Flashback (5 page)

“What's up for you tonight?” Even with her bouffant hair, she barely came up to his shoulder. “You planning on saving any more damsels in distress?”

He didn't bother asking her how she knew about last night's fire—the gossip train in Santa Rey was infamous. “No damsels, distressed or otherwise. I have a bed in my immediate future.”

“You sleeping alone these days?”

Unfortunately, yeah.
The last woman he'd gone out with had found someone else, someone with more money and more time, and he'd gotten over her fairly quickly but hadn't yet moved on. He couldn't tell that to Sheila, though, or she'd set him up with her niece, as she'd been trying to do all year….

“My niece would be perfect for you, Mr. 2008.”

He winced. “You saw the calendar.”

“Honey, I saw, I bought, we all drooled. Now about my niece…”

Her niece was divorced with four kids, and while she was a very lovely woman, a waitress at Sunrise, in fact, he wasn't anxious to help create yet another fractured family. “I'm sorry, Sheila. But at the moment, I'm—”

“Enjoying being alone,” Sheila finished for him with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before.”

Standing, he handed her back the phone book, then gave her a hug. “How about you? You could marry me.”

She cackled good and long over that one, and walked to the roof door. “If I was thirty years younger, you'd be sorry you said that….”

He laughed, but his smile faded fast enough. With no idea how to track down Kenzie, he left and drove home, thinking he'd just go horizontal for a little while and then figure it out, but as he drove up to his house, he saw a red convertible Mercedes Cabriolet in his driveway.

And the outline of a woman sitting on his porch, lit from behind by the setting sun.

She was wearing two hospital gowns layered over each other and a pair of hospital booties, reminding him that her clothes had gotten sliced and diced pretty good and probably any luggage she'd had on the boat was long gone.

Her hair, wild on the best of days, had completely rioted around her face in an explosion of soft waves, the long side bangs poking her in one eye and resting against her cheek and jaw, where she had a darkening bruise that matched the one above her other eye, accompanied by a two-inch-long butterfly-bandaged cut. She was cradling her splinted left wrist in her lap. Her good hand was cut up as well, and so were both her arms—nothing that appeared too deep or serious, but enough to make him wince for her. Her legs were more of the same.

She was alone and beat up, and hell if that didn't grab him by the throat and squeeze. Then there were those melt-me eyes that lifted to his and filled.

Jesus.
He thought he was so damn tough but one soft sigh from those naked lips and he was a bowl of freaking jelly.

She had a plastic bag beside her, and one peek at it tugged at him harder than he could have imagined given what he did for a living and how often he'd seen this very thing.

Her clothes from the fire.

Probably all that she had left here in Santa Rey. In her unsplinted hand she clutched a small prescription bottle, most likely pain meds.
Hell.
He was such a goner.

“I haven't taken any yet,” she whispered, shaking the bottle. “Couldn't, because I took a cab from the hospital to the docks where I had my car, which I drove here.”

“Kenzie—”

“You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover.

“Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.”

He bit back a sigh. “It's for charity.”

“And you definitely contributed.” She waggled her eyebrows, then winced. “
Ouch.
I'm not allowed in Blake's house—evidence. And the hotels are all booked up, just my luck. Did you know you have a convention of dog trainers in town? Why are there five hundred dog trainers in Santa Rey?”

“Because we let dogs on our beaches.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “So we let dogs on our beaches, but not me into a hotel. Kinda makes sense when you think about it.”

How that made sense, he had no idea.

“Because my karma sucks.”

“Okay, come on.” Gently, he pulled her up, taking the bag. Letting her hold onto the medication, he led her inside, telling himself he was going to give her Tommy's warning and that was it.

Other than that, he was going to stay out of it entirely.

But holding onto her, he realized she was trembling, and as he took her into his living room, she went directly for his couch, which she sank onto with a grateful little sigh. “I think she went on vacation.”

“Who?”

“My karma.” She gave him an exasperated look, like he wasn't listening to her, and then very carefully leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“Hey.” Squatting down before her, he put his hands on her thighs, looking into her eyes when she opened them. “You okay?”

She let out a sound that might have been a laugh, or a sob.

He hoped to God it was the first. “Rough twenty-four hours,” he murmured.

Another nod, carefully slow and precise, giving her away. She definitely wasn't laughing. In fact, she was in pain, lots of it; rising, he went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Bringing it back to her, he pried the prescription drugs from her fingers, read the label—yep, painkillers—and shook one out.

“I'm okay.”

“You don't look it. You look like hell.”

“You say the nicest things.”

With another sigh, he once again hunkered down at her side. “Look, you've been through a lot. I know you're alone and…”

“If you say helpless, I'll slug you with my good fist.”

