Torch: The Wildwood Series (3 page)

“Oh, yeah.” Her voice had this breathy quality that went straight to his dick. “I like it when you touch me.”

Jeeeee-sus. He went completely still before he dropped his hand from her face. Man, he was in some serious trouble here if all she had to do was drop a few simple words and he was ready to tear her clothes off.

“Are we home yet?” She smiled and closed her eyes, snuggling her cheek against the seat. “I’m so tired. My head is spinning.”

“Right. Let’s get you home,” he said, determination filling him as he put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the road.

He’d take her home, get her safely inside, and leave. Get out of there before he was tempted to do something epically stupid.

Like kiss her.

Chapter Three

A
DEEP, RUMBLY
voice sounded close to Wren’s ear, encouraging her to wake up. But she didn’t want to. It was nice, this dream she was having. In it, Tate was being really sweet and looking at her like he wanted to do something obscenely inappropriate to her. And she
wanted
him to do something obscenely inappropriate, especially if it involved taking their clothes off and lots of kissing and rubbing and touching.

That had to be the alcohol talking.

Her head was spinning. She was super tired and . . . oh my God, did Tate just scoop her up in his arms and haul her out of the car? Yes, he did. He was holding her close to his hard chest, his thick muscled arms banded around her as he turned away from the vehicle, the cool night air rushing over her skin and making her shiver. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, closing her eyes and pressing her face into his shoulder.

God, he smelled amazing, but that wasn’t a revelation. The skin of his neck was hot. And so smooth. She wanted to kiss him right there, right at the spot where she could feel his pulse throb beneath her lips.

Yeah. The alcohol was still talking. Meaning she should absolutely not say one word until he was gone and she was alone. And even then she’d remain quiet because she’d be a straight-up wacko if she spent the rest of the night talking to herself about the man she was currently lusting after even though she shouldn’t, right?

“Wren.” He jiggled her in his arms, and she made a low murmuring sound, feigning sleep. Her lips brushed against his skin and he went completely still. “Wake up.”

His voice was scratchy and strained, like she was pushing him close to the edge, but she kept her eyes tightly closed. Not wanting to see him. Not wanting him to see her. He readjusted his hold on her, clutching her even tighter, and a full-body shiver moved through her.

He felt it too. Of course, he did.

“Wren.” A pause. He cleared his throat. “Baby.” Another pause, his fingers tightening their grip on her. “Wake up.”

Ooh, his saying her name in that dark-as-sin voice of his and then calling her
baby
? She may as well end up a melted puddle on the floor. “Mmm, what?” she asked irritably. Seriously, she
was
irritated. She wanted a few more moments to pretend that something would happen between them. It was better than the bitter disappointment she knew she’d experience once he was gone.

Wren cracked her eyes open, staring at his chest. Where did that thought come from?

“I need your keys,” he said. “I can’t open your front door without them.”

“They’re in the front pocket of my shorts.” Let’s see him try to grab those keys too. Any other time she’d bat his hands away and tell him to back off.

Not right now though.

“Swear to God, woman, you’re trying to torture me,” he muttered under his breath as he wrapped one arm tight around her and reached for the front of her shorts with his other hand. His fingers skimmed along her waist, shifting downward so he practically groped her crotch.

She squeezed her thighs together with a squeal, and he immediately jerked his hand away from her. “Sorry.”

Wren said nothing, pressing her lips together when those sure fingers slipped into her front pocket and latched around her keys. It felt nice, him touching her.

Tate pressed the keys into her hand. “Unlock the door.”

“But . . . ”

“Do it, Raven.” He stepped closer to her front door so it was in arm’s reach.

Ooh. Back to the bird name-calling again. Growling under her breath, she thrust out her arm, the keys clutched in her fingers as she pushed the key into the lock, turning it with a vicious twist. Stupid man and his stupidly irritating jokes. All her earlier dreamy kissing thoughts evaporated as she struggled against his hold. She wanted out of his arms.

She wanted him out of here.

“Let me go,” she demanded as he kicked the door open and strode inside her dark and tiny living room.

He set her down carefully and stepped away the moment her feet hit the floor, holding his hands up in front of him. “Guess you’re awake now.”

Tate was lucky she didn’t knee him in the balls. Ugh. One minute she actually wanted to make out with him and the next she didn’t even want him standing in the same room with her.

Which he was doing, by the way. Standing. In the same room with her. Filling it up with his arrogantly sexy presence, making her want to do something crazy.

