Fire and Water Page 15

  Diane studied her. “What?”

  Michelle shrugged. “I hit the switch and go dark.”

  “That’s understandable,” Diane said softly.

  “Is it?” Michelle said, poking her food. “Seems pathetic to me.”

  “Far from it.” Diane regarded Michelle. “Maybe you just haven’t found your person yet.”

  “Yeah,” Michelle snickered with an eye roll. “That’s it. I need to find my soulmate.”

  “I mean, maybe you haven’t met the right someone.” Michelle raised her eyes, and Diane regarded her fragile glance with her own delicate expression. “Someone whom you can boldly open up to. Someone to be vulnerable and intimate with. Someone, in spite of your fears, who’s worth leaving the light on for.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “You cannot be serious,” Diane laughed.

  “I am totally serious,” Michelle said, wiping down the counter with a washcloth, while Diane gathered the dry ingredients to return to the cabinet. The scents of brown sugar and maple syrup wafted from the mixing bowl, their pecan pie filling turning out perfectly. “Gremlins is the greatest Christmas movie of all time.”

  Diane chuckled again, shelving the sugary items.

  Dinner was delightful. The food was mouthwatering and delicious. Their conversations flowed easily and, even when touching on some tender topics, sharing their experiences only enriched their meal together. Perhaps the one and a half glasses of wine loosened Diane up, but as the evening went on, she found herself completely at ease with Michelle. Enjoying her companionship. Their chemistry was becoming more evident as the night carried on. Gauging how much Michelle smiled and laughed and chatted throughout dinner, and afterward while they prepared the pecan pie together, Diane believed Michelle enjoyed her company equally in return.

  These last two days had been a whirlwind of emotions. Earlier in the week, Diane dreaded sharing the same space with Michelle—overwhelmed by her attraction, and anxious about Michelle’s unpredictable personality. But two nights together changed everything. This softer, vulnerable, and caring side of Michelle was showing strong, and Diane couldn’t get enough, eating up Michelle’s surprising sweetness like a hummingbird ate nectar.

  Even this juvenile spat was tickling Diane more than usual.

  “I’m sorry to say,” Diane continued, grabbing the pie dough from the refrigerator where it was wrapped in parchment paper and placed to cool, “I doubt a lot of people would agree with your choice of holiday entertainment.”

  “Popular doesn’t always mean correct.”

  “True. Except in this case,” Diane hummed teasingly into Michelle’s ear as she breezed by. She set the cold dough besides the bowl of chopped pecans and sugary filling on the counter. “When you’re completely wrong.”

  Michelle laughed.

  “What about It’s a Wonderful Life? Or Rudolph?” Diane asked, gathering the rolling pin and pastry cloth needed to form the crust. “I would even reluctantly accept Die Hard as a Christmas classic. But Gremlins? Seriously?”

  “You can’t judge it, if you haven’t seen it,” Michelle grumbled. “It’s got everything: Christmas trees, gift giving, snow—”

  “Hideous creatures wreaking havoc on a peaceful and unsuspecting small town,” Diane laughed again, sprinkling flour onto the cloth. “You’re right. All the things that bring yuletide comfort and joy. How foolish of me.”

  “Make fun all you want,” Michelle said. She pushed her glasses up with a complacent nudge and leaned her hip on the counter. “But I’ll get you to watch it, and you’ll agree.”

  “There’s no way on God’s green earth you’ll get me to watch that cinematic travesty.”

  Michelle shook her head. “Based on your questionable movie critiques, I gotta say Diane, I’m a little concerned now about your choice in pie for this evening.”

  Diane huffed. “Pecan pie is an absolute classic.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Michelle stole a sugar-coated pecan from the mixing bowl and popped it into her mouth.

  “Besides,” Diane said, crossing the kitchen to preheat the oven, “if anything, I should be questioning your tastes based on that monstrosity of a vehicle you own.”

  Michelle snorted. “You don’t like what I drive. Shocker.”

  Diane smirked over her shoulder. “Your Jeep is fugly.”

  Michelle barked with laughter. “Did you just use the word ‘fugly’?” she asked. “Do you even know what that word means?”

