Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (21 page)

He took a deep breath, surprised by how fresh and clean the air seemed to be. By how clear the sky was, how vibrant and fresh the smells were. Yeah, he really was in trouble if he thought Fells Point smelled clean and fresh.

He took another deep breath then crossed the street, not stopping until he was close enough to her that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. He sighed and leaned against the car, his thigh brushing against hers. She didn't move away. That could be a good sign. It would be even better if she'd actually look over at him.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, his fingers closing over the keys to her car and jingling them. The noise was muted, almost swallowed by the sounds surrounding them.

The rumble of tires against the cobblestone as cars drove by. The call of seagulls swooping down over the water. The low moan of a tug nearby.

The steady thud of his heart. Melanie's harsh breathing. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"So. Inspired, huh?" Probably the wrong to say because she stiffened and took a small step away from him. He sighed and jingled the keys some more. "I don't think I've ever inspired anyone before. I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

Silence.

"Would it help if I told you I liked the painting?"

She finally looked up at him. Pink still stained her cheeks but the color was fading. Was it his imagination, or did the barest smile tease the corners of her lips? Maybe, maybe not. But there was no doubting the amused disbelief that flashed in her eyes.

"You didn't even know what you were looking at."

He smiled then looked away. "Well, I could lie and say I did, but then you'd probably ask me to explain so I won't. That doesn't mean I can't like it."

This time she did smile. Just a small one, there and gone too quickly. He shifted, edging a little closer until their legs were touching again. She didn't step away, which he took as a good sign.

"Art has never been my thing but I think you already know that. But that doesn't mean I can't like something. And I did. I do. Like it, I mean. It's—" His voice trailed off and he looked away, frowning as his mind searched for the right words. "It reminds me of chaos and confusion and not knowing which way is up. Like…like when you're lost but it's okay because you know you're going to find your way out. And maybe it's not the way you thought you'd find, but it's a better way. And yeah, okay, that probably sounds stupid but—"

Dale didn't get a chance to finish because she was suddenly pressed against him, her mouth on his in a sweet gentle kiss. He hesitated for a split second then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Tasting, savoring.

Then she pulled away, leaving him breathless and confused and wanting—needing—more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled, a bright beautiful smile that sent heat rushing through him.

Not heat of passion, heat of need. No, this was something more. Calming, reassuring,
right
. The heat of acceptance, of belonging, of finally learning where he wanted to go only to realize he'd already been there all along.

"You understand it!"

He blinked, his mind trying to focus on her words, trying to understand them. "I do?"

"Yes! That's it exactly."

The painting. She was talking about the painting. Not what she made him feel, not the amazing and monumental epiphany he'd just experienced. The painting.

He swallowed back his disappointment and forced a smile. "Well, I'm glad I understand."

"You do. Everything. The chaos, the confusion, the feeling lost. That's how you made me feel when I first met you. Not just how I felt, but how I saw you. Like you were lost in the chaos and confusion, too."

Dale frowned and leaned back, not sure if he liked the sound of that, even if it might have been true. "I had a lot of things on my mind."

"I know. But they're over now, aren't they? The worry and guilt you were carrying."

He froze. How did she know? How had she seen? He nodded, slowly.

"I knew they were. That night you came over. They were there at first, but then they were gone." Her smile faded and she dropped her arms, stepping away from him. "But then you left."

Fuck. Guilt swept over him, pushing away everything else he'd just been feeling. He reached for her, ran one hand down her arm until her their fingers entwined. He squeezed them then let go, dropping his hand to his side.

"I—" He paused, cleared his throat. "I need to apologize for that."

"For leaving?"

"Not just for leaving. For…" Fuck. The words were sticking in his throat, full of regret over what he'd done, how he'd used her that night. "I shouldn't have…I wasn't thinking. I was just trying to…"

He couldn't say it. Couldn't get the words out. Hell, he couldn't even apologize the right way! He cleared his throat, determined to at least say he was sorry, but he didn't get the chance because Melanie grabbed his hands, squeezing them.

"You were upset and needed to find a way to heal."

"I used you."

"No. You turned to me. There's a difference. But I still don't understand why you left the way you did."

"Melanie—"

"Sweets!" She squeezed his hands again, hard, and stomped her foot. "Stop calling me that!"

"What? Your name?"

"Yes! I don't like it. It sounds weird coming from you."

"But I thought you hated when I called you
Smurfette
."

"No." She shook her head, her mouth pressed in a firm line. "I did at first because I thought you were teasing me but then I didn't. And I already told you that. So stop."

Dale watched her for a long minute, not sure if she was serious, if he should believe her. But she looked serious, with her brows lowered over eyes and her lips pursed in impatience. No, not impatience. A pout. She was actually pouting!

He chuckled, the sound deep and somehow freeing. She narrowed her eyes and tried to step away but he was faster. He caught her around the waist and pulled her close, the curves of her body pressed against him. Just where she belonged.

Then he dipped his head and claimed her mouth in a long deep kiss. It was too soon to tell her how he felt, but maybe he could show her. And maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to see how much she had helped him ban the darkness that had threatened to consume him.

And maybe, if he was very lucky, she'd eventually feel the same way.

No matter how many deep breaths she took, the knots in her stomach only grew worse. Big tight balls of nerves, sitting low in her belly, rough and hard and heavy. She curled her fingers against her palm, the edges of her short nails biting into her skin.

