Page 23 of Born in Fire

“So did I.” I look up at him, admiring the way the streetlight catches in his dark hair.

He leans down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want. I don’t. Our lips meet in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens as his mouth moves over mine, warm and minty. His hand cups my face with surprising tenderness, and I find myself leaning into his touch rather than away from it.

When we part, I’m slightly breathless. “Would you like to come up for coffee?”

What the hell, Juno?

The words surprise me as much as him. I never invite men to my apartment. Never.

“I’d like that,” he says softly.

We climb the stairs to my third-floor apartment, and I’m acutely aware of his presence behind me. Not threatening but solid. Real.

Coffee. It’s just coffee.

As we round the final landing, something white catches my eye. My steps falter.

Lilies.

A large bouquet of white lilies is propped against my door.

My mother’s favorite flower. The ones Tyler brought to the funeral. The ones he sends when he wants to remind me of my grief, my vulnerability.

The world narrows to a pinpoint. My chest constricts, lungs suddenly unable to draw air. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out whatever Dorian is saying.

He knows where you live.

Tyler knows where you live!

My hands shake violently as I fumble for my keys, desperate to get inside, to lock the door, to hide. But the lilies block my way, their cloying scent suffocating me.

“Juno?” Dorian’s voice sounds distant, underwater. “What’s wrong?”

I can’t answer. Can’t breathe. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as panic consumes me. My knees buckle, and I feel Dorian’s arms catch me before I hit the floor.

“Keys,” I manage to gasp. “Inside. Please.”

With surprising efficiency, Dorian takes my keys, moves the lilies aside with his foot, and unlocks my door. He guides me inside, his arm strong around my waist. Once the door closes behind us, he locks it—deadbolt, chain, everything—without being told.

“Breathe with me,” he says, his voice low and steady. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it.”

I focus on his voice, trying to match my breathing to his. The panic is a living thing inside me, clawing at my chest, screaming danger.

“The flowers,” I choke out. “Get rid of them. Please.”

Without question, Dorian reopens the door, grabs the lilies, and disappears briefly. I hear a distant thud—the trash chute at the end of the hall. When he returns, he washes his hands thoroughly in my kitchen sink before returning to where I’ve collapsed on the couch.

“They’re gone,” he says, sitting beside me but not touching. “You’re safe.”

The words penetrate the fog of panic. Safe. Am I? Tyler found my address. He was here, at my door.

“He found me,” I whisper, hugging myself tightly.

Dorian’s expression darkens. “Who found you?”

I shake my head, unable to explain the whole sordid history. “My ex. He… doesn’t accept that it’s over.”

Understanding dawns in Dorian’s eyes, followed by something fierce that should frighten me but doesn’t.

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