Page 64 of Through the Flames
What kind of girl leanedinto itinstead? Ishouldhave been scared. Maybe Ihad been— for a second — but I’d never fought him.
Instead, I was remembering the shiver rolling through me like a wave when he touched me, remembering aching for somethingmore.
I still didn’t know who it was. Who touched me so brazenly, so surely, and possessively, like they had every right to do so.
Could it be? Could it have been my newly acquired, reclusive roomie?
Ha.Yeah, right.This was me trying to convince myself of something that wasn’t there because apparently I had the hots for him. Totally ridiculous.
He didn’t act like it was him. I mean, he’d barely looked at me back then. He barely did now.
But every time he spoke, my whole body went still, listening for the stranger’s voice, trying to compare them.
There was something in the way my skin tightened when he walked in a room. Not uncomfortably, but aware, like he was a magnet I was inevitably drawn to.
Shaking my head as if it would clear my thoughts and purge the memory from my mind, I breezed into the kitchen.
The room was only lit by the spotlights under the hanging cabinets, their soft glow so much more pleasing than the sharp glare of the overhead light.
A soft hum came from the dishwasher as I crossed the room.
Since I didn’t know where anything was yet, I opened a couple of cabinets at random and hunted for a decent-sized mug.
When I finally found the right one, I groaned upon discovering they were on the top shelf at the back.
I was tall, but this house seemed to be custom-built for someone of Hunter’s stature, because this cabinet was placed at an absolutely ridiculous height.
How the fuck did Hailey, with her five-foot-nothing frame, survive over here?
“Need help?” A smooth, low voice rang out from the door frame.
“Nope. I got it.” Stubbornly, I rose on my tippy-toes, stretching my arm as high as it’d go.
Hunter, apparently, did not take my word for it. His hand appeared in my periphery, moving at the same time as I hopped up to bridge the last missing inch.
Our fingers brushed, the barest of touches, and yet a shock of electricity raced up my arm. My breath stuttered before I could stop it, and he seemed to just freeze for a beat.
I glanced to the side, not expecting his gaze to already be on me. The gray irises pinning me in place, anchoring me to the spot.
Instead of the indifference I was expecting, I was hit with a fierce kind of intensity. Like he was ready to pry me open, to devour me.
I blinked rapidly, averting my eyes. Jesus Christ, I needed to get laid. I was getting delusional.
Could ithave been him?
My mind immediately went into overdrive, connecting dots I hadn’t allowed myself to consider before.
When my eyes flicked back up to him, the faintest twitch of a smile played around his lips, as if he was in on a secret I hadn’t figured out yet.
I shifted a step to the side, turning slightly to face him, and reached for the mug.
Our hands brushed — too close, too deliberate — and sent heat straight through me.
Slowly, deliberately, he held out the mug to me, the muscles in his thick forearms flexing.
Goddamn. Maybe he’d let me lick them? Just for, like, a second?
“I don’t usually like people in my space,” he said, his voice low but calm.
