Sweet Burn (3 page)

Secret babies. International political conspiracies. Neither was entirely outside the realm of possibility either. Or maybe she
’
d just outrun her credit limit. He wouldn
’
t know, of course, because Mimi didn
’
t believe in sharing information. Instead, he
’
d been reduced to hijacking her manual and fixing her soda gun. He was pretty sure that made him pathetic.

Whoever had called her, she wasn
’
t interested in a long conversation. She padded back inside in under five minutes and hopped up on the counter, crossing her legs, the better to watch him work. Ordinarily, he wouldn
’
t have minded. He liked looking at Mimi.

She
’
d worn a little black dress at Faye and Evan
’
s wedding (clearly, she hadn
’
t read the memo about not wearing black to a wedding or, more likely, hadn
’
t cared) paired with a pair of four-inch red fuck-me heels he was fairly certain would haunt his fantasies for decades to come. Today she had on a pair of cut-off shorts roughly the same length as those wicked heels, the soft denim fringe cupping her ass. She also sported a pair of cowboy boots and a faded T-shirt with the bar
’
s logo emblazoned over her very spectacular breasts.

She
’
d piled her hair on top of her head in one of those complicated messy up-dos women sported. The style defied the laws of gravity, sexy wisps clinging to her neck where he could just see the edges of her tattoo. Her wedding hair had been fancier and smoother, but this hair made her look like she
’
d just rolled out of bed and he loved it. And she was beautiful no matter what she wore. Her long, tanned legs begged him to run a hand up their silky length. Down again. Hell, over and over if she
’
d only let him because her legs weren
’
t doing the begging—
he
was. Mentally, because he had some pride, but still. She had him tied in knots and he didn
’
t like it. Mimi Hart was the kind of woman who ate men for breakfast and letting her know she had the upper hand would be a disaster.

There was a moment of silence as she looked at him. “Am I paying you to do that?”

She didn
’
t sound all that curious and he didn
’
t look up from his work. “Nope. Consider it a freebie.”

Over the past few months, they
’
d established a pattern. He came by and fixed little things for her or he BBQ-ed in the big kettledrum cooker she kept out back. They were almost…
friends
. And then he
’
d gone and screwed that up by sleeping with her last night. Of course, since she
’
d made it painfully clear she planned on ignoring the sex, perhaps the friendship avenue was still open to him.

He waited, but of course she didn
’
t volunteer any information about her call. Instead, she watched as he screwed the last bolt back onto the gun and tested. The soda shot straight where it should go.

He set the gun back in its holder and restored the manual to oblivion under the counter. “All fixed.”

“
Thanks.
”

He didn
’
t want thanks. He wanted information. He knew Mimi liked to take care of herself and, from all the evidence to date, she
’
d done a damned fine job of doing so. She owned her own bar, managing the books and the inventory as easily as she handled the occasional troublesome guest. He
’
d seen her show a mean drunk to the door, delivering the man to the parking lot and Sheriff Hernandez with smooth aplomb. Nothing fazed her except—he looked down at the soda gun—the odd mechanical issue and even then, he figured she was simply smart enough to let him do the heavy lifting there.

But something about that call had shaken her. She didn
’
t look quite as confident or certain as she usually did. Putting his finger on the
why
wasn
’
t easy. She was the same gorgeous bombshell of a woman, but her shoulders took on a vulnerable curve as she hunched in on herself and watched him. He didn
’
t want to guess. No, he wanted her to
tell
him what had upset her, to open up just a little. Funny how they could have sex, her body open to his in the most intimate way possible, but Mimi herself was further away, more closed off than ever.

“Are you in trouble?” He let the unspoken
again
hang in the air between them. Too bad if that particular truth pissed her off. He
’
d never known a woman who got into more trouble, so his guess seemed like a real safe bet.

She didn
’
t look away or drop her gaze.
“Are you listening to my phone calls now?”

That wasn
’
t a
no
. He narrowed his gaze. Which, in Mimi parlance, meant
hell yes
. Great. He stepped toward her, slapping his hands down on either side of her. She
’
d made a tactical mistake when she
’
d parked her pretty ass on the counter, because it meant she couldn
’
t get away from him without an obvious retreat—and Mimi didn
’
t retreat. Ever.

Sure enough, she glared at him and poked his chest with her finger. At some point between the wedding and now, she
’
d re-painted her nails. He had no idea when she found the time to do all these girly things, when he knew for a fact that running the bar singlehandedly had her working her ass off, but he liked the color. The red was a cheerful
fuck you
, with some kind of white flower with yellow centers. He hadn
’
t realized she had an artistic side, but that probably explained the tattoo.

