Consumed by Fire (Fire 1)

“I think you know a little too much about me. All I know about you is your name, and I’m not even sure I believe that.”

“You know my name, you know the name of the organization I work for.”

“Great basis for a marriage.”

“We’re not going to have a marriage. Now that Claude’s dead I’ll arrange for an annulment. Since we went through the Catholic Church in Italy it’ll be too complicated for you to handle, and take too long. We have people who can take care of those things.”

“Speed is of the essence,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She took another sip of the Scotch, too big a one, and began coughing. She felt him take the glass out of her hand and set it down on something as she choked, and since he was sitting in front of her, he pulled her against him to pound her back. All polite and necessary.

“I told you not to drink too fast,” he said in her ear.

She closed her eyes, breathing him in. Clean, fresh skin, rainwater, Scotch, a heady combination. It was dark, there was no one to see, not even James, not even her. She put her face against his bare shoulder, burying it against his skin, wanting to disappear into him. She wanted everything to go away, everything to stop, she wanted to stay in this thick, warm darkness with him forever, no matter what lies he spun her, no matter what game he was playing, no matter whether he cared for her or whether she was some demented charity case. She didn’t even realize she’d slid her arms around him, that the sheet had come down to her waist and her breasts were pressed against his warm flesh.

She half expected him to pull back, set her gently away from him. He was being so kind, so polite, so understanding. Such a gentleman, such a tender, vanishing lover, and her impervious, stone heart was breaking.

She was the one who pulled away from him, staring up at him in the darkness. She wasn’t going to let him disappear. She slid her hands up, cupped his face, and dragged his mouth down to hers for a hard, desperation-tinged kiss.

He caught her hands and stopped her, and she wanted to scream, to weep. She tried to yank away, tried to kick him off the bed so that she could curl up in a miserable little ball, but he held on, subduing her quickly.

“Stop it!” he snapped, his Scotch-sweet breath exploding on her face. He shook her, just slightly, and his fingers were digging into her upper arms, so tightly there’d be bruises, and she was glad of it, glad she’d have something of him for at least a little while longer.

“Angel,” he said, and there was desperation in his own voice. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fucking you and disappearing.”

“Then don’t disappear.”

The moment was endless, breathless between them. “If I touch you I might hurt you. I won’t be gentle. I can’t. Not if I’ve killed someone.”

She understood. “Then don’t be gentle. I don’t break.”

She heard his deep intake of breath. “No, you don’t, do you?” He pushed off the bed, and she thought he was going to take off the rest of his clothes and come to her. Instead she heard him heading to the door.

“Where are you going?” She shouldn’t have asked; she shouldn’t have said anything.

“Away from temptation. I’m as bad for you as you are for me and you know it.”

She heard the determination in his voice, heard the door open, and she was out of the bed, reaching him, shoving the door shut before he could leave.

He leaned against the door, keeping very still. “Why?”

“You know why.” She wasn’t going to put it into words. She’d told him she loved him, so many times in so many ways, and had it thrown back at her. That his motives had been honorable didn’t change things. “You seem determined to do the right thing for me. Why don’t we do the wrong thing for a change?” She put her hands on his chest, sliding them up his shoulders, his warm, sleek skin, and she wanted to drown in him, devour him, die in him. She moved on her tiptoes, brushing his mouth with hers, softly, luring him. She kissed his hard jaw, his throat, moving down his chest to lick across one flat nipple. She felt the shudder run through his body as he tried not to react, and then she went for the other one, letting her teeth brush across it.

“Angel . . .” he groaned, not touching her, his hands fisted at his sides.

She kissed his hard stomach, rubbing her face against him like a contented kitten. And then she sank to her knees, her hands in either side of his waistband, and she pulled his shorts down, letting his erection spring up, and she felt him freeze.

She put her hands around him, the thickness of him, letting her sensitive fingers run along the silky flesh, the thick veins that bulged along the side, and a fierce hunger ran through her, from her mouth to her sex. The thought of this had always disgusted her, but now she wanted the taste of him more than anything in the world.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his flat stomach, his hard-on brushing against her, and then she put her mouth around the head, tasting the salty sweet liquid there.

“Jesus!” he groaned, and he put his hands in her hair and pulled her away. She wanted to scream at him in her fury at his denial.

“You don’t want to do this, Angel. I know you don’t. It won’t make any difference.” His voice was bleak.

She stayed on her knees in front of him as she reached up and pulled his restraining hands away from her. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know shit about me?”

“You mean you learned to suck dick after I left you?”

She wanted to cringe at his deliberately crude words. “No. I mean that right now there’s nothing I want more than to take you in my mouth. And you know as well as I that I’ve never willingly done it before. Never wanted it before.” She leaned forward again, grasping him, trembling, and took him into her mouth.