The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, Yael and Haustin fell into each other's arms, resuming the passion they shared on the sidewalk. It consumed her, and even as she thought it, Yael knew it sounded ridiculous. Everything disappeared—work, Miriam, her past. She moaned as he pushed her against the wall of the car, trailing kisses down her neck. The echo of their breathing was the only sound, nearly drowning out the ding as they reached her apartment. Noticing the open doorway, Yael took his hand and pulled him into the living room, her blood humming.

"This is some place." He glanced around in awe, zeroing in on the windows. "I could handle that view every day."

Yael laid her hand on his cheek. "Do you really want a tour now?"

"Hell, no." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I want you."

Haustin yanked her to him, backing her up until she was pressed against the cold glass of the windows. He slid her arms above her head, pinning them there, and dipped in for another kiss. His tongue danced with hers, and he nibbled on her bottom lip. Desire, hot and electric, swept through her, pooling between her legs. She would've crumpled to the floor if not held in place by his hard body. Impatient, she ground her hips against his and heard his breath catch. His lips moved to her ear lobe and lower, and her mouth cried from the absence of his until she felt his teeth grazing the hollow of her neck. One hand snaked down to cup her breast, and he groaned as she arched into it, desperate to feel his fingers on her bare skin. Yael struggled to free her arms from his one-handed grip, but he was too strong. Dammit, she wanted to touch him. Needed to.

He separated a fraction, staring into her eyes. "When I touch your skin, press my lips to it, I'm reminded of fire. Of heat and danger."

She answered him with a kiss, amazed at what his words did to her, how they drove her. He was hard against her hip, and she continued moving against him, but nothing worked. Nothing would work until she had her legs around him. She couldn't get close enough, and when he finally released her wrists to take both breasts in his hands, she began unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling and panting. All that mattered was Haustin's body and the emotions crashing inside of her. He'd been right about fire. It burned her from within, gathering at her core, threatening to burst. He was a drug, rushing through her veins and grabbing hold. Growling, Haustin lifted her dress over her head, and the look in his eyes darkened as they skimmed over her body.

"You are beautiful."

He bent to press his lips to her chest, inching lower, and she was lost between impatience and wishing he'd linger over every inch of her for hours. But, as soon as she had his shirt undone, revealing a firm chest dusted with dark hair, and touched his skin, everything changed. Her hunger became uncontrollable, a beast craving to be fed. Desperate for release, she ripped at his pants, pushing them past his hips. She reached out, finding him mouth-wateringly hot and ready. Things she hadn't felt in years—confidence, desire, even innocence—stirred to life again, reawakened by Haustin's touch and taste.

When Haustin laid her across the couch and knelt between her legs, fear and doubt reared their ugly heads. As he slipped her underwear down her thighs, the lace tickling her skin, he kept his gaze on her, and she fought the urge to push him away. The hesitation she felt must have been visible because Haustin stopped and asked, "What is it?"

"I'm fine."

"No," he said, drawing up alongside her. "You can tell me. I promise."

"Don't stop," she nearly whined, choking on tears. The intimacy sparking between her and Haustin intimidated her. She had used sex as a tool, a way to score drugs when the money ran out. Emotional connections were non-existent. The notion of someone seeing deep into her soul scared her, so she would retreat to a dark room in her mind while the man grunted on top of her. This was different. All of her ached for Haustin, and not just the physical parts, places she never intended anyone to see.

He brushed the hair from her face. "Talk to me."

"I," she swallowed thickly, "I haven't done this for at least seven or eight years."

To his credit, he only showed his surprise for a split second before grinning. "I have no complaints so far."

"I mean, I haven't ... done this... with anyone I actually wanted."

Upset over letting her insecurity ruin a beautiful moment, she covered her face in shame. Acknowledging how many nameless, faceless strangers she had allowed to use her was sometimes harder to live with than the drugs.

Haustin moved her hands and looked at her, not with pity but understanding.

"I don't care about your past. Hell, I'm no monk myself. The intimacy is new for me too. Trust me."