Once upon a time she'd been the most amazing thing in his life.

The. Most. Amazing. Thing.

On the outside she'd been so mind-blowingly, adorably, effortlessly sexy. Inside, she'd been pure warmth and sweetness, loyal to a fault, always believing the best in everyone, willing to defend what she believed in to the death if necessary.

From their very first moment together, she'd wreaked havoc with his common sense. Before her, nothing in his world had been warm or sweet or particularly loyal. She'd brought lightness into the dark.

Until he'd sent her away. “Not helpless,” he said a little thickly. “Never helpless.”

“Okay, then.” She hugged herself and shivered.

With a frown, he moved to the fireplace. For late summer, the evening did have a chill to it, and she probably was still in some shock. He set up kindling and held a lit match to it until it flamed with a low
whoosh
.

With a startled cry, Kenzie shrank back from the small flames, covering her face.

Yeah, still in shock.
He should have thought about how she'd feel about a flame of any kind, and cursing himself, he rose and went to her.

“I'm okay,” she whispered, peeking out from between her fingers, very carefully not looking at the flickering fire. “It's the crackling.” She grimaced. “And, okay, the sight. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“It's normal.”

“I don't feel normal.”

He didn't feed the small fire, letting it burn out. “I'm sorry. Let's go with the heater instead, okay?”

Once again she leaned her head back, carefully not moving a single inch more than she absolutely had to. “Thanks.”

She was killing him. “Kenzie—”

“Could we not talk? It's threatening my head's precarious perch on my shoulders.”

“Take the pill.”

“I guess I could use a little oblivion. Okay, I could use a lot of oblivion….” Turning her head, she eyed the fireplace as if it were a spitting cobra. “You know, they don't call me Kenzie in Los Angeles.”

“Or in the gossip rags.”

Without moving another muscle, she arched an eyebrow, appearing to be genuinely surprised. He'd given himself away.

“You read them?”

“Hard to miss when you're going through the grocery store,” he said defensively. “They're right next to the candy bars.”

The smallest smile crossed her lips.

“You dated that underwear model. The one who danced naked on all the commercials. Chad.”

“Chase. And he wasn't naked. He was wearing the underwear he was marketing. Which isn't that much less than what you're wearing in that calendar, Mr. 2008.” She gave him a long look.

“Last year you went out with a European prince.”

“Now that was just publicity.”

He didn't know if he believed her, or cared.

Strike that. He cared. “Take the pill.” He watched her chase it with the glass of water he offered.

Yeah, he cared.

Dammit.

“Problem,” she said, and licked a drop of water off her bottom lip.

He dragged his gaze up to hers. “What?”

“Even if there were no dogs. I still couldn't get a room. I have no money—my purse either burned up or is below several yards of water, probably both.” Kenzie winced. “The hospital had to give me an emergency taxi voucher to get to my car. I'd be really screwed right now if my keys hadn't been in my pocket. Luckily, I also left my cell in the car, so I called my financial manager and he's overnighting emergency funds. But your address was the only one I could think to give him, and I have no place to go until it arrives. And now I can't drive.” She shook the bottle of pills. “It's not recommended.”

Their eyes met as the implications of her little speech sank in.

“Apparently, I still trust you,” she whispered. “At least a little.”

Damn
if that didn't cut right through everything to the heart of the matter. For better or worse, she trusted him, and he had to admit, that meant something to him. Plus, there was the other truth—there was no other place she could go. Like it or not, he was her only contact in town. Which meant…

She was staying here.

With him.

K
ENZIE SAT ON
A
IDAN'S COUCH
absorbing the awkward silence. Her eyes were closed but she could feel him close. Thinking. Probably panicking. “Or if you loan me a few bucks, I'll call a cab.”

“And go where?”

Right.
Well, dammit, if he'd just give her some room, she could just sit and try to ignore him—
try
being the key word.

It wasn't his good looks that held her interest. She'd had her fill of good-looking guys on a daily basis at work and she would have said Aidan wasn't that pretty, at least not soap-star pretty. Until she'd seen the calendar. Because holy cow, he'd looked pretty damn fine in eight-and-a-half-by-eleven color glossy, there was no doubt. But he was also tough, and far more rugged than that. There was just something about his eyes and mouth, and the laugh lines lining both that suggested he could be dangerous or outrageous, sweet or maybe not so much so, sheer trouble or the boy next door….

She knew all to be true.

What she didn't know was why she'd come
here,
to his house.

Okay, she knew. He was the only familiar thing in her entire world. She'd gotten his address easily enough by calling his station, where some friendly firefighter had recognized her and cheerfully offered up direction. She'd driven here on auto-pilot, having no trouble remembering her way around Santa Rey, getting spooked only when she'd thought she was being followed by a gray sedan.

