My Wild Irish Dragon (15 page)

He assured her that what she was doing was absolutely perfect. She happily resumed pleasuring him, never dreaming it could be so fulfilling—for
her
.

Eventually, he pulled out of her mouth and sighed. “That was incredible, but it's your turn now.”

“Oh. I get a turn too?”

He chuckled. “Of course you do. A
big
one.” He pulled her up on the bed and slid down her body, then caressed her ribs and hips.

She laughed, but quickly reminded herself not to scream. With all the sensitive ears in the place, something like that could prompt an embarrassing invasion of privacy.

His talented mouth began teasing her labia.

Maybe if she cried out her
pleasure
, the paranormals would realize someone was just having sex and would leave her alone.
Yeah, and that wouldn't be embarrassing either,
she thought sarcastically.

Soon his tongue found her most sensitive area and swirled around it, not quite touching. Oh, why didn't she realize this would happen the minute they were alone together?

He inserted first one finger, then two, into her pussy as his tongue zeroed in on her clit.
Oh God. Oh Goddess. Oh God…

The sensation built and built until she teetered on the brink of what promised to be a perfect storm of an orgasm.

“Oh, Ryan… You're so… I can't help… RY-ANNNNN!” She crashed over the edge and rode the wave, realizing she couldn't stop if she wanted to.

She vibrated, jerked, and bucked as if she were lying on the epicenter of an earthquake. Her screams erupted as quick repeating blasts.

A crash in the distance penetrated through the fog of her climax-addled brain. Eventually she floated back to earth and opened her eyes…catching sight of red hair and one blue eye peeking around her bedroom door frame!

“It's okay, y'all,” the redhead called out. “Chloe's just in bed with some naked guy.”

“Is she okay?” a male voice asked.

“She ain't dead…unless he's killing her with his tongue.”

Chloe gasped and bolted upright.

“He must be a damn god,” an unknown female voice said.

Another male voice added, “I thought they were shooting a slasher film.”

Jaysus!

The red-haired woman, whom Chloe now recognized as the witch Gwyneth from the third floor, quickly shut the door. Chloe gaped at Ryan. He hadn't moved except to lift his chin and give her a broad smile.

“Oh. My. God!” she cried as she bounded out of bed and snatched up her panties. When she had them on, she threw Ryan's clothes at him and hissed, “Get dressed.”

“Isn't it a little late for that?” He was simply lounging on his side, with his head resting in his palm and his elbow propping him up.

“I—I…” She didn't actually know how to answer that and just sputtered to an anticlimactic sigh.

Flopping back on the bed, she covered her mouth and tried to stifle a giggle. It was no use. Her giggles turned into laughter, and Ryan didn't help by laughing along with her.

She flipped herself over and slapped his leg. “Stop that. We should be ashamed.”

“Of what? Having sex?”

“Yes. I mean, no! Maybe. At least I should apologize for worryin' me neighbors.”

“I guess they don't hear you scream like a banshee very often, then?”

“Stop it,” she giggled and shoved his knee. It was hard to be mad when he was grinning from ear to ear like that. “You're just proud they all know you're great in the sack. You'll probably strut out of here like a rooster.”

He grabbed under her arms and pulled her back up to his face. Kissing her deeply helped calm her down a bit, but nothing would stop her from blushing when she saw any of her neighbors again.

“I think I'll have to move.”

Ryan sat at Chloe's kitchen table, sipping his coffee. “How long do you want me to hide out here?”

“Just until every one of the neighbors either goes to bed or moves across the country.”

Ryan grinned.

“Why? Do you have someplace you need to be?” she asked.

“Not for a while. I told Jayce I might be over tonight to watch the game, but we never made any solid plans.”

“Well, don't let me keep you.” Chloe tapped her coffee cup.

“So now you want to rush me out the door? I feel so used.”

She smirked. “Stop it.” Then her luscious lips turned up into a grin.

They just sat there, grinning like idiots for the longest time.

At last she broke the silence. “Do you want kids?”

“Huh?”

“Kids. Rug rats. Ankle biters. Do you want any? I'm not makin' any plans. I'm just curious.”

“Oh. Yeah, eventually…” He studied her for a moment. She was just casually sipping her coffee, like her question was no big deal. Now curious, he had to ask. “Do you want kids?”

She set down her coffee cup. “I can't have them. Does that make a difference to you?”

“Oh.”
What should I say?
“Is this a trap?”

“Huh?” Now it was her turn to look confused. “How could it be—oh. I get it. You think there's a right and a wrong answer. No. I don't play those games. When I ask a question, I want an honest answer.”

Thank God.
“That's what I thought, but you'd be surprised. Sometimes girls can seem very straightforward and down-to-earth, and then one day they set a trap—and stupid guys like me fall right into it.”

She chuckled. “Nope. I don't think I'll be doin' that. If I want to know how my butt looks in a pair of jeans, I'll use one of those three-way mirrors.”

“Whew.” He made a gesture of wiping sweat from his brow.

