Burn for Me: A Rancho Del Cielo Romance Read online

  Once burned is all it takes…

  A Rancho Del Cielo Romance.

  Twelve years ago, Raul Montenga left home to live life on his own terms. Yet for just as long, his nights have sizzled with erotic dreams of Penelope, the girl he left behind. Enough is enough. It’s time to find out if the sparks are real, or all in his head.

  Not that he expected a warm welcome, but her cold shoulder and icy rejection sting more than he cares to admit. So he’s more than a little surprised to find her tomboy daughter standing nervously on his porch…claiming to be his child.

  Dr. Penelope Gibson’s worst nightmare isn’t that her daughter wants to know her daddy. It’s facing—and keeping at arm’s length—her biggest youthful mistake. Now he’s back and the feelings she’d thought frozen solid are melting fast. Along with her inhibitions, her clothes and her better judgment.

  Problem is, Raul’s not content to stop at getting acquainted with her daughter. He wants it all—Penelope’s love, her body and her soul. After twelve years building a life without him, though, she’s not sure she trusts him—or herself—enough to try.

  Warning: This book features a wildly hot Latino firefighter dead-set on a mission to seduce. Contains bad words, fiery tempers and scorching sex. Oven mitts required.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Burn for Me

  Copyright © 2009 by Dee Tenorio

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-685-3

  Edited by Deborah Nemeth

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Burn For Me

  Dee Tenorio

  Dedication

  For Daphnee…because she would have loved this one.

  Chapter One

  Another damn dream. Seductive, sensual, sexual dreams of a woman he had never touched and a body he couldn’t forget.

  Raul rubbed his eyes and counted to twenty, knowing it wasn’t going to do a damn thing for his aching dick. Not even cold showers seemed to do much about it these days. He’d just have to wait until his libido figured out that the sexy lady doc it craved wasn’t remotely in the vicinity. ’Til then he was stuck with the cobwebs of yet another embarrassingly detailed sexual fantasy. Positions might change, outfits and places might alternate, but in the end they were always the same. Silken limbs, the scent of red-petaled flowers and long sable hair sliding through his fingertips. Her taste, her scent, so different from anything he’d ever known but stamped with a remarkable sense of coming home that never failed to overwhelm. And that was the kicker.

  He’d had plenty of sex in his time, and most of it would probably have been satisfying if it had ever once been coupled with the emotions he felt in these fucking dreams.

  “I love you, Raul.” The whispers were always the same, too. Her voice, husky with want, following him into the waking world like ghosts. “I’ve always loved you.”

  Then their fingers would twine together while he slid into her perfect depths. Sensation that could drown surrounded him every time. He’d look into her eyes, the deep cobalt blue he’d never seen on anyone else…and he’d jerk awake in his bed, hips pressing into his mattress, face lifted above only his pillow. No kiss-moistened full lips, no passion-drenched blue eyes, no Penelope Gibson undulating beneath him, crying out that she loved him over and over again.

  Every fucking time.

  He hated that damn dream. For more than ten years he’d absolutely hated it. Whenever he’d been lonely, missing home, it never failed to show up. A harbinger of the homesickness he couldn’t seem to kick. He’d come to think of Penelope as his personal symbol for the little town of Rancho del Cielo. After enough sexual reminders that he was far from where he should be, he’d generally succumb to visit his parents and siblings until he couldn’t stand being around them anymore, and he’d head back to the life he’d created for himself until the next round of pointless hard-ons.

  Sure, he’d looked for Penelope whenever he visited, but she always seemed to be out of town or just plain hard to find. All for the best really, since she was five shades too sweet, too perfect for the likes of him. As a kid, she’d had a crush on him that everyone and their grandmother knew about, which was probably why his subconscious used her as the holy icon of home, but enough was enough. Even if he considered her the one that got away, it wasn’t like she’d hurt herself waiting for him or anything. By the time he’d made his first visit home, she’d already had a kid. His brain should have gotten a clue.

  Then again, his brain knew a good thing when it saw one.

  It didn’t require a psychology degree to figure out that the sex dreams were because he had a one-track mind. And if that track wanted to go up one side of Penelope’s curvy little body and down the other, who was he to stop it?

  Apart from being the guy left with a throbbing case of blueball.

  And only the ache in his groin could derail the direction of his thoughts, which it did by practically staining the edges of his vision black from the lack of blood in his brain.

  Raul sat up, shifting the evil erection gingerly and willing his body to relax, wishing he couldn’t so easily call up the sensation of her soft pink mouth wrapped around his c—

  He jumped at the sound of his doorbell.

  Who the hell rang the doorbell these days? That he knew? Most of his family thumped with their shoulders as they tried to walk right into his apartment, followed immediately by the irritated yowl of his name. Whoever it was stood out there by the second floor railing, patiently waiting. Definitely not family. Which left one option.

  Salesperson.

