Page 103 of Fire

“Sure. Where’s the bedroom?”

My eyes dart to the hallway and then back to her. “Zara, yesterday, you were just?—”

She places a finger gently over my mouth, silencing me. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I’ve been fever-free for twenty-four hours as of”—she checks her watch—“an hour ago. And I feel fine. That’s the beauty of the twenty-four hour flu.”

“You sure?”

Her brow lifts. “I am a doc?—”

My mouth closes over hers because if she says she’s fine, I’m going to trust her. Like she said, or tried to before I stuck my tongue down her throat, she’s the doctor. She should know.

We kiss and kissand kiss. Right there in the middle of my living room.

By the time my hands slide under her ass to pick her up, her lips are swollen and red. It reminds me of that night in Nashville when she got down on her knees and sucked me fucking dry.

“Bedroom?”

“Yes,” I manage to say.

We make it there, but it takes a while. About halfway down the hall, I slam her against the wall where I fall to my knees, rip off her dress—yep, definitely no bra today—push her panties to the side and eat her pussy like I’m fucking starved.

I don’t let up until she screams my name so loud the damn windows shake.

When I drop her onto my bed, she’s still breathless.

I am too. But it’s more from the sight of seeing her here, in my bedroom.In my bed.I try to etch that image into my memory before pulling my shirt over my head. She watches me withhungry eyes as I unbuckle my belt and remove my jeans. Her gaze roams over every inch of skin. Every toned muscle. Every tattoo before finally landing on that little cherub in the center of my chest.

Her cherub. Her cupid.

I can’t help but do the same, focusing on the bit of skin just above her panties where that fresh ink is healing. They’re not a matching set, her tattoo and mine, and I wouldn’t want them to be. She’s her own person, and so am I, but I still like how they link us with a single word. A single memory.

“You’re last name is Valentine? Like Cupid?” I ask.

“No, like the saint, you dumbass.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Just thinking about that time you called me a dumbass.”

She laughs as I settle my knees between her thighs. “Which time?”

“When we first met,” I reply with a sly grin. “And what do you meanwhich time? How many times have there been?”

“To your face? Just the one.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I lean down and kiss the wicked grin off her face. She giggles against my lips, and I love that she feels relaxed enough with me that our lovemaking can be playful as well as intense and passionate.

“I should have known from the very start thatsaintwas a terrible nickname for you.” I slide a palm down the side of her body until I reach the edge of her satin panties and start to tug. “There’s nothing innocent about you.”

She lifts her hips to aid me in my endeavor. “I thought I made that pretty clear after the dozen or so times you hit on me.”

When I finally free her of the last piece of clothing, I rid myself of mine. I drop my boxer briefs on the ground and join her back on the bed. “That was pure college-boy cockiness,” I admit. “I just didn’t know how to act around you.”

Her eyes find mine, watching as I scatter kisses up her thighs, over her belly, and between the valley of her breasts. “You didn’t?”

“No. At first, I thought it was just an infatuation because I wasn’t used to being turned down.”

“So arrogant,” she mumbles as I run a thumb over her peaked nipple, and she arches her back as we continue our lazy game of touching and talking. I’ve never really talked during sex, aside from making sure my partner was enjoying herself. This represents an entirely different level of intimacy I never expected or even contemplated, being this stripped down, both physically and mentally. “I probably would have been more receptive to your advances if I thought you were serious.”

“You mean you didn’t get that from the offer of sexual favors?” I tease at the same time she playfully nips at my shoulder. I’ve never been one for biting, but the sensation of it goes straight to my cock, and I find myself wanting to tell her to do it again but harder so it leaves a mark, branding me as hers.