Fire & Fairytales

Rating: ADULT
Category: Heavy M/L but other couples will be around - AU w/out Aliens
E-mail:
Disclaimer: I don't own the WB nor any places where I get my ideas from, and I totally got this idea from a book Diamond Girl by Diana Plamer.

Summary: This is not a Roswell story, they don't live in Roswell and there are no alien powers, this is just a cute story I wanted to do. And none of the people are the age they are in Roswell, this takes place now but as older people.

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Part 1

Fire
By Babyface and Des'ree

Your riding in my car
I turn on the radio
I'm holding you closer
But you keep telling me no
You say you don't like that
But I know that your a liar
Cuz when we kiss oooh fire

Late at night
Your taking me home
You say you want to stay
But I want you to go
I say I don't love you
But you know I'm a liar
Cuz when we kiss oooh fire

You've had a hold on me right from the start
A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart
My nerves are jumping acting like a fool
Your kisses might burn but my heart stays cool

Well Romeo and Juliet
Samson and Dahlia
Baby you can bet
They were burning with desire

If I say split
Then you know that I be lying
Cuz when we kiss oooh fire
Fire
Fire
Fire

When we kiss I'm on fire
Your tenderness
Gives me desire
I can't resist
Your tender lips
When we kiss oooh fire

When we kiss I'm on fire
Your tenderness
Gives me desire
I can't resist
Your tender lips
When we kiss oooh fire

Fire
Fire
Fire
Fire

It was cold, gray, and raining as Liz Parker stood by her desk with puddles around her. She shed her beige raincoat and matching hat and pushed her hair out of her eyes angrily. She was soaked and ten minutes late because she had missed the bus and her suede boots were soaked, along with the hem of her new blue ruffled frontier skirt. She sighed wearily, what was the use? She had just bought the new frontier skirt and a matching high necked blouse on Saturday, and this morning she had walked out of her apartment with enthusiasm and confidence, today was the day that she was going to make Michael Guerin look at her and take notice.
She had wanted him to see a woman, not just an efficient secretary who made good coffee. But then it had rained and she had, had to walk 6 blocks to the downtown San Francisco law office where she worked. It was starting out to be a typical Monday.

Michael Guerin's door opened just as she had known it would, and her tall boyishly attractive boss walked into the outer office. One eyebrow shot up as he looked across at her, and she could see that he was trying hard not to laugh. She could imagine how she looked: tall, gangly, and small breasted, wearing clothes that suddenly seemed to emphasize all her faults in her figure. To complete the disaster she looked like an ideal applicant for the Ringling Brothers & Barnum and Bailey Circus.

"Go ahead say it," she dared him, pursing her full lips, which were ineffectually painted with thick, pink lipstick. "I'm off to join the clowns."

"I'm a gentlemen or I might," he admitted as he smiled. He jammed his hands in his pockets and moved closer, "What's on the agenda today, Liz?"

She reached into the top drawer and pulled out the appointment book. "You've got Mrs. Thompson about the property suite at nine, you're due in court at ten-thirty on the James case, and you've got a meeting in chambers with Judge McVernon at two-thirty. Isn't he sitting on the James case?"

Michael nodded.

"Then if you don't finish by two-thirty, you can forget the meeting in chambers, I suppose."

"Are you kidding?" he chuckled. "Scott will recess until we talk over that continuance. How about the rest of the afternoon?"

"You're free."

"Thank God," he sighed, and winked at her. "I've got a heavy date with Maria tonight. I don't know how I live from evening to evening!"

She tried to smile and look unconcerned, while her heart was being slowly strangled by the thought of the blond haired, beauty he'd been dating for the past three months. It was beginning to look serious, and she was really scared. How would she live if Michael married someone else? She seemed to have loved him forever, at least for the past year. And all he ever noticed was her typing speed.

"Has Max come in yet?" he asked.

She felt herself tense up at the mention of Michael's stepbrother. He frightened her with his hard, dark face and his huge physique. He was the most abrasively masculine man she'd ever known, and the six months that he'd been in partnership with Michael had been the most trying of her work history. She still couldn't understand why Max had left a lucrative law practice in New York to come out to San Francisco to join Michael's, when Max already had a national reputation as a trail lawyer and Michael was just out of law school.

"I don't think so," she murmured after a minute. "I just walked in the door, and I haven't looked."

"You won't either, unless I insist, will you?" He asked curiously. "It amazes me how nervous you are around my brother. The other day he told me that you seem to go into hiding when he's here. He has to hunt for you to give dictation."