  Groaning, Raul reached for the pair of sweats he’d draped over the back of his desk chair and dragged them on. Would it be the overpriced meat truck that needed to kill off their leftovers for a cheap price? The mostly deaf Jehovah’s Witness old lady who freaked him out every time she made her wobbly way down the stone staircase just feet from his extremely Catholic door? Or the only kind of salesperson he was happy to see—Girl Scouts bearing copious amounts of Thin Mints?

  Mildly interested at that thought, he moved a little faster to the apartment door. A glimpse through the peephole revealed only the top of a small red hat. Someone short. Cookies were a definite possibility. He unlocked and opened up.

  A little girl in a baseball cap, dusty raglan with matching red sleeves, and beat-up pair of blue jeans stood there, smudges of dirt on her cheeks. She held on to a black BMX bike by the handle and the seat. It was just as dusty as the rest of her.

  He frowned. “Not selling cookies, are you?”

  She leaned her head backward and to the side to eye him with such distaste, her mouth only opening on one side, that he couldn’t help but think of his mother’s expression when she was requested to do the unthinkable, like his laundry. “Do I look like I sell cookies?”

  “Um…I’m gonna go with no.”

  Which seemed to placate th
e girl, because her small shoulders relaxed and her chin came down. There was a sound from downstairs, some parent snapping at their child, and her head turned as if she thought it might actually be for her. Could it be? He looked over her shoulder, noting that for an obvious tomboy, she sure had long hair. A thick sable braid, glossy even in plaits and dust, fit through the hole at the back of her hat and draped down past the middle of her back.

  Nope, that mother had her unhappy kid in hand, pulling him down the walkway toward the parking lot. The girl in front of him visibly relaxed. Not a good sign. He knew what kids afraid of getting caught looked like.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, regaining her attention while wishing he had a shirt. Underwear would be even better. Best would be having a clue who the hell this kid was, but it was hard to see her features clearly, shrouded as they were by her cap bill.

  “You don’t recognize me?” Her small mouth turned downward, displeased.

  “I can’t really see you.” He pointed at the hat.

  “Oh, shit, I forgot.” Fast as a whip, she yanked it off, zipping her braid through the hole so quick it had to have snagged some loose strands of hair with it. “Recognize me now?”

  Implied was the threat that he’d better.

  Trying not to smile, especially at the sense of unease creeping up his back, Raul studied the little girl’s face. Heart shaped, her chin a little ball that jutted out with what could only be challenge, and cute, feminine features completely at odds with the personality glaring at him. Little bow lips, rosy cheeks on tan skin, her eyes wide and fringed with thick lashes. By feature, she only looked slightly familiar, as if he’d seen her in town or something but never been introduced. In a town of roughly twelve hundred, that wasn’t a strong possibility. But he knew those eyes. Cobalt blue, almost glowing with intelligence.

  “You’re Penelope Gibson’s girl.” The one who had been the flower girl at the Whittaker wedding last February. He smiled in relief. “You look a lot different when you’re not in a dress.”

  Until he mentioned the dress, her face seemed torn between happiness at being recognized and disappointment for something he couldn’t imagine. As soon as he said “dress”, though, all her features scrunched in utter dislike. “They had to give me fifty bucks to get me in that thing.”

  “You extorted Miranda out of fifty bucks?” He wasn’t sure whether he should be more surprised about the extortion or the victim. Knowing Miranda Whittaker and her wily ways, though, he had to go with the victim.

  The girl smiled, so bright and sly he just knew, right then and there, she was going to be serious trouble for her mother in another decade. Maybe sooner.

  “No, I only got fifteen out of Miranda. She’s good. I got the rest out of Trisha.” The maid of honor. Both women were her mother’s best friends, though. Should he count that for or against her? “She gave me extra not to get dirty, but she’s a soft touch. I’d have stayed clean just to keep from pissing off my mom.”

  Okay, this girl was definitely trouble now.

  “So, what can I do for you?”

  Finally, the girl’s confidence dimmed. When she blinked uncertainly up at him, for a whole second she looked exactly like her mother did at that age. “You really only recognize me from the wedding?”

  Yes, but he had the feeling he’d be better served by silence.

  She let out a soft, rising whistle of incredulity. “Wow, Danny’s right. You are oblivious.”

  “You’re friends with Danny?” Not as much a shock as he made it sound. His ten-year-old nephew was friends with every kid in town, if his birthday parties were any indication.

  “I’m his best friend. Have been since, like, kindergarten. Where’ve you been?”

  “Seattle,” he replied numbly. Did she not realize how hard it was to keep track of the numerous offspring of his numerous siblings? He was lucky he had everyone’s name right. Knowing their friends—kids who moved as a swarm, yelling, laughing, eating, crying and apparently swearing—required more brain cells than he could claim.

  “Well, that’s a reason, not an excuse.” The little face was so prim it took real effort not to crack up. Who did she know that talked that way? Even Pen, prissy as she could sometimes get, never looked like she sucked lemons on a daily basis.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Amused or not, he was standing shirtless at his door, hiding as much of himself as he could with the plank of wood in his hands, and it couldn’t go on a whole hell of a lot longer. “So, what can I do for you, Miss Gibson?”