After a brief hesitation, he wondered if he was supposed to comment any more on the question of children. His not having any might become an issue with his family.

He'd been told by his father that he wanted Ryan to be the next family leader. It wasn't a formal position, like head of a mafia family, but the large Fierro clan took it seriously. Ryan might
seem to be
right smack in the middle of the birth order, but appearances could be deceiving—especially in a family of phoenixes.

The only benefit that came with the position was inheriting the family's brownstone. That was no small thing. They'd kept it in the family since the eighteen hundreds when it was built. Family meetings took place there, and so far having a central hub had worked well for all involved. The home acted as a multigenerational (multimillion-dollar) investment, a crash pad to extended Fierro families visiting Boston, and a paranormal hospital/safe house if necessary.

Fierros who shared the shifter gene could never be treated in a conventional hospital. Their “recovery” from fatal incidents had to be handled by those who knew what a phoenix was and how they reincarnated.

The bird
did rise
from the ashes of its former self. Then the individual had to remain in bird form while recovering—which included growing up all over again. Birds aged much faster than humans, so in a matter of weeks they'd be teens and soon in their prime again. The Fierro phoenix changed back when they were ready to pick up where they'd left off. It sometimes required a move to another city with no mention of the individual's previous demise, but most often, they could make up some excuse that involved “taking a sabbatical.”

Chloe finished her coffee and took her mug to the sink. Casually, she asked, “So would you want to adopt or remain childless if you wound up with someone like me? I'm not sayin' we'll wind up together, I'm just wonderin', you know…hypothetically.”

He scratched his head. “To be honest, I've never given it much thought.”
Hell, I've never given it
any
thought!
“What about you? You've probably thought about it since you know you can't have children of your own.”

She nodded slowly and returned to her chair. “I've thought about it in passin'. To be sure, if things were different, I'd probably carry a child to term in me own womb, but I'm not sure about adoption. I guess I could go either way. It might be nice not to worry about babysitters and waiting for school vacations to go anywhere, not to mention the state of the world we live in. Who wants to keep a kid inside all day, just because some predator might be out to snatch him or her?”

He set down his mug. “I know what you mean. Although as my parents had more and more of us, they worried less and less. We were boys, and a rough-and-tumble bunch at that. If anyone picked on one of us, he'd be swarmed by so many Fierros he'd soon realize they'd gotten in over their heads.” He laughed remembering how Jayce, Miguel, Gabe, and he took on a couple of bullies who thought they'd give Noah a hard time. Yeah, they paid back all the lunch money they'd taken—with interest.

Chloe excused herself for a moment and went to the bathroom. That left Ryan to ruminate on the topic of kids. Pros and cons.

He'd always assumed he'd have some, although not as many as his parents did. Maybe he'd stop at three or four. Seven was a bit much. He'd known plenty of Irish families that had more than that. One family had eleven kids. It seemed Mrs. Flaherty was pregnant every other year and at one time had kids from ages zero to twenty.

The whole point had become moot when Melanie left him. He had put off telling her what she was getting into until his father insisted it was time. It was at one of those family Sunday dinners where he received the love and support, as well as the arm twisting, he needed.

Sandra had tried to help. She'd had to go through the “talk” before marrying Miguel, and she'd managed to swallow and digest the news—if not the rest of her dinner.

But Melanie's reaction had been harsh. At first she'd laughed. She had been sure they were putting her on. When they'd insisted they were completely serious, she'd accused them of coming up with a far-fetched story to scare her off. They'd tried to reassure her that they loved her and would gladly give her time to adjust to the news, offering to answer any questions she had…but she'd just freaked out and ran.

Ryan had thought she'd come back. His mother and Sandra had said that if she really loved him, she would. She'd stuck by him when he went to Afghanistan. Apparently, she hadn't loved him enough to live with this particular family secret…even though it would mean he couldn't be killed in a fire—at least not permanently. That was the part that had sold Sandra.

But Melanie hadn't been happy about his wanting to fight fires for the rest of his life. He'd figured she'd get used to the idea, as many women did. But she'd said she never would, and at last he'd believed her when she mailed back his ring. She couldn't even face him long enough to hand it to him. Eventually he'd tracked her down just to ask her to keep their family secret in confidence.

She'd assured him that she'd never tell a soul, because they'd make her see a shrink…not because she cared for the welfare of his family or the man she supposedly loved. And then she'd acted terrified of him.

He thought about the responsive woman who moaned under him last night. The one who gave as good as she got. He smiled as he pictured Chloe cussing him out for “keepin' a feckin' secret” from her, but he couldn't picture her being afraid of him—ever.

When she came out of the bathroom, she said, “Ah, you're still here?”

He raised his brows. “Was I supposed to leave?”

“No. I just figured my bringin' up the subject of children might have you running out of here on your two cold feet.”

He laughed. “Nah. You gotta do better than that if you're trying to scare me away.”

She smiled, then the expression on her face grew a little sad.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I'm right as rain. Of course, some people don't like rain and don't think it's right when it falls on their big plans.”