“In my space, Johnson.” She snapped the challenge at him, but her eyes still looked lost. “Back off.”

He answered her by moving closer and putting a hand on her knee. Her skin jumped against his palm, because Mimi was ticklish. And sensitive. He
’
d learned that last night. He was taking advantage like this, but he didn
’
t care. That was the God
’
s honest truth. Mimi ate
nice
for breakfast and he wasn
’
t letting her walk all over him. Instead, he pushed gently on her knee, silently demanding she yield.

“
Too bad,
” he growled. “I asked you a question. And, yeah, I listened. Close the door if you don
’
t want an audience.”

Her naughty smile widened. “
I don’
t mind. Do you like to
watch
?”

A blast of heat hit him hard, blood surging to his dick as erotic images jolted through his head and derailed his train of thought. Mimi, laid out on his bed, touching herself. Her fingers easing beneath her shorts and underneath her panties while she showed him exactly how she liked to pleasure herself… But that was the point, wasn
’
t it? She wanted him off-balance and thinking with his dick rather than his head. Sex was a great way to control a man but, unfortunately for Mimi, Mack was used to being in charge.

He pushed again. Harder, until he could step right between her thighs. Her lips parted and he wondered what was going through her head as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Arousal?

Desire?

Or one hundred percent pure calculation?

He didn
’
t like that last one at all. The bar
’
s counter put her at the perfect height for his dick to press against her. Her bare feet pressed into his legs, the heat of her scalding him through those teasing denim shorts of hers. Despite their position, she didn
’
t look concerned. Instead, she leaned back on her arms, staring at him for a heated moment before she deliberately wrapped her legs around his waist.
Power play
.

Damn, she was good.

Or bad.

Both words fit her and yet he couldn
’
t help but look down. The move sent her shorts riding up further and that was the sexiest thing he
’
d seen since yesterday because she flashed him a lacy hot pink thong. Last night
’
s panties had sported a little bow right over the heart of her and that made him wonder what today
’
s looked like. Pink, yes. And barely there… hell, yeah. Mimi wasn
’
t subtle, which was fine by him. He
’
d never won any prizes for understatement either. He leaned over her.

“Talk,” he rumbled. “Tell me what
’
s up.
”

Unable to help himself, he rubbed a thumb over the creamy skin of her thigh, tracing the faint red marks there.
His
marks. He should have shaved yesterday before he
’
d taken her to bed—or she
’
d taken him—but he
’
d been too impatient and she
’
d been too demanding. She made him forget every rule he had.

So fuck it. He
’
d grab the bull by the horns and address the massive fucking elephant in the room.

Her naughty grin widened. “You didn
’
t answer my question.”

Right. The question where she
’
d asked him if he was some kind of voyeur. He thought about it for a moment, then gave her the truth. “I
’
d watch you.”

“Oh.” The small sound she made as she inhaled sharply hung in the air between them in the few inches of space he
’
d allowed her. Maybe she hadn
’
t expected that particular answer, but she got right back in the game, shooting him another come hither look as she did her best to distract him. “
I don’
t play those kinds of games.”

She paused, eying him as she considered her answer. “
Yet
.”

And… he had liftoff. His dick pressed against the buttons on his fly hard enough to leave an imprint. Which was what she
’
d been going for, he reminded himself. He liked the way she made him feel—hell, he flat-out loved it—but he
’
d asked her a question and she
’
d tossed him the pleasure bone to make him forget to care about her answer. That wasn
’
t happening.

“Are you in trouble?” he repeated.

She deliberately dropped her gaze down his body—more hardening on his part—and then her eyes snapped back to his. “One night,” she reminded him. “That
’
s my rule and
that
means that we were officially over and done with yesterday morning. Hands off and back up, smoke jumper. What I do with my life is none of your concern.”

Mimi delivered her bombshell and then she shoved him hard enough to make her point. He let her go since he wasn
’
t a total bastard (yet) and she hopped off the counter and strolled away like she
’
d given him a weather update or the batting stats for the San Francisco Giants
’
newest infielder. Granted, he had a great view of her ass sashaying away from him, denim cupping her curves as the sassy sway of her hips announced her ‘fuck you
’
attitude with each step she took.

An attitude he had a problem with.

