🏹✨ April Fool's Day Special: A Peek into Fiery Storm's Wackiest Moment! 🎭🔥

Storm Series Book 3

The icy December wind slaps my face as we exit The Zoo, dulling my buzz somewhat. Deep down where I refuse to explore, a nagging fear prods my mind. Leaving the security of the crowd with this six-four dark-haired god, with piercing blue eyes and the cutest cleft in his chin that makes me crave to run my tongue along it, is probably not one of my better decisions. In the last few months, anyhow.

“Do you have a name?” I think to ask, as he escorts me around the building with a palm between my shoulder blades.

Is it me, or does something happen when we touch? It’s more than lust, although I have that in spades too. Who could fault me? This man fills out his black sweater to perfection. I can see his bulging biceps and bite-worthy pecs underneath, and my eyes follow the fabric down to where it disappears into black cargo pants. A long leather jacket hangs over his arm; the dark ensemble adds to his appeal.

“Sebastian Moretti.”

Something zings inside my brain. Sebastian Moretti. Wow. I let the name slide over my tongue, savoring its texture. Italian. Hot.

I stumble in the snow, and he tightens his hold, drawing me to his side. Damn. Hot is right. The warmth radiating from him makes me want to snuggle closer. Without clothes.

“Do you have a vehicle here, little red?”

I positively adore his nickname for me, and it’s entirely accurate. With a foot and a half in height variation, he towers over me. Instead of being intimidated by it, it ramps up my lustful fantasies of straddling his trim hips and riding him like a bucking stallion.

“Yes, but I don’t think you want to take mine.”

“Why?” he asks with a curious lift of an eyebrow while examining the dim, snow-covered lot.

“You won’t fit.” I point to my beat-up car, smirking as those sapphires widen in dismay. The image of him squished inside my compact Fiat almost has me doubling over with laughter.

“Is that even roadworthy?”

Okay, nobody insults my rust bucket and lives to tell about it. Yes, I admit the years have not been kind. His once beautiful paint job has faded to a cringe-worthy turquoise. The bottom’s nearly rusted out, and the poor dear has coughing fits on the highway, but his insides are in mint condition. The little gem is all mine, and eighty percent of the time, he gets me where I need to go.

“Hey, don’t diss my ride. You’ll hurt his feelings.” It’s all I can do to keep a straight face when Sebastian turns an incredulous expression my direction, surveying me like I’ve lost my mind. Technically, I have. Well, most of it anyway.

He blinks several times before guiding us away from my little deathtrap. I think I’ve flummoxed the sexy beast. Tonight is lookin’ up.

An alarm chirps, and I stop dead in my tracks, gaping at the wet dream showcased in the faint glow from the parking lights. This Superman lookalike drives a 1986 cherry red and white Ford Bronco, Eddie Bower Edition, with big, sexy-ass knobby tires and shiny rims.

“Holy shit, Batman! You own this sweet ride?”

He grins down at me, enjoying my exuberance. “One of the best automobiles ever invented.”

“Where have you been all my life?” I whisper to the Bronco while caressing her side fender. “This baby sports a 5.8-liter, high output V-8 with 210 horsepower and can do 0-60mph in 10.5 seconds flat. Back in its day, it was the beast.”

“You know cars?”

I glance over my shoulder at his stunned disbelief. “I recognize great machines. This gem was by far the best full-size SUV of its time. I mean, just look at her. She’s damn sexy.”

He chuckles, and my insides readjust. “Hop in, and I will take you home.”

When he reaches around to open the door, I’m struck with a case of the ‘what ifs.’ What if he’s a serial killer? What if he’s a rapist? Although, I can’t imagine him doing anything to my body that would cause me to object. Scream his name in ecstasy, on the other hand, damn skippy.

He observes me with a predatory awareness making the hairs on my arms stand on end, and I hesitate in the open door. Inside the bar, when I’d asked if I was safe with him, he’d answered no. No hesitation whatsoever. What does that mean? As much as I’m dying for a ride in this baby, I’m not too keen on dying for a ride.

This is wrong and dangerous, and honestly, downright asinine. Still, I’ve never reacted to anything since waking up on the floor of the store dressing room, the way I respond to Sebastian. Smart or foolish, I hop up onto the gray and red seat and pray I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life.

When the engine roars awake, I nearly squirt, forgetting in an instant all my reservations, or my friends partying in the bar; even my mission to get into Ezekiel’s pants.

Ezekiel who?

The deep sapphires twinkle in the gloomy light. “My car turns you on. I do not know whether to be offended, jealous, or kiss you.”

I’m definitely on board with the kissing.

“This is not a car, Sebastian. This is a chick magnet, which I’m sure you are well aware of.”

“I like the sound of my name on your lips, little red. And I do not require a vehicle to get… chicks.”

Yeah, I bet not.