Hearts on Fire (3 page)

As the idea occurred to him, he looked around, expecting to see Megan’s mother stroll out from behind a tree.

“I do not know this Theresa you speak of.”

“You described her—flighty, wanderer, can’t settle. That’s Theresa.”

“This Theresa…she needs you?”

“Hell, no. Theresa never needed anyone but herself.”
Not even her daughter.

“Then she is not the woman the crystal showed me. The woman in your future
needs
you. She has traveled many miles, searching for love. You must find her before she is lost to you.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face.
She’s nuttier than a fruitcake.
And you’re crazy to be listening to her.
He swung his backpack off his shoulder, digging until he found the paper he wanted.

“Here.” He handed her the citation for violating city code by having an open flame in her booth. “Pay the fine at City Hall before you leave town.”

“I will, but you must listen—”

“Save your show for someone who cares,” he said, walking away.

Reaching the interior of the faire once again, Steve paused with his hands on his hips. Since the event wouldn’t open until later in the afternoon on this weekday, only a few people milled about. At the far end of the mock medieval village, a man dressed in jeans and a cowboy hat groomed one of several horses tethered to a makeshift hitching rail. A few craftspeople arranged their stock while food vendors opened their carts in preparation for the tourists expected later.

He nodded at a guy pushing a cart loaded with boxes of frozen french fries—anything to avoid looking toward the one place he didn’t want to see.

He sensed her presence, and it was darned annoying the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Volunteering to deliver the citation had been a convenient justification for doing what he really wanted to do. See Shannon Perry again.

After a near-sleepless night recalling the sound of her voice, the shape of her body, and the allure of her scent, he realized the apology he owed her was nothing more than an excuse to see her again.

Giving in to the impulse that brought him to the fairgrounds, he let his gaze wander toward the weaver’s booth. Knowing she was there hadn’t been enough warning to keep his body from responding to her earthy sensuality. Unaware of his scrutiny, she straightened her inventory, rearranging the brightly colored items, folding and refolding until she had everything laid out in perfect rows and columns. The precise display didn’t mesh with the type of woman he knew her to be—flighty, unfettered, carefree. The dichotomy of her personality drew him closer until he stood behind her.

She’d gathered her long hair at her nape with a jeweled clip that screamed understated elegance and would have been appropriate in any boardroom or fancy party. His daughter would toss every ribbon and plastic beaded clip she owned for such a hair accessory.

Shannon stretched on tiptoes in order to smooth a blouse hanging from the front edge of the tent support, giving him an excellent view of her torso. Her sleeveless blouse, crafted from some sort of thin fabric, clung to her curves like a second skin. Her skirt, coarser, though of obvious quality, flowed from her trim waist to swirl around her ankles. Her sandals were standard hippy-issue Birkenstocks that overpowered her tiny feet. The flash of red he glimpsed on her toenails seemed more seductress than earth mother. Another conundrum he had no intention of solving. He knew all he needed to know. She was a transient vendor, traveling with a bunch of crazy folks who dressed in velvet and leather and pretended to live in medieval times. The entire concept was beyond him, but to each his own.

“Ms. Perry,” he said.

With a startled cry, she turned to face him. One hand covered her heart while the other grabbed at the table behind her to keep her from falling. “You scared me!”

God, she was beautiful, her skin glowing from within—like he imagined she would look after an orgasm—minus the frightened expression. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”

She shook her head. “No.” She straightened, smoothing a stray hair back into place. “You’re Meggie’s father. The fireman.”

He smiled. “Yes. I came to deliver the final report on the incident, so the owner can begin the cleanup.” Suddenly feeling a fool, he looked at his feet. “I owe you an apology for yesterday.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said with conviction. “I’m just glad I was there when your daughter needed me.”

Her heartfelt tone made him look up. The startled expression and accompanying color had left her face. She looked…sad…and pale. So pale he thought she might faint. His rescue training kicked in.

“Are you okay?” Grabbing her by the elbow, he steered her around the table to the dark interior of the booth. He guided her to the nearest seat, a bench in front of a loom, and insisted she sit.

