Brotherhood of Fire

Chapter Three

"I was kind of wondering what you think about my wife."

John's head snapped up and he stopped going over his turnout gear, a flash of apprehension tightening his body. "What?"

Garrett stood at the end of the row of lockers, hands in the pockets of his jeans, hair still wet from his shower.
"Yeah, you know, what do you think about Carrie?"

He studied Garrett, then went back to looking at his gear. Not that a single thought in his head was focused on what he should be doing with it.

"I dunno. She's nice."

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say here, Garrett? Sounds like you're fishing for something."

He tossed his gear back to the bench and looked at Garrett again. If he only fucking knew. Usually pretty careful to keep his glances and wandering thoughts about Garrett's wife to himself, John knew he'd been busted watching her at the picnic. Garrett had passed it off with a joke, but maybe he'd just waited for a better time to question him on it.

Garrett pushed off the locker and sat down. He grabbed a towel and attacked his wet hair. "Just curious."

"You testing my loyalty?"

"No, I trust you like my brother; you know that. This is hard as hell for me to ask, so if you could just answer the question, John. What do you think about her?"

His gut clenched. "Why, something wrong?" He hoped like hell Garrett wasn't going to say things were going south between them. He didn't want to see them go through something like that, and he sure as hell didn't want to think of Carrie with anyone else.

"No. Nothing like that. Are you going to answer the god damn question or not?"

He stood, paced toward the wall at the end of the bench, and tried to play off the tension rolling through him.
"I like her, sure. Fuck, she's your wife; I don't know what else you want me to say." He closed his eyes. Trusts me like a brother. Yeah, sorry bro, I want your fucking wife. She's my dream woman. I'm in love with her. He sighed. No matter what his feelings, he'd never attempt to take what wasn't his. They were like brothers, and that counted more.

He turned to see Garrett, who stood staring at him, face tight, waiting. Then he noticed he twisted the towel in his lap, knuckles white, face pale, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Things John never associated with the perpetually grinning, always cool and confident Garrett. Whatever the hell this was, Garrett was dead serious about it. John hoped this wasn't an interrogation and an ass kicking because he'd been found out.

"Fine. She's nice, she's funny, she's got a hell of a mouth on her, and she loves you like crazy. Yeah, I notice. Be hard not to, and yeah, it'd be nice to have someone like that, but not her. Satisfied?"

"Hell of a mouth? As in, sexy mouth?"

Fuck yeah, sexy mouth, god, yes. "As in, she says what the hell she thinks and swears like a sailor, mouth! Christ, Garrett, what the hell? You think I want to fuck your wife, that what you're asking me?"

Garrett was quiet a minute, staring at his hands. "Yeah, I want to know if you want to fuck her, John. That's exactly what I'm asking. Not by yourself. With me."

John's head shot around. Heat from the two bright spots of color flashed on his cheekbones.

Garrett gave a nervous laugh. "Uh huh, thought so."

"Fuck you; that was a cheap shot, and pretty damn disrespectful to your wife, if you ask me." Shit, shit, shit. He couldn't be exposed like this, oh hell no, what a tool.

God damn, did Garrett just say that?

"You like her, John, admit it. You named off three things most guys would never think of—you pay attention to her, or you wouldn't notice. Any other asshole would have laughed and said nice tits or something then walked."

He paid attention, all right; he noticed everything about her. All the time.

"Garrett, what the hell are you asking me?" He sat heavily on the bench.

"You know damn well what I'm asking you. I just invited you into bed with us."

A low sound rumbled in his throat, almost like a trapped animal. "Jesus, Garrett." Head low, jaw clenched, he sighed and fidgeted with his SCBA. "Look. I admire how much she loves you, and she's funny as hell. Kind of like the girl next door with a dark side, and it's hot. Christ, what am I saying?" He rubbed his face with his hand and turned to Garrett. "Why?"

"Why not? You're my best friend; I trust you. Can you imagine how incredible it would be, us both with her?"

The blood rushed out of his face. The three of them together—clear as day he saw the image in his head. Carrie, with her classic auburn haired beauty, was not a new vision. The two of them bracketing her, naked and exploring her beautiful, creamy skin together without reservation, that was new and burned into his head like a brand. He wanted it so much it made him shake.

"No way. I'm not even going to start on the fact you just offered me your wife like I'm some desperate lonely son of a bitch, but, have you really thought this through, Garrett? I mean really? What if I fucked her, and she liked it, and we run off and leave you behind? What the hell are you thinking?" His voice had risen to the point a couple of the guys on the other side of the room looked over.

