Flashpoint

Начало книги

“Now’s your shot with me, Zach. I say we get naked.”

Exhausted, filthy, Zach Thomas still managed to lift his head and stare at Cristina. “What?”

Just as filthy, she arched a come-hither brow streaked with soot, which made it difficult to take her seriously. So did the mustache of grime. “You and me,” she said. “Naked. What do you think?”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. He thought that she was crazy. They both wore their fire gear and were dragging their asses after several hours of intense firefighting. All around them, the stench of smoke and devastation still swirled in thick gray clouds, penetrating their outfits, their skin. Nothing about it felt sexy.

“Hey, nobody laughs at my offer of sex and lives,” she told him. “Not even you, Officer Hottie.”

When he grimaced at the nickname, she laughed. “You doing me tonight or not?”

Sex as a relaxant worked-generally speaking, sex as anything worked-but Zach was so close to comatose he couldn’t have summoned the energy to pull her close, much less do anything about it once he got her that way. “I can’t.”

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