed in tight. It was pretty damn cozy with just the two of them, and he couldn’t say he really minded being down here with her, concerns about the storm aside.

The siren’s scream was muffled; it seemed far away, in another land, another time. The roar of the wind rushing above them was far away too. They were in here together. They couldn’t be harmed.

Her hand touched his in the dark; a small, delicate hand; the first hand he’d ever held as a lover, and her warm fingers curled around his palm. He closed his hand around hers, squeezed it gently.

She sighed lightly and rested her head against his shoulder.

Josh felt the moment deep inside him, not just physically, but emotionally and, yeah, damn, he was just going to admit it, spiritually. The expanding energy flooded his body, heated his pores, whooshed through his bloodstream. It fueled his cells, glands, sinew, and bones, zipping and zooming, gathering speed until it crashed with a halting shudder squarely in the middle of his chest.

She was his first love, and he wanted her to be his last, and there was no one else he’d rather be hunkered in a storm shelter with on Valentine’s Day than Sesty.

H
IS LIPS FOUND
hers, sonar in the darkness.

Hard. His kiss was hard and so was his body.

Their breaths mingled. Warm plus warm equaled blistering. His hands came up to cup her face. Rough calluses stroked the soft skin of her cheeks, and he tilted her head, giving him deeper access.

She inhaled sharply, drawing in his scent, enriching the taste of him on her tongue and spurring a rash of goose bumps breaking out across her chest.

He made a gruff male noise, half grunt, half groan, causing her pulse to dash so fast she grew dizzy. Good thing he was wrapping those muscular biceps around her. Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing because now any resistance she might have been able to muster was crushed.

All she wanted to do was let go and
feel.

This moment. This man. This magnificence.

He drew her into his lap and she didn’t even whimper a protest. What was there to protest? Being here together seemed fated, and she wanted him. Wanted him more than she wanted to breathe.

So let him know.

She raised her hands. She couldn’t see a thing, but she didn’t need to. His body was familiar territory and she’d explored it before.

But as she ran her hands around the back of his neck, searching the provocative terrain, her seeking fingers discovered fresh landmarks—­a ridge of a scar at the base of his nape, bulkier muscles bunching beneath her touch, shoulder blades once thin and sharp, now thicker, more solid.

He was changed and the familiar was suddenly foreign.

Her butt was planted across hard, broad thighs and she could feel the strain of denim over his erection. Her fingers played in his hair, ah, something that hadn’t changed, the shape of his head. Here, she knew him.

Lightly, he bit her bottom lip with the nip of his teeth and her whole body went pliant, hot and wet with perspiration and need. Everywhere his fingers touched, her skin burst into little flames.

Her eyes were open but the blackness in the cellar was absolute. She might as well have had her eyes squeezed tightly closed.

He was panting, but so was she. Even so, he kept kissing her, his tongue invading her—­hallelujah—­aggressively masculine and fully in control. If he drove like he kissed, look out Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

Her nipples turned to pebbles inside her bra and a moan leaked from her lungs.

His arm tightened around her waist, holding her captive, but she was no prisoner, and she wasn’t going anywhere, storm or no storm.

A deep, overwhelming ache lodged between her legs, and she wanted him, oh how she wanted him. But this wasn’t how she’d pictured their reunion. Okay, yes, dammit, ever since he’d rocketed back into town, she’d been fantasizing about this happening in a soft bed with pillows, fresh sheets, and mood music.

She wrenched her mouth from his, broke the kiss.

“What is it?” he gasped.

“Josh, I—­”

“I want you, Sesty, and I thought you wanted me too, even though you said you didn’t, the looks you gave, the way you kissed me . . . did I read the messages wrong? Please don’t tell me I read misread the signals, because—­”

“You didn’t misread the signals,” she admitted. “I want you too.”

“Okay.” His breath was raspy. “What’s the problem?”

“I wanted it to be perfect. Not some tornado-­fueled lust-­fest in a storm cellar.”

