Darkfire Kiss by Deborah Cooke Page A

crossing the living room and stretching out one hand. She spoke with cool composure, as if her heart weren’t thundering in her chest. “Thanks for bringing back the book you took from my coat pocket.”
    “How dare you post those pictures?” he said, moving so quickly toward her that Melissa was astounded. One instant he was in the foyer, and the next he was right before her.
    “How did you do that?” she demanded.
    “How could you do that ? How could you betray me and my kind?” he retorted.
    “I have no problem betraying Montmorency.”
    “But you didn’t! You betrayed me!” He dropped the book and snatched her up by her shoulders, his gaze boring into hers as he held her off the floor and shook her. “Do you have any understanding what you have done? Do you realize what you have put at risk?” His eyes were snapping, and his grip was resolute.
    But he didn’t hurt her. He was restraining himself.
    “I’ve done what reporters always do,” Melissa retorted, not in the least bit convinced that she was in the right. “We tell the world about news, and if that wasn’t news, I don’t know what is.”
    Even as she spoke, she felt a strange heat sliding through her, as if she stood close to a bonfire. No, it was more than a heat against her skin; it was one inside her. It hummed along her veins and warmed her muscles from within. It was a heat that awakened a languorous fire inside her own body. That flame swept through her veins and left her blushing like a schoolgirl.
    It was a hungry inferno that reawakened parts of Melissa that he’d caressed the night before.
    That tide of heat left her taut. It left her tingling. It made her want him all over again, immediately, if not sooner. He had his hands on her shoulders, his gaze locked upon hers with a passion other than desire, and all she could think about was doing the wild thing with him all over again. She wanted the weight of his hands on her, the caress of his fingertips across her skin, the strength of him inside her. She wanted to feel his breath mingling with hers.
    She wanted to feel vibrantly alive again.
    She swallowed and looked at him, tormented by an itch he’d yet to satisfy. His eyes darkened, looking like molten chocolate, and when she licked her lips, he caught his breath. She watched him inhale, knew their thoughts were as one, and wished his friend hadn’t been in her foyer.
    Or, to be fair, that her front door could still be closed.
    “Do you recognize what you have put in peril?” he demanded, his words softer than they had been.
    Why were his hands so hot? It was as if the heat were surging from his body into hers, an electrical current flowing along a conduit. But that made no sense.
    Melissa tore her gaze from his and looked down at his hands. He held her in his powerful grip, ensuring that she couldn’t escape but not hurting her. That alone might have been worthy of interest, never mind his intensity, but it was the dancing flicker of blue flames across her skin that confused her. It seemed to emanate from the points where they touched, then slither across her skin before it disappeared.
    “What’s going on?” she asked. “What are these flames?”
    He looked away, and she knew he could see them, as well.
    “How did you make them, and what do they mean?”
    “Darkfire!” he whispered, his tone carrying mingled awe and dread.
    “What’s darkfire?” she demanded. The way he closed his eyes told her that he knew and that he didn’t intend to share the story.
    He put her down, turned away, and strode across the room. He shoved a hand through his hair, his agitation clear, and turned his glare on the view out the window. “It doesn’t matter,” he said tightly. “What matters are those pictures.”
    His reaction told her exactly the opposite of his words.
    The heat was fading, leaving Melissa inclined to shiver. It had something to do with his touch, something he didn’t want her to know.
    That just meant she was even