The woodisstacked perfectly in the pit, ready for a quick snap of my fingers to roar up into a bonfire, casting shadows over the trees.
“Not tonight,” I say. “Let’s settle for something less flashy. I’ll light some candles, aye?”
The glow illuminates my wife’s face as she asks me questions, easy things, holding back from anything too personal.
“Favorite color?” she asks.
“Red, the color of the sunset after it fades from orange.”
“That’s almost cheating because that’s two colors. First kiss?”
“Ach, Mariella Porter. I was twelve, she was fourteen and the daughter of one of my father’slegitimate clients. I was told to take her for a walk around our gardens while our parents talked business.”
Scarlett grins. “And?”
“She showed me what a tongue kiss was behind our pool house.” I ruffle my hair. “It dinnae help my moves for the next few lasses when I shoved my tongue right into their mouths before our lips touched.”
She bursts into laughter and startles the wee beast, who glares at us both before stalking back into the house. “Yeah, that’s some weak game right there.”
“Have we had enough highlights from my most awkward teenage moments, then?”
“Yes. Can I ask one more question?” She leans her elbows on the table pushing her plate away.
Here it is, I think.
“Aye, wife. One last question.”
“Tell me about fire. What does it give you? How does it drive you?” Her blue eyes are so clear in the candlelight, almost translucent. There’s no judgement there.
There’s interest. Curiosity.
Drumming my fingers on the table, I think about how to explain it. I never could, not to anyone else.
Rising, I head over to the toolshed and pull out a squeeze bottle filled with clear liquid.
I hold it up. “Isopropyl alcohol, 70%.” Setting it on the table, I lean in. “Fire is like sex.”
Her brow furrows. “Go on.”
I spray a curling, looping stream of the liquid over the slate top of the table and pull out my lighter. “Fire and sex can be the same, the slow build…” The little stream of flame flares briefly, following the pattern I’ve drawn. “The curl of energy, the heat between two people fierce enough to burn.” I spray a circle of alcohol on my forearm and hold it to the last of the dying flame. It leaps up onto my skin, giving a final twirl and gasp before it winks out.
Scarlett draws in a shuddering breath, her lips are open, cheeks pink. “Your arm! Why-” She runs her fingers over my skin. The blaze dinnae last long enough to redden it. “I thought you’d burned yourself!”
“The isopropyl alcohol is a wee accelerant, good for a brief flare and gone again, like sex when there’s nothing but an itch to scratch.” My fingers slide across the table, stroking lightly up her arm, I smile at the flare of goosebumps rising on her skin. “But a true blaze burns bright, burns hard and dinnae stop until everything is consumed inside it.” Her gulp is audible.
“Have ye ever had sex like that, wife?”
She licks her lips, glossy and wet. “No,” she says a little hoarsely. “I can’t… imagine what it would be like.”
Rising, I lean over, cupping her face. “Let me show ye, then.”
This kiss is greedy, fast burning, teeth and tongues clashing, our mouths fused. Feck, I am desperate for this woman. I break the kiss, ignoring her whine of protest long enough to pick her up, my hands on her squeezable arse as she wraps her legs around me.
Bed. Too far.
Couch, then.
Chapter Twenty-Two