She didn't want to be here. She so didn't want to be here. Why did she have to be here? The people were buying her paintings, not her. It shouldn't matter if she was here or not.

She looked across the room, doing her best to ignore the mingling crowd as she searched for the door. Would anyone stop her if she suddenly took off? Maybe, if she just walked slowly, stopping occasionally to smile and nod, she could make her way to the door and just walk out. Surely nobody would notice her. And if they did, surely they'd think she was just stepping outside for a breath of fresh evening air. After all, it was a little crowded in here, the air a bit too warm and tight. Surely she wasn't the only one who thought that.

So she could just walk out. Get in her car and drive home and knock on Dale's door. He'd pull her into his arms and kiss her. Long deep kisses that made her forget her name, made her forget everything except how his body felt against hers. How he smelled and tasted. The way his eyes darkened, the gold flecks dancing in their depths when they filled with passion. The small moans he made when he grabbed her, held her, made love to her. The look in his eyes, the depth of emotion and feeling he tried to hide.

She almost smiled. He didn't say the words yesterday—or last night or this morning or this afternoon—but he didn't need to. She could see it, in the lazy swirl of colors that came to life around him when they were together. The darkness was gone. Well, mostly gone. She still saw a little of it, a faint whispery gray, when he finally told her about his sister and what she had done. But it didn't hover around him, didn't cling to him with the constant threat of smothering him. The darkness had been replaced by lighter colors. Still reds and oranges, but brighter. Calmer.

Melanie ducked her head and smiled. Calm? No, she didn't think that word would ever apply to Dale. And she was happy about that. She didn't want calm. She wanted wild and ferocious and dangerous and adventurous, everything that Dale was, everything that he offered.

Her fingers twitched, curling around an imaginary paint brush, the colors appearing on her mind's palette. She already knew how she'd paint it, how she would capture it and put it on canvas.

She sighed and uncurled her hand, pressing it against her stomach. Not yet. She couldn't do any of that yet.

Not until this agonizing night was over.

Her gaze flicked across the room once more, landing on the door. Maybe nobody would notice, maybe she really could just leave—

"Sweetheart, you will not make a run for the door so please stop thinking about it." Her mother came up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Comforting? Or holding her in place, just in case? Why did her mother have to know her so well?

"I wasn't."

Her father came around her other side, his chuckle deep and affectionate. He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "Don't deny it. We know you too well."

"It's just…it's so crowded. And what if nobody bids? What if everyone laughs and nobody likes them?"

"Don't be silly. Sweetheart, look around. All of these people are here specifically because of you. Because they want a chance to own something you created. Something you breathed life into."

Instead of reassuring her, her mother's words only succeeded in making her more nervous. Why, oh why, had she agreed to let Anna set up the auction? It had sounded so exciting at first, a validation of her work. But now she wasn't sure. She didn't need the validation. Her work sold, well enough that she was able to do what she loved the most and make a living at it.

She should have never agreed to it.

Her father placed an arm around her and pulled her in for a quick hug. "It'll be fine, sweetheart. You're worrying for nothing. Just like your mother does before one of her shows."

Melanie looked over at her mom, at the way she stood so poised and calm, so serene. Except for the way she was looking at her father, some secret silent communication passing between them. "You get nervous, Mom? Why?"

"Ignore your father, sweetheart. He's exaggerating. As usual."

Her dad laughed, which only earned him another look from her mother, this one sparkling with amusement. She stopped one of the passing waiters and took two glasses from the tray, passing one to Melanie. "Have a few sips, dear. It will help calm your nerves and stop you from eyeing the door."

Melanie didn't want the champagne, even though she knew it was a more expensive brand, reserved for the clientele that attended the auctions. Just one more reminder that she didn't quite belong here tonight.

Her mom took a small sip, watching her over the rim of the glass. "Where's Dale? I thought he'd be here."

"Oh. Um, no." Melanie looked away, her eyes darting to the door once more.

"Didn't you work things out yesterday?"

"We did. Yes." Yesterday, last night, this morning. "But, um, I asked him not to come."

"What? Why would you do that?" The surprise in her father's voice matched the surprise on her mother's face. Melanie wasn't sure how to answer. How could she, when she didn't understand it herself? She wanted him to be here, wished she had never asked him not to join her. But she had been afraid, worried the event would be a disaster. And she didn't want him here to be a witness to it if that happened.

Now she wished he was standing right beside her, his strong arm around her shoulders, supporting her. Standing by her. Sharing his strength with her.

She truly was an idiot. Maybe there was still time. Maybe she could call him and ask. She glanced around, wondering what time it was, ready to sneak away to make a phone call. But then Anna appeared beside her, a bright smile on her face and excitement in her eyes.

"It's almost time, dear. It's going to be a huge success. I just know it."

"Anna, I don't think—"

"Nonsense. People are already talking, the anticipation growing. Now finish up and join me up front so we can get everyone's attention." Anna smiled once more then glided through the crowd, toward the back wall where Melanie's paintings were displayed.

Her hand tightened around the stem of the glass as she fought the urge to finish the champagne in one long swallow. No, that wouldn't do. So she took one last small sip and passed the glass to her father, then gave them both what she hoped was a smile before turning away.

The sooner they started, the sooner the nightmare would be over with.

If only she hadn't told Dale to stay home.