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Authors: Anne Marsh

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BOOK: Burning Up
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Chapter Six
H
ell.
She ducked under his arm, and he let her go. Just like that and because he could. She didn't want to deal with his arrogance or this brand of crap, but that was Jack Donovan for you. He and his brothers were heroes at heart—even if they were all bad boy on the outside.
Lily had forgotten just how much she'd wanted him. How much he could make her feel when he touched her. Her body hummed with arousal, and her panties were damp, damn it. He'd come home and put his hands on her—and her body was more than willing to welcome him back. She didn't want to do this, though. Didn't have the energy to dig up the past. Not now.
So she took a precautionary step back and looked up at him. “We need to discuss this attraction of yours.”
“This attraction of mine?” he drawled. He let her step away from him, though, allowing her to put a foot of space between herself and his chest. He was older now, his body bigger and harder, the boyish edges sharpened into rugged good looks. The stretch of the thin white cotton T-shirt over the muscles of his abdomen had her regretting she'd vowed prudence.
God, he was even more impossibly delicious than before.
There was nothing safe or practical about Jack Donovan. He was, she reminded herself, a delicious treat. Ice cream for breakfast on a hot day. He'd leave—again—at the end of the summer, and a wise woman wouldn't choose to live on ice cream anyhow.
His eyes darkened as he watched her. “You're thinking too much.”
She shrugged and turned away. “One of us has to.” Although she was tired of being the practical one, always planning for the future. Where had it gotten her?
He smiled. Slowly. “I'm thinking, too, baby, and what I
think
is that you're too alone out here. You want to come back into town with me, we can fix you up a place to stay until we've got a handle on these fires. Nonna always has a spare bed.”
“No,” she said. She was done running away, and, damn it, this was her farm. Her dream. “Lavender doesn't pick itself, Jack. I have a job here. Things that need doing.”
“These things are more important than keeping yourself safe?”
She wasn't going to think about that. God, she couldn't. She still couldn't forget that last fire before she'd given up and fled San Francisco. She'd opened her bedroom door to smoke and a deceptively small fire burning in her kitchen sink. Just a few romance novels from her keeper shelf. That had been the kicker. Her stalker hadn't used the stack of newspapers by the recycling bin. He could have chosen anything, and he'd chosen those books.
He'd destroyed the books she'd read and loved enough to keep.
“I'm safe enough,” she countered. “There's no raging inferno of death headed my way that I can see.” She'd wanted Jack Donovan something fierce when they'd been in high school, when she still believed in dreams. Believed that he'd hold out a hand to her and sweep her along with him. She'd grown up since then. She'd learned what he wanted and what promises he was willing to make. That was one thing about Jack that hadn't changed.
She closed her eyes and shook her head before she made herself confront his watchful eyes. Jack never broke a promise.
And he'd never offered her happily-ever-after.
“You aren't safe here. Not from what I've heard.” He repeated his statement quietly, but there was no mistaking the determination in his voice. The certainty. “So you have a choice, Lily. You can come back with me to Nonna's, or I'll move in with you here. I'm not leaving you alone.”
The sheer male arrogance of him took her breath away. He thought he knew what was best for her. And perhaps he might. In bed. But he had no idea about the monster she'd faced down. The monster who just might have tracked her to Strong.
“I don't want you here, Jack.” She turned away, staring blindly out the window. The dark sweep of purple covering her hills represented everything she was building here, she thought fiercely. It was all hers, her hard work and plans. Jack Donovan didn't get to charge in and tell her what to do. “No matter what there was, or might have been, between us in the past, I don't need you to drop in and rescue me.”
His watchful gaze didn't change, and she'd grown up more than enough to know what that meant. “I told you what I could give you, Lily, and when it wasn't enough, I walked away.”
“Yes.” She turned back wearily. “Yes, you did, Jack. No one ever said you were less than honest.”
“You wanted me then,” he pressed on, brutally honest. “You want me now. So you don't like the fact that I'm going to look out for your safety. That I won't let anyone hurt you.” He eyed her. “I won't hurt you, Lilybell. I promise you that. Whatever happens between us is your choice.”
