Page 164 of Fiery Romance

Her jaw drops. “Medicine?”

I stride past her in order to hide my smile. Behind me, I hear the door slam shut. Her bare feet patter against the floor. Steady thumps. And then stillness.

She says nothing and I allow her to gather herself while I observe her apartment. I can tell a lot about someone’s personality by the way they keep their room.

Island’s living room is messy, but it feels like organized chaos. Folders are stacked on the divider in the kitchen. Boxes of hair conditioners and accessories line one corner. Hair magazines litter the coffee table, pages dog-eared by her favorite styles and inspirations.

She brings her work home with her.

Interesting.

“Why did you buy me medicine? I’m not hurt.”

“Just because you’ve gotten used to the pain doesn’t mean you’re not hurting,” I mutter without looking at her.

“Very philosophical.”

She’s making fun of me? I point to her. “You shake out your right hand often. You also massage that hand in between clients.”

I feel her body stiffen.

“You seem to experience a striking pain in that hand every two hours. It goes away when you braid. It comes back when you stop.”

I shrug out of my jacket, my eyes on the painting she’s hung up. It’s a collection of black faces, all colliding in a cloud of abstract art. Slashes of red and green blend the bodies together.

Beautiful.

I also note there are no pictures of her and Taz anywhere.

A good sign.

Unless all the pictures of him are in her bedroom.

I frown at the thought and turn to her. My eyes rove her body and she goes completely still. Her lips tremble slightly. Not with fear. With anticipation. Coiling. Tightening. The way a spring that’s been flattened remains motionless a second before it bursts free.

How fascinating.

Her clothes tell me to keep my hands to myself, but her eyes beg me to strip her of every layer.

“How do you know about my hand?” Island stomps in front of me. Face upturned and begging for my kisses.

“Because I study the things I care about,” I respond calmly.

It’s been a long time since a woman has engaged me like this. And it’s more than just sexual chemistry. Sex is mindless and transactional if it’s with someone you don’t respect. With Island, it’s different. Iwant to know her in every way. Not just intimately. What makes her tick. What makes her laugh. What makes her sigh in sorrow and brighten with joy.

I slide my thumb over her delicate features, warming myself in the twin flames dancing behind her light brown eyes. I’m torn between the aching need to hold her and the intense desire to care for her.

In the end, the choice is very clear.

I sit in the couch and take her hand, leading her to sit beside me. I would rather she sit in my lap, but I won’t push my luck.

“Have you been spying on me?” Island frowns.

Yes, I have definitely been spying on you, sweetheart.

“That depends. What do you call spying?” I remove the ointment from the box and squeeze the cream on my finger.

She’s too smart to buy my act. Her eyebrows knot together. “You know you’re breaking the law, don’t you? That’s a serious invasion of privacy.”

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