Firecracker (Last Call, Book Six) by Moira Rogers Page A

clicked smartly on the floor as she crossed to the top step.
Her brow furrowed as her gaze slid over his tattooed arms and back
to his face. “What are you?”
    He could be charming when he needed to be. “A
hound of hell. Want me to nip at your heels?”
    As if hypnotized, she descended two steps.
“Fire truly won’t burn you?”
    “ Well, considering the hell
thing... If it did, I’d be fucked.”
    Her cheeks turned pink, and she held out the
key. “And here I thought that was rather the point.”
    “ Smartass.” At least she
liked what she saw. “Want to finish your drink?”
    “ Not particularly.” She
looked self-consciously at her outstretched hand. “Am I doing this
incorrectly? I thought I was supposed to offer you the
key.”
    “ You are.” He accepted it,
but forced himself to move slowly. “I can see you’re not the kind
of lady who comes to places like this a lot, though, so I’m going
to take my time.”
    “ A considerate hellhound.”
She looked momentarily baffled, but then a smile curled her lips as
she stepped off the stairs. “I don’t need a drink, but I wouldn’t
mind a dance.”
    She wasn’t just pretty, not
when she smiled. She was beautiful , and Jarrett wrapped his
hand around hers. “What’s your name?”
    “ Phoebe.” Her hand was as
cool as a human’s against his own. “And you are?”
    “ Jarrett Chance.” Instead of
shaking her hand and releasing her, he pulled her close to his
chest.
    She gasped and closed her eyes, which spared
her from the curious looks of the crowd. Most people who shelled
out money for a room got straight to the fucking, but Phoebe was
obviously starved for a little touch. He had plenty of time, and if
he played his cards right, she’d be burning before they ever got on
the elevator.
    Maybe literally.
    On second thought. “One dance, sweetheart. Then I want to see what’s
under this proper little dress.”
    “ Proper underwear,” she
murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her purse bumped the
back of his head, and she laughed. “Boring underwear. I didn’t wear
anything I would have minded lighting on fire.”
    “ That’s a shame.” Jarrett
touched the nape of her neck, and her skin heated under his
hand.
    “ I know.” She traced the
tattoo winding down his arm. “I’m out of my league.”
    He couldn’t help but laugh. “Me too, Phoebe.
Me too.”
    “ People are staring at us.”
Her fingertip edged up under his sleeve. “Would it be breaking the
rules if I kissed you?”
    “ No,” he murmured, his cock
already straining against his jeans. “But we might light the place
up, and Ben would kick our asses out.”
    “ You’re on a first-name
basis with the owner?” The thought seemed to amuse her, but she
eased away. For one moment, her brown eyes seemed to glow. “Have
you ever met a phoenix?”
    He’d thought she was maybe a pyromancer,
someone with poor control. He’d never imagined she might be a
creature of flame herself. “Never.”
    Phoebe didn’t look away from him. “I burn
every time I come,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming as if she was
well on her way to catching fire already. “It’s an awkward
distraction for most lovers. Even the flame resistant ones.”
    Jesus Christ , the very thought made him
want to sink with her to the dance floor, push up her dress, and
get his face between her thighs. He’d make her burn right there. “I
can handle it, sweetheart. Cross my heart.”
    “ The bartender said the room
would be fireproof.” She twined her fingers with his and pulled him
toward the back of the bar—and the elevator. “You should take me
there before I get too warm.”
    He swiped the key and kept his hand on her
back until the doors slid open. “After you.”
    Phoebe slipped past him and put her back to
the wall, her gaze following his hands as he punched the button for
the right floor. “I’m not going to die or anything. After I catch
fire, I mean.”
    He folded his arms over his