“There you go with perfection again. Life isn’t perfect, Ses. It’s messy and complicated and sprawling. If you’re gonna take the ride, you’ve got to expect some potholes and sharp curves and loose stuff on the apron.”

“What?”

“Race term, means debris on the unpaved portion of the track, but never mind that. The point I’m trying to make is that smooth rides are boring as hell. If everything is perfect and you know what’s up ahead, then where’s the excitement, where’s the adventure?”

She plucked at the collar of his shirt, feeling the tension in his body. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“That I won’t be very good. I’m not . . . I haven’t had a lot of lovers.”

“I thought you had scads.”

“I lied. You’re used to sophisticated women who know things.”

“You know things.”

“Not bedroom things.”

“You know more than you think.” He nuzzled her neck. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine together.”

“And if we’re not?”

“Practice makes perfect.” He chuckled. “So we’ll just have to keep trying.”

“But—­”

“Hush,” he said gently. “What else are you afraid of?”

“Who says I’m afraid of anything else?”

“Your tight muscles.”

She took a deep breath of this hair. It smelled so good.

“Sesty . . .”

“I’m afraid . . .” She cleared her throat. “. . . we’ll flame out.”

“Whenever you take a chance on something there’s always the risk it won’t work out.” He sounded so matter of fact, as if it were easy to clean up the mess after a spill.

“Like you and Miley?”

“And you and Chad.”

“Not like me and Chad, we were barely a thing. Just getting started. He made me mad more than anything else.”

He didn’t say anything about how much Miley had hurt him. That probably meant his ex had scarred him deeply. They had been engaged, after all. Sesty swallowed and tried not to think about that.

“You and me, we got started from our first date, remember?” Josh said.

“How could I forget? Picnic on the old suspension bridge. You brought my favorite snack cake.”

“They were my favorite too.”

She sighed.

“What is it?” he wheedled softly.

“I just keep thinking that if I’d done things differently, been better, worked harder, then you and I, we . . .”

“What? That we would have lasted?”

“Yes,” she admitted in a small voice.

“Don’t put that on yourself. We were young. Still kids.”

“But I loved you so much back then.”

He squeezed her tighter. “It was a tough time, yeah. But you had college and I had a dream. Our parents were against getting together. I was reckless, and as my grandfather liked to say, full of piss and vinegar, and when it all came to a head and you told me it was over, my heart shattered like glass. But you know, I learned a lot and grew up and now I’m back and we want each other as much now as we did then. Hell, even more. I want you more.”

“Your heart shattered?”

“Like a windshield hitting a wall at ninety miles an hour.”

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll break it again?”

“Absolutely, but you gotta risk failure to reap the rewards.”

“So you keep saying.”

“You think too much,” he said, and burned a kiss along her jaw. “Always have.”

“But I want to do this right. I don’t want to screw it up this time. I want to be—­”

“If you say perfect, I’m calling the whole thing off,” he threatened.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Seconds ticked by, but he never loosened his grip on her.

“You’re not going to say it?” he asked.

She shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

“Do you want to do this? Here? Now? You’ve got to say it.”

“I want you,” she whispered, “but we don’t have any protection. And that’s one part of perfect I can’t let go of.”

“Honey,” he said, “there’s a condom in my wallet in my back pocket. Sex is one place where you should leave the perfection to me.”

“That sounds kind of braggy.”

“Just stating the facts.” He was touching her in places that instantly set her ablaze. His fingertips were hot as bottled lightning. Lust fired between her legs and she surrendered. Gave up perfection. Let go of control. Let him take the wheel.

When his hands slipped between her thighs, she parted her legs and allowed him in. Their joining was sweet reunion, a fierce homecoming, vibrant sex more wonderful than ever the second time around.

He whispered her name. Once. Twice. A dozen times.

They melted into each other, their vision lost. But they didn’t need to see. They knew each other so well, by touch and taste, smell and sound.

He rocked into her and she made a soft noise of pleasure, clung tightly to his neck. His fingers knotted in her hair, his energy blazing as ferociously as her own.

