Page 50 of Fire
“And then what?”
The hand that was around my neck settles around my waist, while the other starts to wander from my backside, over my hip, and toward…
I suck in a breath.
His thumb grazes the center of my thighs. It’s barely a whisper of a touch over the now soaking wet lace of my thong, and I’m already trembling in anticipation.
“And then—” My phone starts ringing in my purse.
Are you seriously fucking kidding me right now?
I’m staring at him. He’s staring at me.
His hand is stillright there.
I swallow nervously. “I…” Fuck, this is all suddenly so very awkward. “It might be an emergency.”
He double-blinks as the lust haze begins to lift. He’s looking at me like he just remembered all the reasons why he didn’t want to start this up again.
Yup, reality is a cold-hearted bitch. “Right. Shit.”
It gets even more awkward as I try to shift myself off him, avoiding his very obvious and large erection.
This better not be a telemarketer.
I quickly dig through my purse, pull out my phone, and look at the caller ID. Shit. Definitely not a telemarketer.
“Elena?” I don’t even bother saying hello. I see the look of concern on Hendrix’s face. “What’s up?”
“It’s Marisa. Can you meet me at the side entrance? There is a car waiting. We need to head back.”
“I’m on my way.”
Duty calls.
Chapter Fifteen
HENDRIX
It’s Saturday morning, and we are now in New Orleans. I’m sitting at a table all by myself—breakfast forgotten—in the private dining room the hotel has set up for us. And I’m staring at the entrance like a fucking stalker.
It’s been over twenty-four hours since that night at the club. Twenty-four hours since we kissed, and I had my hands wrapped around…
“Okay, man?”
I blink once, twice, and finally look up to see Zander standing in front of me, wearing a shit-eating grin. “What?”
“I said, Are you okay, brother? You’re staring at that door like I used to stare at that Playboy I stole from Macon’s room when I was fifteen.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Boy Scout Macon used to jerk it to Playboy?”
“Even Macon was a teenager once. And he was never a Boy Scout. You have to have parents who give a shit to take you to stuff like that.” He plops down in the chair next to mine with a giant cup of steaming black coffee in his hands.
“Seriously, add some half and half or something to that. You’re creeping people out.”
“Quit changing the subject,” he says, rolling his eyes. He leans back in the chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. Like everyone else, Z is dressed down for the weekend in a pair of black joggers and a hoodie with a North Carolina surf shop logo on the front. “What’s up with you and Zara? Elena won’t tell me anything. Some bullshit about the girl code. And here I thought marriage vows trumped all, but what do I know?”
I ignore everything else he said. “She’s talked to Elena?”
