Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

“So you think because you’ve seen me date—what three blondes—that’s my thing?” Ryke asks, swaying a little from the pain meds. This is amusing.

I rest my ankle on my thigh, watching my current entertainment for today. “He’s right,” I tell Lo. “I could give you the percentage of women he’s dated according to hair color and the blonde ratio is small. I’d do the math in my head, but honestly, I don’t care enough.”

Ryke rolls his eyes and they somehow land on my neck. “What the fuck is that?”

“I think your species calls it woof woof.”

Lo bursts out laughing.

Ryke is too doped up to join in.

“It’s a hickey,” I say. “And yes, Rose gave it to me. And yes, I forgot to cover it up before I left.”

“So the tabloids caught you?” He shakes his head slowly. “You forgot? You.” He points at me.

Lo snorts with another laugh attached.

“I know it’s incredibly hard to believe.” Because it’s not true. “But I was running late. Time essentially bested me.” Which has happened before. His pain medication may be on my side today.

He seems mildly disbelieving still. “The whole thing is fucking weird.”

Lo nods in agreement. “Didn’t Daisy get caught with a hickey once?”

“But that was…” He’s about to say that was Daisy. This is about Rose and Connor. He grimaces at his own words. It’s not fair to say that Rose can’t do something that other women can, simply because she’s set a precedent for being uptight and high-strung.

Truthfully though, it’s the reality. Once you change your nature, people question.

Ryke let’s it go, resting an arm on his brother’s shoulder. “You know what my type is?” And he wears a drugged smile, his lips slowly lifting. “Daisy Calloway.”

I’ve known that all along.

Some attraction is easier to spot than others. Theirs may be so outwardly apparent, but Rose’s attraction to me and mine with her is faint to most. It’s making these articles more popular for the press to pick up and run.

Ryke’s smile slowly wanes, her name bringing concern for these past few days again. He runs a hand through his thick hair. “I hate being away.”

“Yeah, but shit happens, right?” Lo says. “You have to let her figure out how to deal some nights on her own.” He pauses. “You have two more days here. At least you’re not away for three goddamn months.”

The air thins a little. When Loren went to rehab, he left Lily for three months, around the time where she was struggling with her own addiction.

Ryke stares at the floor. “You know what’s funny,” he says, his voice deep and raw. “When I was looking after Lily while you were away, I gave her such a hard fucking time.” He makes a growling noise. “If anyone did that to Dais…” He shakes his head. “I’m such a fucking asshole.”

Lo puts his hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to the goddamn club.”

“I’ll happily decline my membership,” I tell both of them.

Ryke rolls his eyes and Lo just laughs.

The tension breaks, but in the back of my head, I wonder how long it’ll be until one of my friends finds out what Rose and I have been doing with the media, who it’ll be, and how many voices will begin to complicate our world.

[ 26 ]

ROSE COBALT

I peruse a wall display of dildos and vibrators, my shoulders stiff as I indiscreetly look outside the store windows for the umpteenth time. Take the photograph, Walter. My cell never buzzes in confirmation, so I have to meander around the shelves longer.

I snatch a leather whip off a dominatrix display and twirl it around, feeling a little destructive today. This isn’t my first time in an adult store. In college, I went a few times, when there weren’t cameramen chasing me and the only people who really cared about my business were nosy women in my mother’s social circle.

Online shopping may be more discreet, but I like being informed about my product choices. The employees here know more than I do about sex toys. Growing up, I never had mental blocks at the idea of masturbating, but I always froze at being intimate with someone else.

“Cool…yeah, man. Just give Lily and Lo space. The more you crowd around them, the less likely they are to do it. I’ll talk to them for you, okay?” It sounds nothing like my husband, but yet, that’s his voice. He crests the corner, at the end of my aisle with his cell braced to his ear.

I twirl my whip with a hotter stare. I imagine Scott on the other line with Connor, and little minions with pitchforks dance across my brain. I recognize that Connor is partially putting on this charade for me. He could live with the sex tapes. I’m the one who can’t.