He packed up the tools he’d grabbed from his truck, slotting screwdrivers and pliers back into their places while he thought about that. Mimi wasn
’
t his wife. She wasn
’
t his girlfriend. Hell, if he was being honest, she wasn
’
t even his lover. He
’
d been her booty call and she had every right to tell him to leave her alone. They
’
d had their one night fling and things were over. He had no business giving her shit about personal phone calls or even following her.

Mimi disappeared into the storage room. Right. Whatever phone call she
’
d received, she
’
d clearly decided it took backseat to inventorying her supply of maraschino cherries and pink parasols. He ran the various possibilities through his head while he snapped the lock shut on his toolbox. What he came up with, however, was she wanted him to
think
her call hadn
’
t mattered to her. Mimi didn
’
t just have one stubborn bone—she had an entire body full of them.

Nope. No matter how casual she played things, something was up.

He strode after her. She was bent over a box of restaurant supplies, digging out cocktail napkins. She straightened up with an armload of plastic packages when he came through the door and held her find out for him to take.

“Take these to the bar.”

Her Royal Highness needed to think again. Clearly, he
’
d given her the wrong impression by trying to help her out some. He wasn
’
t hers to order around. In fact, it was safe to say that the only orders he
’
d
ever
taken had been from Uncle Sam or the jump team lead. Instead of helping her out, he leaned against the doorframe.

“
Start talking,
” he said.

She glared at him, clutching the stack of napkins to her chest. He
’
d bet she was considering chucking the lot at him. “There
’
s nothing for us to talk about.”

Her storeroom was a disorganized mess. While he waited for her to give him his answer, he shoved off the wall and walked over to the nearest shelf. Mimi had stuff piled in lopsided heaps, including a rainbow of fucking straws, picks and stirrers. The same shelf also housed an entire carton of juice pourers, extra glassware, plastic beer pitchers, and five bottles of cocktail bitters, and that wasn
’
t counting the cases of booze stacked up around every wall. If Armageddon hit, she could stay in business for at least a year without resupplying. They could stay happily drunk off their asses while zombies took over the world.

Without saying a word, he started tucking straws back into the box from which they
’
d spilled. He let the silence stretch on. Mimi didn
’
t like quiet. Her bar said plenty about her.

Chaotic.

Colorful.

Closed for business.

“Mack.” His name came out half sigh, half sharp exhalation. He didn
’
t need a user manual to know Mimi was mad at him. He
’
d pushed her buttons and now she intended to make him pay. That was fine. They
’
d get where he wanted to go eventually. He was even more stubborn than she was.

“I
’
m listening.
” While he listened, he reached the back of the shelf and started stacking condiment trays.

“Don
’
t be difficult,” she ordered.

Mimi liked giving orders. She was good at it too, running the bar floor with the precision of dispatch calling in the coordinates for a fire. At night, she tended bar and had a couple of part-time girls serving on the floor. Ma
’
s was a smooth, tight operation beneath the happy discordance of too many people talking and too many tunes on the jukebox. She would have made a fine general or field team commander and, in that context only, he
’
d have been happy to serve under her.

He liked spending time with her, but that didn
’
t mean she ran him or his life.

“We had sex.” The scent of her perfume washed over him as she moved closer.
Not close enough
. “It was great.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

He turned his head and gave her a level look. “I
’
m not fishing for compliments.”

“And I
’
m not into repeats.” She propped her hands on her hips and stared up at him. He
’
d bet she hated having to look
up
. Being of the shorter persuasion, Mimi usually wore heels of some sort, but not today. Her cowboy boots gave her barely any lift at all.

“You made that clear.” He just hadn
’
t
agreed
with her.

She looked at him like she wasn
’
t sure what to say next. “Okay,” she said. “
So we
’
re both on the same page. We had a chemistry thing and we took care of it.”

“And then you snuck out.”

She didn
’
t so much as blink. “I left.”

“Without saying goodbye, and while I was in the shower.” Never mind that he
’
d gone in there to give her the space to leave.

She shrugged, Miss Nonchalant. “There was no point in making things awkward.”

He stuck a box of spare bar mats on the shelf next to the pourers. The items went together, even if he and Mimi didn
’
t have matching definitions of
awkward
.

“Maybe I wasn
’t done,
” he suggested.

He knew the rules of one-night hook-ups and part of him (a certain stand-to-attention part) was on board with that. Great sex. No strings. And yet… here he was, back in her bar and wondering if there was anything else he could do for her. With her.
To
her. Yeah, especially that part. He wanted to fix the sad, lonely look she got sometimes when she thought no one was looking. He wasn
’
t sure anyone else saw it but he
’
d been there, done that.

