by MJ Fredrick
“Is it a comfort to you? Being right?”
“He left me!” The tears were choking her now, burning her nose as she fought them back. Because if she started crying, she wouldn’t stop. “That job was more important to him than I was, and he picked it over me, and it killed him. He was the only, he was the only—” Her breath came too fast, she couldn’t form the words, glared out the window, the scenery whipping past, blurred by her tears. “I loved him with everything in me. What was wrong with me that he couldn’t love me back the same way?” That no one could. Gabe would be no different. His job would come first. He’d said that was something he and Jen had in common. Why was it wrong of her to want more?
“You think it was a conscious decision? Did he think, ‘Hell, I’ll show her, I’ll go out and get shot in the face?’”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“Of course he didn’t. He was a good guy.”
She whipped her head around, swiping the tears from her face, no longer worried what he thought. “What makes you say that?”
The expression in his dark eyes was gentle. “You loved him.”
She couldn’t see that look, not when she was hurting so bad. “He might still be alive.”
“What?” Gabe’s surprise echoed through the cab.
“If I hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t known I was there. If I’d been anywhere else that night.”
“You wouldn’t have been with him when he died.”
“It’s not like he died in my arms.” She felt the weight of his body in her arms, smelled his blood. She squeezed her eyes against the image of blood everywhere. “He was dead before I got to him. And it’s my fault. I have to live with it.”
Gabe was quiet awhile, blaming her too, no doubt. “So are you writing these articles to assuage your guilt, or to revel in it?”
Shock edged past her pain. “What?”
“Are these articles your penance?”
When she opened her mouth to answer, she had no idea what to say. This wasn’t her penance. When she’d started writing them, she’d done it to be closer to Dan, to try to understand. Okay, maybe too little, too late, but that was how she’d stumbled onto this series.
Not to make up for her decisions, but to understand his. And now to understand Gabe.
She turned back to look out the window, hiding the tears that threatened. But so far, she understood even less. Herself least of all.
Chapter Twelve
Peyton couldn’t sleep. The hard mattress was softer than the ground, the scratchy sheets more comfortable than her smelly sleeping bag. She’d showered, had the AC on and still tossed and turned.
Without being asked, Gabe got them two rooms, adjoining. He probably wished her back in Chicago, probably regretted inviting her to help Doug. She wished she shared his regret.
She hadn’t been alone in days, not easy since she was used to being alone ninety percent of the time. She may have forgotten how.
Her thoughts were too loud, Gabe’s words echoing. Bad enough she had those ideas about herself without hearing them from a man she admired.
The TV didn’t drown out the swirling thoughts as her mind whipped through the events of the past few days with dizzying speed, only to land on one bit over and over.
Gabe.
God, she missed him, his calm reassuring presence, his sharp mind, his warm body. After only a few days, the man saw things in her she had forgotten about herself, saw strengths in her she didn’t recognize. While at first she’d wanted to impress him, she learned he didn’t need to be impressed. Yes, he wanted her to do a good job on the line, but he was pretty damn accepting of her mistakes. In the short time she’d known him, he made her feel better about herself than anyone ever had.
He’d seen her stripped bare—of defenses and everything else—and he still accepted her.
So why was she lying here playing victim? She’d decided that she was taking charge of her life. Easier said than done, especially when it came to how another person made her feel, but she would make him see her side.
She was rising from the bed with the intention of heading to his room when the news about the fire came on.
“Gabe!” Peyton pounded at his door, not caring about the hour, about the annoyed shouts from the rooms surrounding theirs. “Gabe!”
He pulled the door open, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. She saw the tears on his cheeks before he turned away. She entered the room, closing the door behind her.
“Who is it?” she asked.
He indicated the phone and mouthed, “Jen.”
She’d meant who died. Had the four dead Hot Shots been Bear Claws? Someone they’d celebrated with last night? But he’d given his attention back to the phone. She leaned against the dresser, all her attention on him, not caring that eavesdropping was rude.
“No, Peyton just came in. I know, there’s nothing we can do tonight.” Frustration colored his voice. “We’ll go to the base first thing in the morning, get back there as soon as we can. No, wait for me. I want to do it. I need to do it.” He glanced over at Peyton. “Yeah, you too. Try to get some sleep. Good night.” He hung up the phone, stared at it. “Doug’s been charged with the murder of the Hot Shots who died out there,” he said over his shoulder, his hand still on the phone, like he was using it to brace himself. “Four counts of manslaughter. They picked him back up at the fire camp.”
“Jesus.” She dropped to the edge of the bed, her legs weak.
