Fire Danger by Claire Davon Page A

semi-hard picturing the lush curves of the female waiting as he approached. His breath shortened at the thought of her naked form under his. It was so easy to picture: full breasts, small waist flaring into the curve of her hips, hips that shielded the hopefully untrimmed juncture of her.
    An image of the two of them entwined, him thrusting into her, shot through him. It hadn’t come from his mind. He never saw himself that way, from a stranger’s point of view, even if he was looking at himself in the mirror.
    Good. The attraction went both ways. Good, and bad. It was a complication he didn’t need, but now that it was here it was as if it had always been inevitable.
    He reached the bottom of the balcony and with a small push, leaped onto its second-floor height.
    She was waiting, her hand on the balcony door and a question in her eyes.
    “Haures,” he said with no further explanation. She raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “Later, Rachel.” He reached for her. She let him pull her into his arms without resisting, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
    His nostrils widened and he sniffed her face and then moved lower, to the glands in her neck. He didn’t stop there. He shifted, gently nudging her arms away from her body so he could smell her armpit.
    His face brushed across her peaked nipples, and with a sudden movement, Phoenix took one cloth-covered nipple in his mouth, suckling through the cotton.
    Then he smelled her other armpit and straightened. “You smell like fear, but fear that’s under control.”
    “I refuse to be afraid anymore. Well…” she said in a self-deprecating tone, “at least I refuse to let it rule me. When that thing was bathed in fire, I was scared witless. But then I remember that I can do that too. That’s cool. They want me to be afraid, and I won’t give in to it.”
    He could still taste the threads of the cloth in his mouth, but mostly he tasted the hard nipple under the cloth. Rachel had nothing under the top, and the thought of pushing it aside, baring her breasts, finished the job her faint thoughts had started. Phoenix hardened in a fierce rush.
    He tried to focus on what she was saying. She wouldn’t let fear rule her. That was good. Right now he wanted something other than fear.
    “I’m glad.” He gripped her shoulders, meeting her eyes. “We all need courage, but you most of all. You’ve only been in this game for a few days. You need to be a queen, not a pawn, and for that you need courage.”
    She swallowed. “Okay, Aleric. If I’m going to show the world what I’m made of, I can’t cower here. Why not make a day of it and go to Fisherman’s Wharf? I could use a good tourist attraction.”
    Phoenix had thought she would stay holed up here, in his house. The fact that she didn’t want to hide touched the warrior in him and made him want to claim her that much more.
    “Perhaps we can flush out some game at the same time. I’ll drive.”
    * * * * *
    Fisherman’s Wharf, one of San Francisco’s largest tourist attractions, was part of the shoreline along the San Francisco Bay. Boats and barges were visible on the water, occasionally sounding their horns: some near, and some dirge-like booms further out. Even through the throng and press of constant humanity, the people assigned to show the tourists a good time on the tourist boats could be heard calling out the attractions as they went by on the choppy water. All around them people moved, ebbing past them.
    Rachel almost staggered under the sudden onslaught of voices in her head. The rush filled her mind, beating on the inside of her skull like small hammers.
    “Get out of my damned way.”
    “Fucking tourists.”
    “Hey, look! Ghirardelli Square! Chocolate!”
    Rachel’s head swam. He gestured to her head as if to tell her to shield. She started one of her nursery rhymes and was relieved when the press of human thoughts faded. This was all so new to her, and she was still getting used to the idea