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

chest and blinked
at her. “Well shit, I hope not.”
    She started, then buried her face in her
hands with a helpless laugh. “I’m sorry. You have to have one
annoying question people ask you. Hellhounds aren’t exactly common,
either.”
    The elevator stopped at their floor with an
almost inaudible beep. “Come on, let’s get to the room. I want to
show you something.”
    “ Okay.” She followed him to
the door at the end of the hallway. The key fit into a card reader
embossed with a stylized flame, and the room pulsed with protective
spells.
    Jarrett led her inside, tossed the key on a
low table by the door, and held up his hand. “Put your palm to
mine.”
    After discarding her purse and slipping out
of her shoes, she moved to obey. Her skin was good and warm now,
and she caught her lip between her teeth and stared at their
hands.
    “ Now light it up,” he
whispered. “You can, right?”
    She licked her lower lip and let her eyelids
droop. Flames licked up her wrist, dancing over her hand and up her
fingers to ghost over his skin. They tingled, shooting straight
through his bloodstream to his throbbing cock, and he had to
concentrate on absorbing them. “Open your eyes.”
    “ Oh...” Her eyes widened as
she watched the fire melt into his skin, and her nervousness broke.
She surged up onto her toes and caught his lips in a desperate,
openmouthed kiss.
    It felt better than he expected, sweeter
somehow, and he plunged his fingers into her upswept hair. She
moaned and gripped his shirt, tugged him toward the bed with clumsy
eagerness.
    Not yet. Jarrett broke the kiss with a groan and stilled
her movements with both hands on her hips. “Let me undress
you.”
    Phoebe whimpered, but didn’t fight him.
“Whatever you want. Just promise you’ll fuck me.”
    He said fuck at least fifty times a day, and
it never sounded as naughty as her voice wrapped around the single
syllable. “I’ll fuck you hard, sweetheart. Swear to
God.”
    “ Can hounds from Hell swear
to God?”
    “ You bet your sweet ass.” He
slipped his hands up under her skirt and teased his fingertips
along the backs of her thighs.
    She shuddered and reached for the pins he’d
dislodged, dropping each one carelessly to the floor as she worked
it free. “Tell me why you come here. Just to scratch the itches of
lonely women?”
    She probably wanted to hear something
profound, something downright poetic. “I come here to get off,
Phoebe. Everything else is an intriguing bonus.”
    “ But why here ?” She tugged at his shirt,
working it high enough to allow her hands to slip across his
abdomen. “Do you need supernatural lovers?”
    “ Need is relative, isn’t
it?” He dragged his shirt over his head. “Sometimes it’s nice not
to have to hide who I am.”
    Tiny wisps of flame curled across her fingers
as she pressed a hand to the center of his chest. “Sometimes I wish
I could hide. Those of us who cannot haven’t adapted to modern
times very well.”
    Jarrett drew her hand up to his mouth and
licked her fingers. “You get a little fiery sometimes?”
    “ I have... I have very
good—” Her breath caught, and the flames danced in her eyes now,
too, before she squeezed them shut. “Do you think the sheets and
blankets are fireproof? Because my clothes aren’t.”
    “ Yes, they are.” At her
confused look, he nodded to the door. “You didn’t feel it when we
walked in? The warding?”
    “ I felt a jolt. Heat.” She
turned and lifted her hair, revealing the zipper on her dress. “But
I feel that every time you touch me.”
    Flattering—and arousing. “The wards extend to
protect anything inanimate that comes into the room. Your clothes
won’t burn and your jewelry won’t melt.” He pulled the tab of her
zipper down slowly.
    “ Oh.” She was breathing
faster now. “I suppose that’s why it costs so much.”
    “ Part of the reason.” The
black fabric parted to reveal creamy, pale skin, and he brushed a
kiss over the