Once Burned (Firehouse Fourteen Book 1) (8 page)

There was something wrong, something that niggled at the back of Nick's conscience. Kayla was too frantic, too fast. Too desperate. Nick tried to pull back, to slow her down. "Kayla, easy, not so fast."

She ignored him, her touches becoming harder, frantic. He gritted his teeth and reached between them, pulling her hands away, holding them firmly in his grip. He wrapped one leg around hers, forcing her body to still as he kissed her, long and slow. Her body molded against his, her hips still searching, rocking. With a groan he rolled over, trapping her beneath him as he trailed slow kisses along her jaw and up to her ear.

"Not so fast, Kayla," he repeated, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I want to make love to you. Let me show you how sorry I am. Please."

Her body shuddered under his as he moved his lips down her throat and across her collarbone. Mindless seconds disappeared around them before she suddenly stiffened and pushed against him. Another few seconds went by before the change in her registered with Nick and he pulled away, looking down at her. Her icy stare met his, cold and emotionless.

"Get off of me. Now." Her voice matched the look in her eyes. Nick continued to watch her, confusion dulling his senses as he tried to figure out what happened, what changed. She pushed against him again, hard, and he rolled to the side, still watching her as she struggled to sit. "Get out of my house."

"Kayla—"

"I said get out!" The words were angry and harsh, more so because they were whispered instead of shouted. Kayla pushed to her feet and rearranged her clothes, the movements jerky and uncoordinated. She bent down and grabbed her tank shirt from the floor and pulled it back on, her back to him. He frowned and slowly stood as well, tucking in his shirt and zipping his pants as he stared at her stiff back.

"Kayla, what happened? Did I—"

She whirled to face him, effectively cutting him off as she pointed a shaking finger in his direction. "I don't need your pity or your guilt, so just get out!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said. Are you going to deny this just happened because you felt sorry for me?"

"No! I mean yes. I mean, Christ!" Nick took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, trying to understand what had happened. "What just happened has nothing to do with pity or guilt."

"Doesn't it? 'Oh Kayla, let me show you how sorry I am!'" She threw his words back at him, mocking and sarcastic. A coldness settled over Nick at the look in her eyes as she stared at him.

"That's not what I meant," he said quietly.

"No? Are you going to tell me you don't feel sorry for me? That you don't feel guilty?"

She was twisting his words. Nick hadn't meant for them to be taken the way she was taking them and he tried hard to understand how she felt. But his own anger simmered close to the surface, threatening to erupt. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pacing back and forth with short steps as he tried to think of something, anything to say.

"Do I feel guilty? Yes, dammit, I do. How could I not and still be human?" He pointed at her, at her stomach. "Look what I did to you!
I
did that, nobody else.
I
was the one driving. It was my goddamn fault!"

Nick's voice broke and he swallowed, his breathing harsh in the silence around them. "I almost killed you, Kayla. There hasn't been a single damn day that's gone by that I haven't thought about it. I've had to live with what I did for more than ten years, to live with the knowledge that someone I loved came very close to dying because of something
I
did. Guilt? Yeah, you better believe there's guilt."

He paused again, staring at Kayla, watching her as she made a point of not looking at him. Was she even listening? Nick didn't know. He sighed and shook his head. "I've dealt with the guilt for ten years, Kayla. Am I sorry? Yeah, and if I could, I'd tell you that every damn day. But this? What almost happened here? No, this had nothing to do with guilt. Or pity. Or being sorry. This was something else entirely, and I don't mean just sex."

Kayla didn't move, gave no indication that she was listening. Nick bit back a curse of frustration, knowing that nothing he did would do any good right now—nothing except him leaving. He straightened his tie and turned to leave, then paused. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he closed the distance between them and leaned down, placing a quick kiss on Kayla's cheek. He wasn't surprised when she turned away. He gently squeezed her shoulder then left without saying anything else.

The last day and a half had drifted by in a fog, flowing from hour to hour with no meaning or purpose. Mike wasn't sure what she thought about that, if she should get used to it or if she should fight it. The only thing she could say with any certainty was that the fog beat the current alternative.

Mike let out a deep breath and finished the whiskey and soda in her hand. The alcohol had definitely helped bring the fog on, but that wasn't the main reason for it. The main reason for the fog was Nick. Or rather, to forget Nick. To forget his words and the instant inferno that had erupted between them.

She leaned back on the overstuffed sofa and closed her eyes, trying to erase the memory, trying to erase the sensations. She had intended to throw her deformity in his face, thinking the scar would revolt him like it had so many others. But the plan had backfired on her. Instead of being revolted, Nick had dropped to his knees at her feet and caressed the scar, tenderly traced it with the tip of his shaking finger, with his mouth. The emotion in his eyes as he looked at her had been her undoing.

