Page 41 of Fuse

I lower my hand, cupping it atop one of his knees, affirming that I used the noun on purpose. It’s a throwback to the first days of our intense mutual attraction—and the special language of our souls, fusing us just as strongly now. Back then, he was just my hotter-than-sin boss who saw every reason we connected and I was the anxious new girl looking for every excuse we couldn’t. But in the end, he bashed down every wall of my resistance. He showed me that the guy in the tower didn’t want to live in the clouds by himself anymore. I succumbed to his love, expecting to be dragged back to the tower, only he did something much better. Built a new one. For me. For us.

Which is exactly what I’ll do for him right now, if that’s what it’ll take to get through to him. To penetrate the agony racking his body and claiming every inch of his beautiful, noble face…

“It’s just me, Reece. It’s just us, okay? You and me, baby. Remember that? Remember this?” I fight to keep the tears from my throat, but they undermine me anyway. “Baby, listen to me. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

I’m cut off by a growl so deep and dark, it takes a long moment to register it’s really emerged from him.

“Maybe I should be.”

He casts a shadowed glare around at the dirt and destruction.

“Yeah.” His volume is just a rasp, but his tone is defined. “Maybe that’s exactly what needs to be happening here.” With a grunt, he slides backward. “Maybe alone is just fucking perfect.”

“Guess what?” I dip my head to emphasize my direct seethe. “Life doesn’t always give you perfect, buddy.”

Spokes of lightning ignite in his eyes just before he snarls, almost as if in warning, “Emma…”

“I’m not leaving.” I push up to a high kneel, flicking my fingertips to rid them of bloody mud despite how the stuff still sends mini jolts through my skin. “And you’d better not even try to make me, Mr. Richards.”

“Emma.”

“I’m. Not. Leaving.”

“Goddamnit, woman.” He copies my pose but goes full-scale Bolt with his posture. As he stretches his fingers toward the ground, blue lights dazzle and dance out from the elegant tips. As he straightens his torso, at least an inch of new breadth coils across his shoulders.

“You really trying intimidation now?” I counter his muscly Rasputin with my personal Maleficent, baring my teeth but smiling my challenge. “What, because you think it’ll work on me? Well, here’s another piece of news, mister. If you want a little bunny to frighten, I can show you a whole canyon of them.”

“Fuck.” His stance doesn’t change, and his voice plunges into a dark grate. But his glare keeps intensifying toward the opposite, his eyes turning into brilliant silver storms. Twilight settles deeper into the hills around us, enriching the pigments of the shadows until they’re lush shades of purple and green and gray, providing a starker contrast for this man’s pulsating fingertips and electric irises. He exposes both without shame, obviously clinging to a last hope of daunting me with his mutant light show.

Until he finally seems to remember what that glow really does to me.

Or perhaps…as he realizes what I do to him in return.

What we do to each other now, surging toward each other through the mud on our knees. How the force of our attraction magnetizes us together, the spark of our passion turning to full flames as we collide, discovering each other all over again with heated fingers, meshing kisses, guttural groans…empowered passion.

He slides his hands along my sides, down my hips, around the curves of my ass. I run my fingertips from the center of his sternum to the top of his waistband. Then lower. Lower.

Yes.

Oh.

Him.

His glory and girth and pulsation. His size and heat and sensation.

His mesmerizing, hypnotizing force as he gulps deeply. “Holy God.”

My shivering delight as I smile softly. “You rang?”

A moan erupts from someplace low and sinful in his throat. His flesh swells and throbs beneath my fingers. He’s huge and hot, even beneath the tight black leather. I sigh in throaty triumph, but it becomes a yelp as soon as he grabs my wrist, yanking me away. Shame—or maybe not—that the guy mistakes my surprise as surrender. The second he slackens the hold, I move in even closer, cupping him with twice the determination.

He amps the groan into a full grunt. Ends it by kissing me again, briefly but brutally, before spitting out, “Ignorant, stubborn woman.”

At once, I retaliate. “Ridiculous, senseless man.” And barely refrain from grinning again as his balls vibrate under my fingertips. If he wants to play adjectives-only Scrabble, I’m so in. I have a list ready to go. Obstinate. Audacious. Courageous. Luminous. Brave. Beautiful. Prideful.

Yes, even with every single one of those words. With every damn moment of his chaos. With every crazy, complicated piece of baggage he brings to this life of ours—bringing me back to the sole term that fits it all the very best.

Perfect.