Playing With Fire (Five Senses Series), page 16
“I’m so sorry I was an ass. And I promise I’ll never do it again. Please, Sarah, please give me another chance. I almost lost you tonight. Don’t leave me. I love you.” Sincerity and desperation vied for a spot in his voice.
The sight of tears in his eyes pushed her wavering resolution over the edge to oblivion. When she barely nodded her head, a brilliant smile broke over his face. He went to his knees between her legs and enfolded her in a tight hug.
“I love you, Cris.” She smoothed her hands through his hair and allowed the texture to calm her. Exhaustion leeched into her bones. “Can we go to bed now?”
They’d snuggled on his soft mattress. Just as she fell asleep, he tightened his arms and whispered his love against her hair.
In the morning, across the breakfast table from Kit, in Cris’s shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, Sarah couldn’t summon even the smallest amount of embarrassment over her overnight visit. Kit greeted her with a cheery good morning, as though she had breakfast with them every day. He shoved the milk carton toward her when she sat across from him with a bowl of cereal.
She was surprised by his offer to lend her a pair of athletic shorts and a clean T-shirt so she didn’t have to put on her stinky clothes to return home. Overall, he was a pretty cool kid.
After a brief stop at her house, she traded her borrowed clothes for a clean skirt and sweater before heading to school. Cris was in Tom’s office. Seconds after she’d popped her head in to let Tom know she’d arrived, he and Cris left to inspect the water damaged stage.
The first order of business was to send a mass email to parents, sponsors, and the media that the play would be postponed indefinitely. All tickets purchased for any of the three scheduled performances would be honored when the stage had been repaired.
After she hit send on the notification, she wrote her report to the insurance company about last night’s fire. The fire had been contained to a small area, thanks in part to Kit’s quick action.
Sarah relaxed back in her office chair, wiggling to get comfortable against the puffy hardness. Suppressing a yawn, she rested her eyes, hoping to ease the residual grittiness from the smoke and heat. The burning odor still lingered in her sinuses, but the rattling cough that had plagued her last night had finally dissipated.
A timid knock sounded on the glass entry. She snapped her eyes open. “Come in.”
The door swung open, admitting Mary Sherman. “I, uh... Can I talk to you?”
“Sure. But aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“My paraprofessional is supervising for me.” Refusing to meet Sarah’s gaze, Mary settled on the edge of the wooden seat opposite Sarah. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap. “I think I caused the fire last night.” When she finally lifted her eyes, the milky blue orbs swam in tears.
Anger and confusion burned in Sarah, and her stomach knotted like a kink in a hose. “Why?”
“I was really bothered by the new lighting configuration. I just knew it wouldn’t work. On Sunday night after rehearsal, I went to the gym and moved the spots to where they belonged. As I was...relocating them, I thought I pulled a cord loose. I tried to fix it, but I’m not sure I got it right.” She sobbed as tears fell freely down her sagging cheeks. “Oh Sarah, I didn’t mean to cause a fire. I was so worried all night. I’m grateful no one was hurt.”
That would explain why when the lights first came up they illuminated an empty part of the stage.
“Mary, people could have—I could have died. I explained to you why we had to leave things as they were.” Sarah dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, in part to keep a level head, but also to resist the urge to reach for her Sharpie. She wasn’t giving into the overwhelming need for the comforting motion.
Mary slumped back on the chair and tucked her chin to her chest. Her shoulders shook, and she pressed her hands tight to her face.
Sighing, Sarah laid her hands on her desk. “The fire marshal is inspecting the scene. He’ll let us know the cause of the malfunction and blaze as soon as he discovers it. When we know, we’ll figure out a course of action. For now, go back to your class and teach. I’ll let you know what he finds out.” Mary drew a deep, shuddering breath and heaved it back out. Sarah gentled her tone. “I hope, for your sake, you had nothing to do with it. You could lose your job over this, Mary. I’d hate to see that happen. Go on now. I’ll keep you posted.”
