Flames
Flames
A round-robin novel by the authors of the Mansion, in honor of the heroes of September 11th, 2001.
Chapter Five
Even as she reached for her gun, Marisol remembered that it was still
safely locked in her suitcase, back in the tent. Fortunately, Marcus was
smiling.
"You startled me!" she gasped, trying to recover her composure. The last
thing in the world she wanted was for Marcus to think she was spying on him.
She gave him a rueful smile. "You caught me fair and square, so I might as
well confess. I was looking for your friend Jack."
"Looks more like you were doing a little undercover detective work to me,
Marisol."
He sounded as if he had something to hide, and she wanted to allay any
suspicions he had that she was spying on him. "You're right, Marcus," she
admitted, seeing as she was blushing furiously. "I'm more than a little
attracted to Jack, and I was conducting a small covert operation to learn if
he was making out with that blonde man-eater Dinah Loony."
"It's pronounced 'Lou-ee,' not 'Loony.'"
"La Luna makes us all a little crazy, don't you think? Or have I been
reading too many werewolf stories?"
Marcus laughed. "This is my tent; Jack isn't bunking with me."
"Oh! I assumed that because you are friends, and work together that's
what I get for putting two and two together and jumping to conclusions."
"You're dead wrong if the two you were putting together were Jack and
Dinah," Marcus said, still with that easy grin.
Yeah -- if someone's in the kitchen with Dinah, it's you, big boy,
Marisol thought. I wonder if the two of you have a history? "Well, that's a
relief, " she said aloud. "Tell me about Jack."
"He's 37, single, and drives a Dodge Ram pickup. With Jack, what you see
is what you get."
She pictured the truck, with its horned hood ornament and flames painted
on the sides. No, flames would be Latino machismo. There was nothing
exaggerated about Jack's masculinity. "Whereabouts is that town you're living
in now?"
"On the far side of that ridge of the Blue Mountains. It's beautiful,
peaceful country, and we'd like to keep it that way. We were among the first
on the scene at Shanksville when the plane crashed. Jack's one helluva good
man; he was first in line to volunteer for these FEMA exercises."
She gave him a disarming smile. "That's why you're friends -- you both
take your work seriously."
"Risk it's in the blood," said Marcus. "Now that terrorism's been added
to the mix, it's doubled, tripled the challenge. That Three Mile Island
nuclear reactor is too close for us not to take our work seriously."
"Madre de Dios, don't even put those thoughts in the air." She changed
the subject. "What does Jack do for fun and relaxation?"
"He climbs mountains and kayaks the Casselman River."
"Obviously, he can't resist a challenge." Marisol smiled a secret smile.
"I guess I'd better call it a night. See you tomorrow, Marcus."
"Goodnight, Mari. Poor devil doesn't stand a chance, does he?"
When Marisol got back to the tent, she saw that Dinah hadn't yet
returned. The other four women, however, were ready for bed. The first thing
she did was unlock her suitcase to make sure her gun was still there. She
took a deep breath, and let it out with a relieved whoosh as she ran her
fingers along the smooth, cold barrel. She quickly relocked the suitcase, but
realized how easy it would be to pick or break open if someone was determined
to steal her weapon. Well, at least no one can touch my suitcase tonight
without my knowing about it, she thought.
She decided to shower early in the morning rather than leave the tent
again now. She turned her back on her tent-mates while she undressed and
donned her cotton sleep-shirt, then slid into her sleeping bag. Before she
could bid the others goodnight, Dinah returned.
"You're all early birds, I see," the blonde drawled. "Me, I'm a
nighthawk. Couldn't drag myself away from the fire. Flames have such a
mesmerizing, seductive power, don't you think?"
"Sure you're not talking about fire fighters?" Marisol asked, prompting
the other women to laugh knowingly. "I saw you trying to set a few sparks
with that guy from Philadelphia -- Marcus Winters. Is that where you know him
from?"
"Wouldn't you like to know! I believe a female should maintain an aura of
mystery. It keeps the men coming back for more if they think you have a
secret in your past."
Marisol knew she'd get no answers from Dinah, and refused to enter into
her little guessing game. She yawned to show her disinterest. "Goodnight,
ladies. See you in the morning." She turned on her side, so the others
couldn't see that her eyes were open, and began to replay the events of the
evening.
"You guys don't mind if I have a last smoke before I hit the sack, do
you?" Dinah asked.
