A New Kind of Fire

Aiden's lips spread to a slow smile that makes me want to throw myself into his chest and never let go. But before he can speak, the growing crowd surges, a mass of dark shapes bobbing and weaving to the music, highlighted in orange by the flames of the bonfire on the sand. There's even more people tonight than last time I was here. Even outside the seething mass around the fire there's dozens of people wandering up and down the beach, or sprawled over the sand like driftwood. Noisy, mobile driftwood.

Aiden's attention was caught by the noise too. He turned to stare at the crowd, frowning. The flames of the distant fire reflect in his eyes and make it look like his gaze is flame, licking at his hair. Looking at that that somber expression on his face makes me realize how much he smiles. And how much I like it. Without that boyish grin he looks five years older. And a lot more intimidating. I stifle a shiver.

The comfort I felt with him a moment ago is edged out by an uneasy tension. An awareness of him that isn't all pleasant--of the danger that he carries with him like it's natural.

A fear of what he could bring into my life.

I'm suddenly not so sure about the binding. About being here with him.

What is wrong with me?

I'm so nervous, I get ready to say maybe we should do this another time, when he drops my hand, shakes his head, and mutters to himself, "Grow a pair, Harper." Then he turns to me and, without hesitation, plunges his fingers in my hair. With a deep breath, he pulls me close. Then his lips find mine, somehow already ready, already open for him.

I grab at his shoulders--at first because he's given me a shock. But his lips are soft, probing, not demanding. He doesn't take the kiss. He offers it. His hands cup my face gently, his breath quickens. And mine responds.

Suddenly I can't remember what I was scared of.

Everything I want and everything he makes me feel—all the nerves, the tingles on my skin, that magnetic draw—crash over me. I slide a hand around to cup his neck, return his kiss, his heat, and as he pulls me in, the desperate kind of whimper that I just heard him make.

I trail a hand down his chest, around his waist, let my fingers slide under his shirt where I'm surprised by the warmth of his skin. He sucks in audibly. He feels so hard beneath my hands he should be cold. Like metal. But he's warm. Alive.

Time stretches as he cradles my head, tastes my lips, breathes on my cheek, drops to nuzzle my neck. His hands roam and tease, but never demand. Never make me feel taken. I lose the struggle for coherent thought when his touch trails up the nape of my neck and into my hair, his fingers first run through my hair, then gripping softly, adding a delicious shiver to the already intense prickle of being utterly alive.

I don't know if it's because he's a Shade, or because he's so Aiden. But his kiss is incredible. My skin tingles wherever he touches me. I am tense and boneless at the same time. Invincible. Yet my head is too heavy to hold up without his support.

His fingers drift around to start at my temples, combing back through my hair, his black-painted nails drawing lines across my scalp that make me shiver. He kisses up my neck to my ear. His breath thunders once, then he groans into my skin, "Let's go."

"Go? Where?" Nervousness trills in my stomach, but I can't find it in me to pull away from this delicious heat of his touch.

"Inside," he says, his voice gravelly. Finally, reluctantly, he pulls back far enough to meet my eyes and tips his head back towards the old warehouse. His lips are swollen. I can tell mine are too. Then without waiting for my answer, he stands up and pulls me to my feet. Adrenalin dances through me. Aiden might kiss like an angel, but I've seen that heavy-lidded look in his eyes before, on countless guys. This isn't middle school, and he's not a child. He wants more.

Do I?

I follow him up the sand and into the grass slowly, surprised to discover I don't immediately know the answer to the question.

"Aiden . . ." Even I hear the hesitation in my voice.

Aiden stops like he hit a wall, turns on his heel to face me, his mouth turned down at the corners.

That's disapproval on his face, right? I bristle. But before I can lecture him on how I'm not a plaything, he steps in, curls his fingers into the belt-loops of my jeans and pulls me close until we're hip to hip.

"Relax, Beautiful," he murmurs between more of those intoxicating kisses. "I'm not asking for anything . . . yet." He gives me a hot look, then drops his head to kiss the sensitive spot on my neck, below my ear. Goosebumps prickle from the nape of my neck, to my wrist on that side. "I want to be away from their eyes."

That's a goal I can get behind. I smile. "Lead the way."

He flashes that wicked grin and heads for the warehouse again, pulling me along behind. But before we even reach the door into the dark building, he curses under his breath, whirls and pins me against the side of the rough wall, his eyes as black as the shadows behind him. The awkwardness is gone. His hands on my arms, his thighs pressed against mine, it feels natural to be this close to him. And it blows my mind that he stares at me like I'm the incredible thing.

I lean closer, let my fingers drag up to lace behind his neck, let him stare. I'm taking him in too.