Page 14 of Fear of Flames
Fletch shrugged his wide shoulders. “There was chatter. There always is. Finding it, hearing it, understanding it…that’s the trick.”
“Did Dad know? Had he heard the chatter?”
He nodded once.
“I don’t understand.”
Fletch took a step back. “Shelly.” The nickname her father used for her came like a baritone melody from his lips.
Fletch went on, “I wish I could tell you more. You’ve already been strong, and I know that not understanding magnifies your fear.” It was a potent component of the rush of emotions racing through her circulation. “I can tell you that you don’t need to be afraid of me. All I need is one thing in return.”
“What?”
“Forget me.”
Her gaze was glued to his as if somewhere in the black hole of his orbs were the answers she needed. She blinked once, twice, letting his words register. “Forget you?”
“Once I get you back to your house in Indianapolis, forget I exist. Claim amnesia or shock or whatever.” His smile curled in a wistful, sexy way. “You’re the expert at making up stories. Make one up, one that doesn’t include me.”
“Why?” she asked, needing more understanding.
“Because” —sadness was obvious in his expression— “I don’t exist.”
Michelle ran her hands over Fletch’s arms. Though he was covered by his hoodie, she could still feel the hard definitions of his muscles beneath. “If you’re a figment of my imagination, I deserve a damn award.”
His cool palms framed her cheeks. “If I could be real, I would be with you for even a snippet in time.”
“Why me? I’m not anyone?—”
“You’re real, Shelly. I have you here. After all this time, it’s more than I ever imagined.”
Irrational.
Unexpected.
Michelle waited for the punch line, a comment to ease whatever was happening.
Maybe this wasn’t real. Neither of them was. If that was the case, where would her story go?
“Fletch.” His name came out in a breath as she leaned closer and pushed up on her tiptoes.
Time stilled.
As if every clock forgot to tick.
Every molecule stood at attention.
His framing of her cheeks tightened. Pulling her face toward his, their lips met. Warm and strong. Solid yet silky. Michelle’s soft, curvy body leaned onto his hard planes as his hands dropped, skirting down her arms to her waist, pulling her hips against him.
The heat of the fire burning in the hearth was a flicker in comparison to the flames surging between these two lost souls, strangers in a dangerous, fear-filled world. As time passed, Fletch’s interest was increasingly evident against her lower stomach.
Neither one knew who was the first to break away. But once it happened, an awkward silence prevailed until Michelle uttered the words from her heart. “I can’t forget you.”
“You don’t have a choice. This is bigger than both of us.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “I’ll do everything I can to get you home safely. Avoiding the aftershocks of your father’s death will be up to you. I hope you have better discernment than I’ve had.” He shook his head. “I’m off to shower.” Lifting his chin toward the kitchen, he said, “I saw cans of soup. It’s afternoon, and I don’t know about you, but running for our lives builds my appetite.”
Michelle wanted more information than Fletch was willing to give. Yet her instincts said to wait. Neither one of them would be going anywhere in this blizzard. She nodded. “I saw more than soup. I’ll see what I can throw together.”
She watched as Fletch walked toward the bedroom. As he made it to the doorway, he tugged his hoodie and dri-FIT shirt over his head, revealing his toned shoulders and back. While those alone were gawk-worthy, it was the tattoo covering his upper back and extending to both of his shoulder blades that held her attention. She’d seen that tattoo on only one other person—her father.
