Gena Showalter - Playing With Fire (tales of an extra ordinary girl)

I scowled. “Let me? Did you really freaking just say let me?”

“Have you noticed that you often repeat what I say? Yeah, I said let you. Unless you want to make something of it, which I don’t recommend, I need to go.”

Okay, he was seriously testing my (practically nonexistent) restraint, but it was a test I aced. I didn’t blast him with rapid-fire curse words (bastard, son of a bitch, Nazi commando) and I didn’t slap him until he dropped to the ground and blubbered like a baby. I did change the subject, not disclosing the fact that I would do whatever the hell I wanted the moment he was gone.

Still, I couldn’t act too eager for him to leave.

“Where are you going?” I frowned. “Someone really could try to sneak in here while you’re gone.”

“I’m picking up a few things we’ll need, and to be honest, I’d rather risk someone sneaking in here than risk taking you out into the world. You might burn it down.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “How many times do I have to say it? People are not in danger from me.” The more disastrous the deeds he thought me capable of, the easier it might be for him to do his job and take me to his boss. I hadn’t been able to call a wind, for God’s sake. And so what that I’d set my fingers on fire? I hadn’t hurt anyone or anything. “This is-”

“That’s enough from you,” he said, cutting me off. “One more word and I’m going to tie you up again.”

I gasped. He’d do it, too, I thought, my fury increasing. He claimed I was no longer his prisoner, that we were going to help each other, but he was already threatening to bind me. If he dared pick up that cord, I’d… I’d-

A short blast of fire spewed from my eyes and slammed into the far kitchen wall.

I screamed the moment I realized what had happened. Rome dived to the floor. He was able to avoid direct impact, but several sparks danced on his cheek, singing the flesh. My eyes widened in horror as I stared at the growing inferno.

“You were saying?” he asked, arching those insolent brows again. He rubbed at his burned cheek.

My horror growing with the speed of the fire, I rushed to the sink and filled a cup with water. I tossed the contents over the flames, then repeated the actions over and over. It didn’t help.

Rome managed to contain the damage with a fire extinguisher-but not my mortification. My God. I was a menace. I was dangerous. Maybe Rome and the others were on the right track, wanting me rubbed out. The scent of burning paint and wood filled the air. Black plumes of smoke curled upward, making me cough.

After setting the extinguisher aside, Rome jumped up and jerked the smoke detector from the ceiling before it could erupt. He tossed it in the sink and gave me a pointed stare. “Still think the world is safe from you?” he asked, showing no mercy.

“No,” I said softly, dejectedly. “I’m a freak.”

“But you’re a cute freak. I won’t be gone more than an hour, okay? Try and control yourself.”

“I will.” My shoulders slumped. I could have killed Rome, could have set him ablaze. I wanted to escape him-didn’t I?-but I didn’t want to destroy him. Not when he’d never really hurt me.

Rome released a soft sigh. In the next instant, he was cupping my jaw in his hands and forcing me to face him. His fingers felt wonderful. Rough and abrasive, but utterly provocative. Sensual. Hot and strong. But most surprising of all, they felt comforting. I tingled. The warm, prickling lances seeped past skin, sinking right into bone.

“Belle,” he said, his voice as gentle as his touch.

Slowly I gazed up at him.

He lowered his head. Breath caught in my throat, burning. Blistering.

I had time to protest as he slanted his lips over mine, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when I suddenly craved his kiss with everything inside me. He was dangerous and exciting, and with everything going on, I might not have a tomorrow. Actually, an hour from now looked pretty iffy. I would allow myself this pleasure without guilt. Without hesitation. Without pause. I’d take it, savor it, enjoy it, no matter how bad it was for me. It could very well be the last good thing to happen in my life.

He brushed my mouth once, twice. Perhaps he’d had every intention of leaving it like that, a brief, innocent touch, but I didn’t let him. I opened my mouth and gave him my tongue.

Instantly it was all systems go. For both of us. No more lassitude. No more gentleness. Only undeniable need. Moaning low in his throat, he claimed me. His tongue swept past my teeth, sinking deep, demanding total surrender.

He angled his head to the side for deeper contact. His fingers tangled in my hair, clamping tight. He tasted like hot, virile man. And something raw. Something utterly carnal. I couldn’t name it, not exactly, I only knew it was like nothing I’d ever encountered before. I wanted more, so much more.

Our tongues thrust together, eager and needy. I found myself gripping his shirt, holding him to me as if I feared he would slip away. Heat was building inside me, so much blissful heat. It began as a tiny flame, licking over my every cell, then spreading and branching through the rest of me.

My nipples hardened and strained against my shirt, abrading with my every movement. My legs weakened. I ached, yes, I ached. The fire grew. Rome seized my hair in a painful clench, as if he needed an anchor. As if he couldn’t stand the thought of releasing me for any reason. Yet in the next instant he growled and sprang away from me.

“ Rome?” I said breathlessly.

He stood an arm’s length away, his breath shallow. “You were about to burn me up,” he panted.

I was aching, burning, as he’d said. I wanted him back in my arms. Wanted his tongue in my mouth again. Wanted his erection pressed between my legs this time, sliding up and down, slowly at first, then quickly pushing me over the sweet edge of satisfaction. Except he’d meant “burn” literally. I’d almost flame-broiled him, I realized, seeing smoke curl from my hands. And still I wanted him.

How could I desire him this fiercely? Him?

I inhaled sharply, but that didn’t help. Hints of his male fragrance seeped into my nostrils. Another tide of desire slammed into me, making my stomach quiver. Making another flame roar to life there. Damn it, I shouldn’t crave him like this. Maybe-maybe we shouldn’t have done that. I was vulnerable to him now, more so than before.

My hands fisted at my sides, and I concentrated on my anger. Right now, any emotion was better than desire. He shouldn’t have kissed me! “ Rome,” I said.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said between breaths, parroting my thoughts.

“No. You shouldn’t have.” I curbed the urge to trace my swollen, pulsing mouth with my fingers.

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry.” The words were a throaty growl, cutting through the ensuing silence. “And I’m not going to tell you I won’t do it again.”

I pursed my lips, fighting a rush of pleasure. You’re angry, remember? “I didn’t ask you to, did I?”

He paused, shook his head. Surprisingly, satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Didn’t ask if I meant to do it again or didn’t ask me to not do it again?”

“Oh, just shut up.” I’d basically thrown myself at him, and refused to make it worse by voicing my desires. He had to know that parts of me-the most feminine parts-hoped he would do it again. Soon. My nipples were still beaded. The ache between my legs had yet to dissipate.

He reached out and traced his fingertips over my mouth, just the way I’d wanted to do myself, beckoning the fire all over again. “You can trust me,” he said. Was that a trace of guilt in his voice? “Despite everything that’s happened, or maybe because of it, you can trust me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to betray you.”