Free Set the Night on Fire by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page A

towards him and looked him over again.
    “Okay,” she began. “Here’s the deal. It’s gonna keep snowing, and it’s gonna be a long, cold night. We could sit here and bullshit each other for the next half hour, or we could go back to my place now.”  She tilted her head. “I have a bungalow in Franklin Park.”
    Dar thought about how long it had been since he’d touched soft skin, pressed his lips against a willing mouth. And now, it seemed so easy—so available, just for the asking. He didn’t know where Franklin Park was, but he chugged the rest of his beer and followed her out.

 

ELEVEN
     
     
    S he’d been a perfect lover, especially when he climaxed right away. She could tell, in that indefinable way women have, that he’d been starved. The second time she took her time, moving her lips slowly over his cheeks, his lips, his chest, his cock. He lasted longer that time, and by the third time the pupil became the teacher. His mouth found her breasts, the soft folds of her stomach, the damp, dark cleft between her legs. When she locked her legs around him, he drank her in, and when he felt her arch up, forcing him deeper, her fire engulfed him. When she finally came, moaning, calling out his name, he thought his head—and the rest of him—would explode.
    Now, as he woke up, drowsy and warm beneath a heavy quilt, a long-forgotten peace lulled him. He looked around the bedroom. It was tidy, with hardwood floors and flowery wallpaper he could do without. He recalled her saying, with pride, that she had three bedrooms and a full basement, which meant there was plenty of space. He saw no evidence of kids or pets.
    Cece was still asleep, her back to him. He lay quietly, savoring her warmth, her scent, her femaleness. Then he turned and glanced out the window. Three inches of snow coated the window sill, sparks firing in the morning sun. A good sign. He slipped his hands behind his neck and stretched. Cece stirred. When he dragged his gaze from the window, she was looking at him. Her eyes, somewhere between hazel and green, held a serious expression. He smiled uncertainly, but when she didn’t return it, he tensed. He wondered whether to say something.
    She pre-empted him. “You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”
    “What makes you say that?” He flicked his eyes to her neck. Her carotid pulsed at her throat. Ba-boom. He touched his fingers to it. She lifted her head to give him more. A simple act, but it spoke volumes. She trusted him. He wondered why.
    “You look . . . hunted,” she said.
    He wanted to ask what a hunted man looked like, then decided he didn’t want to know. She stretched again, revealing more of her neck. He ran his fingers up to her chin, the side of her cheek, past her hairline to the tip of her forehead. So soft: her skin, her hair. He felt himself harden again. He rolled on top of her.
    When they finally got out of bed, the floor was colder than he expected, and he hopped across it, triggering a giggle from Cece. She had a nice laugh. Musical. He dove back in.
    “We should think about getting up,” she said. “I have to go to work.”
    “What do you do?”
    “I’m a claims supervisor for an insurance company. Used to be a nurse, but I didn’t like the hours.” She shrugged. “It’s a paycheck.”
    “Where is your office?”
    “Not far. River Grove.”
    Dar nodded, although she could have been talking about California. He had no idea where River Grove was.
    She got out of bed, pulled on her socks, and padded downstairs. He heard a spray of water in the kitchen followed by the clang of dishes and silverware. A few minutes later, the smell of fresh brewed coffee wafted up. Dar got out of bed, threw on his pants, and made his way down to the kitchen. Cece smiled. Opening a drawer, she took out paper and pen and scrawled something. She handed him the paper.
    “What’s this?”
    “My name and phone number. My last name is Wainwright.”
    “Cece