Play With Fire (The Men of Fire 1)

Bull watches me closely, and his brows dip, telling me that somehow, he knows exactly what is going through my mind. He leans in, and I melt as he presses his lips to my forehead. “Let me in, Angel, and I swear, you will know your worth.”

My eyes close, taking pleasure from the way his lips skim over my skin. The need to raise my chin and let his lips drop to mine pulses through me.

I pull back slightly, and he gives me the space I need. Clearing my throat, I gesture to the room behind him. “You’re painting Ryan’s room.”

Bull looks back over his shoulder, taking in his handiwork. “I’ve decided we’re staying in and giving your baby a room to die for. What do you think?”

“What happened to this date of yours?”

“Of ours,” he corrects. “Change of plans. I’d rather stay here.”

“But …” I give in, the fight completely leaving me. The idea of staying in is actually sitting really well with me.

“No ‘buts’ baby,” Bull says, stepping back into the room, scooping up the paintbrush as he goes. “There’s no backing out now. Besides,” he adds, looking back over his shoulder, “Something tells me you’d rather do this than sit inside a stuffy restaurant.”

I’ve really got to get used to this, the way he always seems to know exactly what I’m thinking and feeling. “Okay, fine,” I smile, walking into the room. “You’ve got yourself a deal, but if this room doesn’t look like a unicorn orgy by the time we’re finished, I’m going to be really disappointed.”

Bull looks across at me with a blank stare. “Do you really think I’m the kind of man to let a woman down? By the time we’re through, this place is going to make Barbie jealous.”

“Alright,” I laugh. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Bull reaches up, pressing the paintbrush to the wall right below the cornice and gliding it along. I can’t help but stare. His shirt rides up, showing off a perfect sliver of toned waist. This man is carved from stone. His body is incredible, and I’m quickly realizing that the person beneath it all is too.

After stripping off my favorite jacket, I walk over and grab the roller before dipping it into the tray of paint. I get an even coat on the roller and step up to the wall. “You’re not the type of woman to sit back and let me handle it, are you?” Bull asks, watching me from across the room with an intrigued smirk.

I press the roller to the wall and watch as it effortlessly glides up and down, leaving a beautiful streak of pink in its wake. “It’s just the girls and me. I’ve never been able to rely on a man, apart from my dad of course. I don’t think it’s in my blood. So if that’s the kind of girl you’re after, then you’re in the wrong place.”

He lets out a sigh, and I stop and turn to him. “What?”

“Nothing. I knew you were trouble, but I think I just realized exactly how much.”

I eye him across the room while continuing to roll the paint up and down the wall. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he looks at me as though I’ve just set a challenge that he can’t resist. “Not in the fucking slightest.”

Well, damn.

I try to ignore the way my heart races. This is happening whether I like it or not. Bull turns away and gets stuck into what he’s doing, filling the room with comfortable small talk. He asks me about my girls, my friendship with Zoey, my dad, and even my ex, before he fills me in on the ins and outs of his life.

Talking with him is so easy. I’ve never had that with a man before, and I really like it. He’s funny, charming, and always seems to know the perfect thing to say.

We get thirty minutes in when the doorbell rings, making me look around in confusion. I have no idea who that could be. I put the roller down and start to head for the door when Bull stops me. “I’ve got it,” he murmurs, winking before slipping through the door of Ryan’s bedroom.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I walk out behind him, watching as he pulls out his wallet and makes his way to the door. What the hell is he doing? Bull opens the door to the delivery man from the local Chinese restaurant, and my brows instantly drop. Now I know I didn’t order Chinese.

I peer around Bull’s shoulder and see his hands filled with bags of Chinese takeout containers, and I gape in confusion. My brows arch as I watch Bull pay and give the guy a tip before taking the bags and kicking the door closed. Bull turns proudly with dinner in his hands and begins making his way across my house. “Are you feeding an army?” I question, really taking in just how much food he ordered.