Games of Fire Page 2
“What were you looking for, Spence?” Jackie quickly interjected before Sophie could open her mouth again.
Spencer, with a flick of his lashes, turned his gaze to his mother. “The black duffle with my clothes.”
Jackie’s hands fluttered up into the air. “Oh! Yes! Yes!” She turned towards the dining room, hands still fluttering, beckoning. “Over here. The movers left it on the table. I was going to ask you to come get it, but … ” she trailed off and did that tittering thing again. “You beat me to it.”
Spencer stole another glance at Sophie. The left corner of his lips twisted upwards again in that arrogant smirk of his, as he pushed into the cramped kitchen. It took Sophie all of two seconds to realize she was trapped in a narrow path with no way to dodge his approach, short of throwing herself over the mountain of boxes or crawling up on the table—both of which were looking extremely tempting just then. She scrambled back three steps and nearly tumbled backwards over a box. She might have made an embarrassing sound like a mouse being trodden on as her arms pin wheeled, her body fighting against gravity. She would have gone down had it not been for the blunt fingers that clamped down on her hips, making her wobble and latch on to the only solid object available, which turned out to be his shoulders. Sharp slivers of electricity spiked up through each fingertip upon contact, shooting up her arm and imploding somewhere deep inside her, showering her skin with goose bumps. It was a struggle not to succumb to the shiver working its way up her spine. She bit her lip to repress the gasp bouncing on the tip of her tongue, preparing to do a swan dive off her lips.
The heat beneath her fingers flexed, pale, taut and smooth and oh so distracting. Her near tumble was momentarily forgotten as she battled with the urge to follow the hard slope of his shoulders down to the ridged muscles of his arms. She bit back a dreamy sigh as her body was pulled forward, closer into his and steadied. It was so not fair that a body like that belonged to such a jerk. There should have been laws preventing such tragedy.
“Careful, Blondie.” There was no amusement in his words this time, no arrogance or mockery. It vibrated with something deep and primal. Sophie shivered before she could stop herself.
The ten fingers gripping her sides tightened, driving pressure into her already muddled thoughts as all her attention melted down to where he was touching her. His fingers. His thighs. His heat. His eyes.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
“I can show you more if you like what you see,” he said in a whisper just for her ears.
Sophie blinked, walloped upside the head by reality. She bristled, smacking his hands away. “Hands off, pal.”
Straight, white teeth flashed in a knee-dissolving smirk. He dropped his head an inch so she was forced to hold her breath or suffer breathing in his delicious scent of spices, smoke and shampoo. “You only say that because you’ve never had my hands on you.”
Heat swept into her cheeks, propelling her to speak. “Which is perfectly fine! I’d rather swim in shark infested waters with a bloody leg.”
He snickered. “You already are.”
Amused by her stunned expression, he nimbly squeezed past her, somehow brushing every inch of her in the process. He sidestepped her mother and ducked into the dining room.
Sophie hissed through her teeth, her gaze swinging wildly around for that blunt instrument. But all that was lying around were boxes and crumpled pieces of newspaper and magazines. Nothing remotely violent enough. She caught her mother’s gaze and growled low in her throat when she was given a subtle shake of the head and a very clear, Be nice! warning. She glared at her mother before turning her attention back to the object of her distaste. She watched as he hooked his hand through the straps of a hockey bag, hoisted it over his shoulder and stalked back in her direction. It took all of her resolve not to crawl on top of the boxes in escape.
He paused midway between her and her mother and glanced back. “It was nice to meet you,” he told her mother with all the innocence and manners of a choirboy. Then he turned to Sophie and his face instantly morphed into one she wanted to either smack or … no, no or, she definitely wanted to smack. His dark eyes took her in from head to toe, somehow sending off all the warning bells throughout her body, before giving her that arrogant grin of his. “Later, Blondie.”
“It’s Sophie!” But he was gone and Sophie was left glowering at the empty air in the doorway, wishing she’d thought to trip him in passing.
