Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(11)

“Then close your eyes.”

After complying with his request, I was left in the dark when the jangle of the door handle started before cutting off with the creak of an opening door.

His calloused fingers wrap gently over my eyes to stop me from cheating. I wanted to challenge him, to ask him why he didn’t trust me to keep my eyes closed. We’d danced around the “T” word enough for one day though.

“Step forward,” he whispered against my ear. He directed me over the threshold and into the room. After we’d stopped, he released his hold over my eyes. “And now . . . open!”





CHAPTER SIX


MY MOUTH curled up at the edges as I turned a small circle of the single-most romantic space I could have imagined. The changes to the way the room was set up were relatively minor, but they combined to make a big difference. The holes in the roof were covered with blue tarps, darkening the space but also leaving it with a soft blue ambiance that was inviting. The sleeping bag had been rolled away, and in its place were two chairs and a fold-up card table covered with a plastic tablecloth. It wasn’t flowers and frills, but it was obvious that Clay had put significant effort into perfecting all the little details, which was worth more to me than any expensive grand gesture.

Battery-powered, tea-light candles littered the surface of the table and twinkled intermittently around the floor. In another corner was a battery-operated docking station with a media player already in-situ.

I swallowed down a lump of emotion that clung to my throat at the thought that not only had Clay done all this, he’d done it all for me. “What is this?” I asked as my stomach fluttered with the butterflies that had been absent since I’d last seen him but were now back with reinforcements.

“Yesterday, I got a little tongue-tied, but I wanted to ask whether you would be willing to . . . ” He scrubbed the back of his neck again. “Stop being an idiot and just spit it out Clay,” he muttered to himself.

I resisted the urge to chuckle at his unease. “This is a date?” I asked to help him out.

“Why does it sound so much better coming from you?” he asked with a smile.

“How long did it take you to set this up?”

“I started almost the moment you left. But, well, I wanted to do the, umm, roof anyway, but the rest . . . is it okay?”

“Okay? It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” True, it was probably the only thing anyone except for my Dad had ever done for me, but that was beside the point. The fact that he’d gone to so much effort for me, overnight, left me with a strong urge to show him with my lips the things I couldn’t adequately express with words.

“I know it’s not much, but I thought you might be more comfortable for our first date to be somewhere that you didn’t have to hide yourself.” He reached for my hand and rubbed tiny circles against my palm as he spoke. Even that small, innocent touch sent my pulse racing.

“It’s perfect.”

“There’s a little more,” he said, dropping my hand and racing around to finish his set-up. He pushed play on the music before placing an insulated bag on the table. “I got us some lunch.” He stopped in his tracks and looked at me before his hand neared the back of his neck again. “I mean, it’s nothing special, just cold cuts and bread, but it’s not a real date without a meal, right?”

This time I couldn’t stop the chuckle before it passed my lips. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable when you’re nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” he said, a little too quickly.

“Really? Not at all?”

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little nervous, but . . . Wait, adorable?”

“Like a puppy.”

He raised one eyebrow at me before stepping toward me. “A puppy?”

“Yep, a puppy.”

“Is that a good thing?” he took another meaningful step toward me.

I shrugged and followed his lead by moving closer to him. “Girls like puppies.”

“Do you like puppies?” He covered the last of the distance between us and wrapped his arms around me.

“I do like puppies,” I whispered.

“Why is this conversation about dogs?” He seemed almost breathless as his mouth rested inches from mine.

“Why is this conversation still a conversation?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should stop the conversation.”

“Maybe you sh—”

His full lips grazed softly against mine, effectively silencing my voice and my thoughts. Our mouths met, and our tongues danced together as if they’d performed the steps a thousand times before. His long fingers traced delicate paths along my spine as his hands explored my back, causing my body to shudder with anticipation and desire to pool between my legs.

Eventually, we broke apart from our impassioned kiss, and he spun me in a slow circle. I giggled at the impromptu dance.

“Do you ever imagine what our prom might have been like?” he asked after a few moments, his voice low and gravelly.

I wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.

“No,” I said honestly. After everything that had happened, simple things like prom and graduation no longer seemed important. They were childhood fantasies, and I didn’t have a life or future to speak of—what good was a teenage dance? “I never went back to school after Ohio.”