A couple tears escaped her eyes, which he kissed away. Yael sat up, straddling his lap, and poured everything she felt into the kiss she wrapped him in, yearning to get lost in it and leave the ghosts behind. She wanted him to fill her with ecstasy, the kind that came from a touch or a kiss. As he moved his hand between her legs, she closed her eyes and let go.

Nestled against Haustin's chest with a sheen of sweat chilling her skin, Yael fought to catch her breath. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to make love to someone she cared about, how it could rattle a person to the depths of their being. The only word she possessed to describe it was alive. She was alive. Adjusting her head, she stared up at Haustin and grinned at the satisfied expression on his face.

A pale scar on his shoulder caught her attention, and she traced a fingertip over it. The edges were blurry, and the skin pink and rough.

"What happened here?"

He crooked his left arm, tucking it behind his head so he could look at her. His other hand rested on her hip.

"My first real fire. I was about six months out of the academy and, although I'd never admit it to my new crew, scared shitless. It was an abandoned warehouse, occupied by homeless drug addicts. The place was a maze, easy to get lost in, and it was hard to keep my senses from overwhelming me. I had my save, and was feeling pretty damn cocky, but then, I couldn't find the exit. Fire got worse, heard the captain yelling for me on the radio. Finally, I found the doorway and was about twenty feet from safety when the ceiling collapsed on me. A busted two-by-four pierced my shoulder. My save lived and I got fifty-four stitches and eight weeks of physical therapy."

"Talk about trial by fire," Yael commented, earning a chuckle from Haustin.

"Very true. Your turn. What happened to your arm here?" He ran his finger over a three-inch-long scar running up the underneath of her bicep.

"Not near as gallant as your story."

"Tell me anyway."

"It happened in Thailand." She sighed, vowing to not feel shame. "Rented a place on the beach and spent a few months there partying. Thailand is the perfect place to get lost in, to let all your inhibitions go. I'd just discovered heroin and still had plenty of money to burn through. Anyway, do you know who Nova Kaine is?"

"That actress? Didn't she go to jail?"

"Yes, but I think she's out now. She and I were ... well, I was with her for a while. There isn't much I remember other than lots of drugs and sex and booze. Everyone wanted to party with the fallen teen sweetheart and the trust fund brat."

"When you say 'with her', do you mean what I think you mean?"

She pinched him lightly on the belly. "Typical male."

"And you are stalling."

"We used each other." Yael didn't elaborate on their brief yet intense relationship. There had been nothing romantic about it, only a way to not be lonely. The whole period was so surreal to her, one that happened to a different person. "We had a huge get together at our place. I loved that house. Big glass doors opened onto a lanai overlooking the ocean. I was stoned, high out of my mind. We'd tried this new heroin... so pure, and I wanted to swim, convinced I would turn into a mermaid. Good thing I never made it, I probably would have drowned. Instead, I walked right through the glass door. Nearly bled to death because everyone was too wasted to realize how serious it was."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. Anyway, I have that scar, plus one here on my upper abdomen," she shifted to show him, "and another on my back."

"Did you get in trouble? I've heard stories about Americans in other countries being busted with drugs and locked away in foreign prisons."

"You forget who I was with at the time. She is a huge celebrity and it erased a lot of red tape. Plus, the doctor we went to wasn't quite legit, the infection I got afterwards was about as deadly as crashing through the door."

"You were lucky."

"I tell myself that. I'd probably be more ashamed if I could remember it all. Most of this is second hand, what someone told me the next day. I mean, who is stoned enough to walk into glass? As much as I'd love to chalk it up to being twenty-five and stupid, I can't."

"Well, I was once so drunk I pissed on a cop car. Swear to God, I thought it was a dumpster and I was in the alley instead of the street."

A giggle escaped her, erasing the dark path her thoughts were trying to travel down. "Did they see?"

"Oh, yeah. They were inside the car. Pissed right on the NYPD decal on the door." He bent his head, kissing her temple. "I'm hungry."

Slipping out from under her, he stretched, and she drank in the sight of his naked body, feeling hers respond in reaction. The stirring in her belly was hunger of a different kind. Unfortunately, he left the room instead of returning to bed, so she leapt off the mattress to go after another taste.