“Yeah, and if that’s not bad enough—”
“It’s someone you know.” Peyton forced the words past numb lips.
Dan had lost friends in the line of duty, and had had a similar reaction. It had been hard comforting him, trying to absorb his pain, but this was harder, because while she’d never thought Dan would fall, now she understood Gabe was not invulnerable to the same fate.
Gabe dragged his hands over his face, not looking at her. “Yeah.”
“Not from your crew.”
“No. Friends.”
“And you want to bring them back.”
He did turn to her then, his eyes dark and hot with pain. “I need to.”
She didn’t understand his desire, but she wasn’t going to argue with him, not now. She covered his hand with hers, not sure if he wanted the contact. She did. “What can I do?”
He pulled away and reached for the keys to the truck. “You can hope a liquor store is still open.”
None were, but they were able to pick up a couple of six-packs at the grocery store. Gabe twisted off the cap of the first bottle before he closed the motel room door behind him, had half of it drained before Peyton fished her first bottle out of the bag.
She sat on the bed, cross-legged, no longer concerned about keeping him at arm’s length. “Tell me about them.”
“I knew two of them, Jon and Bev.” He sat against the headboard and reached for another bottle. “This was Jon’s favorite beer. I trained with him, about a million years ago, and Bev was on my crew before I moved over to the Bear Claws.”
“You slept with her.”
He looked at her sharply. “What made you say that?”
She merely lifted her eyebrows as she drank.
“Yeah, I did. Hell. It was a long time ago, before Jen.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “She wasn’t going to do this long, was only going to do it to pay for college, and hell, she should have graduated about seven years ago. She must’ve got bit.”
“What was she going to school for?”
“Testing me to see how well I remember her?”
“Just curious about the kind of woman who draws you.”
“You already know you, and Jen.”
“And I can see no similarity, except this.” She laughed, pulling a strand of blonde hair through her fingers. “So tell me about Bev, unless it bothers you.”
He shook his head. “She was young. This was, what, almost ten years ago. She wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, and had that look, you kn
ow, the dimples, the twinkling eyes, the kind of singsong voice. And yes, she was blonde. She had this great energy. Really lit up the place.” He took in a deep breath through his nose, his focus on his hands.
“Did you love her?”
“No. I liked the hell out of her, though. Seriously, she left to go back to school. I don’t know what she was doing back up here.” He turned his head, opened his eyes. “I don’t want you back on the mountain.”
“What?” She nearly knocked her bottle over. If he’d slapped her face, she wouldn’t have been more surprised.
He righted the bottle before the beer foamed over the lip and onto the mattress. “I don’t want you up there. If this fire can take two veterans...” He lowered his head, gathering himself, then looked back at her. “Well, I don’t want to go get your body.”
She reached over, cupped her hand over his cheek, the stubble bristling against her palm. “Why do you feel you have to get theirs? It isn’t your fault they died.”
His gaze sharpened and he drew back from her touch. “I know.”
“You going up there won’t solve anything.” She leaned forward, tucking her beer in the circle of her legs. “You don’t want me to go up there, I don’t want you to go up there. You shouldn’t see them like that.”
“If it were me, I’d want someone I know to be the one to bring me down. It’s the right thing to do.”
Honor. It meant so much to him, and made him the man he was. The man she loved.
Whoa. How had that slipped past her defenses? And now that it had, could she pretend it wasn’t there?
Did she want to?
“Will you be there when I get back?” he asked.
And because it was such a small thing, because it was good to be needed again, she said, “Yes.”
He leaned toward her, took her beer and put it on the table before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. She wrapped herself around him, unable to stop herself.
“I’m sorry, Peyton,” he whispered against her hair. “I want you.”
“Gabe—” Peyton’s pulse kicked into high gear. She felt like a mouse facing a hungry cat.
Then he was kissing her, his hands fisted in her hair, his mouth slick and hot and desperate. He loosened her ponytail, stroked her hair against her neck. The touch of her own hair made her nerves dance.
His unshaven cheek scraped her cheek and she reached up to touch his jaw, stroke the stubble, at once scratchy and silky. Beneath it his skin was hot and damp. She dragged her touch down his throat, feeling the play of his muscles as he devoured her mouth, sending reason into flames. She slid her hands up his chest to wind around his neck as he tugged her closer.
He broke the kiss for the moment it took him to lower her to the bed. He pushed his hips rhythmically against her until she pushed back, and the sound of heavy breathing and pounding pulses covered the rasp of zippers and swish of cloth.
Gabe reached into his pocket for a condom, not moving from his position, blanketing her body.