“One night,” she repeated firmly. “I thought you were good with that.”

He sure used to be, back in his younger, wilder days. The long-ago Mack would have jumped happily into—and then out—of bed with a woman like Mimi. That was then, though. This was
now
and their one night had been backsliding on his part. He’d made a rule for himself—
no casual sex
—and he
’
d done Mimi wrong treating her like she could be a casual thing. He
’
d done himself wrong, too, because he wanted more than just sex, no matter how good that sex was. Maybe that was just because was older and he
’
d learned more than a few things over the years, but he suspected it was more than that.

But Mimi wasn
’
t a keeper. She didn
’
t
want
to be kept. He
’
d dated a girl like that in high school. Fancy Jane had been wild to the bone, like a bird he
’
d discovered trapped in the garage one summer, banging and banging on the windows until it stunned itself enough for him to scoop it up, feeling the pitter pat of that heart about to burst with fear and need beneath his fingertips. He
’
d got the bird back outside… and it had flown straight back into the window. Fancy Jane, the high school bad girl, had had plenty in common with the bird. He
’
d taken his turn with her, enjoyed her, bought her beers and held her when she cried and raged. Eventually, she
’
d slept with someone else and that had been his cue to leave. And he had gone. He hadn
’
t asked why she
’
d done it and he hadn
’
t stuck around. Fancy Jane had been pregnant by seventeen, married by eighteen, alone again by nineteen and then he
’
d stopped asking. For Fancy, sex had been just one more way to beat herself up and he suspected Mimi would have recognized a kindred soul in her.

All of which meant he should let her take her box of cups or napkins or whatever it was she
’
d come in here to get and let her go back to the bar.

Alone.

The problem was, he didn
’
t seem to be able to do that.

***

“What
’
s wrong with my being concerned?” Mack asked his question like it was perfectly normal—and maybe it was in his universe. He also had that small smile on his face, the one that made her do far too much melting inside. Why did Mack have to be so
nice
? He was a big bruiser of a man, broad-shouldered and almost too large to jump out of the DC-3 the Strong smoke jumpers used. The first time she
’
d seen him, all she
’
d noticed was his hard face and the wealth of scars decorating his body. Now, she knew he had those marks because he was the kind of guy who rushed in to help out. He threw himself into the fight literally.

She didn
’
t need his help. She fought her own battles.

“I
’
ve got this.” She looked down at the stack of napkins in her arms. She always did. She took care of her own shit, stood and fell by herself.

He watched her silently for a moment, another one of his annoying habits. Instead of rushing to fill a silence or answer an accusation, he thought things over with methodical preciseness. “But I
’
d like to help. You don
’
t have to do everything by yourself.”

She
’
d done exactly that since she was twenty. So, no, she didn
’
t need Mack
’
s help. He was, in fact, superfluous and should get going.

“I
’
m not leaving until you tell me,” he pointed out. That was another thing about Mack. Not only was he a fixer, but he was stubborn. He didn
’
t give up easily. No. Scratch that. He didn
’
t give up
ever
. He was first in, last out, and that was saying something, given the overabundance of heroes working the jump team.

Something tightened in her chest. To her own surprise, she gave in. “That was the Oakland D.A. calling me.”

She slapped the stack of napkins into his hands. If he wanted to help, he could help. She definitely did
not
notice how deliciously hard his chest was or how good he smelled as she pushed past him and back out into the bar. She had no idea what it was about Mack Johnson that made her sit up and take notice, but she
’
d never been able to ignore him.

And she
’
d tried. God, she
’
d tried.

He followed, right on her heels. “Why do they have your number?”

She pointed to the counter behind the bar, indicating where he could drop his load. “Because we have history, okay?”

Maybe he
’
d leave it at that, jump to the obvious conclusion that she was every bit the bad penny, the bad girl and wild child that she was. He set the napkins down and gave her The Look. He was going to wear the thing out and she could have told him she was immune. She didn
’
t care if he was disappointed, upset or even in a raging tear over something she might or might not have done. That was just business as usual for her.

“I
’
ll rephrase. Why are they
using
your number?”

“I could have an arrest warrant. A record as long as your arm.”

“You could,” he said agreeably. “Why don
’
t you tell me all about it?”

“It wouldn
’
t bother you?”