  “I most certainly do,” Diane said snidely. She booped Michelle’s nose on the way back over, glass pie dish in her other hand. “An appropriate word to describe your vehicle.”

  “This isn’t fair,” Michelle huffed. “Your Shelby Mustang is a one-of-a-kind, classic. The custom leather interior alone is probably worth more than my house.”

  “Could be,” Diane shrugged, flouring the inside of the pie dish. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “It must have taken a lot of time and money restoring—” Michelle tilted her head. “Wait. Why don’t you know?”

  “The vehicle was my father’s,” Diane spoke tenderly with a soft smile. “He purchased it when he was eighteen, right when he met my mother. The style, the work, the restoration, that’s all him. I only inherited it after he passed. I’m honestly ignorant when it comes to cars.”

  “Oh,” Michelle nodded, playing with the rolling pin. “Well, you’ve taken care of it nicely for him, and he clearly had good taste.”

  “Yes. He did,” Diane said. “Good taste, he inevitably passed on to me, as demonstrated with my pies. Are you done bickering with me so we can finish this?”

  “Yes, I am. For now.” Michelle grinned and rolled up her sleeves, she set her hands on the rim of the counter and focused. “Let’s crust this thing.”

  “First thing to know about making pie,” Diane said, turning fully towards Michelle, “is it’s nothing like blowing glass.”

  “Great.” Michelle rolled her eyes. “I’m off to a winning start already.”

  Diane smiled, setting a comforting touch on Michelle’s shoulder. “I only mean that in the sense we don’t work hot with pie crust, we work cold. Cold fat. Cold crust. And cold hands.”

  “Cold.” Michelle nodded, attentively watching Diane. “Got it.”

  “Touch me.”

  Michelle blinked. “What?”

  “I want to touch your hands.” Diane inched closer, holding her own hands out. “If your hands are too hot, it melts the fat when you work it, and we lose the proper texture. We don’t want that.”

  “Oh,” Michelle swallowed and stepped into Diane’s space, placing her hands out. “Okay.”

  Taking Michelle’s hands, Diane rolled her thumbs across her palms. The moment shouldn’t have taken more than a second, but Diane found herself staring at her own fingers as they explored the intricate lines and muscular dips and mounds of Michelle’s hands. The feeling was entrancing. Michelle’s touch was warm. Her skin silken yet tough. The image of Michelle working with heavy tools and hot fire screamed to the forefront of her mind.

  Diane dropped her eyes to the floor. She was close to overheating. Now was the time to let go. But the fast pulse of Michelle’s breath, and the quick, unsteady rise and fall of her chest, didn’t allow for a release. The sound enticed her. Aroused her. And soon Diane’s eyes were lifting again, slowly rising up Michelle’s body, until their eyes met, and she felt the beginning of something more. She dropped Michelle’s hands in an instant, feeling a subtle graze of Michelle’s fingertips on the delicate underside of her wrists.

  “Yes,” Diane sighed, freeing the hot breath bottled within her. She spun back towards the counter. “Your hands are fine.”

  “Good.” Michelle stepped beside her. “That’s good to know.”

  They said not a word, standing, shoulder-to-shoulder, as Diane unwrapped the dough from the paper. Touching Michelle did not help the cool process they were striving for, only sharpening the heat and the palpable energ
y stimulating the air. She glanced at Michelle, who stared blankly at the counter. The feeling she left with Diane, that small, single, ever so delicate touch, did so much more to Diane, left her wanting more. To touch Michelle more. To feel her more. In more places. In more ways. The burning desire to be touched by Michelle in return was becoming equally unbearable.

  Diane could hardly concentrate.

  “What was I saying?” Diane mumbled uncomfortably. She rubbed her forehead and glanced next to her. “I’ve forgotten.”

  “Um. Crust,” Michelle nodded, “you finished saying how making pie crust isn’t like glass blowing.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Diane said. She plopped the dough on the pastry cloth. “So, now the only thing left is for you to roll it out.”

  “I guess so,” Michelle shrugged. “I’m assuming the crust won’t roll itself.”