“My choice? Not really, Jack. If it was my choice, your fine ass would be climbing back into your truck, and you'd be headed back into town.” God, the memories she had of riding in that truck—and what had happened afterward. “You can't use sex and charm to get your way here. It won't work.”
His slow smile still made her insides go hot, damn him. “You sure about that, baby?”
“I know all about you, Jack. What I didn't know in high school, I've learned since. You and your brothers had a reputation practically from the day you hit this town.” As they'd grown up, Nonna's boys had been wild, sexy as hell, but with a fine sense of honor that ran bone-deep. They played hard but only with those who were willing. Ten years ago, she'd almost been one of that number. Now, she reminded herself, she was out of the running.
“Hell,” she grumbled, “you might as well invite me to move into your hangar. People wouldn't talk any more.”
The wry tilt of his head acknowledged the hit. “People talk,” he admitted quietly. “But they don't always have all the facts, Lily. We both know that. There's more at stake here than a handful of words someone gave you about my brothers and me. If you were concerned about those rumors, you should have brought your concern to me.”
“Don't tell me you didn't earn that reputation, Jack.”
That slow, sensual grin of his did something to her, and she prayed it wasn't permanent. “We earned it, baby. Damn right. Want to find out why?” He shrugged. “I didn't think that was your kind of thing.”
It was that kind of wicked hint that had earned him the reputation he had.
“Rain check,” she said lightly, stepping away from him.
His arm shot out, loosely shackling her wrist. She got the message. He wasn't done with her yet. That made her mad. Still, the sooner she heard him out, the sooner he'd get the message and leave.
“This isn't a game, Lily.” He shook his head, dead serious. “Until I've got these fires sorted, you and I are an item. Whoever your stalker is, he'll think twice about messing with you if we're seen as a couple. A woman alone is easier to harass. You play along with me, and we'll pull it off. If everyone thinks we've picked back up where we left off, it will be more convincing.”
“You mean, if everyone else believes we've finally become lovers.”
“Yes.” His eyes held hers. “If we're lovers, there will be fewer questions.”
“You're not going to give up on this, are you, Jack?”
“You could enjoy this, you know,” he pointed out. “It doesn't have to be all about business.”
“Are you asking me out, Jack Donovan?”
He paused, those dark eyes warming. “I could be, baby. If that's what you want. We were good together before. We'd be even better now. Think about it.” His voice dropped, the sexy growl making her panties dampen impossibly. “Think about us, Lilybell. I'd like more—wouldn't you?”
“And you'll be out of here at the end of the summer, Jack,” she said.
“We've got months until summer ends,” he growled.
“You always did like to plan ahead.”
“And you lived for the moment,” she snapped. “Fine. You want to stay here, you stay here. Please yourself.”
Spinning on her heel, she stalked up the stairs, aware the whole way of the heated presence at her back, climbing the steps behind her. The farmhouse's bedrooms were picturesque, narrow slices of space tucked beneath painted eaves. The open windows brought in the scent of drying lavender as soon as she stepped through the door of one of them.
“Home, sweet home,” she said, indicating the bed with a wave of her hand. Jack's shoulders brushed the door as he stepped in behind her and silently took in the antique iron bedstead. The bed was twin-size and impossibly narrow. The patchwork quilt created a soft, feminine space, making her hyper-aware of his large, male body.
“I may be bigger than you remember,” he crooned. The space was suddenly too small, and she knew he recognized the heated flush on her skin. There were just too many memories between them for such a small space, and their new kiss was simply one more to add to her collection.
He reached out, his hands descending on her shoulders. He couldn't stop touching her. Little touches, not all sexual. Like he'd missed the feel of her skin or the accidental contact. She waited breathlessly, hating herself for the weakness, for anticipating the next sexy promise he might make her.
“Real pretty view” was all he finally said, stepping up behind her. The move boxed her in between him and the bed and the windows that opened out onto her fields and their purple sea of lavender.
Dreamy,
she thought, but that was an inadequate description; she'd invested a hell of a lot more than dreams in those fields. She needed them to produce.
“But I'll sleep down there.” He pointed to the sunporch the farm's former owner had tacked on haphazardly to the main house.
“On the porch? Afraid for
your
virtue now?”
