Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire 3)

“You were right. Completely right.”

“Maybe I was,” she said, “but if I can dish it out, I should be able to take it, shouldn't I? Because there I was saying you should have figured out a way to make your marriage work, but did I make mine work? No. Not at all.

Because all the time I should have been loving my husband, the father of my child, I was still in love with you.”

“You love me?”

“I've always loved you, Andrew. I never stopped loving you, not even for a second, not even when I was so angry with you I wanted to come at you with a kitchen knife.”

She heard him chuckle at her honesty, and then he was whispering, “My sweet Izzy, how I love you,” a moment before his mouth came down over hers.

Their kiss was sweet, gentle, and then, without warning, they were both taking, tasting, testing each other with tongues and lips and teeth, a whole summer's desperation taking away any hesitancy or patience.

And then he was repositioning her, laying her on her back on the towel and as he stripped off her clothes, she looked up at the moon through the trees, the scent of the blueberry bushes filling the air with sweet perfume.

Every patch of skin his fingers touched as he slid off her shirt, and then her bra, and then moved to the waistband of her pants, made her gasp with pleasure. He cupped her br**sts and she leaned into his wonderfully large hands wanting more, as much as he could give her. His mouth found her next, his tongue moving in long strokes between her legs and she forgot where she was again, could only focus on the man giving her the kind of pleasure she'd never felt anywhere else.

Higher and higher she climbed as he loved her with his mouth, but she wanted him to share it with her, so she reached for his shoulders and dragged him up her body. Her hands shaking, she fumbled with his pants, but then he was kissing her again and she couldn't figure out how to make her fingers obey her instructions. Andrew took over where she left off and soon his clothes were off and he was propping himself up over her again, naked this time.

Another time she'd stop, breathe, stare, relearn every inch of his body. But for now, all that mattered was taking him inside, opening herself up to him and feeling the long slide of his shaft take her breath away.

He stilled, asked “How am I ever going to get enough of you?” and then he was thrusting, and they were grabbing at each other's bodies, trying to get closer, moving together in a rhythm that was sweetly familiar, and yet brand new. He was kissing her like he'd been waiting his whole life to find her and she gave herself completely to him in the very moment that they took each other over the edge. His roar of pleasure was swallowed by the trees and then her mouth as she kissed him.

And as they came back to earth, lying sweating and panting on the twisted towel, she put her hands on his face and kissed him again with all the love in her heart.

No more regrets.

No more anger.

After thirty years, love was what remained.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Two weeks later…

Art in the Adirondacks had been a spectacular day for Ginger. Fortunately, she'd stored most of her finished canvases in the Blue Mountain Lake recreation center basement — along with the handful on display on the diner's walls — so although she'd lost several of her most recent paintings in the fire, she had enough to show.

Connor had helped her hang the sign above her tiny open white tent, “Paintings by Ginger Sinclair,” and each time she looked at it she'd started grinning like an idiot. Every time a stranger stood in front of one of her canvases and told her how much he or she liked it… frankly, it didn't even matter whether or not they bought one.

Being a part of a community of artists was pleasure enough. Better still was the fact that she'd not only almost sold out, she'd also been asked to do several commissions for various homeowners on Blue Mountain Lake as well.

She was thrilled that her dreams of becoming a full-time painter were coming true, but the best part of it was sharing her joy with Connor. Every day he'd gone out and picked wildflowers for her. Vases of wild blooms filled every room of their rental house, petals were strewn across the sheets.

And now, she'd just witnessed the most beautiful wedding out on the island in the middle of the lake. She felt utterly privileged to sit on a towel on the sand and listen to Sam and Dianna's touching vows.

As soon as Sam and Dianna had been told about the fire, they'd both changed their schedules to fly out to the lake early. With Poplar Cove nothing but a pile of hot coals, the wedding venue had to be changed. Andrew was the one who had suggested the island, and everyone had immediately agreed it was the perfect location.

It hadn't been easy to get so many people and decorations and food out to the island, and all of them had been praying for the rain to hold out until after the wedding, but in a way scrambling to get everything together had been part of the fun. And Ginger was thrilled to know that she was going to be related to Sam and Dianna in the near future.

Most likely very near, she thought as she put one hand on her stomach. She and Connor couldn't see any reason to wait, not with a baby on the way.

She felt a familiar heat rush through her and she looked up to find Connor, who was standing beside his brother as best man, smiling at her.

He mouthed, “I love you,” and her stomach did a little flip-flop of joy as he followed the bride and groom down the informal aisle.

She blew him a kiss, then stood up to help Isabel serve lunch.

Flanked by his sons on each side as the photographer took pictures for the wedding album, Isabel had never seen Andrew look happier.

Forgetting she was holding a tray of grilled shrimp hors d'oeuvres as she watched them, she was surprised when a smooth voice asked, “Could I help you with anything?”

Andrew's ex-wife, Elise, took the tray from Isabel's suddenly limp hands. “Thank you for doing so much to make this wedding happen. And the food is wonderful.”

“You're welcome,” Isabel replied, powerfully glad that the ice had finally been broken.

Letting herself finally take a long look at the woman Andrew had been married to for thirty years — Elise was still a beautiful woman, slim with a dark brown bob and keen fashion sense — Isabel smiled and said, “You've raised two fine sons. You should be very proud.”

“I am.” They stood together in silence for a few moments, watching the three men. “I've wanted to talk to you for a long time,” Elise admitted in a soft voice. “I've wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what happened more than thirty years ago.”

o;You were right. Completely right.”