“I am so sorry!” Jackie said in a rush, dainty hands wringing together in front of her. “I promise he’s not normally like that. This move and the divorce have been so hard on him.”
Her mother went into instant sympathy mode. She slung her arm around the other woman’s tiny shoulders and led her into the dining room. Sophie watched, slightly annoyed, slightly amused, as Jackie was guided into a chair. Her mother made quiet cooing sounds, like a mother trying to soothe a small, hurt child.
“Sophie, why don’t you bring us over some coffee?”
Jackie leapt to her feet. “Oh my, where are my manners? I am so sorry. Please, let me just get the pot together. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to go with it, but … ”
“Oh it’s perfectly fine! I made some double chocolate cake this morning. Sophie can run and grab it while we have a nice chat!” Her mother turned her green eyes on Sophie and smiled.
Having been given her orders, Sophie left the kitchen. In passing, she darted a quick glance up the stairs and started to find Mr. Gorgeous-Jerkface looming at the top, propped up against the wall with his shoulder. He had his arms folded, still bare chested, his duffle at his feet. He caught Sophie’s gaze.
She scowled. “Shouldn’t you be torturing kittens or kicking puppies?” she asked. “And why aren’t you dressed yet?” The last question really shouldn’t have been said out loud and she mentally kicked herself the moment the question spilled free.
The smile was slow, creeping across his face with such intensity that she had an unexpected understanding of how natural disasters took people by surprise.
“Am I distracting you?”
Concealing her flush by folding her arms, Sophie raised her chin defiantly. “I just don’t want to see that.”
“Is that why you’ve been undressing me with your eyes since we met?”
The heat was sweltering, practically coming off her in waves. “I was not! In fact, you’re not even my type. I don’t go for egotistical jerks.” Even if they are super hot.
He snickered. “Careful, witch, I might mistakenly think you like me.”
“Ha!” The barking laugh escaped before she could control it. “I’d rather pet a cobra!”
He looked like he was about to laugh. “I have something you’re more than welcome to come pet.” With a smirk that dared her to follow, he hoisted up his bag and sauntered out of sight.
“I will not commit murder! I will not commit murder!” she muttered, stalking out the door into the steady downpour.
Protected by distance, shielded by stealth, a camera shutter snapped in rapid succession, immortalizing every motion of Sophie’s body, every flicker of her eyes as they swept over the neighborhood. It caught her in the act of pushing a curl behind her ear, of her lips moving in cuss words. Every moment, trapped, plucked up with greedy hunger. The hand wielding the camera remained firm, while inside he quivered with glee. His entire body ached, a thrum of anticipation for the day she would finally be where she belonged. Lips bowed into a satisfied smile. She was so absolutely perfect.
Chapter Two
Sunday swooped down on them with the same intensity of gloom as the day before. Rain pelted everything in sight with a vengeance that left little doubt it was winter in their little town. It hammered on the metal roof of her father’s Escalade as they piled in from the cold. She hadn’t been aware she’d been holding her breath and gritting her teeth until she was in the warmth of the cabin.
“Such a miserable day!” her mother said, snapping her seatbelt into place.
“I hope so,” her mother breathed, settling back for the ten minute drive to church.
Sophie said nothing as they pulled out of the driveway. She tried to peer through the rain at the familiar scenery, but she only managed to strain her eyes and give herself a headache.
At the church, her father pulled up in front of the red bricked building with its arched doors and color-stained windows. He let Sophie and her mother out before driving around the back to park. Her mother used her purse as an umbrella. Sophie, having forgotten her purse and umbrella, ran for it.
In the warm, jasmine scented foyer, Sophie turned to her mother, fluffing her hair with her fingers to shake out the raindrops clinging to the strands. “If it doesn’t stop, I say we sleep here.”
Her mother laughed. “That would be nice.” The smile faded as she took Sophie in. She sighed. “I wish you would buy more dresses.”
