Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

her.”
    Ivar refolded the paper and tucked it away. He’d look at her pretty picture later. Right now, he needed to plan. Map out every detail, imagine all the things he’d do when he finally got his hands on Myst Munroe.
    Jesus, he couldn’t wait to taste her.

Chapter Twenty-seven
    Myst surfaced from sleep like a submarine, smooth and easy, but with a rushing awareness that startled her. Her limbs twitched, coming online as her brain rocketed into the ON position. As her eyes flipped open, she frowned.
    Wow. This was weird. Completely upside down and backward.
    Usually, she woke up blurry-eyed. In an incoherent scramble that left her stumbling around while her brain fired on all the wrong synapses. The result was less than fun. Her fail-safe solution? Coffee. And loads of it.
    But this morning? Or evening. Man, she didn’t know what time it was, but…
    Wide awake didn’t begin to describe her. She was on uppers without downing the drugs. Jazzed for no apparent reason. It was a little scary, actually. So strange alarm bells went off inside her head.
    She rubbed her eyes and shifted, registering the softness beneath her and that she lay curled on her side. On board with the super perky rise-and-shine routine, her vision sharpened. Glossy white cabinets and a stainless steel countertop glinted in the low light. A round table broke up the space, sitting between the bank of cupboards and the bed. Two metal chairs sat at odd angles alongside, like they’d been pushed out of the way in a hurry.
    She noticed the equipment next.
    Lined up like soldiers, a collection of machines stood shoulder to shoulder against the wall and…wow. Nothing but the best for this unit. The medical equipment was state of the art, the most expensive models on the market. Not that the person using them cared. The heart-rate monitor was a complete travesty. Wires and electrodes hung to the floor in a messy tangle that just made her mad. Someone needed to kick that nurse’s—or intern’s—butt. That machine helped save people’s lives and—
    Wait a second.
    What was she doing in a hospital? Okay. Stupid question. Part of her job involved spending time in hospitals, but she’d never been a patient. Until now.
    Myst squinted at the pale walls, looking for a clue: a picture, a diploma, signs of any kind. Nada. A big, fat blank. Just like her memory.
    Man, this was getting old. She could do without the whole “can’t remember the next morning” routine. Especially when every time it happened, she ended up eyeballing someone else’s sheets. With a sigh, Myst stretched, arching her back to work the kinks out and…
    She was naked. No hospital johnny. Just skin on cotton. Again.
    Her mind came back online in a hurry. Holy crap. Bastian. It had to be. Every time she closed her eyes around the guy, she woke up without a stitch on. Which wouldn’t have been all that bad if he stuck around after he’d gotten her that way.
    Whoa. Wrong thought. Ah…wasn’t it?
    Chewing on her bottom lip, Myst tried to decide. She wanted him—no denying it—but was sleeping with him the smart thing to do? She knew herself well, could feel the fall coming. She didn’t do casual sex. At least, not well. The one time she’d tried, she’d ended up getting hurt, wanting something the guy wasn’t prepared to give.
    She sighed, admitting she was in too deep.
    But the worst was knowing Bastian wanted her, too. She could see it every time he looked at her. And when he looked at her, she forgot where she was, what she was supposed to be doing…namely saying no .
    With a groan, Myst flipped the sheet back. Time to get up.
    “Bellmia?”
    The sleepy murmur drifted over her shoulder. A strong arm followed, snaking around her body from behind. She twitched in surprise, gasping when he pulled her in tight. His chest touched her first, pressing against her back a second before the rest of him followed. Oh, God. She had him, full-on contact; his breath warming the side of her neck, his strong body up against hers.
    Her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned back, relaxing into his embrace. Wrong thing to do, she knew. She should be shrugging out of his hold, telling him off…giving him the heave-ho. He was, after all, taking a truckload for granted. But as he fit her to the curve of his body, she lost the will to resist along with her voice. He felt too good, not even the threat of future pain overrode her desire for closeness.
    He needed her. And she wanted to be