That was a frightening thought. She’d sworn she’d escape Small Town, USA, that she’d make a career in music, and she had. Why would she ever allow herself to be tempted back? To follow in her mother’s footsteps, after all?
And yet...this wasn’t feeling nearly as mechanical and strictly physical as she’d anticipated. There was a tenderness that could easily be misconstrued...
She should voice her concerns. She didn’t want either of them to get hurt—and what had seemed unlikely a few minutes earlier suddenly didn’t seem so unlikely at all. This was more of an epic event than it should be. But when he murmured that everything was going to be okay, and his mouth came down on hers, coaxing her to relax by giving her a kiss so achingly sweet that she couldn’t help arching into him, she swallowed her fears. And the next thing she knew, they were rolling around in his bed, completely naked as they kissed and touched and tasted.
Part of her wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. She was reveling in the pleasure he seemed to provide so naturally, so intuitively. But it ended far sooner than she expected. He’d just begun to push inside her when someone banged on the front door, yelling in a voice filled with panic, “Kyle, get out here! Now!”
*
“What is it?” Although Kyle wasn’t happy about it, he’d left Lourdes in his bed and yanked on his jeans so he could let his neighbor in. Warren Rodman rented one of his houses just down the road—the one Kyle had yet to renovate—and he worked at the solar plant. But he was quite a bit older, nearly sixty-five, and recently divorced. He didn’t usually bother Kyle after hours, especially this late. It was nearly eleven. And he was such a mellow guy. It took a lot to get him so anxious.
“There’s a fire at the plant,” he said. “I could smell the smoke when I stepped out on the back porch to have a cigarette, so I drove over there, and...sure enough.”
Stunned, Kyle blinked at him. Maybe he was still a little dazed from what had been going on before Warren arrived, because it sounded as if he’d said there was a fire at the plant. His plant.
Before he could interpret those words and form an appropriate response, Lourdes came hurrying out, wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his Tshirts—what was at hand in his room and easier to put on than her dress. “Have you called 911?” she asked Warren.
“I have. The fire department’s on the way, but—” he turned back to Kyle “—I thought there might be a few things in there you’d like to try to save.”
The reality finally cut through the testosterone-induced fog that’d momentarily put him out of touch with the regular world. He could even smell the smoke, drifting toward him on a brisk wind. “Hell, yes, there’s stuff I want to save,” he said and ran to grab his keys from the kitchen counter.
Lourdes must’ve realized he was going to rush out dressed the way he was, despite the cold, the rough ground and everything else, because she stopped him and hurried back down the hall to get him some shoes.
“How bad is it?” Kyle asked Warren.
Warren rubbed his neck. “I have no idea, boss. I didn’t go very close. I saw an odd glow against the sky and knew immediately what it was. So I called 911. Then I came over here.”
When Lourdes returned a few seconds later, she carried a sweatshirt as well as his boots. “Nothing in the plant is worth your life,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Don’t get hurt.”
He wasn’t even sure he responded before he shoved his bare feet into his boots and dashed out, still trying to get that sweatshirt over his head. He’d put so much time and effort into his business, had finally built it into what he’d always imagined it could be. This didn’t seem possible. A fire could set him back months, years, if it destroyed the whole plant.