She shifted restlessly. She wasn't a timid person. She had a temper and on occasion she had showed it even to Michael. But Max made her bristle. She couldn't be in the same room with him for five minutes without wanting to take his trash can and dump it over his shaggy dark head of hair. And that wouldn't do at all because Michael worshipped his older brother. So she tried to avoid trouble by avoiding Max Evans. In her mind they were one and the same.

"I'm busy most of the time," she reminded him. "There are those files in the storeroom that I'm trying to alphabetize when I'm not typing petitions for you or entertaining nervous clients. . . . "

"I know I know," he sighed. He cocked his head at her, "You don't like Max do you?" he asked bluntly.

She shrugged her thin shoulders. "I suppose I'm a little in awe of him," she said after a minute, searching for a tactful way to admit that she hated his guts and finding none.

"Because he's famous?" Michael chuckled. "His name is always in the gossip column when he goes to Hollywood or the Big Apple, all right. Max attracts women the way honey attracts bees. He's not bad looking, and God knows he's not poor. Come to think of it, I'm surprised he didn't bring his secretary when we began the partnership," Michael murmured, smiling. "Sarah was quite a dish. Uh not that you aren't. . ."

She managed a faint smile, to show him that she didn't mind being thought of as drab and uninteresting by the man she worshipped.

"Maybe Sarah didn't want to leave New York," she suggested.

"Maybe." He turned. "Well send Mrs. Thompson in as soon as she gets here. I'm not snowed under with mail yet, am I?"

"I'll run down to the mail room and get it," she said.

"Made coffee?" he called over his shoulder.

Sure she muttered to herself, and she swept the floors, and de-cobwebbed the corners and reupholstered the chairs, and the sofa, and patched the carpet, and painted the door facings, all in the three minutes since she walked in the door.

"Not yet," she replied sweetly. "As soon as I get back from the mail room, okay?"

He sighed, "I guess it will have to be," he mumbled, closing his door behind him.

"Oh damn men everywhere," she muttered as she opened the outer door, and came face to face with Max Evans. She had to force herself not to start at the unexpected site of him. He was intimidating, not only in his superior height, but the sheer volume of him, and not one ounce of that physique was flab. He could back down most opponents just by standing up. His eyes were brown with amber specks, and they were hard and cold as ice when he was angry. His face was broad, his mouth chiseled and faintly sensuous.

She moved quickly aside to let him enter the office, and felt herself bristle as he came by her. He had a frightening vitality, an aura of pure menace when he was out of sorts. And he was always out of sorts with Liz.

"I'm expecting a letter from a colleague in New York," he said without preamble and without a trace of good humor. "Bring the mail in as soon as you get it."

His broad back disappeared into his office and the door closed behind it. She glared at it and giving in to a sudden whim went down on her knees and salaamed like a person begging a king for mercy in front of his closed door. Just as she was giving her best to the effort, the door suddenly opened again. Max's thick eyebrows rose while Liz struggled to regain both her feet and her forgotten dignity.

"I'll need you for some dictation when you get the mail, so bring our pad in with it," he said curtly. "And if you're auditioning for the stage, don't practice on my time." He turned back into his office and slammed the door.

There was a muffled laugh from behind her, and she turned to see Michael struggling to keep a straight face. They looked at each other and burst into laughter, rushing out into the hall together to keep from exploding where Max could hear them. This was Michael at his best, a co-conspirator with a sense of humor that she loved. Max's opposite in every way.

"I thought you were going to faint when he opened the door," Michael chuckled, leaning back against the wall in the deserted corridor as the laughter passed. "That made my morning."

"I wasn't expecting him to open the door," she confessed. "I couldn't help it, he throws orders around like a conquering army."

"He always has. I've learned to nod my head and listen and then go do what I please. It works half the time," he added with a rueful smile. "Poor kid, he's rough on you, I know. I truly didn't realize he was going to leave his secretary behind in New York and then want to share mine."

She flushed at that unexpected sympathy and smiled up at him. "It's okay," she murmured, ready to wade through crocodile infested waters for him. "I'd better get the mail before his lordship comes out with a battle ax in hand. Then I'll get your coffee."

"No rush, I'll survive," he said with a wink. "Don't let him intimidate you Liz; he's not what he seems. In a lot of ways, Max has had a hard life." He straightened away from the wall. "Chin up, and all that rot," he said in his best fake British accent. "Right troops?"

She saluted. "Aye sir!" She turned and rushed down to the elevator.

