Page 8 of The Fire and the Roar

“Hey.” Eric offered his hand, the polite young man. “Good to meet you. Heard lots about you.”

“Have you?”

“Oh yeah. Lots about you. Isi talks about you. A lot. Lot a lot.”

I turned away and bit down on my lips to suppress the giggles that were bursting forth and grabbed Eric’s acoustic guitar from the edge of the bed. “Here you go.” I handed it to him. “Oh wait, hang on…you had a notebook too, right?”

“Hmm.” He nodded, his lips stiff. He was nervous. “And, um, the tape recorder too. I think it’s over there—” He gestured at the floor behind me.

“Oh, right. Geez, I thought that was mine ‘cause they’re the same.” I picked up Eric’s from the floor. My gaze went to the bed. Yep, there was mine by my notebook.

“You working on a song together?” Wreck asked.

“Today, we did. I needed some help, and Eric offered to mess around—” I couldn’t help myself.

Wreck eyed Eric. “Did he?”

Eric shrank. “On—on my guitar, mess around with riffs and stuff. Stewart was here too, giving us a beat and…”

“Yep, Stewart too,” I said.

“What a busy girl you’ve been, baby.” Wreck tugged on my hair, and I let out a little gasp.

“I have been. Day and night, night and day. Now my voice needs to rest, so if you two will excuse me—”

Wreck tugged me into him and bruised my lips with his. I sank against him. The feel of his leather, his muscles pulling me in. His heat embracing me, rooting me.

I needed him bad. Very bad. Very very badly.

Wreck released me, a hand on my jaw, a thumb on my sore bottom lip. “Time for you to go, Eric.”

“Right.” Eric scrambled for the door and managed to open it. A harsh, icy gust of wind tore through my small room, and Wreck only pulled me in closer.

“Have a good night—” came Eric’s voice. “I mean…yeah. Goodnight, you guys.”

The door slammed shut.

Wreck’s lips devoured mine.Oh hell, yes…

Another knock.

“What the fuck—” Wreck looked through the peephole quickly and pulled the door open. Eric stood there once again. “Really?”

Eric glanced between Wreck and me. “So sorry, really sorry, but um—” He pointed at me. “My jacket?”

“Oh, shoot!” I whipped off his leather jacket, and Eric’s face immediately turned bright red. He jerked his gaze away as if ordered to by a drill sergeant, and facing down, held out his arm out to receive the jacket. Wreck swiped it from me and threw it at him and slammed the door.

His harsh blue gaze went to my barely covered tits.

“What can I say?” I muttered. “Once a tramp, always a tramp.”

“You said it, woman.”

“Can’t do anything about that, I’m afraid.”

Eyeing me, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. “Take everything off. Slowly. Make it good, ‘cause you got a lot of making up to do, Isidora. Dillon.”

“Is that so?”

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