Page 13 of Four Calling Birds

I imagined that the two of them had a nice, big bonfire with my things. His father had… a strange sense of reality. I was a gold digger. A useless bitch. One ofthosewomen who went against nature. Eventually, I was a woman who stole ten of his son’s childbearing years. The fights he and Mack used to have, especially after my miscarriages were…

Well, that was all in the past now. Old Mack would get the grandkids he wanted, and father and son could stop fighting with me out of the picture.

I became aware of Bo and Mack looking at me, as I stared down at the shoes. There was moisture falling down my face, hot and embarrassing. I wiped it away, turning from their observant gazes.

“Thanks,” I whispered, when I finally put the shoes down.

“Do you… need help…” I looked at him while he spoke, his eyes not leaving my one bare shoulder. “To get dressed, I mean.”

I blushed again. He swallowed and stepped towards me. Just a few steps on his heavy boots on the wood floors. He stood over me, his head near my temple as he leaned down. I felt his breath on my skin. His chest was right at eye level, and I was salivating at the idea of biting down on those muscular pecs. Biting on them, burying my head between them, as he made love to me on the quilted bed.

“You have to stop doing that, Lotte,” he whispered in my ear. “I love it when your skin blushes.”

One finger. He just used one finger to run down the skin from behind my ear, down the slope of my neck, to my shoulder. My skin was on fire.

“I can’t help it,” I whispered, wishing I could come up with something smarter to say.

“Then I won’t be able to help what comes next,” he whispered, as he leaned down. His mouth was so close to mine. So close that I could taste the familiar texture of his soft lips, and warm tongue. I knew he’d smell like coffee and vanilla. “The question is: Does my wife want that?”

Yes. Yes. Yes! My God, yes! Please kiss me. Please, fuck me. Please…

The smoke alarm went off. The blaring siren sound filled the kitchen, accompanied by flashing lights. Because, of course, Mack took safety seriously, and that included smoke detectors.

“Fuck!” he said, pulling away from me. “Sit down!”

He commanded, with a quick point to the coach. He opened the sliding glass door of the white farmhouse kitchen, and then opened every window in the room. He turned off the stove, where a flaming skillet had caught fire.

“Don’t put it in water! It’s an oil fire!” I screamed. “Just put a lid on it!”

Oil fires weren’t the same as other fires. He needed to let it burn out and deprive it of oxygen. Thankfully, he had the wherewithal to listen, grabbed the skillet lid, and covered it, before putting it back on the turned off stove. He grabbed a rag and started to fan the smoke towards a window. Though, if you ask me, the fanning didn’t do anything but show me that he still worked out. His biceps flexed under his t-shirt, his red plaid pajama pants hid nothing of his rounded ass, and that back… oh, Mack always had an extraordinarily beautiful back. The kind a girl could really get her nails into.

“I said sit down!” He barked again.

I realized that I had been so absorbed in staring at his physique that I had forgotten to move. The siren turned off, the light haze of smoke was suddenly just a fine mist, and we were plunged into silence once again. Ishoulddo what he told me, but out of habit, I crossed my arms, and lifted a brow.

I did not respond hollering. I never had before, and I certainly wouldn’t do it now.

“Please?” he brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, letting out a dramatic, exasperated sigh.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” I said, sinking into the chair and started to pull on a pair of jeans. I unwrapped the toga, realized he hadn’t brought me any bras, and put a t-shirt and sweater on. “Does the heat not work in this place?”

He groaned.Oh dear, I had struck a nerve.

“Fireplace,” he grunted.

I looked around. There was, indeed, a fireplace, with stacked wood, and balled up pieces of junk mail, and a gas station lighter on the mantle. Now that I was suitably dressed, my feet in some plaid, wool socks, I went to the fireplace and stared at the construction. I smiled to myself as I critiqued the wooden structure, and how he’d strangle the airflow and prevent it from building. I reached in and started to fix the logs when I heard a snort from over my shoulder.

I looked and he was shaking his head.

“You were always rotten at starting fires,” I said with a smirk.

Truthfully, he was fine. In a survival situation, he’d do great. But this wasn’t a survival situation. This was a fireplace in a Victorian home. There were different requirements.

“Between you and Taz, I never had to worry about a fire.”

Again, I felt the pang in my heart. Trinity “Taz” Guerro had been his teammate when he was in the 6th Special Forces Group, Operational Detachment Alpha 0113, or SFODA 06-0113, nicknamed “Lucky 13”. She was an engineer, which meant she was mostly into demolitions and explosives. Of course, shecouldalso build things. But, as she liked to tell it, she preferred to use her powers for destruction. She was another thing I lost in the divorce.

“How is she?” I asked, hoping that was neutral enough of a topic.

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