Let It Burn (A BBW Paranormal Erotic Romance) Read online

“He did okay,” Kevin answered. “I think this was the highlight of his week.”

  “Well, since he’s on equipment duty, I guess that leaves the three of us on notification duty.” That little twitch tugged into a smile when Kevin and Travis groaned. “Look at the bright side,” he added dryly. “It’s not a residence, no one was injured, so there shouldn’t be grief and hysterics.” He glanced down at the list of people who taught classes at the LCC. “Well,” he amended as he ripped the list into three segments and handed the first to Kevin, “at least not much.”

  Kevin glanced at the three names on his list and gave the Chief a sour look.

  “What’d I do to piss you off this time?” he grumbled. He had the pleasure of waking up Amos Whitlock, local nature photographer and curmudgeon; no doubt the old man would tear a strip off him before he was finished. Then he got to visit Alyssa Celmer, director of the LCC’s pre-school program and very available bachelorette. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself trapped in her little cottage while she plied him with coffee and come-on’s. Kevin raised his eyebrows at the last name on his list. Joanna Balentine. He’d gone to school with the local artist and remembered her as painfully shy and a little odd.

  She’d always been a loner, whether by choice or because her reputation as a weirdo kept her isolated, he wasn’t sure. He was a little surprised to find her teaching art classes, though. He wouldn’t have expected her to do something so… interactive.

  “Shit,” he muttered again. Best to just get it over with. He hitched a ride back to the station with one of the cop’s on-scene and took a quick shower. No need to freak the citizens out any more than necessary by showing up on their doorsteps head-to-toe soot and sweat.

  ****

  Two hours later Kevin pulled his Chevy four by four into the lot behind the old theatre where Joanna Balentine lived. He was exhausted and starting to feel slightly slap happy. Waking up old Amos had been a huge mistake.

  Jerking a seventy three year old man from his sleep was bad enough. The sight of the old man answering the door without his teeth and wearing only very baggy long john bottoms was almost more that Kevin could take.

  He’d gritted his teeth through the whole notification, respectfully answering the old guy’s sleep peppered questions while trying to hold back his laughter. He left the old man with promises of keeping him informed about the investigation.

  Poor Alyssa had given him a headache. He’d known she would take it badly, what he hadn’t expected was a rabid breakdown complete with hysterics. Giant crocodile tears accompanied a severe case of hyperventilation. Kevin was useless when trying to deal with a weepy female. He made her some tea and sat with her, holding the box of Kleenex until Alyssa was all cried out. She’d rallied enough to offer him cookies, staring deeply into his eyes and dropping her voice an octave on the words warm, melty chocolate chips, but somehow her bloodshot eyes and puffy lids lacked a certain sensual appeal.

  Kevin stepped out of his truck and leaned back to survey the former Ludington Palladium Theater. Wind chimes dotted the tiny second story landing, each one making a different musical sound. The old wooden building was charming. A charming fire magnet, in his opinion. He leaned back against the truck, mentally trying to prepare for this last notification.

  Everyone in town knew about Joanna -JoJo Balentine. The old hens who gossiped all over town called her that sweet girl who was just a bit odd. The guys his age rarely mentioned her name unless they’d spotted her wearing one of her bohemian outfits. All in all she’d barely been a blip on his radar before tonight.

  God, he hoped she didn’t cry. His patience was at an all time low and he sure as hell wasn’t up to coddling another weepy woman.

  Indulging in a deep sigh, he trudged up the stairs to her second floor apartment. She’d converted the lower level to a sort of combination studio and gallery. Kevin didn’t think she did much local business, but he’d seen a steady stream of tourists pass through her doors when the season was right. He thought maybe she gave demonstrations of how she created her murals, things like getting her subjects to giant scale and stuff, and then sold some of her smaller paintings.

  He grimaced, realizing he was procrastinating. Damn, he was tired. But this notification was standing between him and his bed. Taking a deep breath he knocked sharply on the old wooden door. A light came on inside almost before his knuckles hit the wood, and a sleepy eyed woman dressed in an old t-shirt dotted with paint that fell just above her knees opened the door. Her long curly brown hair was sleep tousled, her pale pink lips swollen and her deep brown eyes half closed.

