Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) by Lisa B. Kamps Page B

slammed on the brakes, turned the steering wheel, then pressed her foot against the gas pedal and darted in front of the oncoming traffic. The little car lurched, bouncing as it went over the concrete bump at the entrance of the garage. She hit the brakes again, the fender stopping inches from the black and yellow bar that blocked the way.
    She calmly lowered her window and leaned out, grabbing the ticket that popped out from the dispenser. The gate opened and she hit the gas, propelling the car forward. Her passenger was strangely silent, not saying anything, not even when she parked and got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, waiting for him.
    Minutes went by and she still waited, wondering why he wasn't getting out. Maybe this wasn't the right place after all. Maybe she had made the wrong turn. If she had, that was all his fault for giving her incorrect directions. Maybe he didn't really know where they were going, maybe—
    The door finally opened and he climbed out. Slowly. Almost menacing. He straightened his legs, slowly standing to his full height. And he was close. Too close. And he seemed taller somehow, bigger. It didn't make sense, she had been this close to him before, so why did he suddenly seem so dangerous? So…so—her mind went blank, words failing her. All she knew was that tingles shot through her, sparkling between them in shades of gold and silver and opal that shimmered in the air, muting his own dangerously vibrant reds and oranges.
    "Give me your hand."
    Melanie automatically put both hands behind her back and shook her head.
    "Smurfette, give me your hand."
    His voice, deep and husky and oh-so-controlled, was commanding. Compelling. She was offering her hand before she even realized what she was doing, cursing herself while she did it.
    "Your other hand."
    She held that one out as well, wondering what he was going to do. Was he going to hold it? Take her hand in his as they walked to wherever they were going? Another little thrill shimmered in the air, anticipation filling her. He reached out, his skin warm, his hand so much larger and darker and stronger than hers. The breath hitched in her chest as she waited, wondering—
    Until he pulled the keys from her grip and shoved them into the front pocket of his jeans.
    "Those are my keys."
    "I know."
    "But you can't take them! I won't be able to drive back home!"
    "That's the whole point, Smurfette. You're not driving."
    "What? But I don't—"
    He stepped closer, amusement and warning mixing in his eyes as he stared down at her. "You're a menace to every single person on the road. You're not driving. Period."
    "That is so not true! I'm a perfectly capable driver—"
    "Bullshit! You're not driving, end of discussion."
    "You can't just—"
    "I just did. Now come on." His hand closed around her elbow, leading her toward a bank of elevators on the other side of the garage.
    "That is so high-handed. So autocratic. So pre-historic. So medieval. So…so barbaric."
    He stopped and looked down at her, a shadow passing through his eyes. "So now I'm a barbarian, huh?"
    Melanie opened her mouth to say no, to tell him that wasn't what she meant, but he didn't give her the chance. And she couldn't help but wonder if he was upset for some reason.
    No, she must be mistaken. He couldn't be upset. That was silly.
    Wasn't it?

Chapter Eight
     
    "So that's your neighbor from hell, huh?" Jimmy stood next to him, balancing a plate of food on top of a plastic cup of beer while he ate. Dale glanced in the direction he was looking, his eyes falling on Smurfette—Melanie. They were in the lower level of the arena, downstairs in the exclusive VIP Lounge. The game started in forty minutes, which gave them plenty of time to eat and drink.
    Smurfette was standing off to the side, an empty plastic cup of wine in her hand, looking lost and alone and out of place. Sympathy surged through him and he pushed it away as he grabbed a meatball from Jimmy's plate.
    "Yup.