A Firefighter in Her Stocking

He leaned across the table, stared into her lovely eyes, and arched his brow. “Didn’t you?”

“I...” Her eyes darkened to a tumultuous sea color and, without letting her gaze break from his, she nodded. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I said.”

“There’s no going back, Sarah. You’re sure this is what you want? That I’m who you want?”

He knew the answer. Deep in his gut he knew, but he wanted to hear her say the words.

“Positive.” She stood fro

m the table and motioned to their waiter. “Check, please.”

* * *

Jude hailed a taxi and they rode in silence.

Sarah’s brain told her she should feel awkward or nervous, but all she felt was excitement. So much so she couldn’t look at Jude because she knew the moment she did she was going to gobble him up.

Literally, figuratively, emotionally, and every way.

So she kept quiet during the taxi ride, during the elevator ride to their floor, and when they stood outside their apartment doors.

“My place or yours?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure it mattered, but she immediately answered, “Mine.”

He nodded as if he’d known that’s what she’d been going to say.

She unlocked her door. They stepped inside. Sarah turned to Jude.

Not to ask him if he wanted a drink.

Not to take his coat.

Not to make polite conversation.

She turned to show him she wanted him, to lead him to her bedroom, and perhaps to keep him there forever.

Jude was way ahead of her.

The second she faced him, he pulled her to him, kissed her lips, her face, pushed her scarf away so he could trail kisses along her throat.

“I want you, Sarah.”

“Good.” She wanted him to want her. She wanted him to need her. The way she needed him.

Matching him kiss for kiss, she fumbled to get his overcoat off, managed to get the material loose and off him to where it fell to the floor. Her coat quickly followed, as did her hat and gloves.

Grateful for the skin-to-skin contact, she touched him, cradled his face as she kissed him, savored the taste of him, realized how very hungry she was. Starved.

Starved for something she hadn’t even known she needed until she’d kissed him.

She tugged at his shirt. “Show me those December abs.”

Pulling back, unbuttoning his shirt, he chuckled. “You won’t let me live that down, will you?”

“No plans to,” she breathed in a husky admission as he finished with the last button. Impatient, she pushed the material back, off his shoulders and down his arms, letting her fingers trace over the bulging muscles in his arms.

She’d touched him before, his shoulders, his arms, but always with his clothes on. Seeing him shirtless, touching his bare skin, burned her alive.