Still not meeting Sarah’s gaze, Mary rose from her chair. “I’m so sorry. So deeply sorry.” She slunk out of the office, swiping the heel of her hand across her cheeks to remove the evidence she’d been crying.
Sarah swiveled her chair until she faced the window behind the desk. The day was sunny but cold, typical for November. All the leaves had dropped from the trees and the schoolyard was brown and dormant.
Chewing her lip, she considered her near-death experience, Mary’s confession, and what might happen to the woman. If Mary was responsible for the fire, it could mean more than just losing her job. She could go to jail. Sadness crested like a wave over her as she contemplated the woman’s impending fate.
“Hey.” Cris’s voice interrupted her musing.
Heart in her throat, she twisted around to face him. She jerked upright. “What did you find out?”
He closed the door with a quiet click, then strode over to her desk. He propped his butt on the edge and reached for her hand. Weaving his fingers through hers, he rested their joined hands on his thigh. He held on the way he’d held her last night, as if afraid he’d lose her if he didn’t touch her.
He said, “My preliminary finding is the ballast blew on a socket. It looks like that arced electricity up the catwalk support and straight to the overhanging curtains. The metal rod on the walkway wasn’t grounded properly.”
“You’re sure?”
“Not positive, but that’s what I’m going with. I need to double check a couple of things, though.”
“So it isn’t the wiring to the light?”
A quizzical look passed over his face, lodging in shadows in his gray-green eyes. “Not at all. What made you think that? I approved the wiring right after the electrician worked on it.”
The heavily pressing weight of Mary’s uncertain fate lifted off her shoulders the way a balloon floated away. “Mary Sherman just told me she was concerned she’d caused the fire by moving some of the lighting around on Sunday night. She said she pulled something loose and tried to fix it, but—”
Cris shook his head. “The cords are plug-ins, the way you connect a printer to a computer. Even if she pulled it loose, it wouldn’t have caused this fire. It appears it’s just a faulty ballast.”
“Thank God!”
Cris stood, dragging her from her chair. He folded his arms around her and slanted his mouth over hers, driving all thoughts of wiring, crazy teachers, and fires from her mind. He slipped his tongue past her teeth and explored the depths of her mouth. Heat from a different sort of fire burst through her body as she responded to his urgency.
The only thing that mattered was the press of his body against hers, the safety of his arms around her, and the love sweeping through her. He shifted his arms until he gripped her shoulders. He broke the seal between their lips and leaned his forehead against hers.
When he spoke, his breath teased her face. “I get the shakes when I think of how close you were to danger. How close you and Trip were to dying.”
She laid her palm on his chest, his heart beating strong and solid under her hand. “You know you were just as close. We could have lost you, too.”
“But you didn’t. We didn’t.” When he pulled away, she was stunned by the love shining in his eyes. “I love you so much. I fell fast and hard for you, Sarah.”
Her heart sped faster, galloping in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Her voice was raspy when she responded, “I love you, Cris.”
“Trip and I talked it over this morning while I drove him to school. He thinks it would be “freaking amazing,” his words, if you’d move in with us. Says it wouldn’t be weird at all. I told him I’d ask, but I want to do this the right way, the way I couldn’t with his mom.” He wrapped his hands around hers and held them to his chest. “Sarah, I don’t ever want to lose you. You’re the light and the color in my life. I want you in my now, my later, and my always. Will you marry me?”
Tears of happiness stung her eyes. Facing a life with him and Kit brought a joy to her she’d never imagined. He spoke of light and color, and the truth was, he’d brought the color back to life for her, too.
“Yes!” She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his to seal the deal, as if adding the final brush strokes to a canvas to complete the picture. “Yes!”
Keep Reading - Exposed To Passion Excerpt
for more of Sam Kerrigan’s story
Five Senses Book #3
Excerpt from Exposed To Passion, copyright 2014 by Gemma Brocato. Published by Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Chapter One
When the weather alert popped up on her phone, Rikki Salerno took one look at the sky and made a split-second decision to abandon unpacking the boxes that contained her life. Indecisive about which cameras to bring, she slotted every lens possible, and then some, into the specially designed, waterproof bag.
