Page 24 of Fire

Gwen didn’t respond, but she did roll her eyes—that she hoped Sheila couldn’t see—as she passed through the door. She was also glad she couldn’t see her small grin.

A few hours later, Jason cornered her in ladies’ lingerie.

“What the hell, Gwen?” he hissed.

Gwen turned from the rack she was sorting, a big pile of baby-doll nighties slung over an arm—go-backs courtesy of Rowena Fields—and raised both her brows in surprise at his tone.

“You blew me off Friday only to go on another date Saturday?”

Damn Sheila and her big mouth. “Jason—”

But he didn’t let her explain. “Months I’ve been asking then you finally say yes only to cancel at the last minute. That was shitty enough, but then I find out you went on a date a day later. That’s even shittier.”

He was right. And now she felt bad. She reached out and took hold of his arm. “Jason, I’m sor—”

“What’s going on here?”

Gwen jumped, pulling her hand away at the sound of Blake’s booming voice. She spun on a heel, and the force of his anger hit her like a Mack truck, making Jason’s feel like a soft breeze.

“Who the hell are you?” Jason asked, not heeding—or foolishly ignoring—Blake’s anger.

She was so shocked when Blake grabbed her arm and pulled her to his side out of Jason’s reach that she didn’t think to protest. “The guy she ditched you for.”

Tipping her head back, she shot Blake a dirty look for his unnecessary cruelty, but his focus was on Jason, so her bravado went unnoticed. She turned her attention back to Jason. His face had turned an alarming shade of red. Time to nip things in the bud before they escalated further.

Pulling her arm from Blake’s grasp, she exchanged it for a grip of her own, latching on to his hand. “If you’ll excuse us a minute, Jason.” She didn’t give him time to respond, pulling Blake in the direction of the storeroom.

She slammed the door behind them, released Blake’s hand, and marched the few steps to the worktable to dump her load of nighties before whirling around to face Blake, hands planted on her hips. “What the hell was that all about?”

He had his “casual” stance going on, leaning against the closed door, arms and ankles crossed, seemingly impervious to her anger. But she could feel his temper still lurking beneath his façade of calmness.

Tough. Hers was more than lurking, it was on full display. “Was that caveman act really necessary?”

“Yes,” he bit out between a clenched jaw.

His one-word answer threw her. She expected him to deny his show of machismo and it made her lose track of her rant. All she could manage was a sputtered, “Why?”

He executed that exasperating one-shoulder shrug he was so fond of when he was trying to act unaffected. “I caught enough of the conversation to know he wants you. And you’re now mine. Just making sure he knows it.”

“That’s… That’s…” She didn’t know what that was.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”

For once she wasn’t amused by his smirking lips and narrowed her eyes into a glare to prove it. “I’m serious.”

Tense jaw, flared nostrils, and darkened eyes back in place, he straightened from the door. “So am I. You were touching some other guy!”

Her body stiffened, and she was pretty sure her face went pale. It sure felt like all the blood in her body had drained to her feet. “You’re kidding right?” Jealousy was one thing, and she could understand it if he’d caught her kissing someone else, but touching their arm? Then, in a softer voice bordering on disbelief, she said, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

His expression morphed from anger to… she wasn’t sure what before she lost sight of it as his head dropped to look down at his feet. She saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a few deep breaths.

She stood perfectly still. Her breathing was a complete contradiction to his as she took in just enough air to not pass out. She repeated herself in a voice barely above a whisper. “Blake, please tell me you were joking.”

His head snapped up, all expression wiped from his face, so she couldn’t read what he was thinking. He took a step toward her. She took a hasty step back, her hip crashing into the table behind her. If he came near her, this conversation was done for, and she wanted answers. She may be putty in his hands, but at least she was smart enough to know that and avoid it.

His eyes darkened and his jaw locked, but under that, she saw a flash of hurt. “Are you afraid of me?”

Eyes wide, she opened her mouth, but no sound came out. That he’d misread her actions left her tongue-tied as the words to explain herself jumbled in her head.

---