Like jump him.

Nooooo. No, no, no. No jumping Tate Warren. Get him out of here. He makes you mad. He doesn’t make you happy. Like . . . ever.

“I’m wide awake. I’ve also completely come to my senses.” She tilted her chin up and narrowed her gaze, hoping she looked strong and capable. By the amusement she saw sparkling in his too-pretty eyes, she figured she looked silly instead. She still wouldn’t back down though. “Thank you for the ride. You can go now.”

He cocked a brow. “Don’t you want me to tuck you in?”

No. No way did she want him to do that. What if he gave her a sweet, soft good-night kiss with those perfect lips of his, only for her to wrap her hand around his neck to keep him in place and pull him into her bed, and next thing they knew, they’d be tangled up in the sheets . . .

“I could sing you a song,” he continued, just before he did indeed sing her a song. “ ‘Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.’ ” Tate started to laugh.

While her blood started to boil. “Get. Out.” She bit the words out, tired of the mocking way he teased her. It wasn’t funny anymore. None of it was.

No, more like it was frustrating. And confusing. Deep down inside, she knew she had a major, raging, out-of-control crush on Tate Warren.

And he considered her nothing but a joke.

“C
AN
I
ASK
you a personal question?” Tate tried his best to keep his tone nonchalant as he sat across from his friend and fellow employee West Gallagher. He didn’t want to raise suspicion. He was back at work at the fire station, and it was a quiet afternoon. The engines were sitting in the garage, washed and polished, downright sparkling with cleanliness. The grounds were clean, as was the kitchen, and his crew was having siesta time. A nap was always necessary when they spent most of the previous night out on a medical aid call.

A single-vehicle accident had happened on the twisty highway that led into town. People drove too fast around those curves, especially out-of-towners. The car had rolled and slid down the embankment. They’d worked on the accident all night long.

Didn’t matter how tired Tate was. He couldn’t fall asleep. So he’d been scanning through his phone in the common area when West strolled in and sat on the couch across from him. A necessary distraction, considering Tate had too much on his mind. Well, someone in particular on his mind.

West’s expression immediately turned wary. “Depends on what you’re asking.”

Hmm. How could he approach this topic when it was about West’s little sister? The sister Tate currently couldn’t stop thinking about? Ever since he’d left her at her cottage a few nights ago, she was all he thought about. How sweet and warm she’d felt in his arms. They way she’d murmured his name in his car while she was asleep. How angry she’d become when he sang that stupid lullaby.

How sexy she was when she was angry . . .

“It’s no big deal.” Tate shrugged. Smiled. Chuckled. “It’s about Wren . . . ”

West still glared at him. “Anything about my sister and you, forget it. You don’t have my permission.”

Tate’s mouth popped open. What, like he needed his permission to mess around with Wren? Not that he’d ever tell West he wanted to “mess around” with his sister. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Come on. It’s everything like that. You’ve got a thing for Wren, and she has a thing for you. The two of you have been circling each other like pissed-off cats ever since I rolled into town. God knows how long it’s been going on before I got here.” West leaned forward, intimidating as hell, but Tate refused to budge. He kept completely still. “I know what kind of guy you are.”

Tate’s brows rose. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just like I was. And don’t bother denying it either. You strut around town in your uniform trying to impress the ladies, and I’ll give it to you. It works.” West’s mouth thinned. “Doesn’t seem to work on my sister though.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to work on your sister.” He did not strut around town showing off. Well, not really.

“Please.” West laughed. “You’re definitely interested in Wren. But no way am I letting you near my baby sister. You’re not worthy.”

“What the fuck? How am I not worthy?” He really didn’t want to have this conversation with West, but he’d brought it on himself, so he had no one else to blame. “Never mind. Don’t tell me.”

“Please. Allow me the
honor
of telling you.” West leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re a player. I used to be one too. I know exactly what you do and what you’re looking for. Commitment scares the shit out of you, and I get it. Trust me. But I’m not about to let you fuck around and fuck over my sister. That’s the last thing I want for Wren.” He at least had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Tate mumbled, not willing to reveal much of anything else. Hell, he shouldn’t have even said that. Hearing West’s words, seeing the glower on his face, was the deterrent he needed. The reminder that even contemplating messing around with Wren was a big mistake.

Huge.

“If you mean that, then you’ll leave her alone and let this be.” West peered at him, his expression like stone. “I’m sure half the fun is the challenge.”