Garrett shook his head. "You wouldn't, and Carrie would never leave me—not even for you. I'm not worried about that part of it at all. I don't know . . . the whole thing seemed to click in my head. I could see the two of you together, and I . . . it made me . . . ah, hell. The first time I thought about it, I fucked her so hard she was shocked. I'm not an idiot, John."

John shook his head slowly back and forth, dazed. "I don't know. I'm not a casual sex kind of guy."

"Exactly why I'm asking. I know you aren't, and you haven't had a girlfriend in months."

"Yeah, exactly. I can't really have a sex thing going on with you guys and have a life, you know?" John stood, his head swiveling hard now. "This is insane, Garrett."

"Okay, okay. I know I sound insane. I sound like a fucking idiot, and I feel like a total freak asshole even saying it, but I'm at the point if I don't get it out I'm going to fucking scream. I want to see you with her, what she's like with you."

"Your wife isn't a bitch in heat! You can't have a guy jump in to service her." His anger was rising to the surface, but for none of the reasons he voiced to Garrett. He balked because his deepest desire had been offered and there was no way he could reach out and take it. No way.

Garrett's face turned dark, and John flinched at the look of sheer regret and shame he saw. "No, dumb ass, that's not it, not at all. Fine, I'm a fucking idiot. I have no idea what I was thinking. I'm a total dickhead for suggesting it, and you should kick my ass." He stood to leave, his body tight and angry.

"Wait! Okay . . . shit, sit down."

He turned away and composed himself a little, guilt riddling him for making Garrett feel like shit when he was lying through his teeth. Plus, the temptation to hang on to the conversation, the idea, overpowered him. Spend a few more moments daydreaming about the possibility, maybe, no matter how farfetched. "Look, you gotta see how much of a shock this is."

"Is it because you can't look at her that way, or you don't want to be involved with us?"

His best friend and the love of his life? Was he fucking kidding?

"All right, truth. First off, hell yeah I could want her. She's about damn near perfect, but that's what scares me. I can see where you'd consider it, but man, you're looking at this from the point of view of a guy who's already got the world by the balls, you know? I don't have the same perspective."

"You've got nothing to lose, then."

"No, I've got everything to lose, because if I get attached and this is a disaster, when it's gone, I go back to nothing. You still have Carrie."

Garrett sighed. "True. Well, I guess I am an idiot. I figured you might at least think it over. Maybe I should ask her if she has anyone she might be interested in."

"You're going to asked her?"

"Well, hell yeah, John, she's my wife. Maybe I should have just asked her first. She might not even have picked you, but I was kind of thinking of giving her the whole idea already put together. I guess if you're not into this I can consider other options."

The Ferris wheel dropped him hard and fast; his belly jumped to his throat. "So, what, you're going to find someone else?"

Garrett stretched his legs out, cocked an eyebrow, and grinned. "You don't seem to like that idea."

He didn't like the idea at all. He could barely stand how much he wanted her; to know someone else might be touching her besides Garrett made his gut burn. "You going to keep asking until you find someone who's willing to fuck her, that it?"

"No, but I'm not giving up. I don't get why you don't see how amazing this could be. I've been thinking about this for a while. She's attracted to you. And don't lie—I know damn well you like my wife, John. You'd love to fuck her."

"You're an insufferable asshole, O'Neal. Know that?" John laughed, but with bitterness, not humor. He felt stuck between what he wanted most and the fear of losing the opportunity.

"Yeah. So I've heard. Look, one last stab. Would you think about it? Tell me you don't want her."

John sighed. Need he hadn't experienced in years raged in him at the same time the idea of some random guy touching her blazed through his resistance.

"I'll tell you what, since there is no way in hell your wife is ever going to go for this, I'll give you one. If she says something, all on her own without one damn word from you, no coaching, no pushing her into me . . . if she says she wants it, I'll think about it."

Garrett's face broke into a huge grin. "Damn. Didn't see that coming; now I don't feel like such an ass after all. I'm not the only one wondering if this would be the most incredible damn thing I've ever done, am I?"

John groaned. He tossed his towel in the locker, trying to fight the surge of adrenaline. "Fuck, I'm a guy, what do you think? How the hell can I sit here and not think about it, even if I think it's a train wreck waiting to happen. Somebody else buried in your wife is even worse than me doing it, so you're still an asshole. Besides, she has to come to me, Garrett, on her own. Straight out ask me. She'll never do it."

