Ring of Fire by Susan Fox Page B

I’m not as good as my mom.”
    â€œYou have a barbecue?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI’m not much of a chef, but I do okay with a grill. How about I bring over some steaks, ribs, whatever you like to eat? Chicken, fish?”
    â€œHamburgers!” Jayden said.
    â€œIt’s hard to beat hamburgers,” Lark agreed. “I’ll make fries to go with them.”
    â€œSounds good.” Usually, he aimed for a healthy diet, avoiding deep-fried foods and sugary ones. But a few fries wouldn’t kill him. It’d be another homey meal. And that was nice. Really nice.
    Though nowhere near as nice as his fantasy about being alone with Lark. And that was all it would ever be: a fantasy. Gloomily, he wondered if any woman was ever going to be attracted to him again—genuinely attracted, not one of those starry-eyed “soldiers are heroes” types or “give the poor broken soldier a pity fuck” women he’d run into. To be objective, it had to be a turnoff, thinking of having sex with a guy who had a stump instead of a leg. Hell, it was a turnoff for him just imagining taking off his clothes in front of a woman. Stripping off his pants—and one of his legs.
    He was glad when the group reached the barn, and he could concentrate on removing the tack and grooming Celebration. This time, as he brushed the horse, he paid attention to the shift of muscles under the warm, dark coat, really appreciating what a strong animal this was. But gentle, too, as the horse turned his head to breathe soft air across Eric’s arm. “You like that, do you, boy?” he murmured. It must feel a bit like a good massage.
    Eric’s massage therapist was male, and three times a week he worked Eric’s tight muscles until they turned into jelly. Yet now, when Eric thought about massage, he imagined something quite different. Lark’s hands were strong and capable. Could they be sensual as well? The thought of her hands caressing his nakedness made his body stir. But that was a fantasy for tonight, alone in his bed, not for the family-style company of the riding lesson or tonight’s dinner.
    Eric had always prided himself on his control. He liked things that were concrete. Situations he could take charge of, or at least ones where there were rules, guidelines, strategies, and tactics. And if he couldn’t control a situation—such as the injuries to both his legs—at least he could work his hardest to determine the outcome. He’d been excellent at compartmentalizing, keeping personal issues locked away in a separate box in his brain so they never intruded when he needed to concentrate on a mission.
    But in the past year, things had changed. He hadn’t been concussed during the explosion; he hadn’t, like Jayden, suffered a brain injury. Yet his razor-sharp control had deserted him. He hadn’t figured out how to defeat PTSD, and now he was having trouble reining in his wayward thoughts about the strong, sexy fire chief.
    A warm, velvety touch brushed his cheek, his ear. He shuddered with pleasure—until he regained his senses and saw that it was the horse nuzzling him.
    He eased back and stared Celebration in the eyes. “I am so fucked up,” he confessed.
    Those deep brown eyes stared calmly back. Without judgment. Reminding him, inevitably, of Lark.

Chapter Six
    It seemed dinner wasn’t going to be much of a test of his self-control, Eric thought ruefully later that night. He’d barely arrived at the Cantrell house, got the barbecue heating, and started to shape ground beef into patties when Lark’s pager had beeped. A moment later she flew out the door.
    Eric turned to Mary, who shrugged philosophically and stepped over to tend the deep fat fryer that Lark had deserted. “Weekdays, she works regular hours. Evenings and weekends, she doesn’t have to respond unless she’s the duty officer. That person has the duty