While this joining might be imperfect. No freshly showered bodies. No soft bed. No candles. No music besides the drumming of rain on the cellar door.

It was indeed the perfect anti–Valentine’s Day.

Chapter Eight

“
W
OW.”
J
OSH BREAT
HED
into the darkness, Sesty tucked beside him as they lay on their backs on the hard plastic bench seating. “That was . . . Wow.”

“Did I . . . was it . . . okay?” she asked, sounding so nervous that he almost laughed out loud instead of just grinning like a fool in the darkness.

“Okay? Okay? Hell no, it wasn’t okay.”

“I’m so sorry—­”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, and hauled her onto this bare chest. “It was the best sex of my life, bar none.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”

“Woman, are you that blind?” he growled.

“Well, it
is
kind of dark in here.”

Her anxiety about her performance was endearing, but then a panicked thought occurred to him. What if it had been bad for
her
? “You had a good time, right?”

“You blew my mind.”

He hugged her tight, kissed the tip of her nose. She felt so warm and real. This. This right here was what had been missing from his life. A dream come true. She lowered her head, rested her cheek against his heart. The world felt full of possibilities.

But Miley had done a number on his heart and he wasn’t sure he could trust his feelings. Maybe sex with Sesty had been so great simply because she was so familiar, part of his past, the comforts of coming home. Could she also be part of his future?

He wanted that, more than he could say, but were these feelings real? Could he trust them? Was she feeling for him what he was feeling for her? What if she wasn’t?

Where did they go from here?

Idly, she twirled an index finger through his chest hairs, sighed sweetly, and he was seventeen all over and in love for the first and only time.

And then, to keep from thinking too much, he made love to her again, taking possession of her sweet body, slipping into her welcoming warmth, sliding home. Ah, traction—­what every driver yearned for.

Except along with traction came commitment. Once you were in, you were committed. Yeah, well, maybe it was time he committed to something besides racing.

Half an hour later she was curled into his lap, his head propped against the wall. She’d blown his gaskets.

“Do you think the storm has passed?” she whispered.

“The one outside or the one in here?”

She giggled and rubbed her nose against the underside of his chin. What a great sound!

“Let’s listen,” he said.

For a long moment they lay there listening and absorbing each other’s body heat.

“I don’t hear anything,” she ventured.

“Me either.”

“What time is it, do you suppose?”

He had no idea. It might have been minutes since they came into the cellar, or it could have been hours. He’d been so into her nothing else registered.

She sat up. “Should we go investigate?”

He wanted to say no. Wanted to stay here with her until the end of time. Just the two of them making love forever and ever.

“I suppose,” he murmured.

“It’s going to be a chore finding our clothes in the dark.”

“Good thing it’s a small space.”

Several minutes later they located their clothing, got dressed, and headed up the steps, Josh leading the way as he held Sesty’s hand tightly. He hated the idea of letting go of her.

He opened the cellar door hatch and a brittle damp wind slapped him in the face. Immediately, he drew Sesty to his side, tucking her against his body to shield her from the cold.

It was almost as black outside the cellar as it had been beneath the earth. The streetlights had gone out and the houses were dark, but overhead a sprinkling of stars glittered through the parting clouds.

Sounds of swift water swelled throughout the night. Sesty’s neighborhood was in a low spot, and flash flooding from the river tributary that fed into Sweetheart Park was a real possibility. How much rain had they gotten?

“Listen,” she said, and put a hand to his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”

He cocked his head, strained to hear above the rushing water. Faintly, hoarsely, he could hear a woman calling for help.

Sesty gripped his bicep. “Josh, someone is in trouble.”

T
HEY DROV
E TO
the low water crossing near Sweetheart Park, the headlights of Josh’s Camaro picking up the reflection of a white sedan stranded in the middle of the crossing. Only the roof of the sedan was visible above the swirling current. And sitting on that sparse piece of roof, inches from being swept away in the water, huddled a young woman.