  Kevin cleared his throat and shifted when he felt himself get hard. How in the hell had he missed how attractive Joanna was? Bereft of crazy clothes she was amazing. She wasn’t tall and slim, like his usual type, but her legs were long, her calves shapely. Tight nipples poked against the thin cotton of her t-shirt making Kevin’s mouth water. He’d bet his paycheck she had a nice heart shaped ass that would fit perfectly in his large hands.

  “Can I help you?” Her slightly husky feminine voice brought him back from his lust filled ogling.

  “Joanna Balentine?” It took an embarrassing amount of effort to force the words past the lump of lust in his throat.

  She leaned against the door frame. “Kevin Kryszinski,” she replied. “Do I want to know what you’re doing at my door at four in the morning?”

  “Probably not,” Kevin replied, adopting a more professional tone. “You know I where I work, right?” She nodded, her bittersweet chocolate curls teasing the buds of her nipples through the thin t-shirt. He cleared his throat, wondering if it would be inappropriate to drop to his knees and tease those luscious little buds with his tongue.

  “Yes,” she encouraged, jerking his attention back to the task at hand.

  He cleared his throat again. “I’m here to inform you that there was a fire at the community center.”

  He watched as his statement infiltrated her sleep dazed mind, pulling her straight into the land of the living. He stood waiting for the tears to come, a woeful moan to be voiced.

  She raised a long fingered hand to her throat, water gathering in the corners of her eyes. Here we go, Kevin thought, searching his pocket for a stray Kleenex. But Joanna Balentine surprised him. She swallowed hard and backed away from the door.

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked. Kevin breathed a sigh of relief that for the moment there were no tears.

  “Sure” he followed her into her apartment, shutting the door behind him. The place was huge, spanning the entire length and width of the building. She led him into the living room and sat down on a large comfortable couch.

  Kevin took a seat in an overstuffed chair. His body melted into the cushion. He was dead tired.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

  “A cold beer sounds pretty damn good right now, but I’m still on duty. Water’d be good, though.” In a flash she was gone, returning a moment later with an icy bottle. It wasn’t a Bud, but it washed down his parched throat like the nectar of the gods anyway, and he gave a little moan of gratitude.

  “Thanks,” he murmured, watching Joanna go sit back on the sofa.

  “So, can you tell me what happened?” She tucked her legs underneath her, her t-shirt lifting up to reveal tanned smooth thighs. Fuck if she didn’t have a gorgeous set of legs.

  “We can’t really be sure until the arson investigators get in there and take a look.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. Somehow her silent, controlled grief was a thousand times more affecting than Alyssa’s overdone hysterics.

  *

  Joanna wanted to cry. Not for herself, but for all the kids who were going to be devastated by the loss of the center. She made a mental note to call the city council and see about setting up a temporary place to teach her art classes.

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would set fire to the center on purpose.” She watched in fascination as the strange
r across from her took another long drink. He was a stranger only in the sense that he’d never spoken to her before. Jo was well aware who Kevin Kryszenski was. In a small town like Ludington there were no strangers. Everyone pretty much knew everyone else, and those who weren’t acquainted personally still knew each other by reputation. Jo wasn’t acquainted with many of the locals, though. Her so-called oddness tended to freak people out.

  Her little… talent seemed to scare people away. Jo didn’t really mind though. She’d gotten used to being an outcast of sorts. Being an orphan and growing up in the system had toughened her up to others’ opinions of her. You could only be passed over so many times for adoption before you learned to rely on yourself.

  But there was something about the man sitting across from her that urged her to trust him, to lean on him. He was movie star gorgeous, but he somehow seemed to radiate strength and stability. It was more than his tall body and muscular frame. The artist in her was drawn to the clean lines of his profile. For some inexplicable reason she wanted to touch his face. Feel his tight skin, his strong bone structure. His deep blue eyes were framed by russet lashes. His shaggy blond hair was interwoven with lighter strands. Wheat, gold and sun colored strands mixed beautifully as the colors of a ripe wheat field.