He nodded. “But rain can be a beautiful thing too. Without it, our world would dry up and turn to dust. People would cease to exist.”

In his head he took the metaphor a step further. Without Chloe in his life things would indeed look depressing. He wouldn't feel nearly as fresh, renewed, and alive as he did now whenever he laid eyes on her.

He stepped into her space and tipped up her chin with one finger. Then he kissed her tenderly, almost sweetly. It was as if he knew she needed reassurance of his feelings, not his passion this time. His desire was never in question.

* * *

Finally it was time for their shift rotation. A long four days at the station might be a hardship on firefighters with families, but not for Chloe. Now that she was accepted by her firefighter “brotherhood,” she felt like part of a large family. She found herself talking about them in her off hours, with either Rory and Amber or Ryan.

The guys had even attended some of the Arish folk band sessions at the tea house. Most were impressed enough with her talent to suggest she play for them at work. She declined, but couldn't help being secretly pleased.

Nagle poked his head around her bedroom doorjamb. She'd left it open to welcome anyone who cared to visit. Now
that
was a milestone.

“Hey, Chloe,” he said.

She set down the magazine and sat up against her single headboard. “Nagle! How's it goin'?”

“Pretty good. I was wondering if you had any Irish recipes you'd like me to try.”

She couldn't help but be surprised. Especially since the guys teased that the Irish weren't exactly known for their cooking. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I just thought I might be able to make something more authentic for St. Patrick's Day than corned beef and cabbage. I was told that's not even a true Irish dinner.”

She snorted and quickly covered her nose to prevent any smoke from giving her away.

“I take it you don't like corned beef and cabbage?”

“I don't like St. Patrick's Day.” If only he knew how much the Arish dragons hated that day. Being reminded of how their ancestors had to flee and hide in a cave, while making it look like they fell over the cliffs and into the sea… It was a humiliating disaster. She wouldn't even be here if not for the quick thinking on the part of her grandparents.

“Oh? Are you from Northern Ireland, then?”

Feck.
If she told the truth, it would make her birth certificate a lie. If she lied, they'd believe she was indeed from Ulster and it would grate on her nerves. Thank the goddess Aiden had finally gone home. Although his parting words were something to the effect of her eventually coming around to the truth of her duty. That made her throw up in her mouth a little bit.

She sighed. “I'm no cook, but Irish soda bread is a fairly traditional Irish recipe I can recommend. Potatoes in any form are a staple.” She couldn't help teasing him just a bit. “Why not make that delicious stew you made to welcome me. I loved it. But if you leave out the yummy hot sauce, it would be a sight more Irish—and I'll bet the rest of the guys would even eat it.”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. It wasn't my idea.”

“I'm sure. What's that sayin' about too many cooks spoilin' the stew?”

He laughed. “Fits the situation to a T. Let me make it the way it should have been made. We can make some Irish soda bread to serve with it—hopefully we won't have to leave it half-baked.”

Chloe didn't need to ask why. If they got called in on a job, that was the end of whatever was happening in the kitchen. Stoves and ovens were shut off and whatever was cooking had to wait. Nagle preferred making dishes that didn't require precise timing.

“St. Patrick's Day is a couple of months away. Why would you want to make that now?”

“For practice, mostly. If it sucks, I can toss it and make something else.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Or if it's good, but can't be left unfinished for a few hours, I can make some ahead of time and store it in the big freezer.”

She nodded. “That makes sense. But if you do it right, there's no way you'll throw it away.”

He smiled. “That's why I need your help. It can be frozen, right?”

“As long as it's sealed against air and freezer burn, it should be fine.”

He looked thoughtful. “Freezer burn. Sounds like an oxymoron, but in this weather a firefighter can freeze his ass off and burn his face at the same time.”

Suddenly, the tones rang out followed by, “Structure Fire. 780 Boylston Street. Nineteenth floor. Engine 33, Ladder 15, and Ambulance 1 respond.”

A second later a loud explosion was heard from the street.

“Shit,” Nagle muttered. As they were running down the hallway, he shouted over his shoulder, “Welcome to every firefighter's worst nightmare, Arish.”

* * *

Ryan had been playing ping-pong in the basement. He raced up the stairs, beating Haggarty and Streeter to their turnout gear in the garage. As they suited up, he glanced at the pole and sure enough, Chloe was the first one down.

“That's the Pru apartments, right, Lieutenant?” Ryan asked.

“Yep. Luxury high-rise.”

“Was that explosion from the building, then?” Chloe asked.

“More than likely,” was all Streeter had time to say before they all charged to their various vehicles.

Ryan held the door open and Chloe leaped in. He followed along with a couple of other privates who usually kept to themselves. Fortunately when it came to fighting fires, everyone worked together and, for the most part, smoothly.

The engines were rolling past the sidewalk a few moments later, and anxious-looking pedestrians gazed at the firefighters with a combination of awe and dread. Smoke pouring into the sky was visible for miles. He wouldn't be surprised to see one or more of his family members at this motherfuckin' fire.