He's No Angel (Heaven Can Wait Book 1) (14 page)

“Ah. You inviting me for a sleepover?”

“Yeah. But if you have your heart set on actually sleeping, you’ll definitely be disappointed.”

“I see. The old Non-sleeping Sleepover.”

“Exactly.” He nuzzled the skin behind her ear with his deliciously warm lips. “You interested?”

“Maybe. I’d have to head home early in the morning to change. I need to be at the library by eight.”

“No problem. I need to be at the firehouse by seven.”

“Does this invite include breakfast?”

“Absolutely. I make a mean omelet.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay. But just know that if you’d offered up oatmeal instead of an omelet I totally would have bolted.”

“Understood. How about we head back to the shower and see if we can find that soap you dropped?”

“Whoa, baby. Drop the soap. My favorite game.”

He leaned back and shot her a devilish grin.  “Lucky me.”

Her heart gave a hard thump and she smiled into eyes. “Lucky me,” she agreed.

Chapter Twelve

Thick smoke enveloped Liam. He had to get out. Now.

The floor beneath him trembled.  His gaze met Cade’s. And they both knew. It was too late.

An ominous groan sounded above them and they leapt into action. Debris falling, flames licking the walls… Don’t think. Just move. Cade shoved open the stairwell door, went through first. Liam brought up the rear. Counting the floors as they descended. Ten. Nine. Eight…

Another tremble in the floor. This one stronger. A wall of smoke. Heat… like being surrounded by Hell itself. Seven. Six. The next tremor threw him to the floor. Burning pain seared his side. He pushed to his feet and stumbled ahead. Where was Cade? Nothing visible except that curtain of black, blinding smoke.  He called out, but could barely hear his own voice over the hiss and crackle of flames, the groan of collapsing walls, exploding of windows. Only static in his earpiece. Down. Down. Faster. Faster. Nothing but the handrail beneath his gloved palm to guide him. Lower. Another floor. Another landing. Where the hell was the bottom? Had to be soon. Had to be.

Sweat, smoke, heat. So hard to breathe. Searing pain clawing his side. The end… finally the end. He pushed open the door and stumbled outside. Where was Cade? A brief glimpse of dark sky, the outline of the moon a blur behind a veil of smoke. Hands grabbed him under the arms. Pulling, dragging him forward. Tense voices issuing orders, shouting warnings. A deafening roar. A harsh cry. Then pain. God, so much pain--

“Liam, wake up… wake up… ”

Liam bolted upright, a cry ripping from his dry throat. His chest felt tight, too small for his laboring lungs that fought for breath and his heart that pounded like a desperate fist banging against a locked door. Sweat coated his skin with a clammy film that made him feel as if he were simultaneously burning and freezing.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. With a harsh inhale, he turned and saw Emma. Looking at him through concern-filled eyes. “It’s okay now,” she said softly, rubbing slow circles over his tense shoulder. “You’re awake. I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

Liam squeezed his eyes shut. Let out a shuddering breath. Fought to regain his composure.

“Would you like some water?” she asked.

Not trusting his voice, Liam merely nodded. He felt her leave the bed and opened his eyes. Watched her pull his discarded T-shirt over her head, slip on her glasses then leave the room and head toward the kitchen.

The instant she was out of sight, he dragged his still unsteady hands down his face and groaned. Damn it. Why tonight? Why did he have to be reduced to this trembling, cold-sweating mess in front of Emma? Not only was it humiliating, but she’d undoubtedly have questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer and had spent the last year avoiding.

He shouldn’t have invited her to spend the night. Yet the thought of not falling asleep with her, of not waking up with her in his arms… that didn’t fly either.

She entered the bedroom and moved to his side of the bed where she hitched one hip onto the edge of the mattress. “Here you go,” she said, holding out a tall glass of water.

He gripped it with both hands in the hopes she wouldn’t notice the tremors that still shook him. After gulping the entire contents he closed his eyes and pressed the cool glass against his forehead.

“Want some more?” she asked.