“Kind of like Harper was a challenge for you?” Tate threw back at him.

Another big mistake. A muscle ticked in West’s jaw. He looked pissed. Probably didn’t like the fact that Tate mentioned his girl. And how rocky their relationship started.

“Don’t bring Harper into this. You don’t know her. You don’t know what we have.” West pointed a finger at him. “When it comes to my sister, you keep your hands off her. Understand?”

Tate nodded and leapt to his feet. He opened up an entire can of worms with this conversation. Now he was agreeing to whatever West demanded just to get him to shut up. “Understood.”

Without another word he left the room and headed outside, taking a big, gulping breath of fresh air. Fucking Weston Gallagher was a little punk. Like he could tell him what to do. West could kiss his ass. If he wanted to see Wren, talk to her, hell,
fuck
her, he would.

And he wouldn’t regret it. Neither would she. He’d make sure she was satisfied. He’d leave her with a smile.

That’s what he was best at—leaving. He had that down pat.

Chapter Four

“W
E
’
VE GOT A
lead and we’re fairly certain we know who’s setting the fires,” Josh Bailey said as he settled into the chair opposite Tate’s desk.

Not a place Tate spent much time at, but since he’d been promoted to captain, he had to play at “man of authority” every once in a while. This afternoon was one of those times.

“You don’t say?” Tate leaned back in his chair, waiting for the arson investigator to continue. The dude was all right. Most of the time he walked around like he had a stick up his ass and acted like he didn’t trust anyone, but Tate understood. Coming into a small town as a stranger and trying to fit in was difficult.

Tate knew from firsthand experience. He’d been in Wildwood for only about a year, and pretty much everyone treated him like a stranger. It was even worse for Josh. He was investigating multiple arson fires that had been set over the last few months and had to question people. Josh was desperate to blend in and operate undercover, but everyone wondered who the new guy around town was.

“Yep.” Josh nodded, his expression one of . . . excitement? That was the most emotion Tate had ever seen on the guy. He pretty much had one face at all times—serious. In other words, Josh gave Lane Gallagher a run for his money.

Of course, Lane was all smiles now that he was getting sex on a regular basis. Not that Tate could blame the guy. He’d be wearing a smile on his face too if he was getting some all the time.

Tate frowned. And why the hell wasn’t he getting some exactly? There were plenty of summer girls who fit the bill. Gorgeous women on vacation looking for a quick fling. He’d indulged many times last year.

This summer was practically over, and he could hardly remember the last time he had sex. What the hell was wrong with him?

And why the hell hadn’t Josh said anything else?

“Well, who is it then?” Tate asked.

Stony-faced Josh was back. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Then why even bring it up?”

“I just wanted you to know that hopefully we’ll nail this guy and it’ll be over soon.” His lips went thin, his face downright expressionless. Tate felt like he was seeing all the faces of Josh in a matter of minutes. “We’re going into full covert mode.”

“Really?” Tate raised a brow. He’d heard enough undercover stories to know that Josh wasn’t going to give him even a hint of information. He’d find out all of the details after the fact.

“Yeah. And that’s all I can say about that.” Josh stood and nodded once, in pure official mode. “I’m sure you’ll hear if anything happens.”

“Good luck,” Tate called as Josh exited his office.

Weird. The guy runs in looking ready to burst with good news and then barely gives up any details? Why stop by in the first place?

Tate had a feeling Josh wasn’t the best when it came to making friends. Tate, on the other hand, could make friends with anyone. That was why he had been promoted so quickly through the ranks at Cal Fire. Why he was so popular back in high school.

Why he was so good with the ladies.

Well, that and his face.

He could be an arrogant ass sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he was decent-looking. Combine that with his uniform, and forget it. The ladies swarmed every time he came around. Even old ladies went nuts over him. Whenever he went on a call at the local senior citizens’ hall during bingo night—which was far too often—he always got his butt pinched by a gray-haired old woman. They cackled like mad when he whipped around to see who’d done it.

But how could he get mad? If they got a thrill by pinching his ass, then he wasn’t going to complain. They were harmless.

Most of them, anyway.

Tate pushed away from the desk and stood, stretching his arms above his head. It had been quiet all day. He was off shift first thing tomorrow morning, and he couldn’t wait. Planned to go straight home and collapse into bed. Hopefully he wouldn’t dream of Wren either. He’d been having that problem lately, which wasn’t good when he woke up with a tent in his pants—while on duty at the station.

