Page 32 of The Fire We Crave

Catfish glances toward my ribs. “How bad is it?”

I place my hand lightly on my ribs. “Mostly second-degree burns. Some damage to my throat and lungs. Smoke burns and all that shit.”

“Man, you’ve been through it.”

“Least I’m alive.”

“Must be good to be back home, though. In your own bed. Drinking your own beer. Being back with the club.”

I rest my elbow on the open window and worry my lip between my finger and thumb. “Yeah.”

“And are we talking about why you’ve been home nearly a week and Quinn is still at your house?”

I shake my head. “We came to an agreement. She’s doing some shit around the house for me while I heal. Cleaning. Laundry. Shit like that.”

Catfish purses his lips for a second. “Couldn’t she do that by popping in a couple of times a week?”

I sigh. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

Catfish glances in the rearview mirror. “What else is there to do? We’re going to be sitting in the truck for ten more minutes. Quinn’s an attractive woman. Wouldn’t blame you if you were knocking boots with her. Be fun to break in that tiny body of hers.”

I ignore the immediate feeling of jealousy that rumbles through my chest. The idea that Catfish sees Quinn for the attractive woman she is irritates me.

The kiss yesterday on the lawn was…intense. Fueled by the way the afternoon played out. We’d managed to escape, but the firepower had been provided by one of Lev Zakharov’s henchmen. Saw one of them reaching for a phone, so I guess they’d put in the call while following us to let others know we were in town.

He even had the audacity to do a drive-by as we hurried back to our truck and made a childish gun gesture with two fingers, like he was trying to smoke us or some shit.

So, to arrive home to the thought Quinn wasn’t being properly taken care of, I stormed into that lot and reamed Shane out in a way that was disproportionate to what had happened.

And worse? Quinn looked at me with sympathy.

I placed my hand over hers.

You’re okay, Smoke. So am I. It’s all okay.

I wasn’t able to bring myself to walk away.

All I could think about was that the world felt better because of the way she looked, hanging laundry on a washing line I should have hung for her.

Can’t believe I got territorial over a washing line.

And then, I kissed her.

A helluva first kiss.

Onlykiss.

Her body melted against mine, and it was all I could do to not lift her off the ground, encourage her to wrap those fantastic legs of hers around my waist, and carry her back into the house.

She’s lucky I didn’t lie her down on the grass and fuck her right there.

I even muttered her name before the scent of her and the feel of her and the sound of her brought me to my senses.

It was like the sun fell out of the sky when I pushed her away from me and said no. Her confusion was so palpable, I could feel it.

When she apologized, I wanted to give myself a beating.

“Fuck,” I mutter and thread a hand through my hair.

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