Fire & Desire (Hero Series) Read online

  Clearing her throat, she finally said, “The ice is in the freezer. I hope there’s enough for your final act.” She hoped she did not sound like she was rambling.

  He made no move toward the refrigerator. “So what were you thinking about?”

  She fought between wanting to drop the glass at his question and squeezing it until it shattered in her hand. How do you tell a man you were thinking about your body’s reaction to him?

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  “I know what you were thinking about.” A self-assured smile decorated his mouth.

  “Now, how would you know that? Are you a mind reader as well?” She was surprised she was able to keep her words on an even note.

  “No.”

  How could one word be so seductive, Tiffany questioned silently.

  “Maybe I was just hoping you were thinking about the same thing I can’t get off my mind,” he said, warm and inviting.

  Mysterious eyes met curious ones.

  “And what’s that?” She felt breathless.

  “How your body felt next to mine.” His eyes issued a challenge to hers.

  She opened her mouth to deny it.

  His finger outlining her lips halted her words.

  “God, you have the sexiest mouth.” His finger traced her lips. “It blows my mind the things I can imagine you doing with it.”

  What? she thought.

  As if he heard the question, he placed his lips next to her ear as before. “You taking me into it. I can almost feel it hot and wet around me.”

  At that moment, his words conjured up an image in her mind, and she could picture the same. It amazed her how she stood there allowing him to say such things to her. At any other time, she would’ve been insulted and pushed the guy away. Why not this man?

  The plane glided past gray clouds of night, a small patch of darkness showed through the small portal window, shocking Tiffany out of her thoughts about yesterday’s events. Taking a deep breath, she questioned herself again. Why not? She still had no answer. She pulled the shade down halfway, not wanting to see her reflection in the Plexiglas.

  Unable to stop her mind, she returned to her follies of the previous night. Nothing about

  that night had seemed real to her. Maybe because she couldn’t see his face or know his name, but the passionate bites she witnessed in the mirror on her neck were real. Her mind flashed back to the kitchen scene…

  His hands massaged her backside and held her firmly against his groin.

  “So soft.” Restrained passion was evident when he spoke.

  She stifled a moan, took a deep breath in an attempt to clear the haze of lust, telling herself that she had to end it. She couldn’t allow it to continue. With every intention of shoving him away, she placed her free hand against his chest. Too late, she realized it was the wrong move.

  The feel of his hard body under her fingertips and the desire to rub him overwhelmed her.

  Her hands itched for the pleasure of knowing what he felt like.

  “Touch me.” He trembled with expectation.

  Her breath caught as she struggled with warring needs.

  What she needed to push her over the edge must have been evident because, with his words, she could deny herself no more. She explored the territory at her disposal, pressed her hand flat against his body.

  He was solid as steel, smooth as butter and hot as a flame.

  She heard her own sighs of enjoyment answered by his groans.

  He became bolder with the confirmation. His hands stopped massaging her backside, moved down until they reached the hem of her skirt. His mouth continued to assault her neck, his fingers traced the edge of the material against her thigh, until they reached the inside. His hands trailed up past her thigh-highs to bare legs.

  The little voice of reason inside her head hushed. Her legs, not waiting for a command, parted of their own accord, allowing him access.

  He grabbed hold of her bottom once again, this time over her underwear.

  “Tsk, tsk. A woman as sexy as you should be wearing thongs.”

  She never thought of herself as sexy before, but standing in his arms was doing a good job of changing her perception of herself.

  “Take them off,” he commanded.

  She couldn’t believe her ears. A practical stranger was asking her to take off her underwear. She couldn’t do that—or could she?

  Tiffany shook her head at the thought she’d had last night, jolting herself out of the memories. She’d been hesitant about removing her panties, but had easily put aside all of her personal convictions and married him. The perilous situation she now found herself in was ten times worse than if she’d followed her desires earlier in the night and removed her underwear.

  Taking a loathsome breath, she returned to reminiscing about the erotic treat she couldn’t resist.

  No time to make a decision, there was a quick tug and the sound of something tearing.

  She felt cool air blowing past her heated most sensitive part, leaving no doubt of what he’d ripped.

  It was going too far, she knew it was time for her to stop this little interlude. As the hand against him started to push him away, one of his fingers slid between her folds and circled the crest of her desire. It took only a moment before her hand on his chest began to flex and knead his flesh instead of pushing him away. Her eyelids closed. Her lips parted to permit her inhalation. A soft burst of cool air entered her mouth and danced across her mouth.

  He growled, “Hmm, wet and stiff.” The same finger persisted to explore. “You’re so hot, I think you need cooling off.”

  Lost in a fog of pleasure. He sounded distant to her, and she couldn’t comprehend his words.

  There was a clinking sound, then the feel of something being inserted inside of her; it felt solid and cold—ice cold. The realization of what was happening made her eyes spring open widely.

  “What are you…?”

  She was unable to finish her words as he skillfully began to move the ice cube in and out of her woman’s center—she’d shivered with need. She rested her hand and head on his shoulder fearing her legs would no longer support her. Her other hand, still held the glass of water and the remainder of ice—minus one—tightened around the cylinder as the tension began to mount in her body.