A little over an hour later, she was sitting at her desk when Michael came out, shrugging into his trench coat on the way.

"I'm late again," he sighed and smiled at her. "I should be back by three-thirty. You can call the courthouse if you need me before then."

"Will do," she promised. "Have a nice day."

"I'll do my best. Oh, and pull out the Myers file and Photostat those deeds for me, will you?"

"Okay." She agreed.

"Hold the fort honey," he called over his shoulder. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Oh and if Maria calls tell her I'll pick her up at six for the ballet, okay?" That's my girl."

And he was gone. She glared at the door, feeling vaguely betrayed. She hated Maria, because Maria was beautiful, with her long blond hair, and creamy skin, she had a great figure. And Liz ached to look like that, to have that slinky walk and that air of unshakable confidence that drew men like flies. She got out her compact and stared at the plain little face in the mirror with a rueful smile. She wasn't going to set any men on fire with desire that was for sure. With a sigh she put away the compact and started her computer.

The morning went quickly, and pleasantly. Max stayed in his office, his clients came and went, and the telephone lines stayed busy, but Liz didn't have to see him. She liked days like this when confrontations could be avoided. She didn't like Max. She didn't exactly know why, but compared to his stepbrother, he was like winter to spring. Michael was so personable and pleasant, such a charming man. The only thing Max might appear to be charming to would be something as dangerous as he was, maybe a rattlesnake. She was grinning wickedly at that thought when Max's door opened and he came out into the office with curt, deliberate steps.

"Get me the Myers file," he said curtly.

She had it on the desk, having just photocopied the deeds, He rattled her, though when he used the courtroom tone on her, and she jumped up and started looking through the filing cabinet for it. His dark eyes went over her with distaste before they fell to the desk. His hand moved lifting the edge of the file folder. "Isn't this it?" He asked, his voice sharp. She turned, flushing as she realized it was. "Yes, sir," she said for lack of anything else to say. He opened it, thumbing through it. His eyes shot up, pinning hers. "What are you doing with it?"

"Michael dictated a cover letter on his way out," she explained coldly, "and said to copy the deeds and send them along."

He tossed the file back onto her desk with a scowl. "I wish to God he'd take the time to tell me when he's already done something he's asked me to do."

"He was in a hurry," she said defensively. "He had to be in court by nine-thirty."

He rammed his hands in his pockets and studied her. She wished she hadn't been standing up; that derisive going-over was embarrassing.

"Seen enough?" she asked, angry at his bold inspection.

"I saw enough when I walked in the door," he said turning. "Is he taking that Maria woman out again tonight?"

She felt a surge of pleasure at the sound of disapproval in his voice. He didn't care for her Michael going out with Maria either, by the sound of it. "You'll have to ask him that Mr. Evans," she said demurely. He gave her a sideways glance, "So protective, Miss Parker," he growled. "Michael is a grown man, he doesn't need a bodyguard."

"Most secretaries are protective of their bosses," she parried.

"You carry it to new heights." His glittering eyes narrowed. "How long have you been here?"

"Almost two years," she said.

"And how long have you been in love with my brother?" he continued, and she didn't like the mocking smile that held no trace of amusement.

She felt her muscles contract, every one of them, and her eyes glittered, "It's hard to work that long around a man without being fond of them," she countered. He stuck his hands in his pockets, obviously enjoying himself. "Are you fond of me?" he returned.

"Oh I'm just burning up with fondness for you sir," she replied, and grinned wickedly.

"Is that why you were salaaming at my office door this morning?" he asked politely.

She felt the flush coming again and averted her face before it showed, pretending to gather up the Photostatted documents on the desk. "I dropped a pencil. I was just picking it up," she informed him.

"The hell you were."

She glanced up at him, "Was there something else you wanted Mr. Evans?"

"Eager to get rid of me?" he questioned, arching his eyebrows. "I wouldn't think a woman of your attributes would turn away male attention."

She was doing a slow burn, but perhaps she was getting angry without a reason. "My attributes?"

His dark eyes narrowed as they apprised all of her that was visible over the desk. "Small though they are," he added with pursed lips. "Was that outfit supposed to catch Michael's attention?"

She clenched her jaw, "I beg your pardon?"

"That outfit," he repeated, pulling a hand from his pocket and gesturing toward her blouse. "You'd look better in a pair of overalls."

She stood up seething, "Mr. Evans you may be one of my employers," she began coldly, "but that gives you no right to criticize the way I dress."

"I have to look at you," he replied. "Surely I have a say in the decor of my own office?"

