Blood Flame (Flame 1)

If ever there was an invitation …

She wanted the kiss and that was something he hadn’t expected. Was it possible she was into him?

“Iris?”

She blinked and caught her breath, then turned back to the island. She picked up her wine once more and took a long drink.

He’d always been certain he was alone in his interest, which in many ways had kept him safe. Now he knew something very different to be true.

His heart started pounding and he couldn’t move. He should have though, because he saw the mounds of her ass through her torn clothes. He leaned close and breathed in deep. “You smell like your garden.”

She chuckled, then sniffed. “And you smell like a blown up bridge with just a hint of leather.” She glanced at him, her lips swollen as hell, ready to be plundered. But a sheen of tears covered her eyes once more.

What the hell was he thinking? She was feeling vulnerable and he couldn’t take advantage of her. Besides, he needed to be smart. She was a witch and could kill him with one touch of her fingers to either his temple or the base of his skull.

The breath he released sounded like a hiss of steam.

He nodded, then looked away from her. His frown deepened as he rounded the island once more to pour himself a glass. He drank along with her, but stayed on the other side of the thick slab of granite. His brow had a tight, pinched feel as he stared at nothing in particular.

A change of subject would help.

He met her gaze once more. “Who would want both you and me dead? That’s what I don’t get. One or the other of us would make sense. I have enough enemies—”

“And your entire territory would be happy to see me in my grave.”

“I won’t argue with that.” But his lips curved.

~ ~ ~

She wasn’t offended. She knew how hard her species was on vampires, the number of massacres employed against his kind by the dark witch covens. Elegance had a number of her kind intent on destroying Crescent.

But, oh, that smile again.

He was the sort of man who pulled no punches and didn’t have a lot of frills around him either. Some men needed to be hand-held. He would need something else held, but that would be about it. God help her, she liked him.

She slowly turned away from him, pretending to take in the room. She sipped her wine some more, then put her hand up against the bare parts of her ass. She flipped back around, her cheeks warming. “Have you got a long shirt or maybe a t-shirt I could borrow?”

“I do. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to shower and change gear.”

“Please. Do what you need to do.”

Wine in hand, he moved past her, heading beyond the dining table. He was so tall, at least six-five, and built. His shoulders looked massive against his black tank. The sight of his Glock and holster clipped on one side of his belt and his half-sword with a sheath clipped to the other made her feminine soul long for more from him.

She also had a clear view of his torn up leathers and a lot of what lay beneath. Maybe he knew she was looking, but he didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the rips in his pants. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t and desire for him rose once more.

Her craving for him returned full force. Maybe because he wasn’t standing right next to her, she felt free to indulge.

Once he disappeared down the hall, she released a heavy rush of air. Part of her was relieved to have a break from all the lust and longing. The other part was curious to discover more about him since she now had a chance to see his surroundings.

Their homes had one similarity that surprised her. Each was small, that was true. But the first room in both was the dining area.

Taking her wine with her, she moved past the table and into a small living room with black leather furniture and, not surprising, a large flat-screen TV opposite. Very male, but at the same time, he had jumbles of books stacked here and there.

She picked one up from the end table. It was a book about Egypt and the pharaohs. Beneath lay a large coffee table tome with several pictures of swords and daggers on the front. The Border Patrol officers carried a smallish sword since the drug world loved their blades. Hence the ridiculously sexy, black leather wrist guards the men wore as well to protect their arms from getting sliced up. The leather was reinforced with steel. The female BP officers, of which there were a few, wore them as well.

She set the Egypt book back down and meandered in the direction of a small patio. There was a single Adirondack chair and a nearby table. She had a strong sense of Connor’s solitude, otherwise there would have been two chairs or more and a patio table.

He appeared to be as alone as she was.