Which was ridiculous and paranoid. God, she needed a nap.

Aidan's house was tiny, and definitely old, but cozy. From the looks of things, he'd been remodeling it. The living room had lovely hardwood floors and gorgeous wood trim on all the windows, which looked out to the ocean and the rolling hills surrounding it.

He'd always been handy—with tools, with his mind, his words.

His body…

Yeah, he'd been really good in that department. In fact, it was fair to say he'd been her willing tutor, and she a most apt pupil.

But that thought led to others, including the fact that she'd once been young and stupid enough to believe in fairy tales. Aidan had been her prince, her happily-ever-after.

Until he hadn't been.

Luckily she was no longer young or stupid. She no longer dated men while dreaming of that white picket fence and two point four kids. Nope, she dated simply to have fun, and once in a while, to have good sex.

Easy come, easy go.

Too bad she and Aidan weren't having a go at things now, because she was finally with the program, she finally got the rules. They'd probably have a hell of a time.

An evening breeze came through an open window and she drew in a fresh breath. Her pain pill had begun to kick in, and she sank a little deeper into the very comfortable couch. The last time she'd been in Aidan's place, which back then had been an apartment, he'd owned a bed, a TV, a stereo and a box of condoms.

That'd been all they'd needed.

She hadn't been the only one to change. His needs had apparently upgraded. His couch was extra large, and double extra comfortable. There was a TV, triple extra large, and the perennial stereo. But he also had a desk with a computer on it, and some beautiful prints on the walls, which were painted in muted beachy colors.

No condoms in sight. That was undoubtedly for the best. But she liked the house. Low maintenance, calm, even warm and clean. Her place wasn't so different, which meant she felt far more at home here than she would have ever admitted out loud.

How ironic that she'd come back into town to handle Blake's affairs, and to raise hell on the arson charges, intending to stay as far out of Aidan's path as possible, only to end up here in his house, with nowhere else to go.

High on meds…

From the windows she could hear the waves slapping against the shore. Next to her, he was still, just sitting there breathing, soft and even, but she didn't look at him. Wasn't ready to look at him. Yet apparently her nose didn't get that memo because her nostrils quivered, trying to catch a quick whiff of the man—except all she could smell was herself and the smoke and soot stuck to her skin. “I stink.”

“It's stress.”

“No, not like that.” She rolled her eyes, which hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. “Like smoke.”

“You could take a shower.” His voice was low, a little gritty, and a whole lot suggestive, although she knew that last was all her own imagination.

She couldn't help it, the guy had a voice that brought to mind slow, hot sex. Seriously, if he could bottle the sound, he'd have been rich.

“Kenzie? Do you want to take a shower?”

Yes, please.
In her own place with her own things and her own thick, cozy, warm bathroom and fuzzy bunny slippers. And then she'd like a good DVD and a bag of popcorn, something to give her mind a mini-vacation from its current hell. “That would be nice, thanks.”

He offered her a hand. She stared at it, and then into his face, which was solemnly watching her. “Just a hand,” he murmured.

Knowing she was a bit wobbly, she put her hand in his bigger, warmer one and let him pull her up. She staggered into him, and for a moment he held her, and caving in to her own yearning, she pressed her face to his throat and was immediately overcome with memories.

But she didn't do memories, at least not anymore, so she forced herself to step free of him.

He led her down the hall and into what must have been his bedroom. The walls were a soft cream, which went beautifully with the cedar ceilings. But what caught her eye was the biggest bed she'd ever seen, piled high with a thick navy-blue comforter and a mountain of pillows. It was made, sort of. It was
boy
-made, which meant the covers had been tugged up. His hamper appeared to be a pile of clothes in the corner, but other than that, the room was as warm and clean and welcoming as the rest of the house.

She shouldn't have been surprised. The Aidan she'd known had been rough-and-tumble tough, always cool and calm and impenetrable no matter the circumstances, which she imagined served him well in his field. She'd seen that in action on the boat and in the water.

But much like his house, he had a warm, soft, welcoming center. It was what had made him so damn likeable.

Now, with the dubious honor of a few years and some maturing, that likeability had turned into an undeniable sex appeal she discovered while standing there staring at his bed, feeling a rather inexplicable stirring deep in her belly.

“Here.” With a hand to the small of her back, he gently nudged her all the way into the room, then passed by her, his arm brushing hers as he moved into the bathroom, which was all cool, white tile and more wood trim. He flipped on the shower, which was nearly as big as his entire kitchen.

“Wow,” she said, staring at it.

