Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1) by J. L. White Page B

tell me,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a soft peck on the lips.
    “Can I make you dinner?” he asks. He seems afraid I’ll say no.
    I give him a slight smile, feeling suddenly shy. I don’t know why.
    “My place?” he adds, glancing again at the cursed glass door.
    I nod, reaching up to kiss him properly. And I do believe I did it properly because his tongue is in my mouth and his arms are tightening around me. He’s once again growing against my thigh.
    He gives a guttural groan and pulls away, holding me at arm’s length. He smiles at me. “You temptress.”
    I smile. I like that. I’ve never been a temptress before. I’m breaking all kinds of rules for Shane Brooks.

Chapter 10
     
    The following evening, I’m in my room running around in my bra and underwear, towel on my head, laying different outfit options on my bed. Do I wear a skirt? Jeans? But what top? Evaluating the options before me, I scowl and head back into the closet.
    Before leaving the pool that night, Shane gave me his address and we set a date for dinner at his house tonight, six o’clock.
    I grab another top and lay it over the blingy jeans on my bed. Too much? Too little?
    I jump when a knock raps on my door and Sam peeks her head in. “Can I come in?” she says, opening the door all the way and not bothering to wait for an answer.
    She takes one look at the scene and smiles. “What have we here?”
    “Nothing,” I say, my cheeks burning.
    “Doesn’t look like nothing. The red bra and panties? Okay. What’s his name?”
    “What? Who? There’s nobody.”
    Sam laughs. I settle for casual and grab the pair of blingy jeans. “Uh huh,” Sam says, waiting for the punchline.
    I do my best to pull it off. “Really.”
    She still doesn’t believe me, but instead of smiling bigger and pestering me for more, she frowns. “You don’t want to tell me?”
    I feel a twinge of guilt at her expression. “There’s nothing to tell.” I give her a quick peck on the cheek then grab the red top.
    “We were thinking of going to Delsa’s,” Sam says. “Ashley’s been dying for her post-performance trip.”
    Drat. I forgot about that. We hadn’t gotten to it yet. “Um. Can we do it tomorrow? Or you guys can go on without me. I... I’m heading to the lab. Lots of work.” I duck into the closet and out of Sam’s line of sight.
    God I hate lying to her.
    “Suit yourself,” Sam says quietly. I peek around the corner and see she’s left. I stop and close my eyes, letting out an exhale. My hands are shaking.
    A little voice in my head tells me lying to my best friend and shaking in my closet are all bad signs, but I whip off the towel on my head and start vigorously drying my hair, determined to ignore all such traitorous voices.
     

     
    Following Shane’s earlier instructions, I go up the drive that runs next to his house—a cute, older American four square with a porch on the front—and approach the detached garage. I park to the side, my car almost out of sight from the street, and kill the engine.
    The backyard isn’t large, but it’s certainly charming. The fence is lined with rose bushes and in the middle of the yard an ancient maple soars into the sky. There’s a broad back patio, shaded by latticework thickly covered in vines. A wooden table that seats at least eight is surrounded by a mismatch of comfortable-looking wooden chairs. A collection of squat, white candles on a rectangular tray serves as the centerpiece.
    Getting out of my car, I fuss at the hem of my silky top, take a deep breath, and head for the rear French doors.
    Before I’m halfway there, one of the doors opens and he comes outside. He’s in jeans and a nice, form-fitting shirt that makes his chest look so, so yummy.
    My steps instantly slow at the sight of him. My heart does a little flip flop as we smile at one another. I climb two steps onto the patio, slowly walk up to him, and stop.
    “Hi,” I say quietly.
    “Hi,” he says