“It’s my church dress!” Sophie protested, glancing down at the simple white dress with its full sleeves, modest knee-length hem and brown leather belt. She’d even donned white stockings. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You mean besides the fact that you’ve worn the same dress to church for two years?”
Sophie glowered. “No one else is complaining.”
Her mother pursed her lips, tucking her clutch purse under her arm. “White washes out your color. You should wear teal or yellow.”
Sophie winced. “Why do you hate me?”
Her mother looked prepared to answer when the door opened and her father hurried in, shaking rain from his dark, curly hair. He exhaled, brushing the front of his church suit.
“It’s a mess out there!” he said.
Her mother stepped forward and looped her arm through his, guiding him towards the entrance into the nave. Sophie followed, grateful that conversation had been strangled before it could grow.
Several greetings rang out as they entered the grand chamber with its many rows of wooden benches and columns of ivory. Marble gleamed beneath their feet, sprawling all the way to the altar and its intricate wood design. A flurry of colors swarmed them and the voices rose. Sophie detached herself from her parents and the group now flocking to them to locate her much smaller group.
“Sophie!” Her cluster of friends waved from a short distance away.
Sophie smiled and hurried over. “Hey!”
Lauren Woodrow, a tall, slender beauty with the grace and poise of a dancer and the sharp tongue of a tigress, grabbed her arm the moment Sophie was close enough and dug short little nails into Sophie’s forearm. “You’ll never believe what I heard!”
Next to Lauren, Jessica Bishops nodded eagerly, her blonde corkscrew curls bouncing like springs around her round cherub face. “I still don’t believe it and she told me last night!”
Intrigued, Sophie glanced to the last of their group as if waiting for confirmation of the awesomeness of this news. Joseph Blaire rolled his hazel eyes, looking unimpressed and bored. “It’s lame,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “You guys need a new hobby.”
“Don’t listen to him!” Lauren glared at Joe.
“What is it?” Sophie interrupted before the two could get into another of their infamous debates.
Lauren turned her dark eyes to Sophie. They sparkled like bits of onyx against her coffee-brown complexion. “Two words: Brian Fisher.”
Excitement jolted in Sophie’s chest at the name. Her gaze swung over the crowded church, searching and homing in on a cap of shaggy brown hair, twinkling blue-green eyes, flawlessly chiseled features and a smile made for daytime television. The sight of him filled her with an urge to sigh.
“What about him?” It took effort to turn back to her group.
Jessie squeaked, grabbing Lauren’s arm and doing another little bounce on the balls of her feet.
Joe muttered something, body half turned away from them.
Lauren beamed a little too sinisterly for Sophie’s comfort. “He broke up with Tiffany Palmer!”
“No!” Sure enough, the gorgeous blonde wasn’t there … like at all. “How did I miss this?”
Lauren shook her, regaining her attention. “You know what this means, don’t you?” She scoffed when Sophie stared at her blankly. “It means you no longer have to stare at him moony-eyed from afar! You can finally ask him out!”
Sophie snorted. “Yeah right! He’s still Brian Fisher, hottest guy at Westwood High. I have a better chance at humiliating myself than getting a date.”
“The guy’s a tool,” Joe said evenly. “You’re better than he is, so I don’t know where you get off thinking you’re not. If anything, he should be tripping over himself for your attention.”
And that’s what she loved about Joe. He was always so good to her, such an amazing friend. Sophie broke into a wide smile. She turned and wrapped her arms around Joe’s neck, having to go up on her toes to accomplish it with his ginormous height and build. Lauren often joked that Joe had been a lumberjack in a past life. The guy was built like a house, all broad shoulders and wide chest on top and limber legs on the bottom. He had dark curls that got too long and fell over his hazel eyes and curled at the back of his neck, and always wore a sour expression that came from years of having to guard himself against people. But it never fazed Sophie. His grumpy disposition never bothered her.
“You’re the best. You know that, Joe?”