The woman saw them, rose to her feet, waving her arms over her head. “Help! Help!”

Sesty clasped a hand to her throat. “Oh my God, it’s Jana.”

As they watched, stunned, the current picked up the car and swirled it around like it was a leaf. Jana staggered, fell to her knees, pure terror on her face.

“Josh, Jana can’t swim!”

“Call 911,” he yelled, and jumped from the Camaro that he’d parked on the rise above the water.

She tumbled out of the car too, her heart taking the express elevator to her throat.

With trembling fingers it took her three tries to successfully get 911 punched into her cell phone between frightened peeks at the drama playing out a few yards away.

Jana clung to the roof, the sedan caught in a perverse ballet.

Josh kicked off his shoes at the water’s edge. He was going in.

“Don’t!” Sesty cried, but she knew she could not stop him. “Wait for backup,” she added in a useless whisper.

He dove into the icy water, and the harsh
splat
his body made hitting the surface drove a physical pain into the dead center of her gut. She heard him grunt out loud.

The white sedan pitched again, dumping Jana into the water as she let out an abbreviated scream. Josh battled the current, struggling to reach her.

Sesty hopped up and down. The current was too swift! They were both going to drown right before her eyes.
No, no, please God, please God, no!

A wail of sirens cut the air.

Help was on the way.

But too late?

Jana had disappeared from view. And Josh? He plunged beneath the surface where Sesty had last seen her assistant.

She chewed her fingernails, searching the black water for any sign of them in the headlight beams, and counted off the seconds—­one, one thousand, two, one thousand. It felt like a year.

In a stream of strobe lights, fire trucks and ambulances blasted to a halt behind the Camaro. Instantly, firemen flowed around her, just as Josh broke the surface of the water, Jana clutched in his arms.

O
NCE HIS FEET
touched the ground, Josh’s throbbing knee would not support him. He stumbled with Jana in his arms, pitched forward. A fireman took the terrified girl from him and Josh slumped sideways in the water, the wrenching pain in his knee setting his nerve endings on fire.

He’d known the second he hit the water that the impact reinjured his healing knee, but the adrenaline pumping through his body prevented him from thinking about it.

Until now.

Two firemen had hold of him and were dragging him to an awaiting ambulance. Sesty hovered behind them, her face sickly pale.

“How’s Jana?” he croaked.

“Looks like she has hypothermia,” said one of the firemen. “She was on top of the car for over an hour in freezing weather and then in the water. It was damn foolish, jumping into a raging current like that, but if you hadn’t . . .” He shook his head.

Josh winced when the firemen boosted him into the ambulance. Winced again when the awaiting paramedic guided him to lie down on the stretcher.

“You’re hurt!” Sesty exclaimed climbing up beside.

“Ma’am, please get down,” the paramedic said gruffly.

“It’s okay,” Josh said. “She’s with me.”

“Don’t get in the way,” the paramedic cautioned her, and reached for a blood pressure cuff.

It was only then that Josh realized his body was shaking so hard the paramedic could hardly get the cuff wrapped around his arm.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sesty asked the medic, anxiety twisting her pretty face into a mask of worry.

“Hypothermia is a concern. We’ll know more when we get him to the hospital.”

He must have dozed off, Josh realized, because the next thing he knew he was in the emergency room. His soaking wet clothes had been stripped off of him and a pile of heated blankets stacked atop him. Sesty stood at his side, holding his hand.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You blacked out there for a while. They said it’s not uncommon in cases of hypothermia.”

“Jana?”

“She’s going to be okay. You saved her life, Josh. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m so glad you’re a daredevil. Given the circumstances, most ­people would not have jumped into that water to save her.”

“I just acted on instinct. Didn’t give it a thought.”

Sesty squeezed his hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” He reached over to wipe a tear from her eye, and his knee kicked up a protest. He fell back against the pillow. Dammit.

“I’m just relieved you’re okay.”

“Did you hear anything about the tornado?” he asked, changing the subject, unable to look at her misty eyes or, hell, he might get choked up himself. “How much damage was done?”

