Into The Fire by E. L. Todd

as much as possible into his
mouth to where he could barely chew. “You’re a good cook.”
    “I didn’t catch that.” I’d only taken a few
bites in the amount of time he managed to eat half his plate.
    He chewed for a full minute before he
swallowed. “I said you’re a good cook.”
    “Thanks.”
    “I should have got better flowers.” He cut
into his steak and took a big bite.
    “They’re perfect.” I stared at them on the
kitchen table. They brought life into the apartment.
    “So…does it start with a seven?”
    What was he talking about? “Sorry?”
    “Your number.”
    “You’re really going to guess it?”
    “You aren’t giving me a choice,” he said.
“So, does it start with a seven?”
    “No.”
    “Does it start with a six?”
    “Nope.”
    “Damn, this is going to take me forever.”
    “So quit while you’re ahead.”
    He set his fork down and stopped eating. “You
know, I have a few buddies in homeland security. All I’d have to do
is call in a favor and I’d have your digits.”
    “Then why don’t you do that?” I was calling
his bluff.
    “Maybe I will.” He took a bite of his
potatoes.
    “Fine. Go ahead.”
    His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “Dammit,
just tell me.”
    “Why don’t you ask your friends?” I sipped my
wine.
    “Because that would be a total breach of
privacy. I’d rather just get it from you.”
    “How thoughtful…”
    “You’re such a tease.”
    “I’m not a tease,” I argued. “I told you from
the beginning I didn’t give out my number. It’s not my fault you
thought you would be an exception to that. You told me not to
expect you to change. Well, don’t expect me to change.”
    “And that would be fine if I didn’t know you
were full of shit. I’m sitting in your apartment and eating your
cooking as we speak. Come on, you clearly trust me.”
    He had a point. I’d never had a client in my
apartment before. I’d never even told them what side of town I
lived on. “Did you ever think that maybe I’m the serial killer and
I’m just trying to get my clients to trust me?” I gave him a
meaningful look and kept eating.
    “You? A murderer?” he asked incredulously.
“I’d like to see you try and take me down. You shouldn’t have
picked a veteran to tango with. Even without my gun, I could kill
you instantly.”
    This dinner took a turn for the worst. “This
is fun…”
    “Sorry, I get a little hung up on stuff like
that.”
    “I can tell.” I sipped my wine and watched
him across the table. His brown hair was a little long, which
explained the light curling. His blue eyes were brighter than
usual, and his fair skin was unusually clear. The ruggedness
existed in his hands. They were calloused and dry from constant
use. A man this attractive should be illegal. At six three, he was
all man. His arms were the size of footballs, and his thighs were
thick and powerful. Maybe I was just eager because I’d been going
through a dry spell, but I would love to find out why Ash was so
cocky.
    “How was work?” I asked.
    “Fine. Some eighteen-year-old kid came in on
his birthday and asked me to mark YOLO on his arm.” He rolled his
eyes. “I kicked him out and told him to get a life.”
    “What’s wrong with YOLO?”
    “Everyone is doing it. Do you really want a
tattoo that everyone else has? I didn’t think so.” He wiped his
plate clean then rested his hand against his stomach. “Shit, that
was good. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” Tony never appreciated my
cooking. He scarfed it down then immediately watched TV on the
couch. It was nice to hear thanks for a change.
    “You ever think about getting some ink?”
    “It’s crossed my mind.”
    He rested his elbows on the table as he
watched me eat. “You’d look hot with some sleeves—all black.” He
nodded his head enthusiastically. “I’d take you on this table right
now.”
    Even though I knew he was joking, it still
got my motor running. That hard chest would feel