Marisol whirled on the cot and saw her pulling out a cigarette. "Yes, I
do mind," she declared, and her voice held more than a hint of steel. "If you
dare light up in here, it will be your last smoke!" Her mouth curved in a
half-smile when Dinah glared and headed outside.
As she lay in the darkness, Marisol pondered the details of the day over
and over again, as if on a treadmill. All she got for her efforts were
questions; it seemed there would be no answers, at least not tonight.
Tomorrow, she would delve deeper; it would be invaluable practice for when
she made detective. As she drifted to the edge of sleep, Marcus's words about
Jack floated back to her: "On the far side of that ridge of Blue Mountains
he kayaks the Casselman River Casselman Castle Man."
She was running so fast through the woods, she thought her heart might
burst. The chase was on, and they wouldn't let up; they'd hound her forever
because of the complaint she'd filed against them. The leader of the pack was
Nick Spanelli, but O'Malley was there, too, as well as Captain Haring, who
had sent her here. It was a conspiracy to get her and silence her for good;
even Wes, the young rookie, was one of those hunting her down. Then, with a
burst of relief, she saw her old friend Marcus ahead in the distance. But as
she was about to cry out his name, he was joined by a tall, blond woman, and
Marisol began to suspect that they were part of the plot. Marisol knew that
if she could just climb the Blue Mountain and get to the Castle Man, she
would be safe.
Suddenly, the dream changed.
She heard the iron portcullis clang down behind her as she reached the
studded oak door of the castle. She ran inside and turned the key that locked
the heavy, solid door. She came upon him unexpectedly, as he stood in a
secluded alcove of the chamber. Marisol gasped, and her dark eyes widened
with pleasure simply from looking at him. She stood rooted to the spot for a
full minute; then she felt herself being beckoned, almost against her will.
Guiltily, her gaze traveled the entire length of the castle chamber, to
make absolutely sure no one would witness her draw closer to indulge her
inner longings.
Marisol was cursed with impulsiveness, and often acted on a whim, before
she considered the consequences. She was a gambler who threw caution to the
wind, knowing instinctively that Fortune favored the bold. She closed the
distance between them with eager steps, tilting her head back to look into
his face because he was so tall. She saw his hands move toward her, and drew
in a swift breath. She could not resist touching him. Her fingers reached out
and traced the entire length of those hands. When she looked up into his face
again, she saw that he was smiling down at her.
She spoke to him in a low whisper -- "How long have you been standing
there?" -- then listened to him murmur back, and hoped they were not loud
enough to be overheard.
Marisol became bolder, running her hands up and down his smooth, hard
body. "You are truly a magnificent specimen. I love the feel of you -- hard
as oak!" She thought about his age, and wondered if he had been in this
castle long enough to know all its secrets. He was well over six feet tall,
and extremely well-made.
Her hands moved lower. "I am so curious about your parts," she breathed,
wondering if she dared reach inside his -- I must dare; this might be my only
chance to learn! She had heard about appendages, how some were short and some
amazingly long, but she had never seen one, never touched one.
Daringly, she decided this was her golden opportunity. The tip of her
tongue came out to wet her lips as she reached inside and closed her fingers
about his powerful phallic pendulum. Her hand began to move back and forth in
a rhythmic motion, then moved lower to touch a pair of spheres. "Balls of
brass!" she marveled.
The Castle Man's voice, coming from behind her, made Marisol almost jump
out of her skin.
"I see you admire antiques. Isn't he the most handsome grandfather clock
you've ever seen?"
"Jack!" Until she saw him and heard his voice, she'd had no idea how much
she longed for his strong, comforting presence. Immediately, Marisol knew
this castle, this man, was her haven, her bastion of strength against the
world. With this powerful man, she needed only to be a woman, with all a
woman's vulnerabilities.
"I knew you would come, Mari. I've been waiting for you." He moved toward
her and opened his arms. It was an invitation she could not resist, didn't
want to resist, and she went to him eagerly, joyously. As Jack's powerful
arms enfolded her and he dipped his head, her heartbeat went wild with
anticipation. He'd kissed her before, and the memory had stayed with her,
created a hunger in the blood that could only be satisfied by this tall,
rugged man who exuded such quiet confidence. The kiss, when it came, was
achingly perfect.
She opened her lips, welcoming the slide of his tongue, hot and sweet
with passion. She felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal against her
soft belly, proof that his desire matched her own. The tip of his tongue
thrust in and out seductively, imitating what he longed to do with his cock,
and Marisol knew that she wanted it, too.