  Tiffany’s heart fluttered as she recalled how close they had come to being caught when Josephine called from somewhere on the other side of the kitchen door…

  “Tiffany?”

  She lifted her head up and looked into her mystery man’s piercing eyes, with his constricted pupils— evidence he was as affected by watching her enjoyment.

  The clicking of Josephine’s shoes on the hardwood floor of the dining room indicated she was within a few feet of the door.

  As quick as a heartbeat, he gave her one last kiss on her neck and left with a flick of his cape. Gone in an instant the way he’d come.

  “Hey, Tiff. Why are you still in here? The entertainment should be beginning soon.”

  Josephine burst into the kitchen.

  Tiffany clamped her thighs tightly together, feeling insecure because she was standing there with crotchless underwear.

  “Water.” Tiffany turned toward the counter and looked over at Josephine. She could still remember the strange look that had crossed her face.

  As the fog lifted slowly from her mind, she realized how illiterate she sounded. She covered her error by tilting the glass up to her mouth for effect, giving herself a moment to put together at least an elementary sentence, she finally said, “I came to get some water.”

  “Well, come on, you don’t want to miss the remainder of the show. No telling what he’ll do next.”

  It was a good thing she hadn’t been drinking any of the water for real; otherwise, she might have choked. She needed to get her friend out of the kitchen before she embarrassed herself anymore than she already had. “Jo, could you please take the ice out for me? It’s in the free
zer, and I’ll be along in a moment.”

  “Sure thing.”

  It took forever for Josephine to remove the ice from the freezer and leave. As soon as the door swung shut behind her friend, Tiffany set the glass on the table and ran up the backstairs to her room. She prayed all the way that she wouldn’t see the “Black Knight.”

  Tiffany remembered making a conscious decision to get drunk with her friends when they went out to the casinos. She was normally the one counted on to watch out for everyone else and be the designated driver. She was faithful, trustworthy and responsible. Tiffany Selina was guaranteed to do the right thing.

  In one weekend, she’d put aside everything she believed in. Suddenly, she wanted to throw-up for the second time that morning.

  The incident in the kitchen was something she had never done before, but she could blame that on the heat of the moment. She reassured herself, borrowing the excuse she’d heard her friends use on occasion. Even with the marriage she could at least say she’d made a drunken mistake in the wee hours.

  The one thing she could not forgive herself for was the fact she had lost her virginity recklessly to a man she didn’t even know—let alone love.

  Three

  Six weeks later, Tiffany found herself, once again, in the middle of planning a wedding for a friend. Charmagne, the bride-to-be this time, was about to marry her college sweetheart, Charles, within a month.

  “Now about the bachelorette party, what do you want to do, Charmagne? Go on a relaxing get away at a spa resort, the country club, a girl’s night out…” Tiffany rattled off a few ideas.

  “I want that fire fighting Black Knight,” Charmagne said from the other end of the table.

  Josephine, at her left, said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope,” Charmagne responded.

  “But you passed out at Diane’s,” added Sonya from her seat to the right. “I could just imagine what’d happened if you’re center stage.”

  “I think it’s a good idea. I’m with you, Charmagne, girl,” said Karen, who sat between Josephine and Charmagne.

  “Any reason to party and you jump right in, don’t you, Karen?” Veronica commented from Charmagne’s left.

  “That’s right, I sure do, Veronica. If you’d been at Diane’s and seen that chocolate dream, you would, too.” Karen reached for a napkin on the table and used it to fan herself.

  “As long as there’s something hanging between their legs, that’s all you care about,” Veronica said, her disgust clear.

  “Well, what else is there, Miss Thing?” Karen looked across the table at Veronica.

  Josephine stood up. “Ladies, please! We aren’t getting anything accomplished. The wedding is in a few weeks, and I’m sure Tiffany didn’t bring us here to argue about the stripper.”

  She returned to her seat. “What are your thoughts on this, Tiffany?”

  Still struck speechless by Charmagne’s announcement, Tiffany had yet to render her opinion. Memories Tiffany still didn’t want to face had been evoked. She also felt Josephine knew what had happened that weekend, even though her best friend never questioned her.

  How do you tell your friends you don’t want super sexy Fireman to come because you’re married to him? She considered asking one of them if they knew how to get a quiet contested divorce.

  “Tiff…?” Josephine’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  Looking down the table at Charmagne, Tiffany decided to ask the safer question, “Why do you want to have a stripper at your party?”

  Charmagne glanced in Sonya’s direction and said, “For one, I would like to redeem myself.”

  “We’re all friends here, you don’t have to do something that terrifies you to prove anything to us.” Tiffany hoped to convince her against the idea.

  “I know that, but there’s another reason I want to do this,” Charmagne said meekly.

  “What other reason do you need, other than wanting to see a practically naked hunk of a man dancing for you?” Karen piped in.

  “Sex, sex, sex…Is that all you all ever think about?” Veronica’s face pinched with tension.

  “Well, maybe if you gave it up sometimes, you’d talk about it too.” Karen’s chest puffed up, almost spilling her breasts out of her low cut blouse.