  Jo’s thighs started to shake and she placed her hands on top of them so as not to draw his attention to her treacherous body.

  “I know it doesn’t seem likely, but people can always surprise you.” She refrained from assuring him that, with her talent people rarely surprised her. He didn’t seem uncomfortable to be with her, and she didn’t want to do anything to change that.

  “Do you know of anyone who was angry with the center or its board?” he continued. The deep cadence of his voice danced over her skin, causing goose bumps to form.

  Jo shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone being mad at Amos. He’s a crotchety old guy, but deep down he’s a real sweetie. And Alyssa’s perfect. Very kind and giving.

  “What about you?” His question startled her for a moment before her sense of humor kicked in.

  “Me? Oh, I’m far from perfect.”

  Dimples formed in his cheeks and his eyes sparkled like the lake in sunshine, but he shook his head scoldingly.

  “Now, Ms. Balentine, you know that’s not what I meant.”

  “Ugh,” she protested. “Joanna, please. Or just Jo.” She frowned and considered his question more seriously. “People around here barely say hello to me. I’m not close enough to anyone to have made enemies.” She laughed a little bit. “God, that sounds so pathetic.” And Jo refused to be pathetic. So she didn’t have many close friends. Her talent would have made close friendships uncomfortable for her anyway. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have any friends. She had clients and fellow artists, and her classes were always full of bright-eyed children too young to judge her, or to have developed the dark emotions that caused her such distress.

  Jo’s mind didn’t normally wander those paths, but Kevin was gazing at her with such a look of embarrassed sympathy that she couldn’t ignore it. His sympathy pissed her off. She didn’t feel sorry for herself, and the one thing she couldn’t stand was someone else feeling sorry for her.

  She stiffened her spine, putting her feet to the floor. Kevin’s regret surrounded him like a cloud, chilling her from the inside out. Broadcasting a need to comfort that was almost deafening, he moved from the chair to sit perilously close to her. She literally felt the heat from him jump from him to her.

  “I’m sorry, Joanna. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Damn, his sincerity just managed to ruffle her up even more.

  “You didn’t make me sad,” she grumbled. “You made me irritated. I am well aware of my place in this community. And I don’t care what people think. I can’t be anyone other than who I am.” She gave an inward roll of the eyes as she heard herself talk. Good grief. If she protested much more, he’d be breaking out the hankies and hiring violins to play “I’ll be blue for you” for her.

  He reached over and placed his hand on top of hers where it rested on her thigh. His fingers were long, rough with calluses. They overlapped hers, settling on the soft skin of her thigh like a brand. She closed her eyes against the rush of blood leaving her head and spreading to other parts of her body. The man certainly had the ability to distract her from her unpleasant thoughts.

  “It’s good that you like who you are.” It was so hard to stay mad when his sincerity practically glowed in the dim room.

  He moved his other hand to her cheek, rough fingertips stroking over her skin. Jo’s eyes slid closed and she leaned into his caress, she couldn’t stop herself. She felt the caress through her whole body, causing her nipples to tighten painfully and butterflies began to flutter in lower parts.

  “What are you doing?” She was breathless in the wake of his touch.

  “Your skin looks so soft. I just wanted to feel some softness. It’s been a hell of a night.” She dragged her eyes open in time to catch the expression in his, scorching and intent, before his mouth settled over hers.

  The first brush of his lips landed gently on hers, skimming over her bottom lip. Jo suppressed a groan. No man’s lips should feel so good. When his tongue traced the seam of her mouth Jo couldn’t hold back the sound. Her groan vibrated in her own ears.

  He never increased the pressure of his mouth, only nipped her lips, soothing the small sting with his tongue. The man was setting her body ablaze with nothing more than his kiss, his skilled mouth. Jo took a chance and placed her hand on his strong forearm. The muscles bunched and shifted beneath her touch.

  “More,” he whispered, his teeth catching her bottom lip and releasing. He moved his hand to her nape, pulling back until they were nose to nose. “Touch me, Joanna. Let me feel your hands on me.”

