“What’s this?”
“A strawberry smoothie. I figured your throat is probably sore.”
It was sore. And it felt very dry. I took a sip of the drink and sighed as the fruity sweetness exploded on my tongue. It’s thick and smooth texture slid down my throat with ease. “Thank you,” I told him, the words falling flat to my own ears. They just didn’t seem to be enough for everything he’d done for me.
He motioned to a white paper sack on the seat beside him and said, “I got you a blueberry muffin, too.”
“You didn’t get anything?”
“I already ate it.”
I sipped the smoothie while he drove, my body feeling boneless against the seat. I was so incredibly tired. The adrenaline that surged through me earlier that night had long ago been used, and it left me feeling drained and empty.
“The medics said you looked okay,” Holt said, watching me out of the corner of his eye.
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
He lapsed into silence and we said nothing else until we were inside his house and he was handing me a towel for my shower.
“Your hand,” I said, noting the raw-looking scrapes and cuts on his knuckles and fingers.
Flashbacks of him punching in the broken window at the motel rushed my brain. I gasped, and the towel in my hand fell to the ground and covered my feet. “Where else are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “I’m not.”
I grabbed his hand and brought it back up, studying the damage done to his skin. Lightly, I traced my finger along the edge of one of the more jagged cuts. “They need bandaged,” I murmured.
He shook his head. “Bandaging cuts like these on a hand is practically useless. The bandages would just fall off.”
“I don’t know what to say.” My voice was raspy.
“You don’t have to say anything. The medics already cleaned and took care of these.”
“No,” I said, still holding on to his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for saving my life. Again.”
“Stop thanking me,” he ground out.
“I have to,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “If you hadn’t been there…” My sentence trailed away. We both knew what would’ve happened.
“But I was,” he said softly.
“About that…” I began, wetting my lips. “Why were you there?”
“I needed to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
He withdrew his hand, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out a folded piece of paper. “About this.”
It was a plain white piece of paper, the kind that anyone would use in a printer. I unfolded it, noticing there was some kind of writing on the inside. When I got to the last fold, I glanced up at Holt who was wearing a very grim expression. Clearly, whatever this was wasn’t good.
I pulled it open and stared down, my brain not really comprehending what it saw. I had to read the line over three times before I really got what it was saying.
My stomach clenched.
My hands trembled slightly.
You should have let her die.
“Where did you get this?” I finally asked.
“It was on my truck when I left work earlier tonight.”
The paper fluttered to the floor slowly, joining the towel by my feet. “So you got this before the fire tonight?”
“Yes. It’s the reason I came looking for you.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“I figured you were dealing with enough at the moment.”
“Did you tell the police?”
He shook his head slowly.
“But why?”
“I wanted to talk to you first. See if you knew what it meant.”
“It means someone wants me dead!” I shouted. My voice seemed to echo through the hallway.
“You’re not going to die,” he growled.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I said, looking frantically around. “I need to go.” I spun around to rush into the living room, but the towel was tangled around my feet and I tripped, falling toward the floor.
Holt caught me around the waist, pulling me back so I was up against the solid wall of his body. The heat of him was delicious and it radiated around my fear-chilled body. “You’re not going anywhere,” he rumbled in my ear.
I struggled against him, but it was stupid. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, easily, and was likely a foot taller than me. If he didn’t want to let me go, then I was pretty much stuck in his embrace. I slumped against him. “I’m putting you in danger by being here.”
“You’re in more danger when I’m not around.”
I couldn’t stop my snort. “There goes that ego of yours again.”
His chuckle vibrated my ear. Chill bumps raced over my scalp. “All I’m saying is that clearly this guy is a pyro. My job is fire. You’re better off here than alone.”
“But what about you?”
“You let me worry about me.”
I tried to wiggle out of his embrace so I could look at him. He only loosened his hold enough to allow me to spin in his arms. I had to tip my head back so I could stare up at him. “Do you have a death wish?”
“I’m not going to die. Especially since life just got a hell of a lot more interesting.” His fingers flexed against my hip.
“But—” I protested, but he cut me off.
“It’s obvious I’m already in his sights. He thinks we’re connected. You not being here isn’t going to change that.”
I couldn’t argue with that because it was true. After all, he didn’t receive the letter until after I checked into a motel.
