All Summer Long

She wanted to say that Chantal should care about her because of who she was. But the truth was the fans had all gone home a long time ago and when she’d been admitted to the hospital, the only people who had visited were those who worked for her.

She had nowhere to go and no one to truly care if she died tomorrow.

She put down her tea and faced May. “Pretend I’m from another planet and I’ve never seen parents and children together. Tell me what I need to do so that I can be Chantal’s mother.”

* * *

“CHAMPAGNE IS a classic for a reason,” Clay said, pouring them each a glass.

Charlie eyed the liquid suspiciously. “You’re trying to get me drunk?”

“If I wanted you drunk, I would have suggested tequila shooters. This is romantic.”

Clay had shown up, as promised. This was their second lesson and she found herself even more nervous than she had been before.

Maybe it was the fact that they’d had an appointment. That had meant her thinking about what they might or might not do, which didn’t make her burger from lunch sit very well at all. If she was tortured for three or four days, she might be willing to admit that some of her nerves came from anticipation. Because what had happened last time had been better than she’d expected. And every time she thought about them kissing, she got a little jolt. Or she had until he’d walked into her place.

Now she was just nauseous.

They sat on her sofa, in the living room. Although this was her place, she found herself uncomfortable. As if she didn’t belong. She was all arms and legs, with nowhere to put them. Crap and double crap. She wanted to jump to her feet and tell him that she’d changed her mind. Only she hadn’t and there was no way she was going to let fear win.

Holding in a sigh, she accepted the glass he offered and took a sip. The champagne was light and bubbly, without being too sweet. She didn’t recognize the name on the label and wondered if it was expensive. Not that this was a date or anything, so there was no reason for him to spring for the good stuff.

She stared at him. “Should I reimburse you for that?” she asked, pointing to the champagne. “I didn’t mean for you to have expenses.”

One eyebrow rose. “No.”

“But this is like a business deal.”

“No.”

She waited. “You’re not going to say anything else?”

“On that subject? Unlikely.”

“You’re amazingly difficult.”

He smiled. “Part of my charm. Drink up.”

“Drink up? That’s your idea of romance?”

He laughed and put his arm around her. “You’re feisty. I like that.”

She found herself leaning against him as he leaned against the sofa. He was warm and strong and the situation was less awkward than she would have thought.

“Feisty? That’s what you call a spitting kitten. I’m a whole lot more dangerous than that.”

“Not to me.”

She glanced up at him, for once not the least bit concerned about how close he was. “I can be tough.”

“You keep bragging, but I haven’t seen any action.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re all talk, Charlie. Admit it.”

She started to sit up but the arm around her tightened, holding her in place.

“I’m willing to prove it,” she grumbled. “When and where? I’ll be there.”

Instead of responding, he took the glass of champagne from her hand, set it on the table next to him, then lowered his head to hers and kissed her.

The movement was unexpected. One second she’d been ready to take him on and the next she was getting lost in the feel of his mouth on hers. The transition was seamless, shifting her from play to desire in a single heartbeat. There was no time for apprehension, no place for fear. The memory of their previous kisses had her relaxing into his embrace.

As he had before, he kept the kiss easy and light. He moved his lips back and forth, teasing, promising, allowing her to settle in to what they were doing. She shifted a little, angling toward him, then wrapping her arms around his neck.

She was aware of heat low in her belly. Of sensations growing, and a melting sort of fiery tingling. Her br**sts began to ache. Arousal, she thought hazily. She sort of remembered this happening years before. Back in high school. Before the attack.

But while the memory of the rape was still floating around, it seemed less significant than it had. With Clay, she was safe. She knew that. So when his tongue lightly touched her bottom lip, she parted for him.

He slipped inside and she welcomed him with strokes and circles. She settled into the growing sense of need, welcoming the awakening of her body.

He continued to kiss her deeply. She was aware that he was holding himself slightly away from her, not touching his body to hers. Not letting his weight make her feel trapped.

She slipped her arms under his and rested her hands on his back. She traced the thick muscles, enjoying the way they rippled under her touch. He put his hand on her hip.

The casual act should have gone unnoticed. He’d done it last time. But in her present position—on her back, on the sofa, it was more intimate. She was aware of the light weight of his hand, of the heat from his fingers. At the same moment she was reminded of the growing ache in her breasts.

And then she knew. She wanted him to touch her breasts. She wanted to feel his hands and fingers touching her.

She believed in making a decision and accepting the consequences. But what worked in the rest of her life didn’t seem to apply right now. Was it okay to move her hand? Should she wait for him to figure it out? How on earth did anyone get through all this without going crazy?

Clay raised his head. “Someone’s lost interest.”

“What?”

“You stopped kissing me back.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Big mistake.” He moved his hand from her hip to her cheek. “Getting scared?”

“No. I’m fine.”

His eyes were dark and filled with something she hoped was passion. There was an easy way to check, but in their current positions, she couldn’t exactly look for an erection without being obvious.

“Then what?” he asked.

His voice was gentle. Concerned. Her gaze locked with his as the steady ache grew. She sucked in a breath, told herself she would survive whatever happened, then put her fingers on his wrist and slowly drew his hand down to her breast.

He continued to look in her eyes as he closed his hand over her breast. “I take it back,” he murmured. “Think as much as you want.”

His fingers moved lightly as he explored her. When he brushed across her nipple, she felt a jolt all the way down to her groin. Without thinking, she arched toward him and parted her legs. Before she could slam her knees back together, he was kissing her again, making it impossible to do anything but feel and kiss him back.