Mike shuddered at the memory and sat up, squeezing her eyes against the slight spinning her quick movement caused. If he hadn't muttered the word 'sorry', if he had remained silent, they would have had sex right there on her bedroom floor. She hadn't cared. All he had to do was touch her, and feelings that had been held back for far too long broke free. She had been frantic to touch him, to taste him, to feel him.

To have him inside her.

What the hell was wrong with her? She had wished Nick dead so many times, had wished to never see him again because of what he had done to her. Because of the way he had just left her, never seeing her again, never even bothering to find out what had happened to her. That was what hurt her the most, though she would never admit it to anyone. Hell, she had a hard time admitting it to herself.

And she still felt that way, the past so hard to bear sometimes, even though she knew she should be over it by now. It was far past time to forget, to move on. So how could she feel that way, wishing him dead, wishing she had never met him, and still want him like she did? Why did the memory of his touch send heat spiraling out of control through her?

She sighed and put the empty glass on the table then, because part of her felt like continuing her self-torture, she leaned over and grabbed her phone and listened to her voicemails one more time.

The first message was from Thursday night, several hours after Nick left. His voice immediately filled the room, hesitant but clear. He apologized again, but said he didn't regret what had happened. If she felt like talking, she could call him.

The next message was from yesterday—Friday. Nick's voice again, not quite so hesitant this time, telling her he had been thinking about her, that he wanted to see her, to talk to her.

The final message was from this afternoon, from Nick again. Not hesitant, but not entirely sure of himself, either. He had just called to talk, to see how she was doing. And to let her know he was playing tonight, in case she felt like seeing him, that he hoped to see her.

The voicemails ended, plunging the dim room into a deep silence. Mike swung her legs over the side of the sofa then leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. With a muttered curse she picked up the glass, stood and walked to the kitchen, playing her voicemails one more time.

She opened the freezer and grabbed two ice cubes, dropping them into the glass with a
clink
, then grabbed the whiskey bottle off the counter and poured amber liquid into the glass until it was half-full. Mike tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin then leaned against the counter and sipped the drink, listening to Nick's voice in the background.

"Dammit," she muttered. She took another sip and shook her head in disgust. If she was smart, if she had any common sense at all, she would lean over and just delete every single one of Nick's messages. Then she would go take a shower and get to bed early. Tomorrow was the first day in of her normal two-day, two-night trick. There was no reason for her to go out tonight, no reason to even think about going to the club where Nick was playing.

But she
was
thinking about it, and she didn't know why.

Scratch that. She did know why. It had nothing to do with wanting to see Nick again because she
didn't
want to see him, absolutely not. What she wanted was to let him know that he had no effect on her, that she had her own life and it had nothing to do with him. Nothing. She had moved on, moved away from her past—a past that included Nicky Lansing.

So the smart thing to do would be to erase the messages and not show up. That should give Nick the message, loud and clear.

Mike took another sip, thinking. Yeah, ignoring him would be the smartest thing to do. Except she had never been smart when it came to Nick. Never. From the first time she had met him when she was fifteen, to almost a year after the accident when she was barely nineteen. Even then, throughout that entire horrible year, after everything she had been through, she had kept waiting for him to come back.
Hoping
for him to come back. No, she had never been smart when it came to Nick, not even as recently as Thursday afternoon, when he had knocked on her door and she had let him in.

Yeah, she was normally an intelligent human being, except when it came to Nick.

"Dammit," she repeated, because she knew she was going to be stupid again. She drained the rest of the drink, put the glass in the sink, and walked back into the living room. Mike tapped the screen of her phone, her thumb hitting her favorites list without even needing to look. From the other end came the sound of ringing. Once, twice, three times. She almost hung up when a breathless voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Mikey. What are you doing tonight?"

"Tonight? I have a date. Why?"

Mike paused in surprise. It wasn't the answer she had expected. Jay never had 'dates', he had 'encounters'. To Jay, dating was too big of a commitment, not quite on the scale of marriage but close.

"Are you still there?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm here. You caught me off-guard, that's all. I don't think I remember you ever having an official date before."

"Yeah, well, I'm still not sure how it happened. So, what's up? What did you need?"

"Uh, nothing. It wasn't important. Never mind."

"You sure? I can cancel if it's important."

Mike knew that, which was why she said nothing. She had no business interrupting Jay's personal life because she was planning on being stupid. She just wouldn't go, that was all. It was for the better, anyway.