He shrugged. “I like showers.”

“I remember.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Damn,
she really needed a script writer for this real-life thing.

His gaze slid to hers. Very slowly, he arched an eyebrow.

She turned away to blush in peace, but he turned her back toward him with a careful hand on her arm. “Kenzie?”

She stared at his chest, her vision a little compromised by the nice little pill she'd taken, but not so much so that she couldn't appreciate the view. “Yeah?”

“Do we need to talk?”

Absolutely not.
“No.”

She didn't want to discuss her carnal knowledge of his love of showering. Not when she remembered, in vivid Technicolor, taking more than a few with him. She remembered, for instance, the time he'd backed her up to the shower wall in his apartment, lifting her legs around his waist, thrusting into her until she couldn't have told him her own name. She remembered the feel of him, hot and thick inside her, remembered how it felt to be pressed between the hard wall and his harder body, the water pounding down over the top of them until she'd cried out so loudly his roommate had pounded on the bathroom door to make sure she was okay…. They'd laughed so hard they'd barely been able to finish, but they'd managed.

They'd always managed.

The humbling truth was, once upon a time, he'd been able to make her come in less than three minutes, using nothing more than his mouth and his portable showerhead.

God.

Just the reminder had her beginning to sweat and her knees wobbling. And if she was being honest, there were some other even more base reactions going on. She firmly ignored them all and lifted her chin. “No. We don't need to talk.”

He nodded very solemnly, but she would have sworn his eyes had heated, and along with that heat was a sort of wry humor.

Oh, perfect. Now
he
was remembering, too.

But what really cooked her goose was while she was squirming, nipples hard, thighs trembling, he was amused.

She ought to slug him. She thought about it, but just then, from the plastic hospital bag came the muffled sound of her cell ringing. Since it could only be someone she didn't want to talk to, like her agent wanting her to get in line for auditions before everyone else from her show snatched up all the jobs, she ignored it.

He gestured toward the steaming shower. “It was the first thing I redid in the house.”

Thinking about his shower was infinitely more appealing than thinking about being unemployed. Thinking about him
in
the shower? Priceless. But he was still looking just amused enough at her interest that she shrugged lightly.
Look at me not caring…

But on the inside she was caring big-time, wondering how the hell to get him
un
-amused and hot, because dammit she wanted him hot.

Why the hell she wanted it made no sense to her, none whatsoever, but she couldn't stop thinking about it.
She
was hot, so
he
needed to be the same. Call it petty revenge on the guy who'd once walked away from her. Call it desperation for a diversion from her real reason for being here. But she wanted him to want her.
Needed
him to want her. She wanted that more than her next breath, and she wanted him to suffer for it.

Around them the steam started to rise, but instead of declaring his undying lust for her, he turned and walked back into his bedroom, vanishing from view.

Kenzie let out a breath. Weary, tired of her own smoky stench, she removed her splint and reached for the tie on her hospital gowns, then went still in surprise when Aidan reappeared.

His broad shoulders filling the doorway, his dark eyes met hers as he held out two folded towels. “You still like to use two?”

She blinked as he set them on the counter by the sink. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

Jaw a little tight, he nodded, and very carefully didn't come any closer.

Huh.
He didn't look that amused now. He looked, dared she think it, a little…hot.

Interesting.

He was going to give her some privacy. Privacy that, shock of all shocks, she didn't actually want. But there he went, turning away again.

“I'll be in the other room if you need anything,” he said. “Just call for me.”

Wow.
He was being considerate, sweet and sensitive, none of the traits she would have associated with him. “You know, this would probably be a lot easier on me if you could continue to be the asshole that you once were.”

“Yeah, there's a problem with that.”

“Which is?”

“I'm not the same guy I was then.”

She opened her mouth, not sure what she planned on saying, but it didn't matter because he walked away, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Kenzie stared at the closed door before stripping and then getting into the shower. Once there, she hissed when the water hit her various cuts but she stood beneath the spray anyway, for a very long time, before finally soaping up. It took five shampoos to get out the smoke smell and even then she wasn't sure she managed completely. By the time the hot water was gone, her skin was wrinkled like a prune and she smelled like Aidan. It was ridiculous but she kept lifting her arm to her nose so she could inhale the scent of him.

When she'd wrapped herself up in the towels, one on her head, one around her body, she opened the bathroom door and found Aidan sitting on the bed, his legs spread, his hands clasped between them, his face pensive. “Better?” he asked, looking for himself.

“Almost human.”

A brief smile curved his lips as he held out bandages and antiseptic cream for her injuries. “I was wondering if you planned on drowning yourself in there.”

“I'm angry and frustrated and devastated, but not stupid.”