Sensation flooded her. He seemed to know exactly how to touch her so that her breath caught in her throat. Deep kisses competed with his hand touching every inch of her breast. He kept returning to her nipple, brushing it more firmly every time until he finally took it between his thumb and index finger and squeezed gently.

Another jolt had her holding in a moan. Images of him touching her without her T-shirt and bra filled her brain until she couldn’t think about anything else. The wanting took on a desperate edge.

She broke free of the kiss and pushed him back long enough to pull off her shirt. She reached for her bra, only to stumble to a stop as reality intruded. What on earth was she doing?

Before indecision could take over, Clay was there, his hands reaching behind her to unfasten the hooks. Then he looked into her eyes.

“Hold it in place until you’re ready,” he told her.

He shifted on the sofa, angling toward her. He bent down and lightly kissed the side of her neck. Damp, hot kisses trailed from her left collarbone to her right, then back. Slipping lower and lower with each pass. She sagged back on the cushions and closed her eyes. The sense of safety returned, along with the desire.

Nice, she thought as his lips brushed her skin. Better than nice. She relaxed and tossed the bra to the side.

Seconds later his mouth settled on her breast. Warm, wet heat surrounded her tight nipple. He used his tongue to battle with the tip, then sucked deeply.

She was unprepared for the erotic ride. Desire flooded her as pleasure melted her bones. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, could only get lost in the delicious sensations washing through her body. She moaned and grabbed his shoulders. At the same time she arched her body toward his.

He moved to the other breast and caressed her the same way again. With each pull of his mouth, her body tensed. Need collected between her legs until she was ready to beg for relief.

He returned to kissing her mouth and used his hands on her breasts. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, knowing she needed to crawl inside of him, or have him inside of her. Her blood was thick, her muscles trembled as every cell in her body awakened to the delight of this man.

“Clay,” she breathed, an invitation in the word.

He sat up.

She sighed in relief, ready to rip off his clothes, her clothes, anyone’s clothes.

But instead of undoing his shirt or reaching for his jeans, he bent down and collected her T-shirt, then carefully draped it over her. Then he stood.

She stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

She was amazed at how quickly passion could transform to anger. “What? You do that to me and then leave? We’re not going to have sex?”

“You’re not ready.”

“You don’t get to say what I am.”

He leaned in and lightly kissed her. “I know that anticipation is better than fear. Trust me, Charlie. You’re not the only one suffering.”

As he straightened, she saw his erection straining at his jeans.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She pulled her T-shirt over her head and smoothed it into place. “Fine. Leave. Whatever. I don’t care.” She had more to say but noticed he wasn’t looking at her face. Instead he seemed very focused on her braless chest.

He swallowed. “I want thirty seconds.” His gaze shifted to hers. “Just thirty seconds. Promise you won’t get scared?”

She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but nodded anyway.

He took a step toward her, then another. He reached for her and pulled her against him.

She went willingly. Unafraid, as he’d asked. They’d hugged before. What was the big deal? Then his arms tightened and his mouth settled on hers in a kiss unlike the others.

Where before he’d been gentle, this time he was a man on the edge. Passion radiated from him as he swept into her mouth, claiming, demanding. He was intense and hungry, his hands roaming over her body. He squeezed her rear, digging into the curves, before circling around to cup her breasts.

When he stepped back, they were both breathing hard.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did I—”

She put her fingers on his lips to silence him. There was nothing he could have said to make her understand. But the actions spoke volumes. In that moment, he’d been as vulnerable as she. Passion equalized.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He managed a shaky smile. “For what it’s worth, it’s going to be a long night.”

He kissed her on the cheek, then walked out. She watched him go and knew that whatever happened, she would always be grateful. Clay had shown her that healing was possible and that being like everyone else wasn’t just a wish.

CHAPTER NINE

“CHARLIE HAS DONE her usual excellent job of weeding out the candidates who aren’t going to be able to handle the program,” Olivia said. She turned to Charlie. “You make any of them cry?”

Charlie groaned. “I don’t take pleasure in that. Why do you always act as if I do? I only want to make sure that everyone is prepared for the work involved and the physical requirements. It’s not personal.”

“That was a yes,” another captain said with a grin.

“You make me sound like a monster,” Charlie grumbled.

“No. You do your job.” Olivia tapped the thin stack of applications. “We have more men this time. Always interesting integrating them into our department. Everyone ready?”

There was a murmur of consensus.

Olivia was weeks away from being promoted to Battalion Chief of Training for the department, so she was the one running the meeting. Charlie had been through the winnowing process enough times to know what was coming. Every applicant was discussed in detail. At least two firefighters would have interviewed the candidates and Charlie had taken them through three preliminary training sessions. It was rare for her assessment to conflict with the interview findings. In her experience, applicants had everyone’s support or no one’s. It made the process go more smoothly.

They worked through three potential volunteers, accepting one, dismissing two, before starting on Clay’s paperwork.

Charlie went first, as she had on the others. “He’s at the top of the class and by a wide margin,” she began. “Physically, he’s in excellent shape and he follows orders.”

“He did well on my interview,” Michelle said with a grin. “As much as I could concentrate on it.”

“Did he offer to show you his ass?” another firefighter asked.

“No, which is too bad, because I’m sure I would have looked. Touching would have gotten me into trouble, but it might have been worth it.”

Charlie didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Not only because hearing them talk about Clay this way made her chest feel all tight, but because he deserved better.