  “Right,” Diane said hesitantly, forgetting what she was doing for the moment, the single touch of Michelle unraveling Diane’s memory like a spool of thread regarding something she’d done a million times before. She needed to pull herself together. Focus on the recipe. Follow the steps. Everything will turn out fine. Squaring her shoulders, Diane shook off the throbs of heat pulsing through her. “Yes. The dough won’t roll itself. Why don’t you get it into a nice ball for us to roll?”

  “Sure,” Michelle nodded. “I can do that.”

  Occupying Michelle for a few minutes, gave Diane opportunity to clear her thoughts and give her body a chance to cool down. Plucking her glass off the counter, Diane swallowed the last mouthful of wine, zoning out into space as Michelle worked behind her. What happened, Diane asked herself. Had it been so long since feeling another woman’s touch, she’d blown Michelle’s outrageously out of proportion? But Diane couldn’t ignore how Michelle made her feel so nervous and new. No touch in memory—by anyone—made Diane feel like that, made her feel so pleasurably out of control.

  “Is this good?” Michelle asked. She held the dough for Diane to see.

  “Yes.” Diane spun back around, setting the empty glass down after the final, needy swallow. “Now, placing it in the center of the cloth, roll the dough how you showed me to marver the glass.”

  With the rolling pin, Michelle rolled the dough back and forth. “Like this?”

  “I didn’t explain that correctly,” Diane said softly. She peeked over Michelle’s shoulder and tipped her mouth closer in a whisper, “start in the middle. You want long, even strokes, with just a little pressure, leaving an inch or so from the edge.”

  Diane watched Michelle flattening and expanding the dough carefully. Her lungs pumped short, shallow breaths, and Diane was certain Michelle could hear her rapid heartbeats filling the room. They were close, Diane observed, so close it was almost painful not to reach out and touch her.

  Michelle glanced over her shoulder. “Better?”

  “Yes, very good.” Diane swallowed. “It doesn’t need to look perfect. Making it large enough to cover the pie dish is our only concern.”

  “I shouldn’t be troubled my pie looks like an amoeba right now?”

  Diane laughed. “No.”

  “Okay good.”

  When Michelle had the rolling down, finding good form and movement, Diane stepped back. She watched Michelle’s hands move delicately along the rolling pin and noted the intense focus in her brown eyes. Baking may not have been her forte, but it was clear how well Michelle moved her hands, and the careful precision she put into it, when Michelle set her mind on something, she gave it her all. That stubborn heat bubbled up inside Diane, as she braved another look at Michelle, this time, landing on a new splash of color on Michelle’s skin.

  “You have a scorpion on your neck,” Diane stated, stepping closer.

  “Yes, I do,” Michelle said. She took the crust and laid it gently on the dish, letting the dough sink naturally to the bottom, while Diane studied this newly discovered ink. Michelle crimped the crust around the edges and scooped in the pecan filling. “That was the first one I got. Sawyer and I went together. It was his idea to get zodiac symbols, so I got my scorpion. Sawyer got his libra scales.”

  “I hadn’t noticed it before,” Diane said, leaning slightly to see under her tightly woven braid.

  “I forget about it sometimes,” Michelle chuckled and scooped her hair over her shoulder. “Hopefully it’s still there. Otherwise it was a really expensive and painful temporary.”

  Inching closer, Diane studied the small black creature with a venomous tail just below her hair line. Its eyes glowed emerald. She’d never been this close to Michelle’s tattoos before and, before she knew what was happening, Diane placed two fingers on the black ink, starting near the top by the whisps of fine hair, and skimming her fingertips slowly down her spine. Michelle’s skin was so soft and warm, Diane released a startled sigh, overwhelmed by the feel of her.

  Diane pulled her hand away. “I—I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t know why—I just wanted to see how it felt.”

  “And…” Michelle asked in a breathy whisper. She turned into the tight space between them, her eyes falling directly onto Diane’s mouth. “What did it feel like?”

  Diane swallowed. “Exactly how I’ve imagined it would.”