Her fingers clenched, her lips compressed. She wanted nothing more then to attack him.

"If you want to attract my brother's eyes away from his latest acquisition, you'll have to do better then that," he persisted. "You look about twelve in that getup. And what do you do to your hair to get it to stand up on end like that, watch horror movies before you come to work?"

Her fingers curled around the file folder viciously.

"Are you such a prize, Mr. Evans?" she asked coldly. "Your ears are too big!"

His eyebrow arched, "This coming from a woman who could qualify for the frump of the year nomination?"

"Oh!" she burst out, and before she had time to think, she had flung the file folder at him, scattering paper all over the desk and the floor.

He cocked his head at her, a peculiar smile momentarily softening his features. "How fortunate for you that it didn't connect," he murmured. "I hit back honey."

"You started it!" she accused, her dark eyes flaming and brilliant.

"A matter of opinion." He watched her hesitate before she reluctantly bent to pick up the scattered papers.

Her fingers were trembling; her body was trembling. She wanted nothing more then to hurt him, to wound him. She couldn't remember ever feeling such rage at any man. And especially her boss. She colored, remembering that. He'd be within in his rights to fire her, and that would take her right out of Michael's life, because Michael wouldn't go against Max. She'd seen the proof of that often enough. She glanced up at him apprehensively as she clutched the disordered sheets of paper to her breast and stood up.

"Feeling apologetic?" he asked, and the cold smile told her he understood exactly why she was regretting her temper.

She swallowed her pride. Any sacrifice, to be near Michael. "I'm very sorry Mr. Evans," she choked. "It won't happen again."

"Poor little Cinderella," he murmured mockingly, while she blushed again. "Sitting among the ashes while the wicked stepsister makes away with the handsome prince."

"Yes, indeed," she returned curtly, "almost as bad as having to kiss the frog." She smiled meaningfully at him.

He turned away, "I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you," he murmured. "I'm damned particular about who kisses me."

"I'm amazed," she muttered. "You probably have to pay women to do that."

"What was that," he asked while turning.

In enough trouble already she controlled her temper. "Not a thing sir," she replied with a theatrical smile. "Just commenting on the weather."

"It would break your heart if I fired you wouldn't it?" he asked suddenly, looking disgustingly smug. "Because Michael wouldn't lift a finger to bring you back and you know it."

"That would be hitting below the belt counselor," she said quietly.

"Yes, it would. I might remind you," he added with a flash of a mocking smile, "that I'm a criminal lawyer. I don't mind hitting where it hurts the most. Do we understand each other Miss Parker?"

She swallowed. "Yes, sir, we understand each other."

"One more thing," he said as he took a step into his office and turned his brown eyes to look back at her. "The next time you throw anything at me, you'd better be wearing some good running shoes." And he closed the door behind him.

Liz spent the rest of the day avoiding Max, and when Michael walked back into the office at three-thirty she was still simmering.

"Hi girl." Michael grinned, whistling a tune as he sauntered in and perched himself on the corner of her desk. "How's it going?"

"You had four calls. I put the messages on your desk. And I've got the letter on the Myers file in there for your signature, complete with copies," she said, warming to his charm.

"Is Max in?"

She felt her face go rigid. "He left about a half hour ago."

He cocked his head at her. "You say that with such relish," he grinned as he said it.

"For my part, I wish he was being slowly cooked in somebody's stew pot, pith helmet and all," she said visualizing the scene with glee. "Of course he'd poison whoever ate him. . . ."

"How savage," he remarked. "Might I ask whey you have this sudden compulsion to feed my stepbrother to strangers?"

"He called me a frump," she returned with glittering eyes.

"He what?"

"Never mind it's to complicated." she murmured.

"He doesn't like you does he little one?" he asked quietly. "I've noticed how hostile he is toward you. It's not like Max; he's usually the soul of courtesy with women."

"Ah but that's the problem," she explained, grinning. "He doesn't think I qualify for the status of a woman. I look about twelve in this rig, he said."

Michael didn't say a word, but his eyes revealed that his opinion matched his brother's. "Might I ask what you were doing while all this commentary was going on?"

"Flinging file folders at his shaggy head, that's what," she returned. "And if you want to fire me, go ahead."

He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with delight. "Oh no, lady not me. If you're brave enough to throw things at Max, you've got a job for life."

She smiled sheepishly. "Old dragon slayer, that's my name, not that the dragon didn't flame up," she added with a sigh. "He said if I threw anything else at him I'd better have running shoes on."