She kicked her way through a mountain of paper scattered across the floor, then pushed a pile of books off a chair in search of her keys. Spying them on the desk, next to the waxy paper cup filled with warm diet cola, she snatched them up, then danced a little victory jig and shoved them into her pocket. Making her way to the front door, she jolted to a stop and looked at her feet. Puma sneakers would never do. Doing an about-face, she raced back to the tiny mudroom near the kitchen and grabbed a pair of rubber rain boots stamped with the New England Patriots logo. They were hideous, but they were a better choice than tennis shoes.
When she arrived at her destination, she knew she’d chosen wisely. Water lapped the red stripe at the top of the boots as she jogged through the brackish tributary toward the peninsula she’d targeted to take the shot.
Oh God, she was losing the light. If she didn’t hustle the fleeting glow would fade. It could be years before she found it again. The storm approaching from the northwest came complete with angry, boiling clouds. The sun, lowering on the western horizon, bounced off the cottony gray, reflecting shards of light back to earth in patterns echoed across the swampy grass.
Rikki quickened her pace, a herculean task considering the burden of her overweight backpack. Sparing another glance at the heavens, she panted in relief. The light had held, but it would be close. Even a second too late spelled failure. She grimaced at her exaggeration. It really meant she’d just have to wait until the next storm. It was springtime; that could be tomorrow.
Or it could be weeks from now.
This would be the shot of a lifetime. The picture that would finally allow her to step out of the overwhelming shadow she’d lived in her whole life. Her chance to shine, like the sun rebounding off the clouds.
“Stupid marsh. Why couldn’t this be pavement?” Good Lord, she was talking to herself. But if she didn’t make it to the little spit of land jutting into the marsh soon, she’d fail. The first time she’d tried to create a similar photo, her grandfather had laughed hard enough to make tears leak from his faded blue eyes. She’d stored that particular memory and pulled it out often to reexamine. Like a scab she couldn’t leave alone.
She shuddered to a halt when she reached her destination, then scurried up the soft, loamy embankment toward solid ground. The soil under her boots shifted with each step. “Careful, Rikki,” she scolded as she threw her body forward to maintain balance, barely managing to reach the top without a major mishap.
Sliding the pack from her shoulders, she unzipped it while turning in a circle, looking for a safe, dry spot in the middle of the marsh to set it down. A flat rock rose from the sandy ground to her left. “That’ll do.”
She deposited the pack carefully on the surface, then squatted and unstrapped the tripod, efficiently extending the legs to full height. She sorted through the case until she found her favorite lens and pulled it out along with a camera. Years of practice and sheer muscle memory made the task of fitting the lens to the body easy. She nestled the camera in her lap and opened the pack’s bottom compartment where she’d stored her rain gear. The bag and equipment represented a huge investment. It made sense to take five seconds to cover it in case the heavens unleashed the promised rain. If she got soaked it was okay, but damage to her cameras would kill her.
The sun’s warmth, combined with her frantic jog up the creek, proved to be too much. She stripped off her jacket and tied it around her waist.
Clutching the camera in one hand, and the tripod in the other, she stood and walked toward the edge of the embankment. She approached the eroded lip of the bank gingerly, testing each step to ensure she remained on solid ground. She sidled out as far as she dared, then stopped and secured the camera to the stand with a quick flick of her wrist. She positioned the apparatus in the loose soil. Drawing a deep breath and crossing her fingers for luck, she bent to peer through the viewfinder.
Well, damn skippy. This was definitely the place. Her mad dash through the marsh meant she’d made it in time.
The view through the camera was one of the most photographed in New England. It was a place where setting suns and fast-moving storms painted stunning masterpieces across the horizon. Today’s atmospheric conditions had created the trifecta every photographer dreams of—light, reflection, definition—a dramatic canvas for the picture she knew would skyrocket her toward fame.