Ah, Wren. He tried his best not to think about her during the day, but it proved difficult. Not that he’d put her out of his mind because of what West said yesterday. Hell no. He wasn’t going to avoid her just because her asshole big brother told him to. West ordering him around only made him want to see her even more.

But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t afford to think of her. She was too much of a distraction, and he needed to focus. He had a job to do—he was responsible for his crew, responsible for the entire station and even the whole damn town of Wildwood. They had an arsonist on their hands, and whoever their firebug was, the guy was on a serious tear. The most recent fire that started on Ridge Point Road had burned thousands of acres and threatened the town before they were finally able to first control and then contain it.

But that had been over a week ago. All had been quiet since, which made Tate feel uneasy. Their local firebug liked to disappear for a bit, lulling everyone into a sense of calm before he went back at it.

Or she. Their arsonist could be a woman too. Hell, he remembered hearing about a case a few years ago where a married couple tried to burn down their entire community. Once the trial was all said and done, they both got seventy years in prison.

Tate shook his head. People were strange.

He exited the tiny office and headed outside, stopping short when he found West standing mere feet away, his arms wrapped around Harper and their lips locked.

Shuffling his feet, Tate coughed discreetly, but they still didn’t come up for air. He cleared his throat.

Nothing.

Hell.
“Uh, you two should think about getting a room,” Tate called.

Harper immediately broke the kiss and shoved West away, her entire face red as she turned to Tate. “Um, hey.” She waved, unable to meet his gaze.

He wanted to laugh but figured he’d piss West off, so he remained quiet. West glared but stepped away from Harper, smoothing his hands down the front of his uniform shirt. “What’s up?” He gave the universal man chin lift at Tate.

“I should go,” Harper said as she stood on tiptoe to kiss West’s cheek. She patted his chest, smiled at Tate, and hurried away in a flurry of motion, her flip-flops slapping against the sidewalk as she headed toward the parking lot.

“Did she bring a pie?” he asked once Harper was gone.

Harper stopped by the station when she could, always with a sweet, shy smile for West and sometimes bearing pie from the Bigfoot Diner, the restaurant her grandma owned. Her grandma was famous for her desserts, especially her pies. If Tate was dating Harper, he’d be as big as a house and happy as fuck from eating all the pie he could ever want.

“No, she didn’t bring a pie.” West rubbed his hand over his head, sending Tate a pointed look. “I forgot my wallet at home when I came into work yesterday and she finally brought it by.”

“Ah.” Sounded like an excuse to Tate but whatever. Who was he to judge?

“She also said she wanted to have you over for dinner Saturday, if we don’t end up having to work.”

“I’d love to. Can I make a request for dessert?” Tate grinned, and West gave him the finger, chuckling under his breath as he turned and walked away.

Tate whistled as he walked toward the garage. He knew West was still bent out of shape about the Wren thing, but he’d get over it.

Eventually.

“W
HO ALL IS
coming to this dinner?” Wren asked Delilah as she applied black liquid eyeliner on her upper lids. She loved eyeliner pens. They made the cat-eye technique so much easier.

“Me and Lane. West and Harper, of course. And . . . ” Delilah’s voice drifted until she became silent.

Wren stared at her iPhone where it sat on the bathroom counter, willing her friend to finish her sentence. It was Saturday night, she was getting ready to go over to her friends’ house for dinner, and she had Delilah on speaker while she finished putting on her makeup. “And who else?” she asked sharply when Delilah didn’t say anything.

“Fine, it’s Tate. But don’t make a big deal about it. Harper’s not trying to set you two up or anything. She was feeling bad because, or so she claims, he’s alone all the time, and she wanted to include him in our group stuff,” Delilah explained.

“Oh, come on. Tate Warren is not lonely. He’s always got girls falling at his feet.” Wren leaned closer to the mirror. Her hand was too shaky as she tried to draw the eyeliner along her lash line, so she set the pen on the counter. Why were her hands shaking? It had nothing to do with Tate, did it?

She hadn’t seen him since he dropped her off at her place five days ago. After he claimed he wanted to tuck her into bed and she’d been so tempted to let him. Until he sang that stupid,
stupid
song and pissed her off.

The next morning she woke up with a raging headache and massive regret. Regret that she ever thought something could happen between her and Tate. She realized her mistake—drinking around Tate got her into trouble. Alcohol made her lose her inhibitions. She’d been so tempted to make a move on him, and she was sort of glad that she didn’t.

