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Jack hoped to drift to sleep again, but this time his thoughts went to Autumn and
when she’d been his tutor all those years ago. Beautiful, blonde Autumn with her long
legs. Seventeen and dating George Beckett. Groaning, Jack turned on his side and
decided thinking about Autumn would keep him awake the entire night.
He remembered how Autumn’s long strides always covered the school hallway in
record time. His heart would pound as he watched her windblown hair and sincere smile.
He recalled one day in particular and wondered why this memory intruded now, when he
wanted sleep.
“Hey, Jack!” Jeremy Short, his buddy, yelled as he came up behind Jack in the
school hallway. “Whatcha doin’?”
Jack turned and Jeremy looked at him with a smirk. “Waitin’ for Autumn.”
“Waiting for Autumn?” Jeremy mimicked Jack’s voice with a sneer. “You got a
crush on her, don’t you?” He ran a grubby hand through his short hair and it stuck up in
places on his head. “Everybody knows it.”
Jack didn’t know why Jeremy acted so dumb lately. Jeremy seemed to think Jack
should hate Autumn. “She’s cool. Of course I like her. I ain’t got no crush on her.”
“Yeah, right, dweeb.”
“What’s your problem? Since she’s been helping me you’ve been acting like a butt.”
Jeremy’s expression turned pissed off. “I think Micky and Todd are right. You’re
turning into a girl lover. Sick, man!”
“What are you talking about?”
Jeremy slugged him in the arm and left, laughing as he went and making kissing
noises. Autumn appeared right then, passing Jeremy and looking at the noise-making boy
as if he’d grown a third arm.
When she walked up to Jack, she gave him that smile that always made his heart go
faster. “What’s up, Jack? Has Jeremy lost his mind?”
“Pretty close.”
“Come on, let’s go talk about English.” She started to walk toward the vacant
classroom where they spent time three days a week. “We’ve got work to do if you want to
pass your next test.”
Even then he’d caught himself watching how her butt swayed under that curve-
hugging skirt. As a kid his hormones didn’t make the transition between the fascination
he had for her butt and having a huge crush on her. He knew he thought about her all the
time and wanted to be with her a lot.
Thinking about her very adult, very nice ass made his throat go dry. Man, I thought
I’d forgotten about that day forever.
Jack rolled onto his back and groaned as his ribs gave a twinge. He recalled how
much that punch in the arm had hurt, and how Jeremy deserted him for Todd Geraldo and
Micky Roman.
Mafia Boys. Autumn had dubbed the two creeps the Mafia Boys when she saw them
trying to beat him up one day. She must have seen how much Jeremy’s betrayal also hurt,
but she never interfered. As if she knew he must learn how to build confidence. He’d
passed that English test; his grades in school went up that term and never went down
again. Mom and Dad had been happier than pigs wallowing in mud.
Until the fire.
Everything hinged on that fire and the lives it altered forever. Including the life of
the one woman Jack couldn’t get out of his mind.
God, he wanted to crawl inside her, thrust hard until they both went supernova with
the ecstasy of it. He’d allowed his body to operate on rudimentary instinct when they’d
played out the fantasy in his truck, the depth of his passion startling the shit out of him.
He never would have believed it for a minute if someone told him that his English
tutor would return to town and send his libido into hyperspace. He threw his arm over his
closed eyes to keep out light, and thought back to the long conversation with Autumn the
other night and the steamy encounter they’d experienced in each other’s arms.
Each time he saw her all his back-to-the-cave male instincts came on line with a
wicked, hard vengeance. He wanted to pick her up, take her to his lair, and make certain
every man knew she was his.
Face it, Dillon. You’re toast. You want to fuck her so much you can’t see straight.
Hank stumbled into the room on the way from the bathroom and fell back on his bed.
“What are you doing? Dreaming about Autumn MacAllister?”
“Yeah.” Jack’s tired brain let the confession slip.
“Oh, boy. Big trouble in River City.”
Chapter Eight
“We need another angle on these arson fires, Autumn.” Elliott walked with her and
Ginger into the noise and bustle of Top O’ the Morning Club.
Much to her chagrin, Elliott had appeared outside the establishment tonight. He’d
acted surprised to see them there, but she suspected he’d overheard Ginger asking her to
accompany her to the nightclub.
Music throbbed against her ears as Autumn asked, “You don’t think people will get
bored with the topic?”
“Are you kidding?” Ginger said. “With nine-eleven so fresh, everyone wants to see
and hear about firefighters. It gives them something good to think about.”
Nine-eleven. That moniker lingered in the air these days like a bad dream. She’d quit
her job as a smoke jumper long before the events of that traumatic day. Still, she’d felt
the agony as much as anyone.
“A few of the guys over at Station One went to New York last year to help in the
recovery efforts. Four volunteers.” Elliott’s expression brightened. “Hey, that might be a
good angle. No one interviewed them after they came back. They were there about a
month. See if you can arrange that as a separate article.”
“Do you think they’ll talk to me?” Autumn asked.
He flashed a big smile. “Use your charms. I’m sure they will.”
“What kind of charms are we talking about, Elliott?”
“Be yourself. They’ll accommodate.”
Right, Elliott. That wasn’t what you meant, and I know it.
“I think you should visit a fire station,” Elliott shouted over the music as they paused
in the midst of the crowd. “If you’re face-to-face with them they’ll have less reason to
refuse. Talking on the phone won’t cut it.”
“I’ve already set up an interview with Fire Chief Hallam for next week. I’ll see if I
can arrange additional interviews with any of the other men.”
“Excellent,” Elliott said.
Lights flashed from strobes near the ceiling, the colors throbbing in time to a
systematic beat. The two-story nightclub pulsed like a live thing as people writhed to the
music. The Saturday night mob wore a conglomeration of styles. Some dressed in
designer labels. Others had donned more outrageous pieces.
Elliott wore dark blue slacks and a moss green silk shirt that screamed Italian
designer. Autumn chose the one evening outfit in her entire closet, a little black dress
made of clingy fabric with long sleeves and a v-neck. The hem ended about two inches
above the knee.
Her high-heeled, black pumps might kill her feet before the end of the evening, but
they were the only party shoes she owned. Now that she was actually wearing the dress,
she questioned her sanity. Was she nuts? The way Elliott stared at her made her think she [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]