“I’m fine. Really. I just need a minute.”

He looked around, spotting an insulated cooler in the corner. Seconds later, he pressed a cold water bottle in her hand. “Drink.”

She didn’t argue. Lifting the plastic container to her lips with one hand, Steve pressed his fingers to the pulse on her other wrist. It felt strong and regular enough to ease his concerns, but obviously something had upset her.

“I think we’re even now.” He pulled a folding camp chair near and sat.

“How do you figure?”

“I scared you, and you scared me. I thought you were going to pass out.”

“I don’t know what came over me. The heat, I guess.”

Steve swept an assessing gaze over her face. Her eyes were clear, reacting to the change in light from the sunlit front of the booth to the shadowed rear where they sat. Her color was returning, and her speech lucid, not slurred. He’d bet his bottom dollar she knew exactly what had come over her, and it hadn’t been the heat. If anything, she should have been wearing a sweater. The sun hadn’t had time to remove the early morning chill.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No!” He was glad to see the flush of color her swift answer brought back to her cheeks.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I don’t need to see a doctor.” She stood. All traces of distress were gone, replaced by imperious resolve. “I am not pregnant. I am not ill. I am, however, sick of you.”

Steve eased to his feet. His brain got the not-so-subtle dismissal, but his body refused to go along with the program. She was nothing more than a sprite compared to him, but she was a sprite with nerve. Looking down at her upturned face, he could see how much her bravado cost her. She trembled, and he desperately wanted to make her shiver for a different reason.

Slowly, as if reaching out to a wild mare, he lifted his hand to her nape, giving her all the time in the world to tell him to fuck off before he slid his fingers beneath her hair to caress the silken skin of her neck. With a patience and desire he hadn’t experienced in his life, he held her still while he closed the distance between them, one inch at a time.

She could get away. He only had a hand on her nape, and there wasn’t anything sinister about his touch. If she stepped back, he’d let her go. She felt certain he wouldn’t force her to do anything. If he planned to molest her, he’d just get on with it instead of taking his time.

Time she needed, time she hated.
All I have is time.
Endless, lonely days. Endless, lonely months. Endless, lonely years.

It had been so long since she’d felt any desire for a man. She didn’t know what to do with the hunger inside her for this one. If she let him kiss her, would he want more?

Could she give him more?

I don’t know if I can give him even this much.

His lips brushed hers, warm and…alive. Her heart raced like it was hooked up to an adrenaline pump.

“Tell me to stop.” The words, spoken against her lips, were rough, mirroring the turmoil inside her.

Stop. Stop. Stop.
Ignoring the mantra in her brain, she followed the insistent urging of her body instead, rising up on tiptoe to press her mouth against his.

She expected him to take over, to pull her body against his, but he didn’t. She wasn’t in control, far from it, but somehow the kiss remained mutual, a give and take of exploration that slowly escalated from interesting to carnal.

When he lifted his head, they were both breathing hard, and the air around them was thick with shared desire she couldn’t ignore. His thumb, stroking the pulse in her neck, made her knees weak. She could imagine his hands on her body, capable and strong, stroking life back into areas too long deadened to sensation.

“When are you leaving?”

“Leaving?” She couldn’t think with him touching her. She stepped back, and he let her go. Turning away from him, she fidgeted with the loom, anything to keep from putting her hands on him.

“Somerset. How much longer will you be here?”

She knew what he was asking. How long did they have to finish what their kiss had started? Endless, lonely nights reared up to remind her how long it had been since she’d felt anything at all for another person, and how dangerous those feelings could be. Yet, his kiss had awakened something inside her, something she desperately wanted to feel again if only for a short time. Taking a shuddering breath, she turned. He looked toward the front of the booth as if contemplating escape. She understood the feeling. The urge to run felt almost as strong as the urge to throw herself at him and demand he finish what he’d started right here, right now. Tourists be damned.

“A week.”

He nodded. “Long enough.”

Too long.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He didn’t appear any happier about the attraction pulling at them than she was.

