Page 104 of Fire in You

“Isn’t that kind of weird?”

He kissed the space below my pulse. “A little.”

Wiggling around so I was facing him, I threw an arm over his waist. “You are not going to be comfortable in this bed. You barely fit.”

“I’ll be fine.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “Besides, we’re just going to sleep.”

“For real?” I said dryly.

“Yep.” His nose brushed over my cheek. “As much as I want to get my mouth between those pretty legs of yours, we’re in your parents’ house. Not happening.”

A surprised laugh left me. “You are being serious.”

“Yeah, I am. Not going to disrespect your parents like that.”

“Oh my,” I whispered, giggling. “Look at you, being all gentleman-like and stuff.”

“Shut it.” He nipped at my lip.

Another quiet laugh left me. “So, I was thinking.”

“Oh no.”

I smacked his arm. “I thought the girls would be doing morning breakfast on Sunday, but they all are doing family things.”

“The shame,” he murmured, nipping at my jaw.

I grinned in the darkness. “I thought maybe we could head home Saturday. A day earlier, so we could—”

“So we have some one-on-one time?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “What do you think? You could help me pack the books tomorrow and we can spend a little more time with my parents before heading back.”

“I . . .” His hand slid down my side and over my hip. “ . . . think that is a wonderful idea.”

“I thought you might like that idea.”

His hand slipped to my rear and he squeezed. “Now what gave you that idea?”

“I have no idea.”

* * *

The damp musk of the river was the first thing to greet us when I climbed out of Brock’s car Saturday evening.

On the way home, Brock had asked if I wanted to see his place and we decided I’d stay there. I had another change of clothing for the morning, and I was more than eager to see his home since I hadn’t had the chance yet.

Dusk was settling as Brock grabbed our bags and I picked up Rhage’s carrier. The cat hissed, and I rolled my eyes as I followed Brock up the wide set of stairs leading to a sprawling, bare porch.

“Does it go around the house?” I asked. “The porch?”

“Almost.” He fished out his keys. “It stops at the French doors in the dining room and empties out onto a patio. There’s a second-story deck you can access from the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Wow,” I murmured. His house was about fifteen minutes outside of Shepherdstown, down a dark and windy road that followed the river. All the houses we passed had been huge, so I wasn’t exactly surprised when the massive two-story came into view.

Brock opened the door and somewhere in the house, an alarm beeped. Light turned on, flooding the area. The front door opened into a massive entryway. It was a somewhat open floor plan. I could see all the way back to the kitchen.

He put the bags near the steps that led upstairs and then turned to me. “Remember, the kitchen is a mess.”

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