Blaze turned his attention back to me, dragging his gaze over my flushed cheeks, across my lips and tracing a line from my neck to my shoulder. I felt every inch as if he were touching me. Slowly, he ran his hand over my hair then in one swift movement, he pulled my hair clip out. Dropping the clip on my lap, he ran his fingers through my hair.
“You’re beautiful.” Deep, rough, his voice penetrated to my soul and all I wanted to know in that moment was how long I’d have him.
It was pointless to ask, because nothing would be enough, but it didn’t stop me. “How much time do we have?”
Blaze smiled. It was a tired half smile but for him, I knew it was a happy smile. “Two weeks.”
My heart sank. I’d been hoping for a month but more than that, I was outraged that two weeks was supposed to be enough time for his wounds to heal. It didn’t seem nearly long enough but I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t. So, I snuggled into him and my hand brushed across his hard stomach and started to wrap around his side. But when I felt the lump under his clothes, I froze. “Where else are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Layna.”
Fine? He was fine? Fine would be coming home in one piece. Fine was not looking like a scarred road map of bloody welts. “You can tell me now so I can get over it or you can wait till we get home and I will shred your clothing and inspect every inch of you. And believe me, it will not be pleasurable.”
He broke into a huge grin. “Yeah, I really missed you.”
“Screw you.” He was trying to change the subject.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and brought me just close enough so that our lips were almost touching. “Can’t, we’re in an airport.”
His scent, his hand holding me firm, the way he took charge, he knew every button to push to make me melt. “Blaze,” I pleaded for him to close the distance between us, completely forgetting I was angry.
I grew up in Northern California with my head in a book and my feet in the sand. I dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew me into the world of storytelling. I love the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes me swoon.
I now live in Southern Florida and while I don’t get to read as much as I like, I still bury my toes in the sand. If I’m not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in my backyard, you can find me spending time with my handsomely tattooed husband, my brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
But Seriously?Here are ten things you probably really want to know about me.
I grew up a faculty brat. I can swear like a sailor. I love men in uniform. I hate being told what to do. I can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks me out. My favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—I can’t decide. I have a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on me for driving directions, ever. And I have a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell my husband.