Where There's Smoke
| Where There's Smoke | |
| M. J. Fredrick | |
| Champagne Rose (2008) | |
| Rating: | **** |
| Tags: | Contemporary |
Is there such a thing as being too close, knowing each other too well? Lauren Stokes put a lid on her attraction toward her best friend Seth Escamilla years ago. She'd never be his type of woman, so why torture herself? When sexual awareness strikes during a friendly football game, she's stunned. He's guilty for injuring her and looks after her, but Lauren resorts to wisecracking to distance herself from him. Seth's confused by the new emotions swamping him. This is Lauren, his best friend, someone he has fun with, not someone he has fun with! He doesn't plan to settle down, and he won't risk their friendship when they have no future. They resist the new attraction, and the efforts of their families to push them together. When a wedding loosens their inhibitions, keeping the new aspect of their relationship a secret is harder than they would have thought.
The Wild Rose Press
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Copyright ©2007 by mary Fechter
Seth heard shuffling and the knob rattled. He took that as an invitation and opened the door. All he could think then was this invitation wasn't what he'd expected. Lauren stood frozen, her eyes huge with shock, in a white tank top kind of thing with some lace over breasts he'd never let himself notice. And she wore these bottoms that looked kind of like running shorts, only lighter, and whiter. And clingier. And—girly.
Man. Since when had her legs gone all the way up to her ears anyway? They were so shapely and white, except for her poor swollen knee, puckered from the too-tight bandage.
He pulled his tongue back in and cleared his throat.
"Go ahead and sit down and I'll wrap it before you get dressed."
She sat, still silent, on the closed toilet and Seth knelt at her feet. If he'd been wearing a collar he'd be tugging at it. He found it suddenly difficult to swallow in the steamy room, scented with flowery shampoo. Now he needed to touch that soft lovely skin. Lauren's skin.
Lauren. His best friend. He cleared his throat again, shifted his weight to alleviate some of the pressure building in his lower body, and reached for the bandage. He was careful to keep his eyes on her knee, to think of her as a patient, even though he wanted to see how the damp air of the bathroom made her top cling to her—top.
No, no, no. This was Lauren. Careful not to touch her, he started wrapping her knee. His fingertips brushed her skin and both of them jumped. She made a little noise, an “Oh!” and Seth looked up into her face.
Mistake.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Where There's Smoke
COPYRIGHT ©
2007 by Mary Fechter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tamra Westberry
The Wild Rose Press
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Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2008
Print ISBN 1-60154-206-2
To Gigi, who always knew this day would come.
Lauren Stokes raced down the stairs as fast as she could without tripping over her own feet. Her heart slammed against her ribs, warning her if she wasn't fast enough it planned to escape without her. Short rapid breaths left her mouth bone-dry. She sensed her pursuer closing, so close she heard his heartbeat, felt the brush of fingertips along her shoulder.
She pushed harder, the choice between capture and a fall down the stairs being one of survival. The staircase she'd descended for years became dark and unfamiliar, her vision tunneling on the steps ahead. At the bend in the staircase Lauren vaulted over the rail and into a living room full of men riveted to the football game on TV. The men shouted in protest and she panted apologies, racing past the big screen and launching over the back of the couch, determined to reach the back door and safety.
The door was bolted—she'd never known it to be so in the middle of the day. Trapped! Wildly, she cast a glance at the closed door. Did she dare face what was on the other side, or the man chasing her?
Raising her hands in surrender, she turned to her best friend, who barely breathed hard despite the pursuit. Dark eyes glinted in triumph, and she nudged just a little farther into the corner. “Seriously, Seth, you don't want me on your team. I stink at football."
"Doesn't matter. It's a Thanksgiving tradition. And you lost the bet."
Seth caught her around the waist and flung her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. His muscular shoulder jabbed into her middle, knocking out her breath with an
oof
. Since shouting wasn't an option, she pounded his back over the sound of her mother's voice from the now-open kitchen door.
"Lauren! You get down from there! For God's sake, you're twenty-six years old!"
Disbelief, and her upside down position, had her choking.
"Sorry, Mrs. Stokes, Lauren has a bet to settle,” Seth Escamilla said, and Lauren could just imagine the grin that had every female in San Antonio melting at his feet. “Ooh, watch the feet there, Lauren."
"Ugh! I'd rather cook than play football!” Lauren grunted as he carried her out the front door.
"Then you shouldn't have bet you could beat me on the PlayStation. You should know I'm the champ.” He set her down and slapped her butt. “You're on Rey's team."
Great. Bad enough she'd been chased through the house, been yelled at, then dragged out to play a sport she loathed, but he'd compounded it all by foisting her off on his brother's team. Rey always lost. That knowledge didn't stop her from making the claim, “We'll win."
He edged closer and squared his shoulders in some kind of macho swagger. Dark eyes sparked as he met the challenge. “What do you want to bet?"
She lifted her chin. “If my team wins, I get to go on a ride-along."
"Geez, again? How many ride-alongs can you go on before it gets boring?"
