Burning Alive

Helen stared at her hand. On his shoulder. No big thing, right? She was a grown woman and had touched plenty of men’s shoulders in her lifetime. Even some naked ones. Sure, never any quite so wide or well sculpted as Drake’s, and certainly none with intricately tattooed branches etched into them, but that didn’t mean she had any reason to be staring, unable to move or even blink. It was just a shoulder. It wasn’t even a naughty part.



Which brought up a whole new set of images in her head. Naughty parts, indeed. Naked Drake naughty parts. Yum.



I’m losing it. It was a statement of fact at this point. Or perhaps lost it would have been closer to the truth. Past tense. No turning back. No hope.



“I don’t hear any splashing back there,” he said. “Need some help?”



Lots of help. Of the psychiatric variety. More than he could give. “I’m fine.” It came out as a squeak and Helen winced.



“You don’t sound fine.” He started to turn his head.



Helen freaked and covered her sudsy breasts with her arms. “Don’t look!”



Drake let out a pained gasp and doubled over.



Shit. She’d let go of him. “Sorry,” she yelped, and she scrambled to sit up enough to reach him. Water sloshed over the side of the tub, making a mess of the floor. She pressed a dripping hand against his lower back—the closest thing to her—and Drake pulled in a deep breath.



“Son of a bitch!”



“I’m so sorry, Drake.” She stroked his spine, hoping to ease his pain.



He was breathing hard and a fine sweat had broken out over his back. It took him a couple of minutes to pull himself together, but Helen didn’t try to hurry him. She felt bad enough as it was forgetting that he needed her to stay in contact. After he’d put his body between her and a fire-wielding monster, remembering that one little thing should have been the least she could do. She felt horrible that she’d forgotten.



“I’m okay now,” he said, but it sounded like a lie. He was still stiff, holding his arms around his middle as if his stomach hurt.



He leaned back and Helen petted him for a minute, making slow, sweeping passes over his bare back. That seemed to help him relax, so she let her hand slide up his spine until it settled at the nape of his neck. His dark hair fell over part of her hand and she could feel the slippery width of the iridescent choker he wore. There was no clasp that she could detect and she wondered how he got it off.



“I’m going to reach in that water and take hold of your ankle, and I swear to God if you pull your hand away or freak out again I’m going to climb into that tub with you and make sure that enough of our skin is touching so there’s no chance of another mistake. Got it?”



Oh yeah. She got that image in all its wet, slippery detail. It would be a tight squeeze to get him to fit in the tub with her, but she was fairly sure that they could get creative enough to manage it. “I won’t freak out.”



Without turning around, he reached his hand back and found her ankle deep in the warm water. His fingers curled around it and only then did he let out a relieved sigh.



“You think you can make this quick? This whole having you naked thing is a little harder on me than I thought it would be.”



She was not going to ask how hard. No. Not even with an opening like that. Instead, she threw herself into the washing process, scrubbed herself from head to toe, and was done in less than three minutes flat. Her hair was still dripping into her face when she reached for the towel she’d laid by the tub. Part of it had been soaked by the water that she’d sloshed out of the tub, but she didn’t care. She also had no idea where her elastic hair bands had gone, but if she could find a brush, she would count herself fortunate.



Helen unstopped the tub and rose a little awkwardly to her feet. She was careful not to dislodge Drake’s hand while she did a quick job of drying off. Everything from the knees down was still dripping, but the rest of her was good. When the towel was securely around her torso, she said, “Okay. I’m covered.”



“Pity,” he replied.



She smirked and offered Drake her hand. He gallantly helped her out of the slippery tub, then laced his fingers through hers.



“What now?” she asked. “Other than the part where I stop being naked. Obviously.”



He looked like she’d punched him in the gut. “I am not going to survive you, woman.”



The vision of her death reared up for a split second, the flames and Drake’s smiling face blocking out all else. A moment later, she was back in the bathroom, damp and naked, but safe. She felt a tremor run through her limbs and she tried to give Drake a playful smile. She was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace. “Actually, I’m fairly certain you’ll survive me just fine.”



He was looking at her funny, his head bent down so he was eye level with her. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what was that I just felt—that spike of fear?”



“Nothing. Just forget it.”



“Like hell I will. It’s not the first time I felt it, either. What was that?”



“It’s really no big deal.”



“Anything that makes you that afraid that fast is a big deal. It’s my job to kill things that scare you like that. Tell me what it is and I’ll go kill it for you.”



He was serious. He really, literally, meant he would kill something for her. She wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or flattered. He really knew how to throw a woman for a loop with a caveman statement like that.



“How about we just find me something to wear instead?” she suggested.



“Now you’re just trying to distract me, reminding me that you’re all wet and naked under that towel.”