I’m thankful to have someone like Connor, who’d be willing to do whatever it takes so that I don’t have to. I can’t fake it as well as him. If I come into contact with Scott again, I’d maul his face off.

I snap the whip, and it cracks in the air.

Connor’s brow arches, but agitation coats his face at whatever Scott is saying. I can see it surface as he rubs his lips. He plasters on a cheerful, congenial voice. “Golf on Saturday works for me, just don’t go too hard. I haven’t played in a year.” His eyes rise to mine.

I mouth, ew.

He grins. “See you then.” He hangs up.

“What two kings sit on the thrones of England and France at the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities?” I ask him. “You have one minute.” I crack the whip again.

His lips keep lifting upward, his usual arrogance returning. Normally I’d scoff at it, but I do love this part of him, definitely after his fake conversation. I’m happy to see the real sides emerge.

“George III and Louis XVI,” he answers correctly.

“Congratulations, you saved yourself from a 24-hour silent treatment.” I inspect the length of the whip and accidentally glance at the store windows again.

Connor approaches me, his hand slipping to the small of my back. In one sensual, seamless action, he kisses me and nips my bottom lip between his teeth. It would be amazing—if I didn’t descend into my head. I go rigid and spot the cashier watching us from the register, the shelves too low to hide us.

“Relax,” Connor whispers. PDA is hard for me. I understand it’s laughable that I struggle to kiss my husband in public when sex tapes of us are online, but I can block some of that out.

This is right now. Physically all me. Here.

“The store is nearly empty.” He can read my little insecurities. Connor called ahead and asked the manager to clear out the customers in exchange for their store featured in Celebrity Crush tomorrow.

It worked, and we had to take off lunch on a Friday afternoon to avoid suspicion from Ryke, Lily, Loren, and Daisy. Our bodyguards cover the door, so it’s clear that no one will interrupt us.

I toss my silky brown hair off my shoulder and inspect the whip again, a little dazed. “Do you prefer me this way?” I ask him. “Have you always wanted me to be outwardly affectionate?”

Connor tilts my chin, and his deep blue eyes barrel into me with sincerity. “No,” he says. “I love you the way you are. I don’t want to change you, but—”

/> “I know,” I nod. He doesn’t have to say anymore. This is the last incriminating photo that we need to set-up for Walter Aimes and Celebrity Crush. We’re done with exclusive pictures after this, our debt paid. Now the tabloid won’t post the story about doubting Moffy’s paternity test.

But it doesn’t completely end for us.

We still plan to bolster the media by acting out. More PDA. More random baggie drops of powdered sugar. It’s been working, keeping the articles focused on our relationship rather than our children.

“I want Jane to have a sister,” I whisper. I’d step outside of my comfort zone a million times over just to give my daughter more in life. This has to work.

Connor draws me to his chest, holding me close. “J’en suis sûr.” I’m sure she will.

His phone buzzes with mine. Walter took the photograph?

Move closer to the rack on the right side. I don’t have a good angle. – WA

Ugh. Connor easily clasps my hand and guides me. All the while I drag the whip across the floor. I’ll buy it, just for dirtying the thing, but in no way is Connor using it on me.

We stop by the giant wall of multicolored dildos and vibrators. Some luxury brands, others much cheaper.

“Find anything you like?” Connor asks, partially serious.

I’ve never been in a sex store with him. “I like this,” I lie, in a cold voice, waving the whip near his ass.

He steals it from me, and I glare.

“That was mine, Richard.”

“And now it’s mine,” he teases. Then he snaps the whip, the crack much louder, echoing like a gunshot. The hairs on my arms rise, my legs turned to gelatin. He carries a whip like he’s the king of the fucking underworld.

“So now you’re a thief,” I refute, having to clear my throat once. He shouldn’t be this attractive in a sex store, and what’s more infuriating—he knows he is.

“If we weren’t married, then yes, I’d be considered a thief.” He turns back to the wall of toys.

I scowl. He always has to one-up me. I’ll beat him, make him uncomfortable for once. Game on. I scan the wall and remove the largest of the dildos, big and fat, also a shade of blue. Its girth alone looks insanely miserable. My vagina quivers in warning like hell no.