  “You know what they say, ‘those who talk about it all the time don’t ever—’” Veronica began.

  “I get plenty—” Karen interrupted.

  “Can we please have one meeting without the two of you going at each other?” Tiffany shouted.

  The room went quiet for the second time that afternoon. This time, six pairs of eyes aimed directly at her—obviously shocked to hear her uncharacteristic intonation.

  She flushed with self-consciousness. She knew she was on edge, her nerves buzzing since the mystery man became the topic. “Sorry, but the bickering is getting us nowhere.”

  Her friends exchanged silent looks with one another. She chose to ignore the questioning eyes and got back to the topic at hand. “Now, what was your other reason, Charmagne?”

  “The thing is, Charles is the only man I’ve ever been with.” Flat open palms, Charmagne raised her hands boldly like two stop signs toward Karen, to forestall a comment. “And he’s the only man I intend to be with. So I guess I like the thought of having a fantasy man doing things to please me.” Charmagne cast her eyes down. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Tiffany asked.

  Charmagne raised her eyes toward Tiffany. “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll call Leslie Janis tomorrow and reserve a stripper.”

  “Tiffany, I don’t want just any stripper; I want our fireman,” Charmagne said with a hint of stubbornness.

  Tiffany exhaled a breath. Man, this is the last thing I need right now. “The Fireman it is.”

  Tiffany pasted on a smile for her friends, concealing her inner struggle.

  ~ML~

  I want our fireman. Those words continued to repeat themselves in Tiffany’s mind as she closed the door behind Josephine, the last of her friends to leave, and waved at Todd, the state trooper making his evening rounds. Tiffany didn’t know how she had made it through the last hour while she silently struggled with the thoughts of the leather-clad mystery man, who was actually her husband, yet, still a mystery to her.

  More than a month had passed since the last time she’d seen him. Her menstrual cycle had thankfully come and gone, letting her know a possible pregnancy was no longer an issue.

  Getting rid of a husband was one thing, but a child would have complicated things.

  She attempted to put the torrid memories out of her mind. She told herself she must’ve added too much Bacardi to the punch, not to mention what she was drinking when they went out.

  It was the only possible reason Tiffany Selina, the daughter of Governor Donald W. Selina, would allow what had happened that night in the kitchen and the remainder of the night to take place.

  Since her mother’s death twelve years ago, she’d become the consummate hostess. By age twenty-one, society had dubbed her “Miss Selina, Hostess Extraordinaire.”

  At an early age, she’d learned how to handle affairs. Tiffany had been pushed into the position of being mistress of the manor because her father had needed someone to stand beside him at special engagements, accompany him around town, help host his parties and organize the volunteers for his campaign. Tiffany, the only child, had seemed to be the proper candidate, despite her youth.

  Feeling drained, she walked up the stairs to her room. As always, the Virginia heat was oppressive, and it was only June. However, she knew the heat didn’t account for most of her weariness. The battle of guilt she had experienced the last hour while sitting in the kitchen with her friends had taken a toll on her nerves.

  When Veronica had asked for some ice out of the freezer, Tiffany’s legs had involuntarily crossed in remembrance. She’d sat around the table w
ith her friends, wondering if they would believe her if she told them what had happened.

  Probably not.

  She was the governor’s daughter. It was completely out of character. Maybe that was why I permitted it to happen. Everyone always expected her to do the proper thing. Miss social butterfly…parties were her game and conservative was her name. She was disconcerted by the unexpected thought.

  Charmagne’s wedding was the fourth one she’d planned this year. Sometimes she felt as though one of her friends had put an advertisement in the yellow pages announcing she was available to coordinate for any occasion. Her friend Daphne was Jewish and had married two years ago. She’d recently given birth to a son, Solomon. Tiffany wouldn’t be surprised if Daphne and her husband Elijah expected her to orchestrate Solomon’s Bar Mitzvah when he turned thirteen, regardless of the fact she didn’t know much about the religion and customs.

  Tiffany walked into her room and over to the closet to undress for bed. Normally, she waited until her father called, to make sure there weren’t any changes for the next day’s schedule of events, but tonight she was tired.

  “How am I supposed to handle seeing him again?” Tiffany voiced to herself, as she stood before the full-length cheval mirror and stared at the woman in the reflection. Her hair was bound in an efficient bun, neutral, unassuming make-up graced her face, but it was the troubled look in her eyes that captured her attention. She turned away from the image, then hung up her powder blue slacks and cream shell. She removed and folded her bra and knee-highs, then placed them into their designated dirty clothes hampers. Her nightgown lay across the foot of her bed as always, the only symbol of disorder.

  Sexy lingerie was one of her secret loves. She pulled the gown over her head—a sleeveless lace trimmed bodice with soft folds of silk that fell around her legs. She entered her private bathroom to moisturize her face. “Maybe I’ll come down with the flu.”

  Her healthy reflection in the mirror told her it wasn’t likely.

  “Maybe he’ll catch it.” Using her middle and ring fingers, she applied the cool white cream to her face until it absorbed into her skin.

  The final step in her night ritual was her satin cap.