Page 79 of Sparking Sara

I look up from the novel. “That’s a thing?”

“It is. Authors would probably kill to have you narrate their books. The way you read is just …”

“What?” I ask.

Her cheeks pink up. “It’s sexy.”

I roll my eyes at her and get back to reading. After another chapter, it almost looks like Sara is falling asleep. I contemplate stopping, but I’m kind of getting into the book. The main characters are having a fight and there is so much sexual tension. Then he grabs her and throws her against the wall. They rip off each other’s clothes and do things to each other. A lot of things.

I have to shift around on the chair. It’s fortunate I’m sitting down because, damn it, I’ve gotten an erection. But you can hardly blame me, it’s like watching porn. Except it’s in my head. And because it’s in my head, all I see when I picture the characters are Sara and me. Me throwing her against a wall. Her grabbing my dick. Us sinking to the floor and getting naked.

I glance up at Sara and see she’s not asleep. Her eyes are closed, but she’s definitely not sleeping. In fact, she’s smiling. And she’s biting her lower lip.

When she realizes I’m no longer reading, her eyes open. “Don’t stop now, it’s just getting good.”

We stare at each other for a few long, drawn-out seconds before I have to avert my gaze because her chocolate eyes burning into mine do nothing to tamp down my rising problem.

I try to get through the chapter, speaking softly in case anyone walks by Sara’s door. Damn, Baylor. She can write one hell of a sex scene. It goes on for pages.

When the chapter comes to an end and the characters have been thoroughly bedded, I put down the book. “My throat is dry from all the reading,” I say, getting up to go into her bathroom.

I’m glad I’m walking away from her and not towards her, because there would be no hiding my physical reaction to what I just read her.

In the bathroom, I splash water on my face. Then I stare at myself in the mirror. “You can’t think of her like that, you idiot.”

I take a minute to let my erection wane. When I emerge from the bathroom, Sara is getting out of bed. She goes to step with her left foot and falters. I race over and catch her before she hits the ground. Her arms go around my neck as I hold her up to steady her.

She looks up at me, and that’s when I realize neither of us has let the other go. It’s the first time we’ve ever had this kind of close physical contact. And damn it, she feels so good in my arms. And her eyes. Those eyes I dream about at night. They’re even more magnificent being only inches from my own.

For a moment, it’s almost like we’ve been transformed into the characters of the book I was reading. The intense feelings I’m having are magnified by the words I read just moments ago.

My gaze falls to her lips. Her tongue darts out to wet them. And then, just like in the book, Sara’s hands grab me by the back of the neck, pulling my head down to hers. And just like in the book, I’m helpless to stop it.

Our lips crash together like they’ve been searching for their perfect match. Then they stay together as if they think they’ve found it. Her lips are soft. Plump. Inviting. And they taste of pepperoni. I explore her mouth with my tongue as I feel my erection strain to make a second appearance.

Kissing Sara is different from kissing any other woman I’ve kissed before. It’s better. It’s better in ways I can’t even explain except to say I’d rather be kissing her than sleeping with anyone else.

Then, suddenly, my conscience gets the better of me and I pull away. But I don’t let her go. I place my forehead on hers. “Sara,” I say, breathing heavily. “We can’t.”

“I know,” she says, not pulling away either.

I ease her back so she’s sitting on the bed. Then I retreat to the other side of the room.

“I’m sorry,” she says, seeing my reaction. “That was all my fault.”

I run a hand through my hair. “It’s not like I resisted or anything. There’s no blame here. But we can’t let that happen again. You have a fiancé. He loves you, Sara.”

She nods. “I know. And he … he seems great. Especially now. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“There’s a term for it, you know. At FDNY we call it a ‘rescue crush.’ It’s not uncommon for victims to develop feelings for the people who save them.”

She looks embarrassed. “So this will go away?”

“Of course it will,” I say. “As soon as you get home and back to your life, you’ll be asking,‘Denver who’?”

She laughs. But it’s not genuine.

And I realize I’ve lied to her for the second time. I’ve lied to her because I let her believeshe’sthe problem here whenI’mthe one who’s gone and fallen for her.

---