Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
AUGUST
I don’t have a lot of dating experience. Truth be told, I’ve never had a girlfriend.
There’s been a handful of women I took out a few times. Things got intimate, I got cold—literally—and one of us would break it off.
Now I’m parked outside of Quinn’s house, and the night seems full of potential. So much so that if I could sweat, my shirt would be damp right now. At least, in this instance, I’m happy about my ability to keep my body cool.
And that becomes a hell of a lot easier when I knock on the front door and the woman who opens it takes my breath away.
Quinn grins up at me, all her freckles creasing with the expression. A tight black dress hugs her close as a red sweater covers her shoulders. I wonder if she wears the outer layer because she’s worried I’ll give her a chill.
Self-consciously, I make sure none of the ice gathering in my chest spills out.
“Goddess bless, August. You look so good in dressy clothes.”
My date steps forward, running her hands over my button-up shirt. The heat of her touch seeps through the fabric, and it’s all I can do to fight off a moan of pleasure.
As I struggle with my response, Quinn presses her front to mine, then crosses the last few inches to brush her lips against my mouth. “Give me some ice. I need it with you looking like this.”
She’s asking for my chill?
Just like in the parking lot, I’m eager to comply, and this time, I’m not able to stifle a groan as the power slides from my skin to hers.
Quinn shivers, but from her expression, she likes it.
“Ready to go?”
We have to go now before I carry her into the house, locate the nearest surface to bend her over, and hike up the skirt of this sinful dress.
“Definitely.” She grabs a purse, and then we’re down her front walk and in my car.
On the drive, the air between us is charged. There’s tension, uncertainty, lust, and probably a handful of other emotions I can’t identify. Just when I think I might go wild from the buildup, Quinn reaches over to lace her fingers through mine, claiming my free hand.
But she doesn’t just passively hold it. No, Quinn is too curious for that. Instead, she raises my hand up, running her free fingers over the back, tracing the veins and bones under my skin. Examining me.
What is she looking for?
“When your power comes, what does it feel like?”
I clear my throat a couple of times. “You mean, what does it feel like … when I’m turned on?”
Quinn chuckles. “No, I think I can guess at that. I mean, after you feel lust, your power rises, and then it makes itself known. How is that for you? For me, it’s like a second pulse under my skin, pressing to get out.”
“Really?”
I never imagined that Elementals felt magic in distinctive ways. But why wouldn’t they? The powers themselves are different.
“Yep. Then that second pulse gets so hot that everything boils over. Like a pot of water left on the stovetop for too long.”
Fascinating. “It’s in my gut.” I clear my throat and try to think of a better way to describe it. “The ice is deep in my belly, and then it seems to scatter over the top of my skin.”
“Hmm.” Quinn makes the happy noise in the back of her throat. “That’s why you get a nice frosty coating.”
I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to the way she likes my cold. Still, the satisfied tone she uses has my power responding, and I let it go enough to form a web of frost across the back of my forearm.
And the woman in my passenger seat practically purrs.
My dick gets half hard, and I carefully retract my arm from her hold. “Gonna need you to stop making those noises if you want me to make it through this date.”
A rosy blush spreads underneath Quinn’s freckles, but the grin she gives me is wicked.
A few minutes later, we walk into the restaurant Damien recommended. The place does Mexican food with a fine dining flair. Apparently, the head chef was on one of those reality cooking shows, making the place popular. Still, my friend was able to pull a few strings and get me a reservation.
After the mess made of our first date, I want to show Quinn I’ll pull out all the stops for her.
The woman at the front podium finds my name on the list and directs us to follow her. The place boasts low mood lighting with most of the tables set up for two diners. We’re not the only ones having a date night.
The thought makes me smile, makes me hopeful that I’m doing this right. That I’m not going to screw up this chance I have with the woman of my dreams. My eyes drop to the strong, shapely curve of Quinn’s calves as she navigates through the restaurant.
More like the woman of my fantasies.
When the hostess leaves us to our table, I’m about to help Quinn to her seat.
That is, until my date speaks.
“Oh, hell no.”
At Quinn’s mutter, I glance around to see what’s wrong. Does she not like the restaurant? Damien said the food was delicious, but I’ll leave in a second if she wants to go somewhere else.
Before I can ask, the Pyro steps up to the table and leans over it. Reaching out, she uses her bare fingers to snuff out a little tea candle that rests between the two plates.
She smirks at me over her shoulder. “No need to add any more fuel to this fire.”
Ah.