He shot her a look. “I've never liked small spaces, Lily.” The tone of his voice warned her the subject was closed. She wasn't getting a heart-to-heart talk from Jack. Not tonight. Leaning forward, he stabbed a finger toward the line of pink and white oleanders edging her lavender field. “You need a fire line. See right there? Those scruffy green bushes with the little pink flowers? That's where I'll start.”
“Don't you touch my oleanders,” she said fiercely. “I mean it, Jack. Don't you cut my flowers.”
“You need a firebreak,” he said. “I'm going to make sure you have everything you need, baby.” The little shiver in her stomach warned her that Jack wasn't talking about the oleanders anymore.
“You don't know the first thing about what I need.” She stepped away from him, refusing to admit she was disappointed when he let her go. “Sleep up here. Down there. Take your pick.” What she needed, she admitted privately, was to get herself the hell away from Jack Donovan's bed. She didn't need to be borrowing that kind of trouble.
He sat down on the bed and just watched her, as if he knew something she didn't and he wasn't in a sharing kind of mood. “I'll figure it out,” he said, and she knew he wasn't talking about where he was going to end up sleeping tonight. She wondered if he planned on finding her, and that particular fantasy had her flushing.
Jack, damn him, just watched her and patted the empty patch of quilt beside him. A small smile of male amusement at her retreat crossed his face. Clearly, he didn't give a damn about common courtesy, because, as her unwelcome houseguest, he should have been on his best behavior. Instead, he was pushing for all he was worth. “You let me know what you need, baby,” he said.
She refused to look at him as she left the room. She wasn't going to admit that his soft drawl had her thinking about all sorts of
needs.
And wants.
No, she was going to get the hell out of there.
And go to bed. Alone.
Chapter Seven
J
ack wanted to know what she
needed
? Lily had spent the night tossing and turning, because he was an arrogant ass, and the nightmares were back. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames and smelled the smoke. Her condo—and her life—was on fire, and she was helpless to stop it. Awake now, she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, because sometimes caffeine and the warm sides of a mug were the only lifelines this early in the morning. God, she was tired of feeling helpless. Tired of being a pawn some man decided to move around the board because he could or because he wanted something from her she didn't want to give. She wanted to
do
something, and she didn't want to retreat.
She wasn't retreating ever again.
Knowing Jack was just downstairs hadn't made the night any easier, either. That handful of stairs was nowhere near enough space between them. He was pure temptation, and she could admit that to herself.
So she was nowhere near ready when Jack dropped down onto the porch step behind her. His legs slid around hers, and a hard, muscled arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her up and backward. His other arm rescued her coffee as she yelped.
He chuckled and stole a swallow. “God, Lily.” He stared down suspiciously into her cup. “Did you even bother putting coffee in here?”
So she liked her coffee milky sweet, and she used way more sugar than any adult should. Her house. Her rules. “Make your own damned coffee, then,” she snapped.
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” he teased. “Because, if you are, I'm going to need a few pointers.”
He'd obviously been up for a while. She'd heard the front door slam hours earlier as she lay there sleepless. Watched Jack take off down the road, running. Now, his hair was still damp from his post-run shower, but he was wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. Work boots. So close to him, she felt impossibly bare in her cut-offs and tank top, too aware of the contrast between her bare legs and his muscled ones.
His mouth brushed the skin of her neck, his tongue drawing a wicked little pattern on the sensitive skin. His teeth nipped at her, and the erotic sting had her stilling.
When his hand found the back of her neck and rubbed, she wanted to melt in sheer bliss. She should have moved away. Should have told him to keep his hands to himself. But Jack Donovan in the morning was even sweeter than her coffee, and she wanted something to keep her memories of that night, that fire, at bay.
When he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her in those arms of his, she finally protested.
“I can't do this, Jack.” She pushed at him, and he let her put a few inches of space between them. “You don't want to stick around.”
“Take a chance, baby,” he growled. He nipped at her lower lip, his hands threading through her hair. “You take that chance on us. I would never hurt you.”
“Not intentionally,” she said sadly.