"No, it was nothing, don't worry about it," she assured him. They exchanged more small talk before Mike finally hung up. Jay had a date, which meant she would, for once, be smart when it came to Nick Lansing. She would have gone tonight in a heartbeat if someone—if Jay—had gone with her. But there was no way she would go by herself.

Absolutely no way.

The club was crowded. Huge and crowded.

Of course it would be, though. It was just after eleven on a Saturday night, the perfect time for a large crowd at a nightclub. And wasn't that the whole purpose of going to a club? To blend in with the crowd, to meet new people, to mingle?

Mike wasn't too sure about that last part, since she wasn't accustomed to going to clubs by herself. She had never been into the crazy club scene, which was the main reason why she frequented smaller bars like Duffy's in the northern portion of the county. No noisy crowds, no unwelcome attention. No need to dress up.

She pushed her way further into the throng, grateful that she didn't look out of place wearing black jeans and a black-and-white print sleeveless turtleneck. Or maybe she did stand out, if some of the glances thrown her way were any indication. Careful to keep a neutral expression on her face and not make any eye contact, she continued through the crowd, following the sound of the music.

A large bar conveniently sat in the middle of the club and Mike made a beeline for it, edging her way to the front of the crowd surrounding it. Minutes went by before a bartender came over to take her order for a soda. A plain soda. She could probably use something stronger, no doubt would wish she had opted for something stronger, but she was driving. She might not have been smart enough to stay home, but she wasn't completely stupid, either.

Drink in hand, she stepped away from the bar and edged closer to the dance floor. Singles, couples, groups—they were all out there, moving to the music, some with rhythm and some definitely without. Mike sipped her soda and looked around, trying to see over the heads of the crowd, to get a closer look at the band. She hadn't paid much attention that night at Duffy's, but the band sounded different tonight. Rock had been the primary choice in Duffy's but the music here was more Top 40. Maybe they changed their routine with the crowd.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled around in surprise. A young guy in his early twenties was standing behind her, a slight smile on his lean face. He leaned in closer, raising his arm and propping it on the wall behind her. She stared at him expectantly, waiting but not encouraging. His smile faltered for a split-second then resumed.

"Hi, I'm Kyle," he introduced himself with the arrogance of youth and alcohol. Mike barely refrained from rolling her eyes at him and said nothing. "And you are?"

"Not interested."

"Oooo-kay." Kyle straightened and walked away, much to Mike's amusement. She shook her head and turned back, her eyes roaming the faces around her. Young. Fun-loving. Eager for the company of the opposite sex. What the hell was she doing here? She didn't fit in with this crowd, she never had. And she had absolutely nothing in common with anyone here.

She was accomplishing absolutely nothing by being here. What did she think she was going to prove? That she could be in the same place as Nick and what—pretend he wasn't there? Act like she didn't care? If she really didn't care—and she didn't—she would have stayed home. Coming here was ridiculous and proved nothing, except that once again she had allowed Nick to goad her into do something she didn't want to do.

Proving once again that she had never been smart when it came to Nick.

No harm, no foul. Nick hadn't seen her, couldn't have seen her from his place on the stage. Mike could leave, go back home, and not have to admit to anyone how stupid she was. She drained her soda and turned to go, only to slam straight into a solid body. She stepped back and mumbled an apology then tried to walk around. A warm hand rested on her shoulder and she bit back an insult, her hand already curling into a fist. She looked up then stumbled back in surprise when she saw Nick standing in front of her. His grip on her shoulder tightened and his eyes narrowed momentarily. Mike knew without a doubt that he thought she was drunk and if she hadn't been so surprised, she would have said something to correct his misconception. As it was, she could barely talk without stammering.

"Nick! What? But aren't you...? I thought..." She finally closed her mouth and pointed behind her at the band that was still playing on the stage.

"We played earlier," he said, as if that explained it all, and Mike guessed it did. She swallowed and nodded. How could she have known that more than one band played a night? If she had, she certainly wouldn't have shown up.

God, she was an idiot.

"I didn't think you'd show up," Nick continued, easing her out of the flow of bodies to a deserted section next to the wall. Mike looked around, hoping for a stampede or other distraction. Seeing none, she sighed and looked back at Nick.

He looked different from the other night. Gone was the shirt and tie, what she had come to think of as his 'teacher outfit'. Tonight he was wearing worn faded jeans and a short-sleeve Henley that showed off his broad shoulders and broad chest, his sculpted arms and—Mike squeezed her eyes closed and reminded herself that she felt nothing for Nick. Nothing at all.

She opened her eyes to find him studying her, his dark gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her knees weak and her stomach flutter.