Oh yeah, as if she really thought a man like him could be swayed by the thought of her not-so-hot body. How ridiculous. “Is it working?” she teased, giving him the opening to laugh it off.



He didn’t. In fact, he backed her up until she was flush against the door. His body crowded hers and he held both her wrists against the door, just above her head. “The distraction would work better if you took the towel off.”



He was giving her that hungry stare again—the one that made her wonder just what it was he was looking at because it sure as hell wasn’t her. No way. Men did not look at Helen like that. Not like they wanted to devour her.



“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked only because she really wasn’t sure.



“Wanting you. Needing you.”



“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.



“You don’t believe me?” he asked, silky smooth. His hips pressed forward, tight against her, and she could feel the unmistakable ridge of his erection hard against her belly.



Words failed her. Breathing failed her, too. She just stared at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look because she couldn’t do anything else.



His gaze shifted to her mouth and lingered as his head bent down, drifting closer and closer. Helen knew he was going to kiss her and there was nothing she could do to convince herself to make him stop.



Chapter 8



Drake was dying to kiss her. He wanted more than just a kiss, but the kissing part was no longer an option. She was just going to have to let him have a taste. After, she could kick and scream and rant, but right now she was just going to have to deal. He was going to kiss her and that was that, just like he’d been longing to do since the moment he’d gotten close enough to see her mouth—that soft, full mouth of hers that was now parted on a shocked gasp. She was looking at him like she didn’t really believe he’d do it, and that kind of challenge was just too much for him to resist.



He bent his head and saw her eyes flutter shut in acceptance. The thrill of victory raced through him, but he didn’t let it make him hurry. Not this. He kissed her, just a little, just a soft press of his lips on hers. Almost chaste. It shouldn’t have been enough to even warm him up—wouldn’t have been with any other woman—but instead, lust boiled through him until he felt singed, heated from the inside out as if he were burning alive and loving every second of it.



She made a soft sound of wonder, which parted her lips, and Drake took advantage of the opening. He slid the tip of his tongue along her upper lip, getting a tiny taste of her.



Dear, sweet, merciful heaven, she tasted good. His stomach tightened and he tried to remind himself to be careful. Go slowly. Enjoy the ride. In theory, it was a good idea, but in reality, with her body softening against his and her lips parting wider in invitation, restraint just wasn’t feasible. He needed more of her. All she had to give.



He threaded his fingers through her wet hair and tipped her head back like he’d been longing to do all night. Too bad those wicked braids were gone, because he was just sure that tugging on them would make him hotter than hellfire. She complied eagerly, going where he led until the angle was perfect for him to tease her mouth open, to give him room to taste her deeper, to sink into her and let his senses just soak her in.



Sparks of power jolted through him and were absorbed by her wherever bare skin touched bare skin. The rush of sensation made him dizzy, greedy for more. He didn’t want any barrier between them—no space, no clothing, nothing.



Her fingers curled over his naked shoulder and held on to him like she thought he might try to get away. Not bloody likely. She made lovely little desperate noises that had him halfway to insane with need. All he could think about was what she’d sound like once he had her spread out naked and open and slid inside her, filling her up. What would those streamers of energy feel like there? Would she be able to stand the intensity? Would he? Or would they both just careen over the edge into pleasure and never come back? He was more than ready to find out.



Helen’s fingers dug into his shoulder and she lifted up on tiptoe, pressing their bodies tighter. The towel between them pissed Drake off, so he ripped it away, exposing her bare breasts to his chest. She was so soft, her breasts molding to the hard contours of his chest as if she’d been made to do just that. It was perfect. The way she fit against him, the way she smelled, the way she tasted. All of her was perfect and he couldn’t get enough.



His hands slid down her spine until he could cup her soft bottom, all naked and warm under his grip. He could die now and be happy that he’d gotten just this much of her. He wanted more, but even this—just the feel of her body against his, the sweet play of her tongue over his—was satisfying on some deep, visceral level he’d never known before. All the pressure he carried seemed to drain away, making him feel stronger, like he could do anything if it meant that he’d get another moment to hold her in his arms.



Helen pulled away from his mouth and pressed a line of kisses over his jaw and down his neck until she reached his luceria. The wet, hot path her mouth and tongue traced over his skin made him shiver and clutch her bottom tighter until he was sure she could feel how hard he was for her. Helen sighed and wiggled her hips, teasing him.



Oh yeah, he could definitely die happy knowing she wanted him, too.



Her tongue slid under the luceria, and that contact made both the necklace and matching ring hum in response. Power and desire both surged up inside him, mingling together until he couldn’t tell the difference between the two. Some instinctive part of him urged him to let go of that power, to send it flooding into Helen. Somehow, that power belonged to her and he’d only been holding on to it long enough to find her.