Her words hung there in the air between them, and there was nothing he could say. Because those words were true. He would never hurt her on purpose, but summer would end like it always did, and he'd move on—like he always did—because staying put just wasn't an option for him.
He tightened his arms around her. “Don't write me off, Lily, and don't tell me what I want. Right now, what I
want
is you, and damned if you're not driving me crazy. You're going to have to give me just a little trust here.”
“Why should I?” She shoved against his chest. She knew Jack. He wouldn't hold her there if she really wanted to go. He might coax and tease, but he'd never force. She shut that memory down before she could follow it back to the night of the fire. Jack's hands weren't getting the message, however, because he just pulled her closer to him. She wanted to talk, but sometimes all those words didn't get you anywhere. She didn't see them resolving this matter with a handful of words anyhow. Bottom line was, she didn't trust him to stick around, and she didn't see how he could fix that particular issue.
“I don't think you want to be hiding from what we've got between us,” he growled. His hand slid down over the curve of her ass, tracing the line between her cheeks to dip between them. She jumped, then froze, mesmerized by the delicious heat unfurling right there, between her thighs, where he teased the edge of her panties. Then he tucked one finger against the denim seam and stroked. A little, delicate, knowing brush of his finger.
“Jack,” she whispered. Before she could
think,
she leaned forward. Giving him more access. His finger teased, petted. Slid forward to explore.
“You tell me you don't want this,” he growled. His finger found her swollen clit beneath the denim and pressed, and that sharp burst of pleasure, so sweet, so hot and unexpected, had her sitting there on his lap waiting to see what he'd do next. Pleasure pulsed through her in short, hard beats. She shouldn't do this. Not on the porch. This wasn't like her.
“You want me to pet you right here, baby, until you come? Because,” he said, his voice rough with desire, “I'd love to do that for you.” His finger slid beneath the edge of the denim shorts, over the thin cotton of her panties. “I think you want me just fine.”
“And if you don't, you just come on over here,” a familiar voice teased.
Oh, God.
She scrambled off Jack's lap, and this time he let her go, as if he knew there were boundaries she wouldn't cross. Things she wasn't ready to accept, no matter how decadent the pleasure. Rio was watching them. Rio, Jack's playful, golden brother. The man was all liquid grace and sensual curiosity, and she'd
heard
things about him. About Jack, too. The hooded look on Jack's face warned her that those rumors might be more fact than fiction.
Rio winked at her, as if he hadn't just found her wrapped around his brother, with his brother's hand touching her intimately. “Jack here is going to leave you alone if that's what you want, sweetheart.”
Arousal warred with embarrassment, and she stared at him, unsure what to say. He just smiled devilishly. “There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Lily. The view was just fine from over here.”
“Rio . . .” Jack's warning growl came from behind her.
She hadn't paid attention to the dull throb of a motorcycle pulling into her driveway. When Jack had her in his arms, that was how crazed he made her. Fighting a blush, she looked over at Rio, astride that damned Harley. No one had ever mistaken the Donovan brothers for choirboys. Someone—a female someone—straddled the back of that cycle, looking for all the world like she'd ride one or all the brothers the same way. Rio's friend was all long, jeans-clad legs beneath a short white T-shirt baring a perfectly tanned stomach. As Lily watched, the woman pulled off her black helmet, shaking free a long mane of hair. Whoever she was—and a new face in Strong was a novelty—the violet shadows beneath her eyes, her slightly slumberous look, said loud and clear that this woman hadn't been to bed yet. Or, Lily corrected herself self-mockingly, hadn't done any sleeping. Next to her, Lily felt boring and plain-Jane.
Rio got off the bike and sauntered over, and the look in his dark eyes was pure mischief. He was enjoying this early-morning get-together a little too much.
“Why are you here, Rio?” Lily asked bluntly.
The laughter went right out of Rio's eyes, and she knew she wasn't going to like what was coming next.
“I took a little ride up the road, along the ridge.” He indicated the edges of her field with a hand. “Like we discussed, Jack.”
“Wait a minute.” She frowned. “I don't recall being part of this conversation,
Jack
.”
He shot her a dry look. “But you do remember our talking about the job I have to do here, right? Because this is part of that keeping-you-safe deal we have. Argue with me later if that's what you really want to do, Lily, but right now I want to hear what Rio found.”