"I don't doubt it. Take my word for it, Max in a temper is something to be avoided at all costs."

"I'll keep that in mind as I sharpen my trusty saber. He asked me if you were seeing Maria," she confided.

He frowned. "And what did you tell him?" he asked, his voice cool.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I told him that if he wanted to know anything he ought to ask you."

His face relaxed. "Good girl, Maria is none of his business." his eyes warmed, softened. "Isn't she a beauty, Liz? All fire and determination. A very strong woman with a great business sense. I've never known anyone like her."

His voice had gone as soft as his eyes as he walked into his office, and Liz wanted to scream with jealousy. She couldn't remember ever hurting so much in her life. Oh Michael look at me, Look at me and love me for what I am, for what I could be. . . .

*~*~*

The next day she wore a beige sheath dress that clung lovingly to the curves of her slender body. The color did nothing for her, although the fit wasn't bad. She left her hair long, hating its frizzled look, but she didn't suppose it made much difference. Michael was never going to notice the way she looked, anyway. He was whistling when she got to the office, already pouring himself a cup of coffee and looking like a man on top of the world. He turned when Liz walked in and grinned. "There you are," he said. "Max made coffee." She flinched at the sound of his name and bit her tongue before she could say something foolish. "Did he?" she asked. "How nice."

"He's an early bird, all right."

She hung up her coat and turned on the computer, then turned the appointment calendar to the right page and sat down.

"You're cheerful this morning." she said with a careful smile.

"I feel cheerful. I'm off to Bodega Bay Friday for a long weekend. Come to think of it, you might as well take Friday off too, if Max doesn't need you," he added.

For one wild, beautiful moment, she thought he might be asking her to go to Bodega Bay with him, and she beamed. The sudden radiance on her face captured his attention and he frowned slightly.

"I'd like that," she told him.

"Got a date?" he asked.

"No," she said quickly, just in case.

"Too bad," he remarked, smiling dreamily as he stared at the wall. "I'm taking Maria up with me for some fishing. Can you imagine, she likes to fish?"

Somewhere in Liz's heart, a candle went out. "Oh really?" she murmured calmly.

"Liz!" a muffled roar came from Max's office.

She gritted her teeth, casting a helpless look at Michael who shrugged and walked into his office.

She glared at Michael's back and grabbed her pad and deliberately took her time going into Max's office. He knew she's delayed on purpose; it was in his glittering dark eyes when she opened the door after a short knock and walked in. He was leaning back in his swivel chair, his jacket off; his broad chest rippling with muscles as he clasped his hands behind his head, the woman in her involuntarily appreciated the sheer masculinity of him.

"Yes, sir?" she asked sweetly.

He looked her up and down, and something in his eyes made her knees go weak. He was always appraising her, as if she were for sale, and it disturbed her more then she liked to admit. She tingled when those cold, dark eyes traced her body, feeling things she'd never experienced until he walked into her life. She didn't know why she felt that way, and she didn't like it. As a result, her hostility toward him grew by leaps and bounds.

"The color stinks, but it's an improvement," he murmured.

She flushed, clenching the pad in her fingers. "You wanted something Mr. Evans?"

He leaned forward. "I need to dictate a couple of letters. Have a seat."

She started toward the chair, aware of his eyes assessing her coldly.

"Have you been crying on my brother's shoulder?" he asked suddenly.

She sat down gaping at him. "Sir?"

"You heard me. He asked me this morning if I minded letting up on you."

Her chin came up, "I slay my own dragons," she returned. "I don't need any help."

He raised an eyebrow. "Should I be flattered? Yesterday I was a frog, today I'm a dragon. . ."

"I didn't call you a frog Mr. Evans." she reminded him.

"At any rate, that's the wrong fairy tale. I've got something in mind for you Cinderella," he murmured.

Her eyes widened, and he made an impatient sound. "Good God, I'm not that desperate for a woman," he growled, and she flushed angrily. "At any rate, this isn't the time to discuss it. Take a letter, Miss Parker. . ."

It only took fifteen minutes to finish the dictation, but she was almost shaking when she started out the door.

"Just a minute," Max said behind her, his voice curt to the point of rudeness. "Michael's taking Friday off; did he mention it to you?"

She swallowed. "Yes, he did."

"Then presumably he told you why?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

She only nodded.

"I'll be out of the office for a couple days. But I'll expect you here Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp. We're going to talk."

"About what?" she asked curtly.

"Well, Miss Parker," he said leaning back again with his lips pursed, "you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

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