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

“I’m just really good at my job.” A slow (forced?) grin played at the corner of his lips. “You will be, too. Together, we’re going to find Dr. Roberts, stop Vincent and hide Sunny.”

I hoped so.

“If-when-we find Dr. Roberts, I’ll put the word out that you’ve taken the antidote-even if he doesn’t have one. Hopefully, Vincent will lose interest in you at that point.”

What if he doesn’t lose interest? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. “What about your boss? John?”

“I’ll take care of him,” Rome said, once again looking away from me.

What did that mean, his looking away? He’d done it twice now. “What am I going to do if there’s not an antidote?” I wondered aloud.

“Most people would embrace their powers.”

“Not me. You were right when you said these abilities of mine are dangerous. What if I did fall into evil hands?” Into Vincent’s hands? A shudder raked me as images of mass destruction flashed through my mind. “I would give these powers up in a heartbeat.”

Without any warning, Rome reached out and hooked one of his arms under my knees. The other snaked around my bicep. He tugged me back onto his lap, so we were face-to-face. A startled gasp burst from me, but I didn’t protest. He cupped my ass and kneaded, then glided his naughty fingers forward and upward, over my hip bones, over the curve of my breasts, and caressed the line of my jaw.

“I think you would give up your powers,” he said with a husky catch of breath.

Goose bumps beaded my skin. My heartbeat fluttered erratically. Pieces of me that had been asleep for years-perhaps forever-began to stretch and awaken: hope, the first bloom of love. I’d allowed a few men to get close to me, but never close enough for a future, never close enough for love.

I traced a fingertip along Rome ’s nose, over the seam of his mouth. With him, in that flash of stolen time, I felt completely safe, which was strange because I’d never had more reason to feel unsafe.

“You continue to surprise me,” he said. “I’d read your history before I entered your apartment that first time, and I didn’t expect to like you.”

My hands dropped to my sides. I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and released it bit by bit, trying to mask my sudden hurt. “Why not?” I asked. Okay, pouted.

“On paper you come across as-and don’t shoot me with fireballs for this. On paper you come across as flaky.”

“Flaky!” My jaw dropped, and my back went ramrod straight. I punched him in the shoulder. “On paper I bet you look like a murdering assassin, you rotten piece of shit.”

“Ow.” He frowned, but didn’t release me to rub the tender-really tender, I hoped-area that had collided with my fist. “All I meant was that you’ve jumped from job to job over the last year. Some of them you were fired from on the same day you started.”

“So?”

“So, you asked me questions and I answered them. Now I’m going to ask you some, and you know what? You’re going to answer like the good little girl I know you can be. Why were you fired from all those jobs? Your temper?”

Silently I contemplated his expression. He looked curious and interested, rather than insulting. Color bloomed in my cheeks, and I dipped my gaze to his chest, to where his shirt opened in a V. My fingers followed the direction of my eyes, tracing. “I wasn’t happy,” I said. “On some level I think I sensed that the jobs weren’t what I was meant to do, so I didn’t give them my all.”

“What were you meant to do?” He hooked his thumb on the waist of my pants and gave a little pull, revealing several inches of skin.

“I wish I knew,” I said dejectedly.

“Surely there’s something.” Bare skin to bare skin, he spread his fingers over my lower back. “Did you not want to be a doctor or a lawyer or a candy-maker when you were a kid?”

My blood heated. “Honestly? No.” I leaned toward him, closing the small distance between us. Kiss me, I silently beseeched. Kiss me hard and rough, as if you can’t get enough of me.

His breath stroked my cheek, and his grip on my back tightened. “Have you ever wanted to be a love slave?” he asked huskily.

Kiss me, damn it. I traced my tongue over my lips, leaving a glistening sheen of moisture. “No, but I’ve wanted to own one.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Maybe I can help you out with that. I have connections.” He brushed his lips over mine once, twice.

“Yeah?” More. I needed more of him. Any other questions I had for him faded from my mind. I squirmed against him, rubbing myself on the long, thick length of his erection. Total rapture. Exquisite bliss. Our chests strained together, hardened nipples abrading hardened nipples. “What kind of connections?”

“Maybe connections is the wrong word.” Eyes gleaming with white-hot fire, he cupped my butt again and jerked me against him. Hard. “Maybe I should have said I have the right equipment.”

Only a puff of air separated us now, a hated whisper. Had I once told myself that giving in to my lust for Rome would be wrong? Probably. But I’d since told him I wanted to sleep with him, and I’d meant it. Then and now.

I wanted this man.

I wanted him desperately. Hungrily. Wanted to know what it would be like to feel him all around me, inside me, skin to skin. Sweating and aching. Filled. By him. By Rome. At the moment, I couldn’t even make myself care about his ex.

Rome must have sensed my total capitulation because his fingers slid up swiftly and tangled in my hair. He tugged my face to his. “I’m going to kiss you,” he growled. “Not soft like before, but hard.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to like it.”

“Yes.” His eyes were light and fierce, practically glowing. He reminded me of a predatory animal, target in sight, and the idea thrilled me. He was the hunter, I was the prey. “Yes,” I said again. Yes, yes, yes.

“One day soon I’m going to fuck you.”

A shiver of anticipation danced through me. “Yes.”

“You’ll like that, too. You’ll beg for it.” As he spoke, his hips arched slightly, creating a dizzying friction. Had I been standing, I would have collapsed.

“No more talk,” I said, as ferociously as he had. “Kiss. Now.”

Instantly his lips meshed with mine. His tongue thrust inside my mouth, utterly hot, darkly erotic. The heady flavor of him invaded my senses, deepening my pleasure. One of his hands lowered and squeezed my breast, rubbing the nipple through the soft fabric of my silk tank. Rolling. Plucking. Lancing an aching need straight to my core.

He kissed me as if he couldn’t get enough-just as I’d wanted. I kissed him as if I’d die without him-as I knew I would. My hands were everywhere, all over him, unable to get enough. Over and over our tongues clashed together. Over and over our hips thrust against each other. My movements quickened, became frantic. Heat, so much heat. I felt it, reveled in it. It flowed through me, as frantic as I was. So close.

I clutched at his hair. I moaned. I purred.

“Belle,” he said, the name shuddered and broken. “Belle. Stop.”

Stop? No, my mind shouted. Almost there. One more thrust and I would-

“We have to stop.”

I jerked back from him, panting for breath. My eyelids felt heavy, my thighs ached. “More,” I gasped.

“You’ve started a fire, baby.”

Lost in my need for completion, for him, I leaned into him, craving another taste of his mouth. “Yes. Burn. I burn.”

“Fire,” he said again.

This time I heard the urgency in his voice, and I forced my eyes open completely. What I saw made me gasp. Just behind me, a plant flickered with orange-gold flames. The scent of burning leaves filled the air.