“Why are you helping me?” It was something I just couldn’t understand.
His body shifted, I swear coming into even more contact with mine than it already was. He brought up his free hand and brushed back my hair, pushing it so it fell behind my shoulder. “It’s my job to protect people.”
“Is it your job to bring them home, too?” I felt a little breathless. Just beneath my ribs my heart fluttered wildly. It felt like there was a little bird inside me, flapping its wings, trying to fly.
“That’s just a perk of the job.” He smirked.
“So you do this often?” I said, feeling slightly bruised.
“Never.”
“Then why me?”
He took a few steps, backing me up so I was pinned between him and the wall. From this angle, the hall light fell behind him so his face was in the shadows. But even still, the lightness of his eyes pierced me like a crack of thunder in a storm.
“I don’t know.”
I wasn’t expecting those words. In fact, I barely heard them over the thundering of the blood in my veins. His nearness affected me in ways I didn’t understand. I felt hot yet cold. Nervous but bold. Part of me wanted to rush away and the other part of me yearned to arch closer, to slide my hands up the hem of his shirt and run my fingers across the wide expanse of his bare back.
“That’s not a very good reason to get mixed up with a girl on the run from a killer.”
He cocked his head to the side. “No?”
I shook my head.
“How about this?” he said, leaning down so his lips brushed my jaw. The stubble on his face tickled my chin. “Because even in the center of a blazing fire, my body reacted to you. Because seeing you so small and helpless in a hospital bed twisted my guts. Because the day I walked into your room and those stormy gray eyes landed on mine, I felt like there was something tethering us together. Or maybe it was because of the way you sighed and leaned into my chest the night I carried you to my bed. Your scent still lingers on my sheets, Katie.”
Oh my.
I bit my lip. No one had ever said anything like that to me, ever.
He groaned, staring at my mouth. “That drives me crazy.”
I released my lip.
“Kiss me, Katie.”
My gaze fell to his lips. He was mere inches away; my body was fitted be
tween his legs and against him in a way that left little to the imagination.
I hadn’t kissed someone in a long time. I usually found it useless because even if the kiss turned out to be good, it wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t get attached to someone. I didn’t want the pain of saying good-bye.
But I was tempted.
His lips were like a really sinful slice of chocolate cake. You knew if you ate it, you would hate yourself in the morning, but the call of that chocolate was so utterly strong you had to take a bite.
I gazed again at his lips, still inches from mine. He was watching me, watching me debate, watching me try to resist. He didn’t try to sway me; he didn’t try to make the first move. He just held himself there, as still as a statue, and waited.
Tentatively, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes open, and brushed my lips over his. It was a brief kiss but a full one, and when I pulled back a little, part of my bottom lip seemed to take longer to pull away than the rest of me. It was like it wanted to stay, like it finally knew where it belonged.
I whispered his name as my eyes fluttered closed and his arm slid around my waist, pulling me fully against him. His mouth crashed down on mine, his soft, full lips slanting over me in a way that left no room for thought. A buzzing sound filled my head, the only thing I heard as passion built inside me. He nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth and then sucked it into his mouth, gently massaging it with his tongue. Heat swirled in my center, and I became bolder to release my tongue, letting it mingle with his, brushing them against each other over and over again.
My hands slid up his chest and wound around his neck, trying to pull him down farther, wanting him closer to me.
He slid his knee between my legs and lifted, my back sliding up the wall and my feet leaving the ground. The pressure of his hard leg pressed against my core caused a small purr to rip from my throat.
My thighs clenched around him and he shifted, sliding me even closer, so I could feel the evidence of his desire pressed against my middle. Pressure in my lower half began to build. My body began to long for something more, for some kind of release.
He tore his mouth away, leaning his forehead against the wall beside me. I kept my arms looped around his neck as I pulled in deep gulps of air as I tried to ignore the craving of my lower half.
“Damn, Freckles,” he rasped.
Damn, indeed.
Slowly he lowered his leg and me to the ground, and after a few long moments, he stepped back, allowing enough space for me to squeeze by.
Before I could disappear completely into the bathroom, he caught my arm and pulled me back around as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my hairline. “If you need anything, just yell.”
He handed me the towel and then left me standing in the hall.
