Page 13 of Fire

The moment seemed to linger, caught in a vortex of spiraling need, building her expectations to a fevered pitch.

And then his lips landed on hers. Not the slightest bit soft, his kiss was as fierce and controlling as he was right from the start, demanding entry that she—oh so willingly—conceded to.

She reached for his hip, but Blake blocked her, his hand sliding across her back to grasp her arm at the elbow. He pulled it behind her as the hand in her hair tugged her head back and deepened the kiss.

Gwen lost all semblance of awareness, her body languid and floating on a sea of sensual sensation.

Until he moved.

Mouths still connected, he walked them until her back hit the wall. He removed his hand from behind her, slapping it against the dark-paneled wood. The wall moved slowly, swinging inward. Not a wall—a door.

Ripping her mouth from his, she turned her head enough to see they were standing in the doorway to a connecting room. The wood paneling of the office continued as the theme, as well as the gray carpeting. A door was open at the side of the room, revealing a bathroom and from where she was standing, she could also see it included a shower. Another door stood closed. A small sitting area large enough for a loveseat and small coffee table took up space in front of a wall that displayed a large TV.

She slowly took all that in so she could avoid the one large object that dominated the room.

The bed.

Decorated in dark shades, it was hard to miss, even though she really, really tried.

“What’s this?” It was a rhetorical question. It was quite clear what “this” was. But what wasn’t clear was the purpose of her being there.

Until it was.

“You didn’t expect me to fuck you on the floor of my office?”

She hadn’t expected toget fuckedat all. At least not yet. Her mind spun. The implication of him needing a bedroom off his office said so much. And none of it good. She wasn’t a simpering virgin nor a prude, but she did have her standards. And those didn’t include one-night stands. She’d tried that once and had felt like shit for weeks afterward. So, no matter how Blake made her feel, no matter how much her body may want him, that wasn’t happening.

Gwen stepped fully out of his embrace, his fingers tugging at her hair as he let her go. “I should leave,” she said as she hurriedly stepped around him.

It was the second time she’d said those words that night, but that time she’d meant them and wouldn’t be talked out of it.

“Wait.” He reached for her arm, but she evaded his touch, rushing for the door.

He started to say something else, there was a desperation in his tone, but the door fell closed on his words, and she didn’t hear what he had to say—didn’t want to hear what he had to say because it didn’t matter. She ran down the steps as quickly as possible on her heels and made straight for the exit of the club.

Gwen hit the sidewalk, out of breath and slightly frantic. She knew she’d done the right thing, but on some hidden level, running away felt wrong.

Not wanting him to catch her and talk her out of her resolve, she ducked into an all-night coffee shop a half a block down and pulled out her phone. Her first call was for an Uber. Her second was a text to Allie, telling her she wasn’t feeling well and that she would see her at home.

She ordered a decaffeinated vanilla latte and sat down to drink it while she waited. As her heart rate decreased, her mind cleared. When she’d left for Fire that evening, she hadn’t known how the night would go, but she’d been excitedly hopeful.

Funny how outlooks can change in so short a time.

Chapter 4

Blake sent her flowers the next morning.

Gwen was in the stockroom, steaming a shipment of silk blouses that had arrived the day before, when Sheila poked her head in. “Hey, got a minute?”

“Sure.” Clicking off the appliance, Gwen set it on the utility table then navigated around the open box and packaging trash that littered the floor.

“What’s up?” she asked, reaching the door Sheila held open. A big smile plastered her face that made Gwen instantly suspicious.

Still being cryptic, she replied, “I take it your date went well last night.”

It took a second to process she meant the date with Jason she’d never gone on. She shook her head. “I canceled.”

Smile falling, confusion transformed Sheila’s face. “Then who sent the flowers?”

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