Page 6 of The Fixer

My knee slammed into the floor even as I gripped tight at that slim body, pulling it close, protecting it from taking the fall I was already diving into headfirst.

“Oh, my goodness.” Beneath a tumble of red hair, the voice rose, a whispered caress. Hands that had gripped my body and tangled in my clothes loosened, though one still held tight as the other released to push aside the hair that blocked my view of her face.

And what a face it was.

Creamy, peach-colored skin sprinkled in spices. Eyes like milk chocolate dotted with flecks of gold. That red hair, with long, loose curls falling lightly across her shoulders and breasts. Those breasts draped in green silk, the fabric beneath my fingers just as smooth as her skin.

It felt like heaven in my hands.

That cold winter chill I’d been dying for splashed over me, calming every itch on my skin, every frayed nerve and the churning in my stomach, loosening the stricture in my throat and chest. I crouched there over her, one foot planted firmly on the ground as my arms carried her weight, my throbbing knee resting on the floor on the other side of her, my thigh pressing into the curve of her waist.

A hint of red lace peeked out of the errant dip of her neckline, a long golden chain reflected light like glitter before plunging between the ripe swells concealed beneath the green silk.

Her gaze dripped down my face and chest like molten chocolate, chasing away the chill and leaving in its place a subtle heat. Her hand smoothed the rumpled lapel of my jacket, curled back in before taking hold.

“I’m…” She licked her lips, and I chased the movement, gaze lingering on one of her many freckles, this one sitting at the corner of her mouth. My mind strayed, stuck there, wondering if she tasted as good as she looked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

That quicksand that had sucked me under had filled my mouth with dust. I swallowed hard. Licked my lips. Wished for a glass of water, or whiskey; for a glass of fucking vinegar if it meant I could speak without sounding like a fool who never spoke.

“It’s not your fault.” The words stuck in my throat, and every last drop of moisture in my mouth dried up as her gaze zeroed in on my lips.

Her own lips were without gloss or lipstick. Her cheeks flushed like a golden peach. Her natural beauty shined bright, unhindered by layers of powder and potions. Her face was dusted with those fucking freckles that made me want to take a bite.

“Thank you for saving me.” The corners of her mouth tugged upward and a slight dimple on her right cheek drew my attention.

“Of course,” I told it—told her. A smile curled my lips. I rose, pulling her with me, dragging her from where she hovered just off the ground until she was standing on her own two feet. “My pleasure.”

I didn’t—couldn’t—let her go, my hands unwilling to loosen, the muscles in my arms locked tight. She’d squeaked as I lifted her to her feet, and the sound went straight to my dick. If I moved, I was sure she would feel it. Urges I tried to keep hidden, tried to suppress, rushed through me. Urges that I’d beaten into submission and rarely ever let out.

Her teeth caught her lip and this hum released from her throat, the very sight and sound like a kick to the gut. My grip around her loosened, lest those urges become too strong.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t pull back. Instead, she held onto me as if her life depended on it. Fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket. Body heat radiating through the thin fabric of her dress.

I smoothed my hands over her back, grazing the soft, bare skin of her arms. And that movement broke whatever spell she may have fallen under. The girl blinked up at me, that smile that tipped her lips growing, her cheeks glowing, that dimple caving in and dragging a handful of freckles with it.

Her hands released, her eyes dropping to track the movement as her fingers smoothed over my lapels, righting the fabric down my chest. My abs clenched as her hands lowered, as she adjusted my suit jacket to sit straight on my frame.

“I’m Eliza,” she told me, pure innocence radiating from the sparkling depths of her gorgeous eyes.

God, she was beautiful. All that glowing skin draped in that green silk, the hint of red lace still showing just underneath. She looked like a Christmas present, a gift meant to be savored. And I wanted to unwrap her, to treasure her, to devour every inch of her until I was consumed, coated in the spices that covered every visible, delicious ounce of her skin.

I righted the fabric of her dress upon her breasts, and the tiny gasp she let out as our skin touched, as my finger grazed red lace, was enough to make my dick jerk.

“Jet,” I offered, and I wanted to soothe the crinkled skin on her brow as she turned her face toward mine. “My name,” I said before clearing my throat. “I’m Jet.”

The golden speckles in her eyes glittered, and I felt her gaze like a caress as it rose to my jet-black hair and trailed down over the scruff on my face. “That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s a nickname,” I told her as she brushed away some lint from my shoulder.

“I like it. It’s fitting.” Amusement danced across her face. We stood so close, her arm grazed mine. “What’s it short for? Jedidiah? Jethro?” Her face scrunched up. “Tell me it’s not short for Jethro?”

Shaking my head, I rubbed at my jaw, forcing myself to stop clenching my teeth. Before I could speak, Eliza stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s fine,” I told her, giving her a smile that still felt like a grimace. “It’s fine. It’s… Giraldo.”

“Oh.” Her eyes blinked, brown lashes fluttering over chocolate-colored eyes. “My, it’s—”