The sounds of splashing and giggling destroyed the peaceful solitude of the moment. Her spirits dipped the second she realized she’d have to share this popular spot. Ever since Silas Sims’ photo had made the Great Salt Marsh a Holy Grail for nature shots, photographers flocked to the location during an approaching thunderstorm. Like seagulls stalking a school of fish. She resented the intrusion, but nothing could be done about it. The Spit was public property.
Ignoring the newcomers, she focused on adjusting her camera settings, looking between the light in the clouds and the menu on the digital camera. Someday, she’d come back and try to record the magnificent view the old school way, on film.
But today wasn’t that day.
She straightened, casting a critical eye toward the sky, scanning for the best cloud formation—the one place reflecting light brighter than any other. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and pleasure tumbled through her head like a waterfall when she found a white spot shining klieg-light style in the steel-gray sky, a miniscule piece of celestial real estate sucking the viewer into infinity.
She fired the shutter several times, then pulled back to scan the horizon again.
Lifting her tripod, she shifted to the left while the splashing grew louder behind her. Could they make any more noise? Like a herd of water buffalos headed her way. She pressed the shutter release and quickly fired off five more shots. Releasing a satisfied breath, she reached to finesse the white balance setting on the camera.
“All right, kids. This is our best vantage point.” A man’s deep voice echoed off the creek bank. “Get your equipment out and set up. Don’t forget to adjust your settings like we talked about on the way over. Let’s move, people. You don’t have long to get the shot. And stay out of the way of other photographers here.”
Rikki spared a glance over her shoulder to acknowledge the intruders. Ah, a class field trip by the looks of it. A high school photography club? The lone adult in the group scrambled up the embankment, followed lemming-like by a bunch of teenagers.
The man leading the group turned to look her direction. “Hello. I hope it’s okay to share this space. We’re on a school photo club field trip. Don’t mind us, I’ll try to keep these kids out of your way.”
The man’s smile, lit by the ethereal light bouncing off the clouds, stunned her. The urge to turn her camera his direction and snap away warred with her need to photograph nature’s heavenly playground. She resisted, barely, and waved her hand, gesturing around the peninsula. “Plenty of room. You might want to tell your kids to be careful. The ground is pretty treacherous.”
She stabilized the tripod on sandy earth and directed her gaze toward the horizon. A teen, built like a defensive linebacker, jostled her rig when he pushed past to grab a prime spot. Panic gripped her throat when her tripod wobbled. The expensive equipment tipped drunkenly toward the softly burbling creek. She grasped one of the shiny metal legs, steadying it, and jumped to the right to clear room for the big galoot to get by.
The small movement brought her to the edge of the unstable bank that bordered the creek bed. Soil shifted under her boots and crumbled away into the creek with a loud splash. Rikki struggled to maintain her balance; her stomach twisting a mere second after she realized a fall was inevitable. Instinct forced her to release the tripod to avoid pulling it with her. As it shimmied precariously, she flailed her arms, fighting to regain her footing and halt her backward momentum. A small scream escaped her lips as she plunged toward the water.
“Look out,” the group leader bellowed.
She slammed into the silt on the creek bottom. Her shoulder blade zinged painfully when it made contact with a sharp rock buried in the sediment. Her breath expelled in a harsh gasp on impact. Cold, brackish water closed over her head and invaded her nose and mouth. Fighting her way to the surface, she coughed, spitting to clear her mouth and sinuses.
Son of a—! Rikki wheezed a breath into her watery lungs and bit back angry words. She struggled to get to her feet.
She flinched as water splashed over her head again when the man jumped into the creek. Reaching under her arms to help her up, his big, warm hands connected with her breasts, covering them as he lifted. He steadied her from behind, spooning her with his chest and hips the way a lover might. His sharp gasp was barely audible over her coughing. As soon as she regained her equilibrium, he dropped his hands to her waist and dug his fingers into the flesh above her hips. Any other time, she might welcome the pressure. But not now, soaking wet, with a complete stranger, in front of an audience.
