Chapter 27
twenty-seven
“Kiss me with fire in your mouth.” - Unknown
Jocelyn held her silence like a sacred relic as Cole drove them away from the wreck of her uncle’s house. She didn’t look back. Didn’t ask where they were going.
A hundred years of memories had been burned to ash. Some good, some not—but Joe had been fighting to tip the scales toward hope. Now it was all gone.
Downtown was deserted. Whatever spirit the festival had carried, the fire had smothered it. Cole’s grip on the steering wheel was iron-tight, his jaw set in grim silence. He swung into the alley behind his restaurant and parked her car beside his truck.
Wordlessly, Jocelyn followed him through the back door, past the hum of the now extra busy restaurant, and up the stairs to his apartment.
She had no energy left for questions. Both places she’d been staying at in the past week had gone up in flame.
It was only mild consolation that her new clothes and all of the notes she’d painstakingly put together were safe in her car.
Cole flipped on the light, and silence filled the small apartment, pressing on her like smoke seeping into her lungs.
It was too loaded, too toxic, and everything was starting to spin.
She needed something in her hands, something to anchor her, to keep her from unraveling.
She had to find a clue, a link, an explanation. She needed to understand why.
Her purse hit the kitchen island, and her hands speared inside.
She dug past her laptop to yank free the battered journal that had started this whole search.
Pages rustled beneath her frantic fingers, the notes and clippings a blur as she hunted for the articles about the old fires, flipping faster and faster.
She didn’t notice her trembling until the paper tore under her urgent hands.
The sound broke her, and a sob clawed its way up her throat.
Cole was suddenly there, his hands sliding gently down her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. His touch was firm but careful as he pulled her away from the chaos of the journal. The heat of his skin seeped into hers, solid and grounding.
She collapsed against him as he cocooned her in his arms, holding on when she tried to retreat, his steady warmth keeping her from shattering.
The smoke was back in her mind. The pain. The choking. The heat at her bedroom door when she was nine. Crawling toward the window to the man who’d saved her—but not her mama.
That had been no accident. Someone had done it on purpose, had set the blaze that robbed Jocelyn of her childhood. And now they were sending her a message. These fires weren’t random—they were warnings. But she’d survived the flames once. She wouldn’t bow to them now.
The sobs tapered as resolve slowly replaced grief, brick by brick.
Cole loosened his hold as her breathing steadied. He had clutched her as though he could keep the pain from spilling out, and for the first time, she let herself admit she’d needed that, that she didn’t have to push him away.
Turning in his arms, she leaned back against the counter to look up at him. He didn’t step back as he studied her face. Worry etched itself into his forehead. He wasn’t the man who’d saved her back then, but he’d saved her just now—from breaking apart.
Lifting her hand, she brushed her palm against his cheek, the scruff tickling her skin. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her fingertips lingered longer than they should have, tracing the line of his jaw as if testing how much temptation she could get away with.
“For what?” The words rumbled low and soft, like he was worried someone might overhear.
It drew a smile to her lips. “For being here.”
His hand slid over hers, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “Anytime.”
Silence poured over them again, but it was different now, heavier, slower—charged in a way that had her skin crying out.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, her breath tangling with his as every inch of her screamed with the awareness that they were too close, too still, too dangerous.
His gaze traced her face like he was committing it to memory, and Jocelyn felt herself unfurling like a flower to the sun, despite every warning she’d ever carried.
Murphy women were disasters with love, and she should remember that.
But Cole was right there, warm and solid, and she didn’t want to be careful anymore. Not tonight, not after watching Joe’s place burn.
Her fingers curled into Cole’s shirt, and before she could second-guess the decision, she tugged him closer until his body pinned her against the counter.
He tipped his head forward, bringing his face centimeters, millimeters—a breath—from hers. “You told me not to kiss you again.” His words skimmed along her mouth, dancing the temptation over her lips.
She arched a brow. “What if I changed my mind?”
“I need to hear you say it.” His voice was rough, snapped tight from the effort of holding back.
“I want you to kiss me, Cole.”
His name barely left her lips before his mouth crashed against hers, taking what she was more than willing to give. The solid weight of him pressed into her, stealing the last of her resistance.
This wasn’t like before. Their first kiss had been reckless and consuming, and all she could do was hold on.
But this? This was slow-building desperation, a pressure pulling her deeper with every brush of lips and tongue.
Every time his mouth moved against hers, she felt herself unraveling, her body arching into his like it had been waiting for this exact heat all her life.
She got lost in the journey of discovering what he tasted like—the sweet cinnamon from the pie earlier mixed with something like bourbon, smooth and intoxicating—and beneath it, something purely him, wild and dark and impossible to resist. His scruff scraped along her chin, marking her, branding her, until she thought she’d carry the memory of this kiss on her skin forever.
There was some kind of knowing in the way they connected, inevitability in every touch, and she knew it wouldn’t just be one night. It couldn’t be when it felt like everything had been leading to this moment.
She broke the kiss with the realization, trembling at the knowledge. She wanted to choose the scary thing, to let herself fall into his kiss, even his bed. Cole searched her face, patient as he waited for her to make the choice, because that's what he was giving her.
“Murphy women are cursed in love,” she whispered, more to herself than him.
His nose brushed her cheek. “Curses can be broken.”
