Page 53 of Wild Fire

Because I’m starting to think my little Bright Eyes likes the idea of getting caught. I didn’t pick up on it that first night back at my house because he was drunk, and I attributed his behavior to the alcohol and whatever might have been going on before I found him. But it’s starting to look like a pattern.

My bed. My bathroom. My truck, at least twice. Last night, in the bar.

I look at him, at his big blue-green eyes, lips parted, and I realize he’s waiting for me to take the lead, which makes me feel a little more at ease.

I know how to lead. It’s what I’m good at.

“I think it’s kind of cute,” I say, lightly tapping his cheek. I’d rather smack him and watch his skin pink up, but I know this isn’t about me.

It never is, but I’ve always reasoned that was better. Easier.

But nothing about what I feel for Nate is easy. Even now.

“You do?” His voice is almost innocent, but not quite. It’s a bit more melancholic than it should be. It’s not a question, so much as a need for praise. And judging by the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, it’s not an act.

“Yes,” I answer him definitively. “I think you’re very cute when the blood rushes to your cheeks because you get all fucking flustered.”

The breath he lets out is deep, and I watch as his gaze darkens

The air between us is tense, warm.

Thick with heat. Nate’s eyes shift as he bites his lip.

“Do I get one of those little plastic honorary fireman pins? If I say yes?”

I can’t help but laugh—really laugh—at his words.

“Do you want one?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, his smile genuine.

“Tell you what.” I lean in closer to him. “I’ll do you one better.”

Nate’s gaze dips to my mouth, and his expression shifts to one I can only describe as cocky.

“How about I let you blare the horn?”

“Seriously?”

I nod for him to follow me. “Come on.”

Nate is behind me almost instantly as I lead him up the steps and into the truck. I take a seat in the chair and lean back, noting the look in his eyes.

I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. Not when it comes to Nate Barrett.

I pat my lap as I hold his gaze.

“Come here.”

Nate’s grin is the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen. He carefully strides over to me, holding my gaze as he says, “Yes, Sir.”

I have to fight to keep from groaning because the way he says it tells me I’m in trouble in more ways than one. Nate plops his beautiful ass right in my lap and fucking wiggles a bit, and I have to let out a deep breath to regain my composure, but it’s harder than it should be.

And so am I. Nate looks over his shoulder at me, a vicious smirk gracing his lips, and gone is the blushing boy who needed my praise.

“Show me,” Nate says, his voice taking on an edge that makes my skin prickle with goosebumps.

I wrap my arms around him and take his hand gingerly in mine and guide it to the center of the steering wheel.