He set the empty glass on the night table then cleared his throat. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

But that was a blatant lie. He wasn’t good at all. He felt sick inside. Sick and tense that he’d marred this perfect night. And filled with dread that she’d not only want answers he wasn’t sure he could give, but that this episode might damage the bond growing between them. Maybe if this had happened a few months from now, when their relationship was more established… but they were just beginning. And he very much feared that this episode could deliver a fatal blow, or at least raise some serious red flags. After all, what woman wanted a vulnerable, shaking, sweating nightmare-prone guy in her bed?

She took his hands in hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “That was some nightmare you had.”

He wanted to brush it off, say it was a never-happened-before occurrence, but the lie died in his throat. Instead he found himself confessing, “It happens sometimes.”

His gaze searched hers, watching for any signs that she might be pulling away. Instead her eyes reflected only compassion and concern. “To me, too. Same nightmare every time. I’ll go months without having it, then boom. Out of nowhere it grabs me.” She glanced briefly down at their joined hands. “I was actually afraid to spend the night with you because I thought it might happen tonight. Thought that what happened earlier might trigger it.”

“Earlier?”

“My unplanned underwater dip in the lake. I almost drowned when I was twelve. Got caught in a riptide. A quick-acting lifeguard saved me.” She took several rapid breaths then let out a quick shaky laugh. “Just thinking about it makes me feel as if I can’t breathe for a few seconds. Anyway, I call it the Drowning Dream and I hate it. I wake up gasping for air, clawing for the surface, heart pounding, wild-eyed, shaking, bathed in sweat. Not real attractive. So… just fair warning. If we spend more nights together, it’s bound to happen at some point.”

“Nothing about you is unattractive. And as for that
if
-- I don’t think there’s any ‘if’ about us spending more nights together, Emma.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“I wasn’t scared. Only concerned for you. And sorry that happened to you. I know how unsettling it can be.”

Her compassion, her empathy and concern, combined with her understanding and commiseration all touched something deep inside him. Something that stripped him bare. Tore down the walls he’d built around himself with regards to that horrific night that had changed his life. He swallowed once, hard, then said, “You told me what caused your nightmares but you haven’t asked what caused mine.”

“And I won’t.” Her gaze, so serious behind her glasses, rested steadily on his. “Not because I don’t care but because I
do
. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

It felt as if everything inside him shifted, realigning to make room for the swell of emotions that filled him at her words. And he found himself asking, “What if I’m ready now?”

“Then I’m ready to listen.”

“I… I’ve never told anyone about the nightmares. And I only talked about the incident that started them when it first happened, when I didn’t have any choice but to tell my superiors and co-workers and family about it.”

“You don’t have to talk about it now, Liam,” she said quietly. “Really. It’s okay.”

“I want to,” he said, quickly. And suddenly he felt desperate to tell her. “It happened last year. In Chicago. A fire in a high rise apartment building. All fires are bad, but high rises present special challenges. We were on the tenth floor. Me and my partner Cade. Search and rescue. Conducting a final sweep to make sure no residents remained.”

He could picture the scene vividly in his mind and the choppy words poured from him faster. “The smoke was so thick, the heat so intense. Fingers of fire… we had to get out. We knew it. Then the floor shook and the ceiling groaned. Not good. Not good.”

After pausing long enough to pull in a ragged breath, he continued. “Debris fell as we raced to get out. Cade was ahead of me on the stairwell.  All I could think about was counting the floors as we went down, praying we’d reach the bottom in time. The heat… I can’t describe it. Like what I imagine Hell must feel like. There were tremors in the floor. One knocked me down. Then this searing pain in my side… ”

He jerked his head in the direction of the six-inch scar marking his skin. “I got up but couldn’t see Cade. Couldn’t see anything but that black smoke. Couldn’t hear anything except collapsing walls and exploding windows. I lost count of the floors. Just kept going. Going. Ignoring the pain. Praying for the bottom.

“And then there it was. I got out. Looked for Cade, but didn’t see him. People were yelling, running. Someone grabbed me, dragged me forward. I remember what sounded like an explosion. Then pain. Then… nothing. I woke up the next day in the hospital. I had a concussion, two broken ribs, a nasty gash in my side, a dislocated shoulder, broken arm, fractured leg. But I was alive.” He briefly closed his eyes and pulled in a long, unsteady breath. “Cade wasn’t.”