She tipped her head back so that his lips could graze her throat.
“Just call me the curse breaker.” His breath danced along her skin, making promises she willed herself to believe. Her body wanted her to, even if it meant lying to herself.
But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be a lie. She was desperate for it to be true, for something to be real and honest and… permanent for once. His eyes were telling her it would be, that he wanted that as much as she did.
“Alright, curse breaker,” she said, voice shaking only a little. “Prove it.”
He growled, the sound rumbling through her as he took her mouth again.
He turned them, walking backward without breaking the kiss.
But then he lost patience and slipped both hands behind her thighs to scoop her up.
Her breath hitched, the world spinning as he lifted her like she weighed nothing.
She clung tighter, nails digging into his shoulders, the primal thrill of being carried toward his bed burning away the last of her hesitation.
Her logical mind still tried to force some sense of self-preservation to the forefront.
But she was too far in now. Her body would destroy her if she let her mind take control.
Her skin ached with want, her senses lit by every press of him.
She had survived fire once before, but this time she was the one fanning the flames, begging them to consume her.
She couldn’t stop now even if she wanted to, and she did not want to.
When he laid her down, lowering his body along hers, it was no longer even a choice. Every shift of his hips, every scrape of his jaw along her throat, stoked the heat spiraling lower, winding tighter, until she thought she might combust.
His lips claimed hers again, slower now, deeper, exploring, tasting, demanding. And as their breaths mingled, as hands roamed and pressed, the line between comfort and desire blurred entirely. She tangled her fingers into his hair, the silky curls softer than she expected, and his eyes slowly shut.
“Feels amazing.” The words vibrated against her mouth like a secret meant just for her, his breath hot on her skin, and she arched up into him, desperate to be closer, to erase every barrier left between them. She clawed at his shirt, impatient, aching to feel the bare heat of him against her.
His eyes shot open to meet hers.
“I need you now, Cole.” It wasn’t embarrassment that painted her cheeks red. It was pure, unadulterated desire.
A wicked grin spread across his face. “You got it, Darlin’.”
Some time later, as she lay tangled in him and his hand moved lazily along her spine, sleep tugged at her like an eager friend.
Instead of dreams, though, memory met her.
In the twilight of consciousness, she found the hallway of her childhood home, the nightgown clinging to her as the creak from the front porch chased her back to her room.
And then there was heat.
The distant crackle of fire.
A spark leaping from shadow.
And the fabric of the nightgown flared with flame, igniting across her body like she’d been covered in lighter fluid.
She jerked awake, her breath coming in lurching gasps.
Cole’s hand was steady on her back. “Jocelyn?”
She sat up, brushing the hair from her face. Faint light from around the edge of a curtain drew her eye, kept her from looking at him while her heart beat steadied.
“Joss?” he said again.
She sighed. “I’m fine.”
“That fucking word,” he growled, sitting up next to her.
She turned to look at him, startled by his tone.
“I’m tired of hearing it. You throw it out like I can’t handle the truth. Or like I don’t care.”
“I—” she started, but she had no defense. She looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“Damn it, don’t be sorry.” His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t be sorry that other people have made you feel like you can’t say what’s botherin’ you. Just don’t treat me like I’m one of them.”
She pulled out of his grasp, but not to hide from him. Not anymore. She would make herself say it because he was right, and after everything, he deserved the truth.
“It was a dream. About the fire.”
He must’ve known which one she meant because he didn’t ask.
“I’ve always had them. But they’ve gotten worse this past year,” she admitted softly. “That’s why I started digging.”
His hand found the bare skin of her back again, tracing in that tender way that brought tears to her eyes. It took her a moment to let the emotions roll through her, and he just sat with her while they did. Patient. Steady.
“It’s not the whole thing," she finally said. "Only snippets. Just enough to throw me.”
And sometimes, things that never happened—scarier things that reminded her how fragile survival could feel.
After a long silence, he kissed her shoulder. “Tell me somethin’ else. Not about the fire. Somethin’ no one else knows about you.”
She glanced sideways at him.
“Besides those little noises you make,” he teased, a sly grin breaking through.
“Cole!” she gasped, swatting at him, and he caught her wrists with a laugh—low and loose, sweeter than anything she’d ever heard from him before.
Maybe she'd unlocked something in him just as he had done to her.
The warmth he radiated made something coil tight and hot down deep, the kind of heat that made her pulse thrum and her skin tingle.
He tugged her closer, leaning back to pull her on top of him. Then, without warning, he flipped them, and she gasped as she was pinned by the delicious weight of him.
He nuzzled into her neck. “Tell me all your secrets, Darlin’.”
“I don’t have secrets,” she said, breathless.
“You have plenty,” he rumbled against her throat. “Let’s start easy. Your favorite color?”
She laughed. “Maroon.”
“Favorite food.” It was a demand now as he moved downward, brushing his lips along her collarbone, back and forth, soft and tender and teasing.
“Um.” Her thoughts stuttered as he started a trail down her sternum. “I can’t—I don’t—”
He looked up at her from his position near her stomach. “Favorite food,” he repeated.
Her hands gripped at the blankets as he shifted lower, lips still brushing skin. “Anything Italian,” she managed.
“Mmmm,” he rumbled, the sound vibrating through her until she melted beneath him, ready to burn all over again.