Hot Mess (11 page)

There was no way she could survive
without
another kiss from him.

Holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut, she steeled her resolve and muttered, "Bring it."

He chuckled, and the chuckle grew closer as Rachel tried to brace herself. She thought of her Meemaw, Sophia, baseball, school buses, anything but what the kiss was going to do to her insides. Eyes still squeezed shut, Rachel expelled her breath, wondered why nothing was happening.

Then she felt him.

His breath on her face, a finger tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear, then his breath on her ear as he whispered into it, "I want to take you, Rachel."

She barely had time to register the double entendre in his words, when she felt his hot lips on her ear, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine.

Thankfully, his hands wrapped around her waist, because she was going down. Her knees gave out at the contact of his mouth on her ear, and they didn't regain strength as his mouth laid hot kiss after hot kiss across her jaw, before landing on her traitorously eager lips.

She told herself not to do it, but before his mouth reached hers, it was open and seeking his. They clashed together with a force that was so unknown to her, she couldn't have stopped it if she tried. Her arms clasped around his neck and pulled him closer, so she could feel him against her body. He chuckled into her mouth, then broke away, leaving her defeated.

"See you Saturday. You a size six?"

She nodded weakly, astonished by what had just happened.

Saturday, Rachel was up to her armpits in depilatory, when Sophia answered a knock on the door. The next thing Rachel heard was frantic shrieking that propelled her out of the bathroom in her towel, stinky white cream all over her legs, armpits, over her lip, and other unmentionable areas. What she saw stopped her short.

Sam had sent Amanda over with a strappy sheath in a powder pink color. It was satin, with a chiffon overlay, with intricate beaded detailing.

"Oh. My. God." Rachel shrieked along with the girls, unable to resist the suddenly infectious excitement. This was her dress. Wow.

"Daddy let me pick it out." Amanda said, excitedly.

"Oh Amanda. You did such a good job. This is beautiful." She picked up the dress to hold it against herself, then thought better of it, when she remembered the goo all over her body. "Let me go finish showering and I'll try it on. Do you guys want to help me with my hair?" Eager heads bobbed at her, and she went to rinse the depilatory off before her skin started burning.

Two hours later, when Sam knocked on her door, Rachel could think of nothing else to do to prepare for the evening ahead of her. It didn't matter what he was calling it. This was a date. The girls had gone over to his house a half an hour ago, and she had dug up the literature she would share with him when they came back to her house.

Because she was sure they would come back.

Rachel had been nervous all week. The butterflies were raging, protesting in swirling loop-de-loops against the confines of her stomach. She knew she had to tell Sam before anything else happened with him, and she also knew he would have questions. Rachel wanted to keep her head and be able to answer everything smartly, efficiently, and confidently.

The only problem was her head disappeared when Sam was around and something else ruled her entirely.

As was evidenced when she answered the door to the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen. He was wearing his dress uniform, black pants under a hip-length jacket, decorated with ribbons and gold braids, white gloves, and his dress cap low on his head, indigo eyes drinking her in. She blushed.

"Wow. You look…really good." She said, awkwardly, before giving herself a mental kick.

She saw him swallow, thickly. "I didn't know you had such great legs." Her blush stole further down her neck, and his eyebrows raised appreciatively.

"The dress is beautiful. Thank you, Sam." The butterflies in Rachel's stomach had babies, and they were all swarming madly, fighting each other in her gut, making it roil with nerves.

"I must say, when Amanda picked it out," his voice was a husky murmur, "the hanger didn't do it much justice."

"Let me get the wrap, and we can go."

He looked at her, a dark menacing look, hunger in his eyes. "We don't have to go anywhere. I can skip this, you know."

"No you can't." If they stayed there one more second, Rachel would cave. She still couldn't believe that this man wanted her.

The wrap was made from the same satin as the underlining of the dress, with a silver faux fur lining, and when Sam draped it over her shoulders, she could feel the heat of his hands through the gloves, and goosebumps rose on her back.

"You look beautiful tonight, Rachel." He whispered huskily into her ear, as he rested his hands on her shoulders briefly.

"So do you. Um…I mean handsome." The dress uniform did nothing to minimize his immense frame, as it looked tailored to fit him perfectly. It accentuated his strength, his masculinity.

They walked across the street to Sam's Jeep. It was old, and black, but Rachel suspected it was meticulously maintained. He opened the door for her, holding out his hand to help her inside, before walking around to get in the driver's side.

Rachel tried to calm her heartbeat, in the few seconds that she was alone in the car, taking deep breaths, inhaling Sam's essence inside the Jeep. It didn't work. She was going to be in trouble tonight, and she knew it.

Sam folded himself into the Jeep, and looked over at her legs. "Last chance. We can pretend we went and just stay here…"

"No."

"Pity." He clucked his tongue and put the index finger of his right hand in his mouth, using his teeth to pull off the glove. "I'm not going to waste the drive, then. I know I promised not to lay a finger on you, but I had no idea how great your legs looked when I said that…"

After putting the car in gear, his hand rested on the exposed part of her thigh, casually, his thumb brushing back and forth over the skin. Rachel held her breath to keep herself from moaning and panting like a teenager.

The five-minute drive to the restaurant seemed to take an eternity, or an instant, depending on how Rachel chose to remember it. His hand on her thigh was an exquisite torture, the pad of his thumb rubbing in circular motions over her skin. She imagined his hands other places, rubbing torturous circles over her entire body. It seemed like a promise of delights to come, even though it was a relatively innocent gesture. After expelling her breath in a loud whoosh, much to Sam's apparent amusement, her breaths came shallowly the rest of the drive. She tried to keep them quiet, but apparently the outrageous ball of sex appeal next to her noticed.