  Her eyes went wide and her whole little body went stock-still.

  Shit, this could not be good.

  Carefully, she unpeeled what he only now realized was a white-knuckled grip on the bike handle and stretched her hand out for a shake. Very formal, very proper and really strange, he could tell, for this kid. She swallowed. Slowly. “I’m Chloe Gibson, sir. I figured it was time we met.”

  Confused, Raul reached out his hand. “Raul Montenga, nice to meet you.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was about to cry the second his hand swallowed hers. She was staring at their bobbing hands, her round little chin wobbling and her teeth biting into her lower lip. But she kept right on bouncing her hand up and down, like a perpetual motion machine. It was shaking in his grasp, but she delivered a firm grip anyway. “Why did you think it was time we met?”

  Crap, she was going to cry. Those deep blue eyes were filling with tears she seemed determined not to let fall. They floated there on her upturned face, making him want to turn away so she didn’t have to wipe them away in front of him. But she didn’t stop pumping his hand. What the hell was going on here?

  “Because…I’m pretty sure you’re my father.”

  {{{

  “What do you mean she’s not there, Mother?” Penelope stood next to her desk, eyes closed, rubbing the deepening crease forming between her brows, her other hand gripping the phone until her knuckles hurt. Ever since Chloe had started walking—and thus doing everything she could, just because she could—the line had been getting more and more permanent. In another year, it was going to become bigger than the Grand Canyon. “She has to be there.”

  She promised she wouldn’t leave anymore.

  Penelope longed to sit down. It would be so nice to get off her feet, but she had a roomful of patients to see. As one of only two doctors in town, she was generally busy, but with Dr. Pruett downshifting toward retirement, she was getting busier and busier. With the regular fall rush of colds combined with an onslaught of upcoming births, the last thing she needed was for Chloe to start acting up.

  “Would you like me to get down on hands and knees and search under every rock and cavern on the property, Penelope? She opened the gate. I’m telling you, that daughter of yours has run off again.”

  Not that Penelope could blame her. Chloe and her grandmother had what one could only call a loathe/loathe relationship. But Chloe was too old for day care and too young to be left alone. Penelope wasn’t even sure she’d be all right to leave alone after reaching maturity.

  “Did you say something to her?” Again? Lorna’s two-hour-long lectures were not events that Chloe was willing to abide.

  “Nothing she listened to,” Lorna replied dryly. “You can’t expect me to remain silent when she speaks so disrespectfully. You simply cannot.”

  No, disrespect was one thing neither Lorna nor Penelope allowed. “I don’t, Mother.”

  “I’d recommend washing her mouth out with soap, but I’m absolutely positive the child needs bleach. Where on earth did she learn those words?” Unspoken was the accusation that behind Lorna’s back, Penelope must be swearing like a Godfather-film reject. Which was tempting at moments like these, but Pen refused to give in. Out loud.

  “What did she say now?” Lorna’s silence said more than Pen wanted to hear. She could feel the line in her forehead deepening. “I’ll handle it.”

  She knew why Chloe had picked up swearing—nothing flustered Lorna’s feat
hers quite like crude language—she just wished she could get the girl to quit. What had started as a shock tactic had become an increasingly out-of-control habit. Teachers and other parents were starting to notice. Pen had tried grounding her, tried training her, tried a swear jar, all of which worked at home just fine. But send Chloe to Lorna’s after school and all her restraint flew out the window in a haze of blue.

  Chloe had just never been good at resisting temptation.

  “Have you tried calling Danny’s Mom?” Chloe and Danny Montenga redefined the word inseparable, something that had given Pen pause on more than one occasion, but the concern dissolved in the knowledge that Chloe’s interest in boys registered only in whether they had a better batting average. Danny was just about even with her, making them bosom buddies. Part of Chloe’s dislike for spending afternoons at Lorna’s was that Danny couldn’t be bribed to go with her. No one could be bribed to go with her.

  “Yes, but Danny’s at home and hasn’t heard a peep from Chloe all day.”

  Sure, she’d believe that when the planet stopped turning. Penelope didn’t need to look at her appointment book to know she didn’t have time for this. Wednesday was her long day. The office was full and it was only three. She was looking at another three hours before she could get home. Chloe had timed her rebellion well.

  “Try—”

  “I’ve been through your list of her friends. Why do you think it took me this long to call you? She’s not in any of the usual places.”

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Lorna was many things, but she couldn’t be accused of not being thorough. “I’ll cancel my appointments and—”

  The door to her office opened and a familiar red cap peeked through. Unharmed and already sheepish, Chloe slipped into the room.

  Relief, quickly overwhelmed by a surge of anger, flooded through her. “She’s here, Mother. I’ll call you back.” Penelope was already dropping the phone into its cradle, mouth pursed to demand where exactly her daughter had been, when the door pushed open further, revealing the tall, dark form of the last man she wanted within a hundred yards of her child. “Raul.”