"I'm going to remind you of those words later. And I wouldn't have asked anybody else, just so you know. Damn, this was easier than I thought."

John felt a rush in his head, both of them. He had to adjust to accommodate the hard ridge in his jeans before he gave Garrett any more ammunition to use against him.

Garrett turned to leave, then stopped and looked him square in the eyes. "Trust me on this, okay?"

John shook his head. "I hope you know what the hell you're doing, man. I really do."


* * * * *


A total body shudder lurched through Carrie as she walked into the dimly lit bar. The sight of Garrett and John sitting together almost made her stop walking halfway to the table. Even in the dim light, the brightness of John's smile, his dark head bent next to her husband's as he laughed at some joke they shared sent her off into visions of the little fantasy Garrett had been feeding her the last few weeks.

Except the fantasy hadn't been about John; Garrett hadn't named anyone, specifically, and she hadn't thought of anyone, specifically. Until right now. John's sculpted torso swam into her head, but instead of sitting there leaning on his sinewy forearms on the black bar table, she pictured him with his well-defined chest and broad shoulders bared, on her bed. Garrett's bronze head swiveled around, and he flashed his panty-melting grin at her. She couldn't help the wide smile that warmed her whole body. Her husband always made her melt, made her smile. His chiseled, masculine chin and those dimples on his handsome face topped with the mischief that always danced behind his coffee brown eyes was like her daily fix. He both thrilled and comforted her whenever she laid eyes on him. Except right now, she narrowed her gaze, directing the fault for her wet panties and visions of John's equally gorgeous body being naked in her mind, at her husband.

Every time Garrett started in on her, teasing her with the idea of another man doing something sinful to her and enticing her to picture the two of them doing it together, the images slammed into her and took her over with a lust like she had never experienced. That was when the man was faceless. The shock of John flashing into that little picture in her head had her thighs clenched, the heat and wet between them enough to make her squirm, and a flash of hot, hard guilt burning in her belly.

Didn't help much when they both looked up at her and she could have sworn John's lusty grin rivaled her husband's. Everything about him screamed I could be yours, right down to the way he ran his gaze over her as she sat down. Before her bottom hit the chair, Garrett pulled her into his lap.

Managing a little smile and enough breath to talk, she pushed the lust out of her head and dragged herself back to the present.

"Drinking awhile, guys? You look a little tight."

"Yeah, we're tight all right." Garrett laughed, running his hand up her back.

"Hey, Carrie. How are you doing? How's your ankle?" John's deep, husky voice rolled over her, even through the noise in the little bar. How the hell did men do that with only their vocal chords?

"Good, John, good. It's doing great, thanks to you. So, Garrett tells me you were the one who got him in the fire the other day, gave him his first shot at it."

John grinned as took a pull on his beer. "Yep. Threw him into the bitch, and he took her down. He's been ready for awhile; it was good to see him get his shot at it."

Garrett smiled ear to ear. Looking between the two of them, she tried to forget how she'd just been seeing John in her head and remember he was her husband's mentor, best friend, and, for the last ten months, almost like a brother to him. What the hell was she thinking? John would be a fixture in their lives for years to come, and Garrett being right at the beginning of his career left no room for screw-ups. Besides, this wasn't about her twisting up their little sex fantasies; today was about Garrett, the bar run this Friday was to celebrate his first fire. She turned and kissed him, then snuggled her face into his neck. The heat of his hard, muscled thighs burned through her denim shorts, not making her attempts to focus any easier.

"Proud of you, sweetheart."

"You can show me how proud later," he whispered back, pulling a delicious little giggle from her.

The tables filled as other wives joined their husbands, and the talk turned boisterous, rough, and generally dirty. Firefighters weren't reserved or shy—how the hell could you be when you put your life on the line every time you went out on the job? She loved that about them. They were flirty, obnoxious, and the tightest-knit group of people she'd ever met. Like walking into a ready-made family—if they accepted you, they pulled you in, and that was it, you were surrounded.

She found herself watching Marcus, Dawson, and Mari with a little more than passing interest. The three of them were always together. Always. One of those rumors that when you were up close and personal with it you knew where there was smoke there was fire . . . pun intended. No way those three weren't hooking up, not when the two men looked at her like that.