  She knew she should pull back, knew nothing good could come of it. But, God, he tasted so good. He felt so right. Her hand moved up his arm, along his bicep and over his shoulder. Her other hand shook as she slid it under them hem of his t-shirt, her short nails scraping his rigid belly.

  “More.” It was a demand, not a request. And instinctively Jo knew what he wanted. She spread her palm wide, digging her nails into the skin of his back and strumming her thumb over his ribcage. When the pad of her thumb brushed over his nipple, she couldn’t resist the sharp little point. Or the rush of heat that seemed to billow from his body to hers. Breathing a low sound against his lips, she traced a light circle around the male nub with her fingernail, before catching it between her finger and thumb. The moment she pinched it, Kevin was on her, pushing her back down into the sofa, wedging his knee between her thighs to grind against the damp crotch of her panties.

  ****

  Joanna hissed when his knee made contact and Kevin took full advantage of her open mouth. He plunged into her warm recesses and about died. This woman was so fucking hot. She slid her own tongue against his and they tangled, each of them fighting for the right to taste each other first.

  She’d managed to work both hands under his shirt and was toying with his nipples. Christ, she’d found the one area on his body that drove him fucking nuts in bed without even trying. Most women didn’t touch a guy there, seeming to believe only women got off on having their nipples played with. Kevin loved it. It made him fucking crazy. When Jo pinched down and added a little twist he hissed out a breath and ground his hips against hers, his cock fighting to get out of his 501’s and into her panties.

  Kevin lost his mind, moving on instinct. He ate at her mouth, sucking and nipping at her lips and tongue as if without her taste he’d starve to death. She was right there with him, drawing his tongue into her mouth and sucking until he thought he’d blow in his jeans.

  With a rough sound he reluctantly left her luscious mouth. His need to taste more of her swamped him. He opened his mouth wide tracing a hot line from her ear down the long column of her throat with his tongue. She wore no heavy perfumes to clog his senses. No, his JoJo smelled of cl
ean, pure woman. Hot and delicious.

  He pulled away the neck line of her long sleep shirt, nibbling and sucking at her satiny skin along the way. He could feel her heat and wetness seeping through the thin, worn denim at his knee. He felt a damp spot forming over his cock where his precum was soaking through.

  Fuck. Kevin loved women. He loved sex. But he never lost control like this.

  Man, he was in big fucking trouble.

  ****

  Desire clung heavily to Jo as her body moved against his. She couldn’t get close enough – she wanted to crawl right into him and wallow in the heat of his body, the fire of his passion.

  She didn’t realize what she was doing until it was too late. Hot, steamy lust turned to the blistering lash of fire. Beneath the passion something lurked in Kevin’s heart, some ancient wound that cried out for healing.

  Kimmy. The name resonated in his heart at a level far below conscious thought. Kimmy’s dead cause I didn’t save her. Kimmy and Dad’s dead. There were no pictures, no real sounds, even. Just an endless well of grief and guilt.

  “Kevin, it wasn’t your fault.” The words were out before she realized it. Too late now to call them back.

  He looked at her with a crooked smile. “I know it’s not, but I’m still sorry. If we’d just gotten the call a few minutes earlier….” He trailed off and shook his head. “But we will find out what started the fire.”

  Jo shook her head, wishing with all her heart she’d kept her big mouth shut. She could feel the fog of passion rapidly disappearing in the glaring light of her talent. No matter how much she didn’t want to, she had to tell him what she’d felt.

  “Not the Center, Kevin. I mean Kimmy. Kimmy’s death wasn’t your fault.”

  He shot off of Jo and the couch with lightening speed.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” That sexy baritone went bass with warning.

  She sat up slowly, tugging her shirt back down her thighs. She suddenly felt far too exposed. Her breathing was labored.

  “I’m sorry, it’s never happened like this before. I usually only pick up emotions, and only really strong ones.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “One minute I was trying to be as close to you as I could get, the next it was like I was drowning in this pool of pain and guilt. And I just kept hearing Kimmy’s name. And your dad’s.”