“Meet me at the entrance tomorrow night after you close up. We’ll go somewhere where we can be alone.”

Unable to voice the refusal resounding in her mind, she nodded her agreement instead. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, she realized he couldn’t have seen her response. “I have to close up first. Around nine.”

“Close early.”

She nodded again. “Eight?”

Once again, he turned his attention to the outside world—a world that felt so far away she couldn’t ascertain if it was real or not. None of this felt real—the desire, the ache to be touched again.

“Eight,” he agreed, leaving without a backward glance.

She would have run, too, if she’d thought she would find the peace she was looking for in the sunlight.

CHAPTER FOUR

What the fuck was I thinking?
He’d asked the question a million times since he’d invited—no,
demanded
—she meet him, and the only answer that made sense was he hadn’t been thinking. At least, not with the head that counted.

Just like he hadn’t been thinking when he had been with Theresa.

And look how that turned out
.

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, all the while keeping an eye on the entrance to the Renaissance faire.
I should
leave before she sees me. This woman is no different than Theresa. She won’t stay.

“That makes her perfect,” he muttered to the darkened cab of his pickup. “Fuck her then send her on her way.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman, which meant it had been too long. That’s all this was, an itch he usually scratched with one of several women he thought of as fuck buddies when his fist and a hot shower didn’t do the trick. He’d take care of her, make sure her itch was scratched, too.

The time readout on the radio console indicated he’d arrived twenty minutes early.
Shit. Real cool, man. If that doesn’t scream desperate, what does?
Still, he kept his gaze glued to the gate just in case she was as eager to get their evening started as he was. They had all night, he reasoned. His mom had Meggie for the night. But the more he thought about Shannon Perry, the more certain he became once would not be enough.

A woman wearing skintight jeans caught his attention. His libido, already primed, went on alert. Long, shapely legs—he easily imagined wrapped around his waist—moved with confidence over the graveled entrance despite the sexy heels she wore.

Why can’t you fall for someone like her?
He allowed himself the luxury of enjoying the scenery a little longer. What could it hurt? His date wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes.

The woman stopped. No giant hobo bag for her. A cute little purse dangled on a gold chain from her slim fingers. His gaze traveled up, taking in noticeable curves beneath a sleeveless shell the color of moonlight. He let out a low whistle. The woman’s understated sexiness appealed to him more than he thought possible. She looked so different from the woman he had come to pick up it took him a full two minutes of admiring her to realize who she was.

Fuck!

“Shannon,” he yelled, stepping out of the pickup to wave to her.

Her smile nearly knocked him on his ass. She’d done something with her hair, tamed it so it draped over her shoulders and down her back in a sleek fall that brought to mind all kinds of carnal images.

“Steve,” she said, approaching the truck. “Am I late?”

“No. Right on time.” He opened the passenger door for her, pausing to admire her ass covered in dark denim.

“I took a few minutes to change clothes.”

Climbing back behind the wheel, he grinned at her. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I should have warned you. Dressing that way helps sell my products. No one wants to buy homespun cloth from someone dressed like this.” She gestured to her outfit.

I’m buying, sweetheart. Oh, man, am I buying
. Steve swallowed hard and put the truck in gear. “People can be fickle.”

“Yes, they can be.” All the confidence he’d witnessed earlier seemed to have evaporated with her statement.

Instead of pulling out of the parking spot, he kept his foot on the brake. “Something wrong?”

She turned her head so he couldn’t see her face. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her purse lying across her lap. “I thought I could do this.”

Steve shoved the transmission back into park and cut the engine. Silence engulfed them as he waited for her to climb out. He deserved to be left high and dry for the thoughts he’d been having about the woman. There wasn’t a gentlemanly thing about any of them. They were raw, primal…earthy. He’d imagined flipping up her hippy skirt and fucking her on the beach with nothing but the stars and the ocean waves as witness to their coupling. He’d imagined her naked in his bed, her hands above her head, surrendering everything to him. Seeing her in modern dress looking as if she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, his fertile mind had already conjured a dozen more fantasies—none of which were going to be fulfilled tonight or any other night, it seemed.