Because, clearly, he'd found something, or he'd have just pointed that Harley straight on back to Strong.
“Fine,” she snapped. “We can discuss it later, Jack.”
His hand dropped onto her shoulder. If she looked down, she'd see those fingers—those fingers that had been places she had no business allowing them, not on her front porch—and, God help her, she wanted to look. Wanted to touch. Jack had her all tied up in knots.
“Lots of footprints. He was up there, watching.” Rio's eyes met hers, waiting for her reaction. “Your stalker.”
“He's found you.” Jack's voice hardened.
“We thought he might have,” Rio pointed out.
“But why?” She asked the question that had tormented her ever since the horror began. “What did I do to make him come after me like this?”
Jack's hands closed around her shoulders, pulling her close. She wanted to sink into that heat. When she was with Jack, she felt safe. Protected. She fought to remind herself of why she shouldn't lean back, shouldn't let the strength and the heat of him hold her up. She'd always stood on her own two feet, done things for herself.
“You didn't do anything, baby,” he said. “This isn't your fault. For some reason of his own, he picked you for his sick games. You can't blame yourself for that.”
“He spent hours up there,” Rio continued. “Looks like he picked his spot and hunkered down. Not ex-military, or he wouldn't have left those footprints. He came up from the other side of the ridge. I can show you the path he took if you want.”
Rio hesitated, and Jack nodded slowly. “So he's a watcher. We suspected that. He's been watching Lily for at least two years now. He's fixated enough that he followed her here from San Francisco.”
“There's something else you should see,” Rio said.
“What?”
“We know he likes to burn things.” Rio shot an apologetic look at Lily. “But it's more personal than that. He built himself a fire up there. Just a small one, and he did it really carefully, so he wasn't trying to burn the place down.”
The unspoken
not yet
hung in the air between them.
“What did he burn?” Nausea had her swallowing hard. He'd always chosen something of hers, something personal.
Fury flashed in Rio's eyes, and she realized that maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. For just a moment, the man had been all predator. “A book,” he said, tossing a plastic bag toward Jack.
Jack's hand shot out, catching the bag and handing it to her. “Is this yours?”
“No.” She shook her head. She recognized the book, though. A romance by one of her favorite authors. The top half of the book was charred and black, but she knew that white farmhouse perched on a green hill beneath a sliver of cloud-gray sky. “But I'm reading it now. It's on my bedside table.”
“You're sure that book is still there?”
She hated the possibility that a stranger had been inside her house, touching her things. She'd come back to Strong because she
knew
everyone here. There were no strangers. Or—she shot a rueful glance at Rio's unfamiliar companion patiently waiting for him—not for long, at any rate.
“Positive,” she said, handing the bag back to Rio. “I saw it this morning. I bought it last week, at the general store in Strong.”
“Shit.” Jack dropped a kiss on top of her head, and she wondered if he realized what he'd done, or if the little caress was instinctive. “So he's not just watching you—he's following you, too.”
Just the thought of having this creep's eyes on her made her skin crawl. He'd watched her before, but the idea of whoever he was
here,
in her home, in Strong, was more than she could handle. Panic seized her, and adrenaline flooded her body. She wanted to run, wanted to scream against the unfairness of it all. Sure, she'd suspected—okay, she'd known on some instinctive level—that her plans to get away hadn't worked. But Rio's confirmation was too blunt, too much. If the stalker was really here . . .
“Breathe.” Jack's soft command in her ear had her gulping deep, sweet breaths of air. The simple act anchored her in the here and now, away from the memories she'd hidden even from herself.
“So how does he do that?” Jack asked rhetorically. “Out here, on the farm, he can hide on the ridge. A high-power scope, some binoculars”—Jack shrugged—“he's got what he wants. But I'm betting that's not going to work so well in town. He has to be able to get up close.”
“Which means he's definitely local.” Rio cursed. “We'll watch for him.”
Lily hadn't given these men permission to waltz on in and take over. This was her life—it needed to be her decision.
“Neither of you gets to swoop in here and make decisions for me,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself, Rio. I've been doing it for years.”
BOOK: Burning Up
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