Forgetting her promise to herself of a moment ago, she threw a half-desperate glance John's way and found him staring at her. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the expression on his face matched the one Garrett gave her when he made love to her. Raw. Needy. A smile she couldn't help flashed over her face. God, was she really wondering what it would be like, having them both with her? A shiver passed over her. She couldn't ignore the truth that yeah, in theory, making her fantasy into a reality sounded like a damn good idea. She sighed. Was she some kind of freak for thinking such wicked thoughts?

"What are you thinking, baby?" Garrett whispered in her ear, his eyes bright when she turned to him.

"Watching everyone. Everyone at this fire house is so cool to be around, you know?"

"Well, almost everyone." Garrett grumbled as she caught sight of Anders, Bent, and Torman.

Garrett shifted her on his lap; his arms tensed around her. "Torman left Marks the other day."

"What? In the house? The fire you were in?" Her eyes went wide as she stared at Torman. Relief flooded her he hadn't left Garrett alone in there, or she might have hiked over to his table and given him a piece of her mind.

"Yep. He's heading for an ass beating, or at least a good ass chewing."

"I'd beat his ass, to hell with talking. It's overrated," John said, shaking his head as they all three looked at the man like he was a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe. What he'd done was a Cardinal sin, and she didn't even have to be a firefighter to know it.

She eyed John, watching the testosterone-laden glint in his eye, the way his throat muscles worked as he swallowed another sip of his beer. His lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle made her focus on how soft they looked, how the softness contrasted with the scruff of the five o'clock shadow he was sporting. Gaze traveling him slowly, she took in the broad shoulders, the slight curl of his thick, black hair at the back of his neck. His muscular, tanned arms were showcased in the dark blue t-shirt he wore. The material stretched over his biceps, his chest . . . and she realized a whole new body flush was creeping over her before she tore her eyes away.

"Whatcha lookin at?" Garrett's deep, husky whisper rolled over her as deliciously as John's voice had a few moments ago. Until she realized he knew exactly what, or who, she had been looking at.

Turning, she buried her face in Garrett's neck, inhaling his deep, masculine scent as she hissed in his ear. "It's your damn fault, you and this fantasy. I'm looking at every guy like that now!"

"Ahh—" He cleared his throat. "Seems like just one in particular to me."

She heard the smile in his voice. Kicking her heel into his shin under the table, he yelped.

"Easy, wildcat, I'm only having fun with you."

"The kind of fun that will get us caught! Hell, bad enough you would probably do it for real; now I'm looking at your best friend like a piece of meat!"

The deep belly laugh Garrett let out caused a number of heads to turn in their direction, and she cringed at her mistake.

"Talking dirty down there?" Rick yelled from the opposite end of the table. "Let us in on it; we need some new material! Nobody's had a good story since we found probie Jim on Craig's List cruising for a cock to suck."

A table-wide laugh went up, and Carrie was glad for the distraction. Until she caught John staring dead at her. The look in his deep blue eyes sent a shiver through her, and her panties soaked instantly.

He studied her, then cocked a slash of ebony eyebrow at her and took another long drink of his beer, eyes still trained on her the entire time. Garrett chose right then to unceremoniously lift her up and dump her in the chair between the two of them.

"Going to the head; be right back."

And there they were. John, suddenly looking uncomfortable, like he had no idea what to say and her, keeping her mouth clamped shut because anything she might manage to say would sound about as ridiculous as she felt.

"Pool?" She managed to stammer. God, she'd spent months hanging around this guy, laughing, even a little flirting or teasing, and it had never meant anything until now. All of a sudden, anything she did with him had a double meaning. She needed to remember to kill Garrett for this.

A few minutes later, she was wondering what was taking Garrett so long as she watched John bend to take his shot, then walk toward her to hand off the one pool cue they'd managed to find. The hard slam into her back from some drunk was unexpected. So was being instantly wrapped in John's strong arms. Chest to chest, they bumped together, her forehead hitting hard on his chin as he caught her to keep her from crashing into the pool table. She looked up, needing less than half a second immersed in his masculine scent and warm, hard muscle to lose all her breath and feel an electric humming rush through her entire body.

The longer she stared up into his deep blue eyes, the more intense the humming, until it built to a pace that would likely have been enough to power the block if someone could tap her.

His stomach muscles twitched against her, and his arms steadily tightened around her long after she regained her feet. It was his large body that was pulling her slightly off balance now as he held her pressed tightly to him from thigh to chest with the force of his embrace. Her gaze focused on the bared skin of his toned shoulder where it met the curve of his neck. The deep hollow that she knew would be warm and soft, and where she'd find the pulse beneath his skin if her lips rested there.