She was also sort of sad that she didn’t. Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

“Not really. Tate’s been working too much this summer. No way he had time to go out with anyone,” Delilah said, interrupting Wren’s thoughts. “He might flirt or whatever, but that’s how he puts the women he deals with at ease.”

Uh-huh. That sounded like an excuse.

“Besides, this is all coming from Harper,” Delilah continued. “She’s a total mama bear, you know. Always wanting to take care of people—bring them into the fold and make sure they’re happy.”

“I think he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” Wren retorted, taking a step back so she could check herself out more fully in the mirror. Did she look all right? Her hair was kind of limp, but it had been so hot today she’d put it in a ponytail. That’s why she wore a strapless sundress that was a long column of cobalt blue. Nothing too sexy. It wasn’t like she had huge boobs, and the dress covered her to her toes.

But her shoulders were exposed and she had the slightest hint of cleavage going on. Would Tate like it? Or would he think she was trying too hard?

Wren frowned. When did she care what Tate thought? And why did he always pop into her head at the strangest times? She wasn’t supposed to like him. After all, she was the one who always instigated their arguments. Though someone had once called their arguing foreplay—probably Delilah—and, well, maybe it was.

Oh God. Maybe it
was
.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter if he can take care of himself or not because he’ll be there tonight. I thought I should prepare you, considering the simmering—yet somehow sexual—hostility that’s always brewing between you two,” Delilah said.

Wren dug through the narrow drawer she kept all of her cosmetics in. It was a mess, and all she wanted to find was her mascara. “What do you mean, sexual hostility?”

“You two act the same way whenever you’re together. You make a snide remark, he flirts, you roll your eyes, he smiles—and seriously, Wren, when Tate smiles, it’s devastatingly cute—then you say something rude, he implies that he wants to see you naked, you walk away in an irritated huff, and he sneaks looks at you whenever you’re not paying attention.”

Wren went completely still, gripping the edge of the counter. Was Delilah for real? Is that what they did every single time? And he snuck looks at her? She had no idea. “We’re not that bad,” she protested, her voice weak.

“You so are,” Delilah said firmly. “I think you two are hot for each other, but you just don’t want to admit it.”

“I’m not hot for him.” It was an automatic response, denying her attraction to Tate.

Oh God. Was she really attracted to
Tate
? Or was she crazy?

“Well, I think he’s hot for you. And it’s silly how you keep him at arm’s length.” Delilah’s voice lowered, like she didn’t want Lane to hear her, which was probably the case. “He’s gorgeous, Wren. Like drop-dead, ridiculously good-looking. You should go for it.”

“He’s not my type.”

“He’s
everyone’s
type. Smart, funny, beyond handsome, and he has a good job. He’s a total catch.”

“Well, I don’t want him. I’d throw that catch right back into the ocean.” Wren winced. She sounded stupid. Typical. Tate rendered her stupid. She didn’t want to talk about him anymore. She’d say something even dumber, and Delilah would totally call her on it. “Let’s change the subject.”

“You’re making lame-ass remarks and want to change the subject. I think that means you’re hot for him.”

Freaking Delilah.

“Stop trying to make a match. It’s not working.” Damn it, it was so working. Delilah was right. Tate was totally her type. Well, not really, but it didn’t matter. She would never toss him into the ocean. She’d rather toss him into her bed.

Ugh. No. Bad idea. Epically awful, terrible idea.

“Please. I think it would totally work. You two would be so cute together.”

“He’s too good-looking.” Wren stared down at her phone, surprised she was about to admit one of her many insecurities when it came to Tate Warren. “I don’t date men who are better-looking than me.”

“Are you serious right now? Babe, you’re beautiful. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“How does he look at me?” Wren asked, her voice small. She nibbled on her thumbnail, scared to hear what Delilah had to say.

“Like he wants you. Like you amuse and intrigue him, all at once. Are you wearing your hair up?”

Delilah’s abrupt change of subject threw her for a second. “Um, yeah?” She turned her head, looking at her reflection. Her high ponytail looked good—if she did say so herself—and it worked double duty considering how hellaciously hot it was outside.

“Take it down. Now,” Delilah demanded.

“Yes, Mom.” Wren pulled the hair tie out, her stick-straight hair falling down past her shoulders.

“Wear your hair down, slick on some shiny lip gloss, and make sure to do that cat-eye thing you’re so good at. You’ll slay him dead. See you soon.” Delilah made kissy noises, and then she was gone.