In the bathroom, I closed the door and then sagged against it. In a matter of moments, he managed to make me feel a whole host of emotions—fear, humor, lust. But it wasn’t any of those that caused me to stand here and realize I was in deep.
It was that last kiss.
The one he pressed to my forehead.
Because a guy who only thought about passion, a guy who only thought about satisfying a need, didn’t display that kind of tenderness.
And that kiss was nothing if not tender.
It may have also been my undoing.
9
Beads of sweat gathered on my skin and created a slick sheen of moisture over the surface of my body. The heat was unbearable—intense and thick. Everywhere I turned there was more. There was no escape; there was no relief.
I heard the sound of shattering glass, the angry rush of flames, and I tried to run. Glass shards cut into my feet, making me cry out, but I kept moving, throwing my arms up to shield my face from the burn.
Through my makeshift shield, I spied the door and yanked the handle, trying to pull it open. The metal of the knob scorched my skin, and I cried out, falling backward onto the debris-ridden floor.
I was back in the motel room.
Trapped.
Fire drew closer, devouring everything in its path, promising destruction, promising death.
I pushed up off the floor and banged on the door, screaming for help. I moved toward the window, but it was gone. The only way out was the door… the door that was now consumed by fire.
I backed away… farther into the room, farther into the flames, and the scent of burned flesh and human hair began to fill the space around me.
I screamed.
“Dammit, Katie!” someone yelled. “Wake up!”
His voice broke through the nightmare and my body went completely rigid against the sweat-drenched sheets.
I blinked away the vision of red and orange, letting the darkness of the room surround me. I would take darkness over fire any day.
The mattress dipped slightly on my one side, and I turned my head to find Holt watching me. His bare chest practically glowed in the darkness. “I was having a nightmare,” I said, really reassuring myself more than speaking to him.
“I figured that out,” he replied dryly. “I thought you were being murdered back here by the way you screamed.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
A thick strand of damp hair clung to my cheek and he reached out to brush it away. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head. Dreaming it was bad enough.
I sat up, pushing away the sheets tangled around my legs. The scent of smoke seemed to cling to me, reminding me once again of everything I was trying to forget.
I pulled at the tank top I was wearing; it was sticking to my skin. Holt went across the room to the closet and returned with a light-colored T-shirt. “Here. You can put this on if you want.”
“Thank you,” I said. I wanted these smoke-ridden, sweaty clothes off me, and since all my clothes smelled, this shirt was a lot better than anything I had.
He didn’t say anything else, just quietly left the room. I hurried to change, throwing my PJs across the room and into a darkened corner. I’d deal with them later.
A glance at the clock on the nightstand told me I still had several hours until morning, and I knew I was in for a long night. I wasn’t quite ready to get back in bed, and my throat felt dry, so I left the bedroom and padded into the kitchen for a bottle of cool water.
On my way back through the living room, I glanced at the couch and froze. Holt was lying there with a blanket tossed over his legs.
“You’re sleeping on the couch?” I said, surprise lacing my tone.
“I figured it was too soon to climb into bed with you,” he drawled.
A warm flush spread over my limbs. The idea of sharing a bed with him… of being tangled up in his arms and legs… was entirely too appealing. “I’m an idiot.”
He chuckled. “And why is that?”
Because I should have realized that he only had one bed in this house and I was hogging it. He did say my scent was on his sheets. Geez, how slow on the uptake was I? “I should be the one sleeping out here.”
“No.” It sounded like a command.
“Yes.”
He moved so fast I barely saw him, and then he was towering over me, my eyes left to stare at the very wide expanse of his chiseled chest. “What kind of a man do you think I am?” he drawled.
“What?” I said, not really listening to his words. His body was the ultimate distraction.
“Do you really think I would let someone—a girl—who was just released from the hospital, still bruised and burned, sleep on my couch?”
“I’m sure I would be more comfortable there than you would be.”
“Go back to bed, Katie.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“And if I don’t?” I challenged. I didn’t really care for the overbearing type.
“If you don’t, I’m going to rip my shirt off you right here and do things to your body that will echo through your limbs long after I stop touching you.”
I took a sip of the chilled water,
thinking it would clear my head of the images he just filled it with.
It didn’t help.
Part of me was very tempted to see if he would follow through on his words. The other part of me wanted to run away.
He leaned down toward my face. “What’s it gonna be, Freckles?”
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