Garrett floated into view, finally exiting the bathroom with the timing sense of a snowstorm in July. His presence cooled her senses, and the rush of being encased in John's warmth deserted her as she pulled back, mouth open, body tensed. Expecting Garrett to at least be confused, irritated, maybe, she didn't expect the look of surprise then total unadulterated lust to come over his face.

He approached them with a grin as John hastily let go with a quick, "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, thanks for catching me."

"You fondling my wife?" Garrett chuckled, moving in close to them both. "I charge for that, you know."

"Garrett! Don't be an ass. Some drunk about knocked me down; John came to my rescue." Face hot and still breathing hard, she snatched the cue and took her shot, missing by a mile.

Time seemed to slow to the speed of paint drying. Garrett settled onto a stool and pulled her back into his lap, making a show of it. Holding her irritation at him for instigating a reaction from John, she tried to focus on the game. But every time Garrett put his hands on her, John stole a glance at them, and his heated looks made the tension in her rise until she felt like she was being thumped like a guitar string. Garrett, with his wicked little grins to her and his open approval of John's shy looks, and the secret that hummed between her and her husband that John seemed to be playing right into combined to drive her mad. John smiled and shot pool with no idea he was the subject of a very graphic little scene that sure as hell didn't involve a bar full of people . . . or clothes.

The game dragged. Neither one of them could put a pool ball in to save their life, until finally, mercifully, John sank the eight ball. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"God, that was a death march. I suck at pool."

"No worse than I do today. I think it's just fatigue." John shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "You guys staying around much longer?"

"I don't think so." Garrett winked at her. "Need some sleep. You?"

"Nope. Hitting the can, then heading out. All right then, I'll see you tomorrow, man, and see you next time, Carrie."

His blue eyes hit her head on, gaze steady and direct. A slow, lazy smile curled his lips as he nodded at her, a few strands of jet-black hair falling over his forehead.

"See you later. Have a good night." It was a rush watching him walk away, a total mix of emotion flooding her like a high tide, and she squirmed against Garrett. "Let's get out of here."

His arms circled her, and he leaned close to her neck. "Best words I've heard all day."

He stood, shouted to the crowd, and gave everyone a wave as he pulled her behind him out into the warm evening. The hazy, dark warmth of a late summer night closed in around her. Her mind stayed in the slightly dreamy state that being close to both John and Garrett the last few hours had pushed her into.

The sultry energy of the night seemed to possess her husband as well. No sooner did they round his truck than he was on her, lips devouring hers in an out of control force that outdid even his usual gusto. She melted into his chest, vague thoughts of the fact that they were in the parking lot in full view a distant cry to the feel of his hands sliding beneath her T-shirt, his warm, soft mouth licking and nibbling at her lips, stroking her tongue with his.

He moved over her chin, down her neck, hands still roaming her bare skin. "Damn, when I saw you standing there with John, do you know what the hell I was thinking?"

"Oh, god, Garrett . . . don't."

He bit her neck gently and groaned against her skin. "Why not? You were thinking it."

"Garrett—" She moaned, forgetting what she was even complaining about when the warm skin of his hand hit her bare breast as he pushed her bra up, his knuckles grazing her nipple.

"Tell me you didn't feel it. Your face was flushed. I bet you are so wet right now."

The only answer that came was a low moan as his fingers grazed her nipple again, his lips traveling over her collarbone, the warmth of his breath igniting her skin where his tongue left a damp trail.

"Uh, hey." The voice cut through the haze.

Carrie gasped and pulled away, effectively yanking Garrett's hand out of her shirt, bra still askew beneath it as she backed away. Burning heat flushed her face as she threw her husband a glare, then dropped her eyes to the ground rather than look at John.

She opened the door of the truck and climbed in. Hearing Garrett's deep laugh and sensing that neither of the men had moved, she couldn't resist the urge to look up. The look of total shocked lust on John's face, his eyes dark and burning even in the twilight, took her breath away. He stood with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, staring first at her, then at Garrett, who leaned into the side of the truck next to the passenger window, a cocky grin on his face. If she'd resisted her curiosity, she'd have missed the little nod Garrett gave John, and the wistful head shake John gave in return as he gave her one last look, a look no woman would mistake for anything other than wishful thinking.