Eddie closed his eyes as her fingers touched his throat, sliding up against the strong lines of his jaw. Hot skin. Hot as fire. Her right remained curled in a fist against her stomach.
She brushed some frosting from the corner of his mouth.
“Got it,” she whispered.
“Maybe you missed a spot,” he replied, softly.
Lyssa scooted closer, rising to her knees, and studied the hard lines of his face, the slight curl of his dark hair over his forehead. His eyes opened as she stared at him — and as always, she found herself caught in the intensity of his gaze, which was becoming as familiar as her own.
“I dreamed you,” she told him, unable to stop herself. “For a month, I’ve dreamed of fire. And inside the fire there was always a man. I could never see any part of him clearly, except his eyes. Your eyes.”
Eddie made a soft sound. “That was why you seemed to recognize me.”
“It shocked me,” she told him. “And it was frightening.”
“Are you frightened now?”
Lyssa shook her head. “No.”
He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him in one smooth, hard movement. Instead of feeling as though she was going to topple over, his strength filled her, warm and light, and the emptiness inside her chest no longer felt so vast and hollow.
Eddie bent his head, only a breath from kissing her.
“Good,” he murmured, and closed the distance, drawing her lips between his. She sighed against his mouth, and his hands tightened with a crushing strength that felt as good and safe as his kiss.
“Closer,” she breathed, and he laughed softly, curling his broad, hard frame around her body, tangling his fingers in her hair while his other arm squeezed them together in a devastating embrace that still was not near enough for what she needed.
In your skin. In you, thought Lyssa, reaching beneath his shirt to slide her hand up the lean, straining muscles of his back. Eddie grunted and kissed her harder. Fire licked the tips of her fingers — real flames, skimming his skin and hers. She didn’t need to see the fire to know they were burning. It felt as though she held her hand against the surface of a swift-moving river of lava, molten and throbbing.
Eddie broke off their kiss, both of them breathing so hard it sounded as though they were in pain.
I am, she decided, burying her face against his throat. I’m in agony.
His hand tightened in her hair, and he murmured in a deep, rumbling voice, “I have to tell you something.”
Lyssa started laughing. “That is the worst thing you could say to a girl at a time like this.”
Eddie laughed, too, swaying them as if a slow song was playing. “No, it’s nothing. . nothing like that. I’m not married. If I had a girlfriend, we wouldn’t be. .”
She smiled, nipping his throat. “I get it.”
He shivered, breath hitching when she scraped her teeth over his skin a second time. “I just. . when you asked me before about whether I ever lose control of my fire, I told you yes. Just now. . it was going to happen again. When you. . touched my back.”
She was still touching his back. “Are you okay?”
Something pained entered his eyes. “I don’t want to be.”
Lyssa understood what he meant.
“But that’s. . not me,” he went on. “I never let myself feel anything. . that might make me lose control. I just don’t. I can’t.”
Some of that cold emptiness returned. “Oh.”
Eddie leaned back, forcing her to look at him. Lyssa was shocked to find his eyes, those dark and dangerous eyes, filled with a sorrow and hunger that wrenched her soul.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t know how to be. . normal with someone. I’ve tried. I managed to pull it off a time or two, but I always had to hold back.”
“Because of the fire,” she murmured, aching for him.
“Not just that,” he said, and held up his hand, showing her his scars. Something old and weary entered his gaze, making Lyssa dig her fingers into his shirt to hold herself — and him — steady.
“This is a longer story than just a couple cigarettes,” he whispered.
Lyssa reached for his scarred hand and kissed it. Eddie’s chest rose and fell.
“You and me both,” she said, hoping he would understand what she was trying to tell him.
His other hand touched her cheek. His fingers trembled.
“Lyssa Andreanos,” he whispered, saying her name with such tenderness. “You’re going to break my heart.”
“Funny,” she whispered. “I’ve thought the exact same thing about you.”
He leaned in with excruciating gentleness to kiss her cheek. His scent washed over her, as did a slow-burning heat that poured through her muscles, into her heart.
Just a little kiss, but it felt amazing.
Lyssa grabbed the front of his shirt when he began to pull away. Eddie stilled, watching her with those dark, knowing eyes. She wanted to speak but had no words. Or maybe too many words. Too much fear, and uncertainty.
But loneliness was the most powerful of all.
She swayed closer, and he met her halfway, sliding his other hand into her hair as she pressed her mouth against his, soft at first — then harder — falling into his embrace as though she were drowning for his arms, his heat, that kiss.
Before Eddie, Lyssa hadn’t been kissed much in her life. She’d met boys while living on the streets, formed strong attachments and crushes when she’d banded temporarily with other children. But there’d always been a law of diminishing returns when it came to kisses. She’d feel nothing. Nothing but empty on the inside.
The opposite was true with Eddie. Every glance, each touch, was electrifying. His kisses, the same — times a thousand — growing more intense with each caress. Caught in fire. Burning in light. His mouth hot on hers as he buried his hands in her hair, dragging her tight against him. She felt like a fool to be so easily swept away. . but not being here, the idea of not knowing this man, or being held by him. . set a stranglehold on her heart that refused to ease.
He is yours, whispered the dragon. You are his. Stop fighting what must be. You were born for each other.
That doesn’t happen, she replied. Does it?
Someone knocked on the apartment door.
They flinched apart.
Lyssa glanced at Eddie and found him transformed. He gave her a cold, hard look that reminded her again of how he had reacted to Aaron Roacher — with pure ruthlessness and no hesitation.
Again, more knocking.
Eddie helped Lyssa stand, but her knees almost buckled, muscles aching as though she’d climbed a hundred flights of stairs. He caught her easily, both of them silent. He moved with the same effortless grace as a shape-shifter, coiled with power.
She fumbled for her glove. Her hands shook too violently to put it on. Eddie took it from her and slid the soft knit over her fingers. When he was done, he laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed.
“Yo, messenger service!” came a muffled male voice from the other side of the door. “Anyone home?”
He put his finger over his lips. Lyssa didn’t move. A minute later, that same voice muttered, “Fuck,” and she heard a thump. Then, receding footsteps.
Eddie waited another minute before going to the door. After listening carefully, he undid the locks. A brown paper parcel was in the hall on the floor.
He picked it up, very carefully. “It has your name on it. And this address.”
“What?”
Eddie gave her a disgruntled look. “We were tracked here. But how did they know this exact apartment? I was sure that no one followed us to this floor.”