Page 10 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)

I may or may not have embellished all that needed to be done for our move, but I needed the quiet.

I love Cora, but she could beat a dead horse forever if you let her.

It isn’t long before I get in the groove, finding my rhythm—that shift where reality melts away and I slip into my character’s persona.

I love to write. It’s always been my escape. About a year ago, I began crafting my first novel, and let me just say—it’s not for the faint of heart. There are moments where I shut my laptop and wonder: what the actual fuck I’ve done?

My villain is evil, and writing from his point of view gives me the ick. It’s like a filthy residue that won’t scrub off. I guess that’s the thing about crafting a fantastic story. If I’m not creeped out writing it? Then, I haven’t done my job correctly.

By the time I finish the following several chapters, hours have passed. It’s just after three, and I realize I’ve got to get a move on. After emailing Cora the new material, I rise from my seat and stretch, bending and moving so that my body can relax after sitting for so long .

Luckily, when Jettson and his crew left for lunch, I was able to collect my belongings from the beach. Now, all that’s left is a shower.

I have music blaring, and one of my favorite songs comes across the music app. The fun melody fills my ears, and I pad down the hallway, heading straight toward the luxurious bathroom.

It’s the only thing in the house that can stay.

The black tile is one of my favorite things, and I love the matching marble tub that’s big enough to hold two people. Not that it’ll ever get much use.

However, my favorite item would have to be the shower. It’s walk-in size, paired with a showerhead with the best pressure settings. It feels like getting a mild massage without leaving the comfort of your home.

After slipping out of my clothes, I turn on the shower and let it warm up.

I grab hold of the bottle of witch-hazel and my favorite all-natural cleanser sitting on the counter, and work on washing my face.

Once all that’s said and done, I hop in the shower, letting the warm water cascade down my back.

I don’t waste any time getting to work scrubbing every single inch of myself. I start with my favorite expensive shampoo, which is rose and jasmine-scented. I love how it makes my hair smell. I only exit the shower after shaving and scrubbing, feeling squeaky clean.

Grabbing my smart watch off the counter, I check the time—just a quarter after four.

Perfect. That leaves plenty of time to make myself presentable for dinner.

I wrap a towel around me, one of the plush, oversized size towels that fully cover me, and bound back down the hall toward the main bedroom.

The hardwood floor is cool beneath my damp feet, and when I come around the next corner, I slip and fall flat on my ass .

“Damnit,” I groan, snatching at the edges of my towel before trying to get up. The way I’m situated, if someone walks by, they will get a whole show they didn’t ask for.

When I reach my feet, I realize the front door is open. I have a clear view and yelp when my gaze slams into Jettson. Fuck !

His eyes snare mine, and the blatant need there startles me. A flush climbs my neck, and I’m sure my face is scorching red. I can’t find the words, I didn’t even fucking hear him come in. All I can do is stand there, staring at this man who keeps managing to surprise me.

Jettson’s gaze sends another wave of heat to my center, and I clench my thighs a little tighter, suddenly remembering that I need to readjust the towel. I spin, turning my back to him and fix myself. Once I’m secure, I turn back to him, swallowing hard and still struggling for words.

His eyes trail lower, resting on my breasts before following the curve of my body, all the way down to my thighs and legs. The slickness between my thighs is a reminder of my body’s traitorous response. A response it shouldn’t even have.

I need a good fuck, that’s all. An actual orgasm, a partner that cares if I reach climax. That’s it.

My hormones are raging, and Jettson’s the only male in the vicinity paying me attention. That’s all this is.

It’s just a harmless flirtation.

An idle curiosity that will go away when he finishes the job.

Who are you trying to fool? You’re so starved for real affection that if he asked you’d bend over the kitchen table and let him fuck you. Right here, right now.

The thought comes unbidden, stealing a gasp from my lips. I shake my head, “I’m so embarrassed. I forgot you all were here, and I was just getting ready to start dinner.” Goddamnit Averie, get a grip . “Well, obviously, not right away. Considering…”

His lips twitch, and he quickly closes the distance between us, stopping just shy of me.

He’s so tall that my eyes barely come to his chest. I gulp, raising my gaze to meet his.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” The words are gruff, his voice husky and filled with something dangerously close to longing.

Crimson stains my cheeks again, and I swear I’m dripping wet. What is it about this man? I've never been so affected by a single look.

Stop it, Averie.

“I uhm—” I start, but the words die on my lips. His eyes are smoldering with intensity, and if he doesn’t stop looking at me like that, I will combust.

I can’t think straight with him so close to me.

Pine, sandalwood, and hints of smoke swirl around me, wrapping me in a delicious haze.

It’s suffocating. He’s suffocating in the most annoying way.

It’s not enough that I’m already thinking about him way more than I should, never mind the fact it’s so fucking wrong.

He’s quickly invading everything, and I have this strong urge to tuck my tail and run.

But, I don’t. In the end, I just stand here.

The scent of him floods me wholly, rooting itself inside me and taking over every rational fucking thought I have.

Part of me thinks about ripping the towel off, baring myself before him, and letting him have his way with me.

Maybe it would be better to rip the band aid and get it over with.

Maybe then, my curiosity with this fucked-up fantasy would dissipate.

It doesn’t… turning more vivid by the second.

I clench my thighs tighter at the thought of Jettson bending me over this couch, or better yet his hands and fingers teasing me, while his tongue fucks my clit. Something tells me he would have no problems satisfying his partner and making sure they find their release .

My lips part, and I try to speak, but nothing will come out. The words are permanently lodged in my throat, and this fucker is still smirking—like he sent the vision directly to my head.

I have to be the most obvious person on the planet.

That thought is the splash of cold water I need, and I quickly step away from him. “What did you need?” My voice is weak, edged with a hint of caution.

Jettson eyes me warily, like he knows I’m considering bolting. He clenches his jaw, works to say something then shakes his head as if he changed his mind.

“I came to tell you that we finished the left side and will return tomorrow to work on the right. Then we’ll start moving to all the weird corners and back of the house with its huge windows that are sure to be a pain in my ass,” he says finally, shifting on his feet a little.

“I see.” I do not, in fact, see. That statement feels off, but I know this man is a hard worker.

I’ve watched him the past three days learning exactly what kind of man Jettson Noxwood is.

It didn’t take long to figure out he’s a man who keeps his word, treats his employees with kindness, and graciously carries the brunt of the workload.

My palms start sweating, and a nervous giggle threatens to bubble up. I clamp my teeth together, my mind racing with every intrusive thought. On the one hand, I want to dart back down the hall and die of complete and total mortification.

On the other hand, I still want to lean into him, play with the fire, and see what happens.

Just. Fucking. Do. It.

The thought startles me so badly that I dart back down the hall the way I came, hiding from the growing feeling inside me. “H-have a good night! Lock the door behind you,” I call, stuttering because my heart is thundering in my chest, threatening to jump out of my rib cage .

A deep laugh comes behind me, followed by, “Have a good night, Averie.”

I don’t acknowledge his goodbye, I just pad back down the hall, shut the bathroom door behind me, and wait for him to leave.

Jettson and I are treading a dangerous path, and if I were a better woman, I’d listen to the warning bells inside my head. The one’s that ring in my ear, telling me to stop before shit goes south.

Too bad I’m pretty sure I’m not the better woman. The only thing I'm wondering about? Even though, I know damn well I shouldn’t be… is precisely how much Jettson saw, and what if he wants to see it again?