Page 143 of Fiery Romance

This is personal.

“Did. He. Hurt. You.”

“Byron? No.” She licks her lips. Her hands slide against my wrists and cover my whitening knuckles. “Clay, I’m okay. I’m fine. You… can you stop looking at me like that? I’m not in danger.”

Her words snap me back to myself. There seem to be no visible wounds or signs of violation, which further proves her point.

I tilt my head in confusion. “Then what are you doing here?” My eyes draw down her lean legs to the fuzzy slippers. “Why were you running?”

“I ran to tell you…” She blinks rapidly. “Wait. How did you know I ran here?”

“Security cameras.” I hold up my phone.

She groans. “Did you see me trip?”

“You caught your balance very well.”

“This is embarrassing. I didn’t want you to see me acting crazy.”

“I already knew you were crazy,” I say.

She scrunches her nose. “Don’t tease me right now. I have something important to say.”

I stare at her, waiting.

She steps toward me with a somber expression. “Clay Bolton, you are overwhelming and inflexible. You always have to be right about everything. Which makes you very annoying.”

I frown. Did she run all the way here just to insult me?

“But I… have feelings for you. Strong feelings. And I don’t want to regret not pursuing this.” Her eyes climb to mine. There’s a smile flirting with her lips. “I don’t want to regret you, Clay.”

It’s not a promise that she’s chosen me. It’s not a vow that she’ll break up with her open-relationship scammer of a boyfriend.

But I don’t need that right now.

It’s enough that she’s here.

It’s enough that I can hold her.

So I do.

I pounce on her like a lion on his last meal and drag her over the threshold into my arms.

Island Hayes makes me voracious, insane. And I devour her, pinning her to my body like I’m a scientist trying to graft two very different plants.

She melts beneath me, her trim, athletic frame whipping up my heated blood and making my heart beat so hard it could power a submarine.

Damn. I’ve lost it.

She’s subdued me.

Destroyed me.

So I return the favor with my hands, with my tongue, with every dangerous kiss and white-hot touch as I begin to rip her out of each scrap of fabric between her naked body and my greedy eyes.

“Clay,” she breathes out, her hands sliding over the back of my neck and tugginghardas I push her thighs further apart , “what if… someone… walks down… the stairs?”

Hunger roars through me, nearly slicing me in half.

---