Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

Deep, deep blue eyes focused on my face. I heard myself swallow.

Leisurely he opened his mouth and gently placed the lollipop there again, but instead of sucking on it, he trapped it between his teeth.

And bit.

Crunch.

There go my ovaries.

I saw that his tongue was stained red from the candy.

Soon, I thought, I was going to run out of saliva to swallow.

He finished the candy, flicking the stick in the trash can. I thought that his focus on me couldn’t get any more intense.

I was wrong. A wicked glint flickered in his eyes.

Uh-oh.

His first words to me were “Your wind was so strong it blew me away.”

I choked on air.

There was a cry like that of a trapped animal burning in the back of my throat. I was never the type of person to be rendered speechless. I always had something to say, but at that very moment, I wanted the sky to open wide and beam me to space.

His lips twitched. “You owe me one, Spitfire.”

Spitfire? I should say something. I knew there was a comeback floating somewhere in my brain, but where the hell was it?

Buffering 7.001%…

“What’s your name?” he asked, still watching me, still so focused on my face.

I gulped. I tried to speak. Nothing.

Now his eyes were laughing, those big, deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners. And then he looked down as if he couldn’t contain his amusement, brought his fist to his beautiful mouth, and… Was he biting his knuckle?

Oh Jesus. Why is that so sexy?

His eyes flicked up to mine.

I think I peed a little.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked teasingly.

Now if it were a different person who asked that or maybe if I just had my wits about me, I would have annihilated them and chopped them up for dinner.

But I did not. My batteries died, and I needed to recharge.

“Tell me.”

He seemed like a person who didn’t say please, and if he did, he would have been quite uncomfortable, but somehow I heard it in his voice.

Tell me your name. Please.

“K-Kara,” I stammered. My voice sounded weak. “Kara,” I repeated, strongly this time.

A pitiful attempt at getting back control.