“Maybe I was,” she said, “but if I can dish it out, I should be able to take it, shouldn't I? Because there I was saying you should have figured out a way to make your marriage work, but did I make mine work? No. Not at all.

Because all the time I should have been loving my husband, the father of my child, I was still in love with you.”

“You love me?”

“I've always loved you, Andrew. I never stopped loving you, not even for a second, not even when I was so angry with you I wanted to come at you with a kitchen knife.”

She heard him chuckle at her honesty, and then he was whispering, “My sweet Izzy, how I love you,” a moment before his mouth came down over hers.

Their kiss was sweet, gentle, and then, without warning, they were both taking, tasting, testing each other with tongues and lips and teeth, a whole summer's desperation taking away any hesitancy or patience.

And then he was repositioning her, laying her on her back on the towel and as he stripped off her clothes, she looked up at the moon through the trees, the scent of the blueberry bushes filling the air with sweet perfume.

Every patch of skin his fingers touched as he slid off her shirt, and then her bra, and then moved to the waistband of her pants, made her gasp with pleasure. He cupped her br**sts and she leaned into his wonderfully large hands wanting more, as much as he could give her. His mouth found her next, his tongue moving in long strokes between her legs and she forgot where she was again, could only focus on the man giving her the kind of pleasure she'd never felt anywhere else.

Higher and higher she climbed as he loved her with his mouth, but she wanted him to share it with her, so she reached for his shoulders and dragged him up her body. Her hands shaking, she fumbled with his pants, but then he was kissing her again and she couldn't figure out how to make her fingers obey her instructions. Andrew took over where she left off and soon his clothes were off and he was propping himself up over her again, naked this time.

Another time she'd stop, breathe, stare, relearn every inch of his body. But for now, all that mattered was taking him inside, opening herself up to him and feeling the long slide of his shaft take her breath away.

He stilled, asked “How am I ever going to get enough of you?” and then he was thrusting, and they were grabbing at each other's bodies, trying to get closer, moving together in a rhythm that was sweetly familiar, and yet brand new. He was kissing her like he'd been waiting his whole life to find her and she gave herself completely to him in the very moment that they took each other over the edge. His roar of pleasure was swallowed by the trees and then her mouth as she kissed him.

And as they came back to earth, lying sweating and panting on the twisted towel, she put her hands on his face and kissed him again with all the love in her heart.

No more regrets.

No more anger.

After thirty years, love was what remained.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Two weeks later…

Art in the Adirondacks had been a spectacular day for Ginger. Fortunately, she'd stored most of her finished canvases in the Blue Mountain Lake recreation center basement — along with the handful on display on the diner's walls — so although she'd lost several of her most recent paintings in the fire, she had enough to show.

Connor had helped her hang the sign above her tiny open white tent, “Paintings by Ginger Sinclair,” and each time she looked at it she'd started grinning like an idiot. Every time a stranger stood in front of one of her canvases and told her how much he or she liked it… frankly, it didn't even matter whether or not they bought one.

Being a part of a community of artists was pleasure enough. Better still was the fact that she'd not only almost sold out, she'd also been asked to do several commissions for various homeowners on Blue Mountain Lake as well.

She was thrilled that her dreams of becoming a full-time painter were coming true, but the best part of it was sharing her joy with Connor. Every day he'd gone out and picked wildflowers for her. Vases of wild blooms filled every room of their rental house, petals were strewn across the sheets.

And now, she'd just witnessed the most beautiful wedding out on the island in the middle of the lake. She felt utterly privileged to sit on a towel on the sand and listen to Sam and Dianna's touching vows.

As soon as Sam and Dianna had been told about the fire, they'd both changed their schedules to fly out to the lake early. With Poplar Cove nothing but a pile of hot coals, the wedding venue had to be changed. Andrew was the one who had suggested the island, and everyone had immediately agreed it was the perfect location.

It hadn't been easy to get so many people and decorations and food out to the island, and all of them had been praying for the rain to hold out until after the wedding, but in a way scrambling to get everything together had been part of the fun. And Ginger was thrilled to know that she was going to be related to Sam and Dianna in the near future.

Most likely very near, she thought as she put one hand on her stomach. She and Connor couldn't see any reason to wait, not with a baby on the way.

She felt a familiar heat rush through her and she looked up to find Connor, who was standing beside his brother as best man, smiling at her.

He mouthed, “I love you,” and her stomach did a little flip-flop of joy as he followed the bride and groom down the informal aisle.

She blew him a kiss, then stood up to help Isabel serve lunch.

Flanked by his sons on each side as the photographer took pictures for the wedding album, Isabel had never seen Andrew look happier.

Forgetting she was holding a tray of grilled shrimp hors d'oeuvres as she watched them, she was surprised when a smooth voice asked, “Could I help you with anything?”

Andrew's ex-wife, Elise, took the tray from Isabel's suddenly limp hands. “Thank you for doing so much to make this wedding happen. And the food is wonderful.”

“You're welcome,” Isabel replied, powerfully glad that the ice had finally been broken.

Letting herself finally take a long look at the woman Andrew had been married to for thirty years — Elise was still a beautiful woman, slim with a dark brown bob and keen fashion sense — Isabel smiled and said, “You've raised two fine sons. You should be very proud.”

“I am.” They stood together in silence for a few moments, watching the three men. “I've wanted to talk to you for a long time,” Elise admitted in a soft voice. “I've wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what happened more than thirty years ago.”