Page 24 of Savage Fire

Her mouth open in surprise, she snapped it shut to swallow before replying, “You had dinner catered?”

He nodded, that panty-dropping grin in place.

“Only the best formi corazon. I promise you, you don’t want me cooking you dinner. We’d spend the whole evening taking turns kneeling beside the toilet.”

She laughed, pressing on his chest, whichdid notgive under her hand.

God, that man was hard. Everywhere.

Do not look at his crotch! Do not look at his crotch!

Swallowing, she dropped her hand, curling her fingers into her palm, trying to retain the memory of how he felt beneath her touch.

At the doorway, Fang hesitated, leaning into the opaque glass door, as if listening for something.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, curious.

Turning toward her, he smiled lopsidedly.

“Nothing.”

He put his key in the lock and turned it, pressing down the latch and opening the door. Slowly.

Was he expecting someone to jump out and attack him?

“Sorry, just making sure the caterers are long gone,” he offered, laughing strangely. “Didn’t want them to mess up the mojo.”

“Mojo? Smooth,” she teased, following behind him into a massive two story tall grand entry. Tessa gasped, not bothering to hide her awe. The place was absolutely gorgeous. On one side was a wide doorway leading into what looked like a lady’s sitting room. The other side was framed by a wide, marble staircase that lead up to a landing that looked more like a loft space looking down over the foyer.

“This place is beautiful, Fang. Just…wow,” she breathed.

He chuckled. “Glad you like it. After the tour you can tell me all the things you like about it. This dining room is this way.” Taking her hand in his once more, he led her down a wide corridor decorated with framed photographs of desert blooms and wild horses, and into a huge open space. The kitchen was state of the art, and it butted right up against a dining room featuring a eight-seater table in dark wood. The table was set for two, with several large covered platters set in the middle between two lit silver candlesticks.

Ambience. Atmosphere. The overhead lights were low, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the table.

It. Was. Perfect. Romantic without being too in your face. And she absolutely loved all the small touches and kisses he’d been giving her that night. She’d never taken Fang for a touchy guy, but he was proving, again, that she had misread him.

Fang pulled out her chair and she sat, then he pressed a quick kiss to her temple before he sat down beside her, a smile on his face.

He didn’t waste any time lifting the lids off the platters to present her with her favorite carbolicious meal: chicken fettuccini alfredo, with garlic bread and marinara dipping sauce. A capreze salad, olives in oil, and crab-stuffed mushrooms rounded out the feast. Her mouth watered, and not just at the food. Beside her, Fang looked good enough to eat, too, his knowing smile, the flicker of banked need in his eyes, was enough to make her far hungrier for the feast that was him.

But that had to wait, because she refused to make the first move. And, well, she really was hungry. Those cookies at Skathi’s only reminded her stomach there was more space to fill.

Tessa could barely contain her smile as Fang served her a heaping helping of noodles, sauce, and bread before serving himself.

They dug in, Tessa moaning in delight at the taste that exploded on her tongue. Surprisingly, Fang stared at her with heat in his gaze, but he refrained from saying anything remotely sexual.

Instead, he asked her about how her knee was doing, if her landlord ever got her neighbor to stop letting his dog shit in her yard, and they took a bet on whether baby Odin was going to be late or on time. They were mundane questions about everyday things, and she loved it. He was delightful, thoughtful, funny. But it didn’t escape her notice that he never asked anything really personal. And every time she tried to ask him something that had nothing to do with his job at the gym or the club, he skillfully maneuvered the conversation back to her.

It was obvious he was practiced at avoiding personal questions, but what did he expect from her? Wasn’t tonight about them possibly making more of their situationship?

Readying herself to ask just that, she was stymied when Fang blurted, “So tell me about the real Tessa Grimes.”

Suddenly, she wasn’t so keen on personal questions.

Fang stared at Tessa beside him at his own dining table, his dick hard as a fucking rock to see her there, in his home, only several yards from his bed. But he had to take it slowly with her. She was skittish, and he didn’t blame her. When they’d first met, he’d been obliterated by his attraction to her, never having felt such immediate and devastating pull to one person before. He had no idea what to do with what he felt, so he did what he usually did when a beautiful woman was presented to him. He flirted. He played. He teased. And she didn’t give a single fuck. She didn’t take his bullshit, tossing out barbs and snide teasing in return that only ratcheted up the attraction. It wasn’t that she’d said no with her mouth, it was that her mouth said “no,” but her eyes screamed “yes.” She was a contradiction. And when she was kidnapped, he nearly lost his goddamn mind worrying about her, praying to a god he never believed in to keep her safe. To bring her back to him. A god that his mother had prayed to every night, though the fucker never heard her.

“Look,” Tessa sighed, leaning back in her chair, and squaring her shoulders. It was a defensive posture. Like she was gearing up for a match in the octagon. Goddamn, he wanted to spar with her, naked. His sweaty body writhing with hers, pressing her down against the mat….

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