Thought I'd share a bit of
Fire Woman with you. I'm stoked because it comes out in....TWO WEEKS!!!!
Here's a Friday Flirt:
“A thousand bodies swaying to the hypnotic rhythm, but not a one for me.”
Atria pushed through the throng of people. Smoke and sweat clung in the air. She crinkled her nose. Too many writhing limbs and not enough air to breathe. One of the concertgoers, a punk kid with a piercing glittering in his nose, tossed her a sneer. The four-inch spikes of ebony hair on his head reminded her of lethal weapons. “Wannabe,” the teen snapped.
Snorting, she pushed past him. “Bathe.” He might be dangerous in a rebellious teenager sort of way, but he had nothing on her.
“Go home,” he growled and put his palm up. “This line is for passes and hardcore Glow fans.”
Atria flicked her fingers, sending an arc of flame to his hand. His eyes widened, and his skin paled beyond the white makeup. The façade of bad boy melted into scared child as he backed away from her.
“What the hell?” His voice shook. “I didn’t mean for you to kill me.”
She leaned in close enough for him to hear her over the roar of the music. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be toast by now.”
The punk shook his head and backed away. His body trembled. “You’re a freak... a scary freak. What the fuck.”
Good, she thought and continued to the door. Always nice to be recognized as different. Along the way, two more rowdy kids shoved at her. Both found out the hard way -- through a minor hair fire and scorched eyebrows -- Atria Moline didn’t play games.
“She burnt me!” The kid with blue streaked hair stormed the guard. “That bitch burned me. I’ll have to shave my damned head.”
“Consider it an improvement,” the bouncer snapped. “Go.” One brow rose as he considered Atria. “How many?”
She sighed. “I only scorched three, Hiram.” Trust her big brother to call her on the carpet. “They didn’t burn. Just a little sizzle and everything will grow back. Maybe.”
“Your sizzle will get your ass arrested.” Hiram sniffed the air and blew out a long breath. “You burned hair and it smells like ass. Don’t do that again. Sister or not, I will hurt you.”
“No you won’t. You love me and you’ll protect me $because I’m your sister.” She braced her hands on her hips. “Ha.”
“Whatever, brat. Are you here to see Lucien?” His smile widened. “Or have you finally found the nerve to talk to Zac?”
“Shut up.” The response sounded one hell of a lot better than, $I want to jump his bones and ride to Arizona.$ Dammit. “Luc wanted pictures taken after the gig. I’m here to photograph, not hurl myself at anyone.” Shit. That sounded goofy, especially since she didn’t have her camera in plain sight. The thought crossed her mind -- had she remembered it at all?
“Uh-huh.” He twisted the knob and allowed her into the inner sanctum -- the backstage area. “Next time, keep the camera around your neck for credibility.”
Although Atria considered giving her brother the middle finger, she refrained and shivered. She’d been backstage at the Steelyards plenty of times. Luc and his band, Glow, played lots of places, plenty of them creepier than the former factory warehouse. Why the hell did the massive room scare her? One name came to mind. Zac.
Damn.
She plopped down onto a nearby folding chair and closed her eyes. Zacchaeus “Iceman” Frost. Goofy name for a hot man. Hot? Okay, so the guy was handsome in a brooding, six-foot-five manner. She licked her lips as a clear image of Zac came together in her mind. Muscles just where a woman wanted to lick. Hardly a stitch of hair on him and a just one tattoo on his back -- a spider web or medieval design... she wasn’t sure and didn’t care. And those eyes, the pristine blue of the North Atlantic. Heat zipped through her veins. Was he packing? The bulge in the front of his leathers hinted at more than enough to please. Need tingled in her pussy, and Atria crossed her legs to stave off the sensations.
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