"Actually, I was just getting ready to leave. It's late and I have to work tomorrow and—"

"Then why did you show up?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, why did you show up? Why come here if you weren't planning on staying?"

"I, um—" Was it her imagination, or was Nick moving closer to her? He was. She swallowed nervously and stepped back, bumping into the wall. "I was meeting someone."

Nick's expression told her he didn't believe her. He watched her for a long second then made a show of looking around, searching. "So where are they?"

Mike gritted her teeth so hard she was surprised they didn't break. Why was she even bothering? She didn't have to explain anything to him, and she certainly shouldn't be backing away from him like she was intimidated. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and straightened to her full height. Thanks to the boots she was wearing, that almost put her at eye level with Nick. All the better to give him her coolest glare and tell him exactly where he could go.

Nick laughed, a smooth warm sound that did nothing to calm or amuse her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, folding it in his large one and squeezing gently before tugging her into the crowd. "C'mon, I'll buy you a soda."

"I said I was leaving." Mike pulled against him, but not as hard as she could have. She told herself that it would be easier to duck out when they got closer to the door. A tiny voice called her a liar.

Nick continued leading her through the crowd—away from the door. Mike tossed a single glance over her shoulder, wondering if she really should just leave. She didn't. Instead, she followed Nick to a small high table with, surprisingly, two empty stools. Or maybe not surprisingly. When she finally looked up, she realized the table was one of a group being held by a number of people, apparently friends of Nick from the way they greeted his return.

Mike nodded briefly as Nick made introductions which she quickly forgot. If she was smart, she would turn around and leave. There was nothing to be gained by staying here, not when staying here could only lead to trouble and worse, possible hurt. Sighing in defeat, she sat on one of the stools, hooking her boot heel around the rung as Nick motioned for the waitress at the next table.

"A seven and seven, please," Mike corrected when Nick ordered two sodas. The waitress took their order and disappeared, leaving them as alone as two people could be in a crowded nightclub. An uncomfortable silence stretched around them, made more awkward by the look that Nick leveled at her. Intent, curious. Heated. She shifted and finally looked straight at him with a questioning stare. "Is something wrong?"

Nick continued watching her, the expression in his dark eyes suddenly hooded. A long minute went by before he shook his head and looked away, leaving Mike suddenly more uncomfortable than before. His expression had been strange, one she had been unable to read but left her feeling like she should understand. She shrugged the sensation away and glanced around, looking for a distraction. In a place this size, with so many different people, it should have been easy. It wasn't.

The waitress finally reappeared, saving Mike from her squirming. She reached out and grabbed the drink with something close to desperation and sipped it, thankful for something to do at last. She would finish this then go home.

Mike was getting ready to take another sip when Nick abruptly stood and grabbed her arm, coming close to knocking the glass from her hand. She opened her mouth to say something but never got the chance because he was suddenly dragging her across the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mike finally asked, forcing the words out through her clenched teeth. Nick just looked at her, not stopping until they reached the dance floor. He turned and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her entirely too close.

"Dancing," he answered. Mike stared at him in shock, her body rigid as he began swaying to the slow music. She tried to pull away, only to have him tighten his hold on her.

"I don't want to dance."

"Well, I do."

"Oh for crying out loud." Mike tried to pull away once more than gave up. His arms were wrapped too tightly around her; if she kept pulling away, he would end up squeezing the last breath out of her. It would be easier to just finish the dance then leave.

"Relax. You look like a stiff board. I'm not going to attack you," Nick reassured her. It wasn't much of a reassurance, not with his mouth was so close to her ear, not with his hand gently rubbing small circles on her back. Mike swallowed, trying to keep her body stiff when all she wanted to do was melt into a puddle at his feet.

She closed her eyes, trying to think of something, anything, besides the feel of Nick's body pressed so close against her. It didn't work so she opened her eyes, only to find him staring at her with that intense gaze again. Her heart jumped into her throat and she tried to look away. Nick dipped his head closer, leaning in, and she tried to pull away before his lips brushed against hers in a soft kiss.

"Kayla, don't." His voice was hoarse and soft, his breath warm against her mouth. She felt her resolve disappearing, felt herself leaning toward him no matter how hard she fought the pull. His mouth claimed hers, softly at first, then more firmly, demanding.

Owning.

Mike stepped back abruptly, breaking the kiss and the embrace, causing them both to stumble. She stared at Nick, saw the confusion in his eyes as he watched her. She shook her head and took another step back.

"Nick, I can't do this. I can't."

"Kayla—"

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I have to leave." She looked at him for another second then turned and left, weaving her way through the crowd, imagining that she heard his voice behind her.