Flash and Fire Read Free Page A

progressed from her shoulders in a ragged path down to her stomach.
    Her face was shiny with perspiration. For some reason, that aroused him. She’d probably look that way, he mused, after having hot sex. And someday, he was going to find out if his estimation was accurate.
    “Were you taught to be stubborn, too?”
    The man didn’t give up, did he? It was what made him a good reporter, she supposed. It also made him damn annoying. She waved away a fly that buzzed by her head.
    “Turning down a soda is not being stubborn.”
    And turning you down is being smart, she added silently.
    He liked the slight flash in her eyes as annoyance registered there. She was doing a slow burn now, like a curling iron that had been left on to heat up. He found that attractive and had no idea why. It made no sense, but then, people rarely did. And he was a card-carrying member of the species.
    “It is if you’re thirsty.”
    Go away, Alexander. She dug in obstinately. “Who says I’m thirsty?”
    The laugh was short, mirthless, and, she felt, at her expense.
    “In this heat, lady, the buildings are thirsty. Here. I haven’t got anything that’s catching.” Pierce took her hands and put them around the neck of the bottle, wrapping his own over them for a brief second.
    It was enough. It wasn’t only the pavement beyond the park that was sizzling.
    His crystal-blue eyes mocked her gently, as if daring her to run away. Daring her to stay. Her eyes held his as she took the barest of sips, her lips touching the opening of the bottle where his lips had been just a fraction of a second before.
    It was stupid to suppose she felt something. And yet, she couldn’t really deny that she had. There had been a jolt, a streak of electricity. Something. The skin on the back of her neck prickled.
    Just the heat. Pure and simple.
    Her stomach knotted. Okay, maybe not that simple. And not that kind of heat.
    She blew out a small breath as she lowered the bottle, hardly having drunk at all.
    Pierce had something that was catching, all right, or at least dangerous. She was not blind to the fact that he had his own brand of charm. It was different from Jon’s. Jon’s was easy to detect. Jon’s was blatant, and as such it was harmless. Jon was affable, funny. He didn’t make her feel uneasy, as if nuclear warheads were about to go off all along the coastline.
    Pierce did.
    Pierce’s charm went deeper, ran a subtler course. Maybe it wasn’t even charm at all, but something more. Amanda had seen him out in the field with the cameramen. Had seen him talking to people at the scene of a disaster. He had a way of saying a few words and getting people to trust him, getting them to talk to him when they might have completely shut out someone else. It wasn’t so much what he said as the way he said it. His manner drew people out. It offered them a sympathetic ear, sanctuary, whatever they needed at the moment.
    And yet, despite all that, there was something about the man that threatened her, that threatened her peace of mind. Made her restless without her being able to put it into words. It was like pouring vodka into a bowl of punch. She couldn’t smell it, couldn’t see it. But she knew it was there.
    “The best way to drink,” Pierce began slowly when she made no move to do so, “is to lift the bottle to your lips and tilt it. Otherwise, the relationship never gets off the ground.”
    In a heartbeat, as everything grew still around her, he leaned forward and lightly touched the outline of her mouth with his finger, as if to reinforce his words.
    The day became ten degrees hotter.
    Amanda pulled back. Her lips burned as if he had used the tip of a match to touch her instead of his finger. It took her a moment to find her tongue.
    “Maybe that’s the whole idea.”
    From a million miles away, she heard Jon’s voice call ing her. “Amanda, I said it’s your turn.”
    With a sudden burst of energy, Amanda thrust the bottle back into Pierce’s