Page 61 of Flint’s Strike

Parker stiffens, but it isn’t until I prepare to let go that I understand why. The skin at the base of her fingers is pale and tight. Burns, at least a few months old. Deeper scars—some jagged, others smooth—mar her palm.

On some level, I knew. I’ve seen them already, but they didn’t register until now.

I don’t ask. Neither does she. But she steps closer, slides her free hand into my hair, and then her mouth is on mine.

I pull her closer, and her hips swivel against me. The sudden rush of blood below the belt leaves my dick testing the strength of my zipper. I’m not sure Parker does anything halfway. Kissing is no exception.

Her free hand settles at my waist, and I don’t flinch at the touch.

She pulls away just enough to take a breath, and I rest my forehead against hers. For a moment, we’re the only two people in the world.

“Tomorrow,” she says, her voice taking on a rich, husky tone. “Dinner. Then…”

“After.”

Her braid’s half undone, her hands still on my skin, and even with the promise of more in only twenty-four hours, I don’t know how to walk away from her.

After another breath, she lifts my shirt from the chair and offers it to me. I rush through the buttons, then back up until my hand finds the doorknob. For a long moment, I can’t move. The idea of walking away, of waiting until tomorrow, is actively painful. But I have to. It’s the only way I’ll know this is truly…real.

“Good night, Parker. Get some rest.”

Her lips twitch. “You too, Eliot. You’re gonna need it.”

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* * *

I used a timer for the building on Aldrich. I thought no one would be able to ignore a fire inside the city limits during daylight hours. Someone would call it in before the building was a total loss, and the arson investigator would find enough evidence to expose everything.

The problems with the other two buildings could be overlooked as mistakes. Mostly. But the Aldrich site…I’d snuck in the week before to “break” the emergency exit door in Unit B.

I knew exactly what the firewall assemblies would and wouldn’t hold. I knew the gaps would channel the fire into the ceiling.

I didn’t know anyone would be there. Only half of the units were rented, and the building didn’t officially open for another two days.

After I set the fire, I went home. Made coffee. Sat at my kitchen table and listened to the scanner. I wanted to know when it was called in. How long it burned. Hearing that two people died…it broke me.

Maybe that’s why, the next time he called, I told him to fuck off.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Eliot

The Aldrich Street blueprints have been sitting on my screen for twenty minutes, but they might as well be hieroglyphics for what I’m getting out of them. I can’t stop thinking about Parker.

Some part of me knew what I was doing when I went to the Ranger station last night. I wanted to see her. I needed to see her. But if I’d known those fucking embers had burned three holes in my shirt, I would have changed first.

I wasn’t prepared for her to simply accept the devastation the fire had left on my skin. New burns and old scars, touched the same way. I kept waiting for her to flinch. Or ask the obvious questions.

“Eliot, what the hell happened?”

“Eliot, my God. How did you survive?”

“Does it still hurt?”

I set my mug down hard enough, if there’d been any coffee left, I’d be wearing it.

Giving up on the blueprints, I switch to the photos I took on scene. The emergency exit door is the worst of the violations—and the one that bothers me the most. No one with even a lick of construction experience would mount hardware like this. Even if it was some idjit’s first day on the job, how did they not test the damn thing? One push and they would’ve caught their mistake.