“We were lucky,” she said. “A weak tornado touched down on ranchland north of town. Twilight had some trees knocked down from high winds and the flash flooding, but beyond you and Jana, nobody was hurt and property damage was minimal.”

A technician in blue scrubs pulled back the curtain separating him from the other bays. Behind the woman loomed a portable X-­ray machine that he recognized on sight. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d been in more hospital emergency rooms than he could count.

“I’m here to X-­ray your knee,” the technician said.

“I’ll be back.” Sesty let go of his hand and moved away with a smile that sent his stomach crawling up inside his chest. “I’m going to check on Jana. She doesn’t have any family here.”

Neither do I
, he wanted to say, but didn’t.

The technician X-­rayed his knee and departed. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering just how badly he’d screwed himself up this time and imagined what the owner of his NASCAR would say to more delay in him getting back on his feet. He wasn’t the owner’s only driver of course, but he was primary.

Was
.

The longer he was out, the more difficult it was going to be to return.

While he’d been longing for more than life on the road, aching for something substantial, he wasn’t sure he was truly ready to hang up his driving gloves. But the decision might have already been taken out of his hands.

The curtain parted again. This time it was a petite, cocoa-­skinned, raven-­haired woman in green scrubs and a white lab coat with
Dr. Singh
embroidered across the left front pocket. Sesty was behind her.

The doctor introduced herself and then said, “I have reviewed your X ray. You have reinjured your knee.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that. How bad is it?”

“You are back at square one on your recovery.” The doctor shook her head.

“Kind of figured that too.”

“You will have to wear a knee brace for several weeks. I want to hold you overnight for observation and to have the brace fitted,” Dr. Singh said. “I’ll have a nurse wheel you up to a room.”

“Can I stay with him?” Sesty asked the doctor.

“Are you family?” Dr. Singh asked.

“No, but he doesn’t have any family in town.”

Josh touched her forearm. “I’ll be fine on my own. You have to get ready for the bachelor auction tomorrow. Go home and try to get some sleep.”

“To hell with the auction,” Sesty declared. “You come first.”

He knew how much it meant to her that the auction to go off without a hitch. “I’m not arguing with you about this. Go. Take care of business.”

“You
are
my business. You saved my assistant’s life tonight.”

“All the more reason for you to go. Jana won’t be there to help you run the event.”

“I’ll call off the auction.”

“And disappoint Holly’s House? No way.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She knew he was right. “Is this what we get for blowing raspberries at Valentine’s Day? Cupid exacts a mean revenge. Even if I do manage to pull off this auction, what good is it without our most eligible bachelor?”

“Hey, Doc.” Josh shifted his gaze back to the doctor. “Once I have a brace on, is there any reason I can’t walk up on stage at the bachelor auction tomorrow afternoon?”

Dr. Singh pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “How long will you be standing?”

“Ten minutes tops,” he vowed. “I’ll sit for the rest of the event.”

The doctor shook a chiding finger. “Ten minutes and not a second more.”

He beamed at Sesty. “See? Everything will be fine.”

“Seriously, Josh,” Sesty protested. “I don’t want you to risk it. We’ll be fine without you.”

“But then, your auction wouldn’t be perfect with only eleven bachelors.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Who cares about perfection?”

“You do.”

“A wise man once told me there’s no such thing as perfection, so why set myself up for failure?”

“I’m going to be there,” he insisted. “Count on it.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No. Not at the expense of your health, and besides, it won’t be perfect anyway with you in a brace.”

“Afraid a bum knee will bump down my asking price like a dented showroom appliance?” he teased.

“I’m afraid you’ll make things worse by pushing yourself too hard too soon. This is your career we’re talking about. If your knee doesn’t heal properly, your NASCAR days could be over.”

Good point.

Dr. Singh folded her arms over her chest and gave them an I-­don’t-­have-­time-­for-­this look. “Why don’t you both get a good night’s rest and discuss it in the morning?”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Sesty said.