Joe squeezed her, burying his face into her neck. She thought she felt him inhale, but he was pulling away before she could be sure. He smiled down at her, keeping his hands lightly on her waist.
“You deserve better,” he said.
She started to respond when Lauren’s choked gasp pulsed around the small circle. “Oh. My. God!”
“Oh my!” Jessie covered her gaping mouth with a dainty hand. “Who is that?” she breathed, round cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling like she’d seen a movie star.
Still semi in Joe’s arms, Sophie turned towards the grand doors, darting over familiar faces to land on the object of her friends’ fascination. She froze.
Spencer Rowth stood next to his mother and a girl of about twelve, both hands lost in the bowels of his black jeans. He wore a faded black t-shirt with a skull chewing on a bleeding red rose. The sleeves were nowhere near long enough to conceal the multitude of tattoos creeping up his arms. The soft church lights glinted off the chain hanging off his belt loops, the spikes on his bracelets and off the silk cap of near white on his head. He was surveying the crowd with a caged look in his gray eyes, like he expected to be dragged to the altar and sacrificed at any moment.
“What the bloody hell is he doing here?” she snarled under her breath.
“Sophie!” Jessie elbowed her. “You’re in church!” At the mention of her name, Spencer’s gaze flickered over to them and automatically clicked on her like two magnets snapping together. Something hot and primitive flared to life behind his eyes that had Sophie’s breath catching. Heat swirled uncharted throughout her body and she flushed, much to her chagrin. Giddy little butterflies fluttered in her stomach, performing a ballet of motion that made her shiver, a gesture he couldn’t possibly have seen from that distance, but may as well have when the intensity of his stare shot up in temperature.
He’s a jerk! He’s a jerk! He’s a jerk! But the mantra was less convincing when she kept wanting to sigh dreamily.
After several long moments of hating her and undressing her with his eyes, he turned his attention to her group. He took in Jessie and Lauren and then Joe, settling finally on the arm Joe still had around Sophie. Something quick passed over his face, but it was fleeting and short lived as he turned to his mother before Sophie could decipher it. He said something, then walked out.
“Whoa!” Jessie blinked like she was coming out of a dream.
“What was that?” Lauren demanded, rounding
on Sophie. “Dude just totally eye humped you!”
“He did not!” But she knew he totally did and she’d let him … and liked it. She was so going to hell for that!
“Okay, you’re holding out.” Lauren folded her arms. “Spill.”
Sophie sighed, knowing there would be no way around it now. Lauren was a pit bull with a bone when it came to gossip. She could smell news from a mile away. Jessie was equally fascinated, her blue eyes darting to where Spencer had been as if replaying his presence in her mind. Joe was the only one completely disinterested. He seemed perfectly fine not hearing a single thing about the newcomer.
She told her friends everything, not leaving a single moment of her encounter with Spencer Rowth unmentioned. By the end, Lauren and Jessie were on the verge of hysterical laughter. Joe scowled, a muscle bunching in his jaw. His hazel eyes stared at the door as if daring Spencer to walk through so he could plow the guy into the ground. It was almost comforting, except Joe could probably kill Spencer with just one punch. The guy’s hands were ham size, thick and large with calluses along the palms from hours of hard manual labor doing odd jobs around town. Joe should have been the one everyone called when something needed fixing. Everyone knew he was incredible with a hammer, but no one wanted Joseph Blake around their property. Lauren always said it was because of what his father did. No one trusted the Blake family, but Sophie believed it was because he was so young and no one believed he could be so talented. Treating someone a certain way because of his parent’s mistakes was just stupid, in her opinion.
“Guy totally hates me,” Sophie finished.
“That was not the look of a man who hates you,” Lauren said, jerking a head towards the door. “That was the look of a man who wanted to throw you down on a pew, rip off your clothes and—”
“Lauren!” Jessie squeaked, face a hot crimson. “You don’t talk about you-know-what in church!”