  They moved towards each other at the same time, their lips falling together in the middle with a searing kiss. Michelle’s mouth was perfect, warm and tender and slightly sweet. Diane lowered her hands to Michelle’s hips and tugged her closer, pulling in a deep, long breath with her nose, filling her head with Michelle’s exhilarating scent of pleasurable peppermint. The kiss was romantic. Open-mouthed. Curious. Michelle’s hands drew up along Diane’s throat, and cupped her face, drawing her in, making Diane lose every sensibility. It wasn’t until the slick heat of Michelle’s tongue dipped past Diane’s lips and glazed her own, did she have the wherewithal to pull away.

  “It’s very detailed. Your tattoo. Did it hurt?” Diane spat out. She gifted them a cushion of space and returned to the unfinished pie. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself, fingers trembling.

  “Diane?” Michelle spoke, her voice gruff and low, like she’d awoken from a deep and dreamy sleep. She erased the distance between them. “Diane look at me.”

  Facing Michelle was the last thing Diane could handle. She was lightheaded, her lips swollen and deliciously fuzzy. The taste of Michelle was ripe on her tongue. Diane didn’t want the kiss to end, but she had to be practical here. They couldn’t make-out in the middle of the kitchen. With such abandon and need. Absolutely not. Even though that’s exactly what Diane wanted—and wanted badly.

  “Diane?” Michelle prodded.

  “Would you get more tattoos?” Diane ignored Michelle’s persistence, scooping up the pie and pivoted, nearly smacking right into Michelle. She dared a glance into Michelle’s eyes for a split second before looking the other direction.

  “Can you stop for a minute?” Michelle asked. “Please?”

  “I’ve thought about getting one,” Diane blabbered, nervously, “A tattoo. Once or twice. A long time ago—”

  “Diane—”

  “Can you please stop saying my name,” Diane flinched. “I can’t carry on and focus when you say my name the way you do.”

  Michelle stole the pie and placed it back on the counter. “Then will you please stop acting like a lunatic and talk to me?”

  “I have to get the pie in the oven,” Diane mumbled weakly.

  “You want to ignore the fact you just kissed me?”

  “No—I wasn’t—” Diane looked her in the eyes and yelled, “yes, well, you kissed me back.”

  Michelle laughed and shook her head. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

  Sighing, Diane leaned against the counter and blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. “It hasn’t been a cakewalk from my perspective either.”

  “But this seems easy, for once. Doesn’t it?” Michelle stepped into Diane space again, caressing Diane’s cheek with a seductive smirk on her f
ace. Her thumb traced Diane’s cheekbone. “I wasn’t finished kissing you.”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “Why? I want to kiss you,” Michelle whispered, moving in, “you, clearly, want to kiss me in return. Finally, something both of us can agree on.”

  Diane smirked. “That might be the case, however—”

  Michelle’s hand fell down to her shoulder and slipped to Diane’s waist, where she pulled their bodies together until their hips touched. Diane couldn’t resist any longer, pressing her mouth to Michelle’s in a flash of heat.

  This kiss was mind-blowing. The silly crush Diane admitted earlier was not feeling so silly now, as she surrendered and pressed her lips fully on Michelle’s. Quickly, their kiss deepened and their tongues began a feverish and lustful dance as Michelle pinned her against the counter. Diane cupped Michelle’s face, indulging in the hot tang of her kiss. A tangle of whimpers and heady moans slipped past Diane’s lips as a tight pleasure built between her legs. Her blood was on fire. Had she ever been kissed like this? Felt desired like this? Felt weightless, yet heavy with need like this? Diane couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think straight at all, with Michelle’s lips on hers, kissing Diane the passionate way she was.

  When they finally broke, they looked at each other, faces flushed and hot breaths pumping from their lungs, Michelle kept Diane pinned in place.

  “See,” Michelle panted with a smirk, “easy.”

  “Okay,” Diane said, wrapping her arms loosely around Michelle’s waist, “I guess it’s nice to agree with you on something. But I was being serious, before you interrupted me with all this kissing.” Diane craned her neck and eyed the pie behind her. “The pie needs to go in the oven.”

  “The pie can wait a few more minutes.” Michelle leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on Diane’s pulse point. “Can’t it?”

  If Michelle targeted any other spot on her body, Diane could’ve resisted.

  But Diane’s sensitive neck? And Michelle’s achingly soft lips?