His gaze dropped to their joined hands and he focused on the welcome sight of her fingers wrapped tightly around his. “Cade had a wife. Had only been married a few months. I was an usher at his wedding. He was a good man and a good friend. I don’t know why I survived and he didn’t. He made it out before me, was further away from the explosion, but he somehow got hit with more debris.  My physical injuries healed, but the mental… I spent some time on a shrink’s couch. We discussed survivor’s guilt. It helped, but I wanted, needed a change. Wanted to start fresh. So I left Chicago. The constant stress. The crushing memories.  And… here I am.”

His final words hung in the air between them for several long seconds. Speaking the words out loud seemed to lift an oppressing weight from his shoulders and he drew what felt like his first easy breath in a year.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Emma said softly. She slipped one of her hands from his and laid it on his side, directly over his scar. Her soft palm heated his damaged skin, filling him with a warmth that shook him to his core. “Sorry you suffered something so traumatic. Sorry it haunts you still. Thank you for telling me.”

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to express the tidal wave of feeling swamping him, didn’t know what to call it other than relief. Deep, profound, relief. Mixed with a peace he hadn’t felt since the night Cade died.

He wanted to tell her, was going to try to tell her, but before he could gather his thoughts, she scattered them by gently pushing him back until his head rested on his pillow. Without a word, she slipped off her glasses and set them on the night table. Then she pulled his T-shirt she wore over her head. With a single smooth move she straddled his thighs then leaned forward. Rested her hands over the spot where his heart pounded hard enough to bruise his ribs. Then pressed her lips to his scar.

Liam sucked in a hissing breath and lightly grasped her hips. There was no point trying to speak. She simply robbed him of words. After leisurely dragging her tongue along the length of his scar, she slowly kissed her way across his chest, over his neck, along his jaw then gently laid her lips on his.

He’d never experienced a softer kiss. Or one that affected him so profoundly. With a mere whisper of a touch, with the barest mingling of breaths, she reached a place inside him that no one had ever before come remotely close to touching. A place he hadn’t even known was there until she came along and proved its existence. A place that was now entirely hers.

She ended their kiss and he dragged his eyes open. Watched her open a condom. With her eyes on his, she sheathed him then slowly sank onto his erection.

No words. Only feeling. He let her set the pace and watched her take him deep inside her. Again and again. His every sense keenly attuned to her. To her tight, silky heat enveloping him. Her soft breasts filling his palms, his fingers teasing her hard nipples. Her gasp that turned into a long, guttural moan when she came. Her name escaping him as he joined her.

She collapsed on top of him and buried her face against his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and held on, savoring the delicious hint of flowers that clung to her damp skin and the sensation of her breath blowing warm against his throat. And as he lay there, an undeniable truth hit him.

Time had healed his body. But this woman… she’d healed his soul.

~~~

I watched Mr. Gallagher cradle Miss Heely against him. Watched the unmistakable expression of peace, of utter contentment wash over his features. Watched him close his eyes. Then watched them sleep.

Something about the sight of them wrapped in each other’s arms, sleeping so serenely washed an odd sensation through me, one that left me unsettled and edgy. And it suddenly occurred to me that in spite of my numerous sexual encounters, I’d never actually
slept
with a woman. Had never spent the entire night with anyone. Certainly I’d had the opportunity to do so, but never the desire. Once the sex was over, I departed. Returned to my own bed. And slept alone. And it struck me that the operative word there wasn’t ‘slept’ but ‘alone.’

Alone…

I’d watched the nightmare grip Mr. Gallagher. Saw his torment. Been unable to look away from the care and concern and comfort Miss Heely offered him. How she’d held his hand as he bared his soul and shared facets of himself that he’d told no one else. The tender way she’d kissed his scar. Taken him into her body. The way they’d looked at each other as she’d done so. Their eyes so filled with… caring.

And that’s when I realized the source of my unsettlement: No woman had ever looked at me that way.

Ever.

Women had regarded me with lust. Greed. Calculation. Shrewdness. Cunning. All geared toward either enticing me into their bed (many successes there), encouraging me to purchase them an expensive bauble after a tryst (an equal number of successes there), or extracting a proposal of marriage from me (not the remotest level of success there).