All Fired Up by Kristen Painter Page B

sharply at her unexpected touch, he closed his eyes. The warmth of her hand spread through him, stilling his spirit, washing the goddess’s vile caresses away. Her kindness awoke a hunger in him that had been dormant many years. The edge of it cut away the last of his foul mood. What power this woman wielded in her touch.
    He opened his eyes and returned her smile. “I am very well. Very well, indeed.”
    She took her hand back. “So you want to go grab a bite to eat? Is Thai okay? Do you know what Thai is?”
    “I will eat with you. I do not know this food you speak of, but it will be fine.”
    “Okay, cool. You want to get dressed and we’ll go? I’ll go in my bedroom. Just knock when you’re done.” With that, she disappeared down the hall.
    He picked up the folded jeans and sweatshirt she had left for him and held them to his nose. They smelled sweet, just like she did, and the softness was greatly improved. After he finished dressing, he shouted toward her bedroom. “Calleigh lass, I am covered to your liking.”
    She stuck her head out. “What part of ‘knock when you’re done’ sounded like ‘yell at the top of your lungs’?”
    “Thank you for making the jeans softer.”
    “You’re welcome. So they feel better?”
    “Aye, they are softer but they still bind my—”
    She held her hands up. “Don’t! I don’t need to hear whatever you were about to say.”
    “I was going to say thighs.” He grinned. What was she thinking about? Were her thoughts the same as his?
    Grabbing her things from the table, she headed for the door. He reached it before she did and held it open.
    Her brow furrowed. “I’m already buying, you don’t have to butter me up.”
    “I am not putting butter on you. You told me a gentleman holds a door for a lady. I am being a gentleman.”
    She paused, her hand on his forearm and her fragrance filling his nose. He wanted to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her curls. If only she would ask. Sometimes the constraints of not interfering aggravated him as much as Freya.
    “Thank you.” She smiled. “That’s really very sweet of you. I’ll try not to be such a smart mouth.”
    Before he could tell her what he thought of her mouth, she was outside, jangling her keys. “Gosh, it’s chilly. I should have bought you a jacket. We don’t have far to walk but I don’t want to stand out here all night.”
    He shut the door, waited for her to lock it, then walked beside her. Her jeans followed the curve of her hips and the roundness of her backside so well, it took very little to imagine her out of them.
    “Do those jeans not bind you? They look snug.”
    She shot him an odd look. “When did you become the fashion police?”
    “Is it not lawful to wear loose clothing?”
    “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry you don’t like my jeans. I just bought them and I think they fit fine. And no, they don’t bind me.”
    “I do like them. I also think they fit fine.” He thought about what she’d told him earlier. “Are you wearing underwear then?”
    Her already rosy cheeks went a shade darker. “That is not a question you ask a lady!”
    “So you are not wearing underwear?”
    She stopped and looked around so he looked too. The street was empty.
    “Alrik! Gentlemen don’t talk to ladies about their undergarments, unless they know each other very well.” She pronounced the word very as if she were speaking to a deaf man.
    He crossed his arms and lifted his chin to hide his amusement. “But ladies may talk to gentlemen about theirs? I am confused.”
    “Let’s just change the subject.”
    She started walking again, so he did too but he was not ready to change the subject. “Underwear embarrasses you?”
    “I’m not talking about that any more.” She did not look at him.
    “Your sweater fits you very well also.”
    “Okay!” She gave him a look that was half smile, half scowl. “New topic. Where did you go earlier?”
    “I do not wish to speak of