"Do you need a paper bag? I don't need you hyperventilating on me tonight." She could hear mirth in his voice, and surprisingly, it calmed her a little bit.

"No. I'll be fine when you stop touching me."

"I don't intend to do that, honey. I'm not sure I can." As if to illustrate his words, his hand began a slow stroke up and down her thigh. All rational thought evaded her, and something primal leapt forward. She shifted her thigh, unconsciously, and his hand roamed higher.

"This is killing me, Rachel."

She didn't respond, unable to say anything, lurid images swirling through her head.

He stilled his hand, and gripped the place on her thigh, midway up. She held her breath again, and he was silent the rest of the drive.

Rachel couldn't remember why this was such a bad idea. The primitive part of her brain had taken over, and all she wanted to do was climb over the center console of the Jeep, and straddle him.

They pulled into the driveway of Estelle's, the restaurant that the Serendipity Fire Department had rented out for the Ball. Rachel stowed her lurid thoughts in the back of her mind, willing herself to think normal things, like what they would be eating, would she see anyone she knew, and how soon could she get back to the house and have crazy wild monkey sex with this hunka burning love next to her?

Sam pulled the jeep up to valet parking, and when the young man opened Rachel's door, he appraised her appreciatively, causing the ever-present blush to steal across her cheeks again. Sam was at her elbow in an instant, flashing malevolent glares to anybody who dared to raise an eyebrow at his date. His hand on her back possessively, he steered her towards the front door.

Once they entered, Rachel gaped at the glitz surrounding her. This was not Serendipity's typical event. Men in tuxedoes, more firefighters in their Class As, and women wearing formal gowns were all over. There were people lined up in front of tables of items laid out for the silent auction, clusters of people holding glasses, chattering and laughing, and servers roaming with trays of appetizers.

"Would you like a drink?" Sam's voice in her ear left her warm.

"Just water is fine. Thanks. I'm going to check in my wrap before I spill something on it." Rachel replied.

Sam flashed her a grin before turning to go to the bar in the corner.

He returned with her water as she slipped her coat check ticket into her clutch purse, and whispered in her ear, "You really do look wonderful tonight, Rachel. I'm so glad you're here with me."

She laughed, "Because all the other firemen were beating down my door?"

He raised his voice to a rumble, "They probably will be after tonight."

"Sam! I'm glad you made it!" They turned at the voice, and were greeted by an older man, wearing a highly decorated set of Class As, with crossed bugles on the lapel. His eyes twinkled behind a massive growth of beard.

"Rachel, this is my Battalion Chief, John Bennet. Chief, this is Rachel Fairchild."

"What a pleasure…" He shook her hand, squeezing it gently. Turning to Sam, he winked. "I'm glad to see you making friends, Sam. Just do her a favor. Don't make her dinner."

Rachel remembered the night she'd gone to Sam's and smelled the frozen pizzas. That was also the night she'd seen him fresh out of the shower, steam rising off his body, skin glistening with moisture. The tingly pool of warmth between her legs affected her hearing, because she missed Sam's comment, and the reason for the men's laughter.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, embarrassed that her thoughts had turned elsewhere. She realized she'd be fighting that all night.

Chief Bennet chuckled again and shot Sam another wink, before turning to leave. Rachel looked at Sam, totally confused.

"I make a mean breakfast. You were in lala land and missed a dirty joke. But he's right. Don't ever let me cook you dinner, unless you have a sudden craving for Ramen noodles. Or flapjacks." Grasping her elbow, he steered her towards the room that was set up with tables. "It looks like they're getting ready to serve dinner. Let's go find our seat."

"Sam!" An older lady, probably in her eighties, wrapped her arm around Sam's bicep, caressing it lovingly. Rachel could feel him stiffen as he wrapped an arm around her possessively. "You didn't tell me you had such a delightful creature in your life. No wonder you rebuffed my advances." A harrumph from the gentleman next to her brought a twinkle to Sam's eyes, and he seemed to relax a little, but not much.

"Mrs. Brigsby, please meet Rachel Fairchild, my date for the evening." Sam rested his hand on Rachel's back casually, his fingers gently brushing across her skin.

"Charmed, darling. Sam and I had the most pleasant afternoon together not too long ago, when he came on a call." Turning to the man next to her, "The last time you left me in a fix." He rolled his eyes, and looked away, bright red creeping up his neck.

"He's really a gentleman, you should hold onto him as tightly as you can, dear." She waved before walking away, her date in tow.

When she'd left, Sam let out a loud whoosh of air that Rachel hadn't realized he'd been holding. "…That woman…shit," he muttered under his breath, before leading her to their table.

Before they could get there though, another woman stopped them. She was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes that glinted when they fell on Sam. Rachel's hackles rose immediately by the predatory stance of the woman, and she gave herself a mental shake to calm herself. This was a first date, she had no claim staked on Sam.

"You're Sam Owens. I'm Crystal Simmons, with the Serendipity Herald. I would like to do a story on our newest addition to the fire station. When would be a good time for an interview?" She snaked her arm through Sam's, and Rachel thought she saw a tug, like she was trying to lead him away. Sam didn't move though, and Rachel saw the woman's glance travel appreciatively to his bicep.

"I'm really not interested in an article, Mrs. Simmons."

"It's Miss Simmons, or just Crystal." She quirked her mouth into a flirtatious smile that put Rachel's teeth on edge.

"
Miss
Simmons, then. I'm sorry, I'm not available for an interview. If you'll excuse me?" He turned to lead Rachel around the woman, but she planted herself in front of them again.

"Introduce me to your date, Sam?" She looked at Rachel, expectantly.

"Rachel Fairchild." Rachel extended her hand politely, not wanting to draw attention to herself, hoping to get away from her. Crystal's hand was icy, her grip firm, and Rachel felt unease slither up her back at the contact.