"I don't know. Are you bored yet?"
He stepped closer. The light sheen of sweat on his skin, the scent of him—like autumn leaves and woodsmoke—sent an unsettling tickle through her. She'd learned long ago to bottle such reactions to Seth Escamilla. The only way to stay friends was to pretend he wasn't the best looking guy she'd ever seen. It worked. Most of the time.
"No, but see, I get to go in and fight the fires. You,” he poked her in the chest, “get to sit on the truck with the dog."
The tickle mellowed to a, not-unpleasant buzz low in her belly. She knew that buzz, had felt it many times recently. Lately, just watching a Brad Pitt movie did it. So no surprise a look from Seth would too. He was male, after all.
But she moved away on the off chance he could hear that buzz, and talked over it. “Still, it's what I want."
"All right. If my team wins, you come to Sierra Cliffs next Friday night and sing with the band."
She twisted her hair back and secured it with a plastic clip, using the action as an excuse to move away, regain her senses. “Oh, Seth, you really don't want me up there with a microphone in front of all those nice people, do you? I could tell stories that would have your groupies scattering."
"Then please lose,” he said with a grin.
She scowled and marched over to Rey's defensive line. She crouched at the end, as far from the football as possible, then bared her teeth at Seth, who flashed a grin. He took the snap, running back and inspecting his team for an open man as Rey bore down. Lauren thought she could handle blocking Seth's eight-year-old nephew Beto, but she was wrong. The little guy proved to be fast and slippery, and Lauren scrambled after him, her sneakers skidding in the grass.
A shout made her turn to see the ball hurtling toward her head. She threw her hands up and intercepted it, almost accidentally. She barely had a moment to exalt in triumph before someone plowed into her middle and tossed her on the damp ground, knocking her breath out and pinning her down. After her head cleared, she opened her eyes to Seth's smirking face, and his full weight along the length of her body.
"You didn't tell me it was tackle football,” she gasped, pushing at his chest. Damn, the man was solid and warm, not an ounce of fat. All that maleness pressed against some long denied parts of her body in an interesting way. Was that a flicker of something—realization she was a girl, maybe—in those eyes? The emotion disappeared fast and he took his sweet time getting up, sliding his body down her legs.
The buzz heightened for a minute, only to be drowned out by the pain coursing up from her knee, which was turned at an awkward angle beneath her. She dropped her head back, wincing as the hair clip pinched her scalp, and stared up at the bare branches waving against the sky. “I think I just got excused from dish duty."
Seth cradled her against his chest, careful not to jostle her leg as he carried her back into the house. Her body, which had been so soft on the ground under him now tensed with pain.
Pain he had caused.
He chased everyone off the couch and gently lowered her, unhooking her hands from the back of his neck with some reluctance. He straightened her leg, then shouted for Beto to bring an ice pack and a pair of scissors.
She rose up on her elbow at his last request. “Scissors?"
"If it's your knee, you don't want me taking off your pants.” Horror flashed across her face so he added, “The pain. These jeans are a little snug."
"No they aren't!” She tugged at the waistband. “Plenty of room for turkey! It's probably just a sprain. Just a sprain!” she said louder when Beto returned carrying scissors. She grabbed Seth's wrist in protest, inadvertently pressing his hand down on her knee; her eyes rolled back in pain. But when she caught her breath, she reiterated her plea. “Not my jeans. Please, Seth, I just got these the way I like them."
"I'll buy you another pair,” he promised, and she closed her eyes as the scissors ripped through denim. The fabric fell apart to reveal her knee, approximately the size of a grapefruit and still swelling. “Wow."
"Wow? What wow?” Lauren curled up to see, and everyone who'd gathered around the couch leaned forward before Seth waved them off. He eased her back with a hand to her chest and gingerly probed the smooth flesh around her knee. She sucked in a breath, and the sound went straight to his guilt. Dislocated, and he'd done it.
"Mom, bring me some Advil, or whatever's the strongest. Maybe we'd better call an ambulance.” He said that last more to himself then looked to his father for a second opinion. His dad worked as an EMT at the same firehouse, and though Seth was EMT trained, he didn't have the years of experience.
Lauren again propped up on her elbow, but Seth saw the beads of sweat on her forehead. “No way, Seth. I do not want to go to the ER on Thanksgiving. You broke it, you fix it."
He hated to see her suffer, but knew his training wouldn't be enough to help her. “I'm not a doctor, Lauren. There could be some ligament damage."
"I don't want to go to the hospital.” Her voice rose in desperation. “Fix it."
He couldn't blame her for wanting to skip the ER. And even though both his dad and hers, the fire captain, were better qualified to treat her, he was the best to bully her. He used that excuse to avoid giving over the responsibility. “Dad, get her foot. Mitch, hold her still.” Her father gave Seth a look of trepidation before pressing Lauren's shoulders deep into the couch. Seth's father took her feet. Seth looked from one man to the other. “Ready, on three. One...” And he popped her knee back in place.