Page 100 of Tasting Fire
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After striking their deal,Emmy had actually allowed him to tuck her into his bed, and he’d stretched out beside her until she drifted off to sleep. Then he’d made a couple phone calls—one to Captain Styles, since he’d never stopped by her office, and one to the arson investigator.
And although Cash’s thoughts and feelings were now as dark and sticky as blackstrap molasses, Mother Nature had served up a bright spring day.
So he was out in his privacy-fenced backyard, giving some attention to his own grass and flowerbeds, which limped along like the cobbler’s children most of the time. Although he didn’t grow any vegetables—didn’t need to with his inside track to Kingston Farms—he’d inherited his dad’s green thumb.
The flowerbeds around his house were filled with hardy species that didn’t need to be coddled. Swamp roses, wild pansies, leather flowers. He stomped a trenching shovel into the ground to plant a royal catchfly he’d had patiently waiting in his small greenhouse.
Guys at the station gave him hell when they found out about the greenhouse and his pretty little yard. Started calling him Daffodil. That had stopped when they found mulch made from pine bark, partially composted eggshells, and horse shit in their beds.
He didn’t handle the royal catchfly gently, just popped it in the hole and scooped backfill into the empty space around the rootball.
“Hey.”
Cash turned to find Emmy standing on his back porch, wearing a tank top and boy shorts panties and holding two glasses of what looked like iced tea.
“You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She stepped off the porch and her breasts bounced, making it abundantly clear she wasn’t wearing a bra under that shirt.
He started to say something about it being too cool for her to be parading around in what amounted to a bathing suit, but he stopped himself.
Dude, when did you turn into a dud instead of a sex-seeking missile?
His own thought brought a smile to his face. Wanting sex wasn’t the problem. It was just more complicated with what he felt for Emmy. Protect or pounce?
“You look happy,” Emmy said suspiciously as she approached and held out a glass.
Was he? Could he be, after all that had happened the past few days?
Yes, because Emmy needed one day without the cloud of danger that had hovered over her since she returned to Steele Ridge.
“You make me happy.” He set the tea on a wooden fence post and stripped off his gloves. Then he set his hands on Emmy’s hips, enjoying the feel of rounded female flesh under his palms.
Enjoying even more the way her nipples tightened under her shirt at his touch.
“I brought that tea so you could drink it.”
“Oh, with you walking out here dressed like that, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna need a cool drink more in about half an hour.”
“Is this your idea of foreplay?” Emmy sniffed. “Because you smell like backyard.”
“I’ve only planted one thing. You’re making excuses.”
“Fine. You smell like sunshine and sex.” She took a drink from her glass and when she lowered it, a drop of liquid clung to her upper lip. With the tip of her tongue, she caught it.
His stomach muscles tightened. Which caused tightening a few inches to the south.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her, trying to be a caretaker instead of a man holding the woman he loved. The woman he wanted.
“Throat’s still a little scratchy, but other than that, I’m fine. I forgot to ask about Stella Grace. Grif and Carlie Beth took her to the ER for a fever. Do you know if she’s okay?”
“I should probably paddle your butt for letting Grif leave your place. But it turned out she was a little dehydrated and needed some fluids.”
“Then that means everyone is safe and sound all around.” Smile still on her face, she skimmed the lip of her tea glass down the side of his throat and around to where his shirt was partially unbuttoned. It made his nipples do an impression of hers.