He lifted his mouth from hers and brushed the backs of his fingers across
her cheek. "Your beauty is so exotic, it takes my breath away." He ran his
fingers through her dark hair, loosening it until it fell in a heavy, silken
mass about her shoulders. She watched his nostrils flare as her fragrance
enveloped him. "You smell like brown sugar and spice."
"It's Spanish jasmine," she whispered seductively. He smelled of wood
smoke, and it acted as an aphrodisiac upon her senses.
When his fingers left her hair to trace the outline of her lips, her body
was taken by a great shudder. "You have an earthy sensuality that responds to
my touch," he murmured, and again took possession of her lips and molded his
mouth to hers. Marisol clung to him, responding with fire as intense heat
leapt between them, threatening to melt and fuse them together permanently.
His response was so fierce, she knew he would wait no longer. Jack swept her
up in his arms, holding her high against his heart as he climbed the stairs.
When the thick bedchamber door swung closed, his mouth again claimed hers
in a kiss that was so possessive and demanding, Marisol shivered at the
intensity of her arousal. She knew her shivers prompted him to draw her closer
to the fire that was roaring in the stone hearth before he began to undress
her. His hands were knowing and sure as he unfastened her shirt and removed
it; the rest of her uniform followed. She heard him draw in a swift breath at
the sight of her breasts cupped in the red satin bustier, and of the matching
garter belt holding up the black stockings the prim uniform had concealed.
"Mari," he told her, "you are tempting as original sin." His deft fingers
unfastened the bustier, and her lush breasts spilled into his hands. He
dipped his head to kiss and then tongue her nipples until they rouched into
hard little jewels. His every glance, every touch, heightened her arousal --
and made her hands bold enough to unbutton his shirt.
"I want to see you and touch you the same way, Jack." When he had
shrugged out of his shirt and removed his pants, Marisol's dark eyes drank in
his male splendor. She brushed her fingers across his groin. "You are hard as
marble. You have lit a fire in me, and now you will have to douse it."
He laughed deep in his throat, picked her up, and carried her to the big
four-poster bed hung with red silk curtains. He stretched out beside her
there, then came up over her in the dominant position and gazed down at her.
He caressed her breasts, let his hand trail across her belly. "Your skin is
so smooth it feels like satin. The light from the fire turns your body to
glowing amber." He suddenly rolled onto his back and took her with him, so
that now it was Marisol who loomed over him.
She gazed down at him, then with feverish hands and mouth explored his
body and his maleness to the full. She stroked and kissed and licked his
muscle-hard shoulders and chest, trailing her long, dark hair across his fair
skin, teasing and taunting him until he was groaning with hunger. Suddenly,
she wrapped her legs about his thigh. "You're going to have to either reel
out more hose or get closer to the fire," she teased, laughing.
"You enjoy being on top. Why don't you mount me and ride me? That way,
you will be in control."
She stared at him in disbelief. Here was a man secure enough in his
masculinity to allow her to take charge of her own sexuality. Marisol arched
her body over his, then sank down slowly, sheathing him inch by delicious
inch until she could feel his heavy sac against her bottom. As she gazed down
at him, her black hair cascaded around them, whispering across the muscles of
his wide chest, and she felt his powerful hands come up to cup her breasts.
She began to move in a tantalizing rhythm designed to enflame them. As
she quickened her pace, her undulations made the red silk curtains about them
begin to flutter. Then the crimson silk turned to a wall of flame as the fire
danced about them, enveloping them, consuming them in a blaze of ecstasy.
Marisol's eyes flew open, and the dream vanished instantly. In a flash,
she knew where she was and what was happening: She was in the tent, and it
was on fire! She sprang from her cot and rushed to shake the other women
awake. "Get out! Get out, quick!" she screamed at them. She saw that Dinah's
cot was empty. One of the women paused to grab her suitcase before she ran
outside, and Marisol rushed to retrieve her own bag.
A cloud of black smoke rose up to choke her. Suddenly, she felt herself
lifted in strong arms, and realized that someone was carrying her through the
smoke-engulfed tent and into the blessed fresh air outside. She struggled
angrily and stared into Jack's blue eyes in the glow of the flames. "I'm
perfectly capable of looking after myself! Why the devil do you think you
have to rescue me?" she demanded.
"Because I'm a foot taller than you."
"Only ten inches!" she spat.
The sexual implication of her words brought the intimate details of her
dream flooding over her. Marisol buried her face against his chest. He truly
was the stuff of heroes. "Thank you," she murmured softly, and stopped,
fearful she would say something more.
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