Page 52 of Wild Fire

I lean against the truck, noticing the way he looks it up and down with curiosity.

“Oh, no, I can’t. I—”

“Yes, you can,” I say, my voice rising an octave, remaining friendly, yet taking on a firmer tone; something between dominant and flirtatious. I lean in towards him. “Besides,” I start. “Looks better on you than it does on me.”

Nate smirks. “Somehow I doubt that. I’m pretty sure you’d look great in a paper bag.”

I nod in agreement. He’s not wrong.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working today?” I ask carefully.

“Actually,” his voice is low, seductive almost. “I had to stop by the insurance place to sign off on some stuff, so I took it off. Then figured while I was there, I’d just—”

“Walk across the street to get your steps in?” I taunt.

Nate scowls, and that familiar brat I’ve come to know peeks its head from beneath the curtains. JJ’s footsteps sound as he walks across the floor, and I tense, standing up straighter as he shoots me a knowing glare as he approaches us.

“Guys and I are going to grab some subs from the diner. You want anything?” he says, and I swear if he wasn’t one of the best firefighters and my best friend, I’d kill him.

Nate’s cheeks pinken and his pupils dilate, and I feel a sharp sting of possessiveness as I grunt out, “No, thanks,” and move closer to Nate.

“What about you… Nate, is it?”

I freeze, unable to tear my gaze from the train wreck happening before my eyes. Nate nods. “Yeah, uh… thanks, but no thanks.”

JJ nods. “Guys are playing cards upstairs. I should be back in about fifteen minutes,” he says pointedly, and I let out a low breath as he pats me on the shoulder and then leaves me and Nate alone in the garage. A grin spreads on my face as I get an idea.

“You want the truck tour?”

Nate looks at me with a humorous grin.

“Is that a… metaphor?” He raises an eyebrow.

I blink. “Um… no.”

Nate lets out a nervous laugh. “Guess you don’t know the song.”

“Song?”

“Nevermind,” Nate says, running a hand through his hair as he darts his gaze away, back to the firetruck, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks keep turning deeper shades of scarlet.

“You do that a lot,” I murmur, moving a little closer to him.

“Do what?” He turns, flashing those big eyes up at me, eyelashes long and thick, framing his oceanic eyes.

I carefully reach out and pinch one cheek lightly, and he lets out a surprised squeak.

“Blush like a little schoolgirl.”

I expect him to get all bratty like he did when I called him my passenger princess, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands perfectly still as I pinch his cheek.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice cracking just slightly.

“Don’t be sorry.” I let my thumb slide down his smooth cheek, brushing over the edge of his jaw; feeling the roughness of his stubble. It’s an odd sensation. In my contracts and agreements, most of my subs agree to keep themselves clean-shaven.

I have a type. A preference. The appearance that my sub dons for me is part of those negotiations and discussions that are needed before we even step foot into a scene.

But there is something strangely attractive about the way his stubble feels against the pad of my thumb. How his skin goes from smooth to rough. I trace slow lines along it, relishing the touch and he doesn’t move to push me away. Not like he probably should. Especially if he knew the thoughts running through my brain right now. But his gaze is heavy, intense in a way I’ve never seen or felt from anyone. Nate’s lips part slowly, and I have half a mind to slide my thumb back into his mouth just to see what he’ll do. Just to see what he’ll let me get away with.