I grin in return, then pull out her chair. A charming stain of red brushes across her cheeks as she takes a seat. The waiter comes by to take our drink orders, then leaves us on our own.
“I have a confession.” Quinn leans forward, voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper.
“What’s that?” I keep my response just as quiet.
She bites her lip, and my eyes fixate on how her perfect white teeth pucker that delicate skin. “This is the first time I’ve been out with a guy at a restaurant.”
For a moment, I can’t comprehend her words. When I try to run them through my brain, they just don’t make sense.
“You mean this restaurant?”
The ruddiness returns to her cheeks, but she shakes her head.
“Nope. I mean any restaurant. Period.”
“How?” is all I can think to say.
Quinn sips from her glass of water and shrugs. “I mean, I’ve been asked out. So, I guess I had plenty of opportunities. But I turned them all down.”
I wonder how many plenty is. But then I realize the number doesn’t matter because I’m the one she said yes to.
Laying my hand on the table, palm up, I make a silent request.
Quinn smiles wide and slips her hand into mine.
Heat seeps from her skin, pulsing up my arm, through my chest, filling my body. My eyes threaten to roll back in my head, and I barely stifle a moan.
Curse all the gods. Or maybe bless them. I don’t know. All I can think about is the pleasurable agony of limiting myself to the smallest of touches with this woman.
“What I’m saying is,” she murmurs, “I’m a restaurant-date virgin, and I’m glad you’re my first.”
No need for dinner because I just swallowed my tongue.
“That was a weird way to put it, huh?” Quinn squeezes my hand before letting go. “I spend too much time with Harley. She speaks in a constant flow of sexual innuendo, and that’s rubbing off.”
When I struggle to get words past the blockage in my throat, I go to take a sip of my water, only to get bashed in the nose with a block of ice. “Damn it,” I mutter, setting the glass down and pulling the power back under my skin.
“What is it?” Quinn stares across the table at me with concern.
“Nothing.” My eyes track over the freckles on her face, loving how they darken in this low lighting. “Only you look amazing. Of course, you always look beautiful, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Even with this thing?” Quinn plucks at the knitted cardigan she has on over her heart-stopping black dress. One side has slipped off her shoulder, as if the garment is teasing me.
“You look especially good in red.”
My date smirks at me, and slowly, the expression morphs into an almost-vulnerable smile. “I like you. A lot.”
Her statement doesn’t have me fighting off frost because I don’t get hit with an onslaught of lust. Instead, her sincerity fills me with hope. And anticipation.
Can I convince this amazing woman that I’m worth more of her time? Can I get her to keep coming back to me?
“I like you more than ice cream,” is what my mouth decides to declare.
Quinn’s eyes go wide. Then she grins so big and gorgeous that I notice our waiter stumble a step as he returns to our table. Luckily, the guy had enough balance to keep our drinks from spilling.
When the waiter asks for our orders, Quinn and I both take a hurried glance at the menu. I pick the first item I spot with the word steak included.
Alone again, Quinn sips her wine, watching me over the rim. I consider how best to apologize for my juvenile compliment. Seriously, I sounded like a preschooler.
“More than ice cream, huh?” Her tongue sneaks out to catch a stray drop of wine at the corner of her mouth.
I have to reach under the table to adjust myself. “Yeah … I mean—”
“What’s your favorite flavor?”
“Huh?” I respond, too off-balance to be articulate.
“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream that you’ve ever had?” Quinn leans forward to trace a finger down the back of my forearm where it rests on the table. “I need to know exactly what I’m beating out.”
My brain goes blank. Name my favorite flavor? Try naming any flavor when I have her fingers on me. Remembering my own name is a struggle.
Still, with a herculean effort, I’m able to jump-start my memory, cycling through all of the scoops I’ve ever sampled.
Capturing Quinn’s hand, I keep her from drawing more mind-numbing patterns so I can focus.
“Did I ever tell you I studied ice cream making in college?”
“Really? That’s a major?” The sultry note leaves her voice, replaced with interest.
“Technically, the major was food science. But I had a focus in ice cream. My one professor was originally from Canada, and she would craft this maple nut ice cream that had everyone drooling. Me included.”
“Oh goddess, that sounds decadent. Do you ever make it?”
I shake my head. “Tried once, but it was a sad comparison. Can’t copy perfection.”
Quinn is quiet, seeming to focus on the task of unfolding her napkin to lay on her lap. Then she meets my eyes.
“And you like me better than that maple nut?” Her question is both curious and hesitant.
A grin stretches my cheeks as I hold her gaze. “I’d rather eat you any day of the week.”