“I want to be on top,” she whispered.
He let her up and rolled onto his back. She straddled him and he sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation. She played up her own pleasure, as the insides of her thighs brushed the outsides of his, the roughness of his hair focusing her senses. She guided him to her and sank onto him, hugging his hips with her knees.
Finding her rhythm didn’t detract from his pleasure. He slid his palms over the smooth skin of her back before framing her hips. She gasped when he shifted beneath her, and her breath shuddered.
Peyton wanted nothing like she wanted Gabe and she bent to pull his head up to hers, sucked on his lips and tongue, scraped her teeth over his ear. He smelled of smoke and man and she wanted to feel him come inside her.
So she threw her head back and rode him until his breathing went ragged, and he moved beneath her, inside her in his quest for climax.
His search lead to her own orgasm and she dropped her head to his shoulder and turned her mouth against his throat to hide her cry of release.
“My God, Peyton,” he murmured when his body no longer trembled from the power of their joining. “My God.”
She buried her face into the curve of his throat and tried not to cry.
Gabe stroked his fingers up and down Peyton’s arm as she slept beside him. She was so soft. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched anything so soft. He pressed a kiss to her hair, sniffed her fruity shampoo.
Would it always be like this, would he always be drawn to her like a magnet, like he had been last night? After Jen’s bombshell, and then the deaths of the firefighters, he’d been staggered with the painful thoughts of what might have been. Only thoughts of Peyton cleared the haze, of her directness, her softness, her courage, even when he’d said those hurtful things to her.
Almost made him forget about her husband. Did make him forgive her for it. She hadn’t tried to change him because she didn’t approve of him. She tried to change him to save him. How could he fault her for that?
If he stayed with her, she’d want the same from him, especially since her worst fears had come true when Dan died. And for the first time in his life, he might have found someone he’d walk away from this life for. Could he walk away altogether, leave this life? Would Peyton accept anything else? Maybe if he didn’t go out on the fire line, but worked toward a position in command, like Jen had always wanted him to do.
Goddamn. He itched to pull back, but he didn’t want to wake her. Jesus, he’d never thought about leaving the job for a woman, about leaving the job, period. What was it about the woman beside him who made him consider it? Her vulnerability or her toughness? Her compassion or her determination? He’d only known her for a few days, but the idea of saying goodbye made his stomach plummet, like jumping out of a plane.
He wished he could offer her more than cheap motel rooms. He hadn’t wanted to give a woman more, and the idea shook him. When he’d been with Jen, leaving hadn’t occurred to him, but she was from the community and being in the firefighting world was enough for her. Peyton was from another world entirely, and he wanted to be able to offer her something from her world, something outside of firefighting, something she understood. He just wasn’t sure he was capable.
He turned onto his side and pulled her close. She accepted his touch and nestled against him, sliding her hands over his chest to his shoulders. With her eyes still closed she raised her face and nuzzled his chin.
She wasn’t asleep but she wasn’t fully awake. Gabe hadn’t done the dreamy lovemaking thing and his body responded to the silent suggestion.
He lowered his head toward her and she captured his mouth with hers unerringly.
Her lips moved idly over his, her tongue moved into his mouth, probing gently, and he glided his hands over her back, letting her set the pace. The warmth of the kiss flowed through him. He hadn’t known this slow lazy lovemaking could be so powerful. He reined himself in from rushing forward, though it was torture when she floated her fingertips over his body. He clenched his teeth as he fought for control.
“I love your body,” she whispered, coursing her palms up his thighs, looking at him through sleep-dazed eyes.
She was so beautiful as she rose up over him, her hair tousled from his hands, her features sleep softened. But when he kissed her, the ache in his heart matched the ache in his loins. He didn’t want to hurt her. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her cheeks. He rolled her beneath him, worshiping her body.
She bowed against him, clutching both his hands in hers as he came into her.
“I love you,” she murmured, stretching up for him.
His heart seized at the words, though his body didn’t stop delving into her warmth. She loved him? How could she? Did he deserve—?
He didn’t mean to let go so soon, and he groaned, in a mixture of pleasure and regret. Maybe it was the powerful foreplay, but he knew it was those three little words.
He rolled onto his bac
k and stared at the ceiling. Peyton smoothed her hand over his pounding heart. After a moment he leaned over and kissed her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her mouth softly, searchingly.
With all the love he’d rediscovered.
He couldn’t say the words, not yet, but he could show her.
“Do you still want to interview me?” he asked, his own rough words surprising him when his heart rate approached normal once more, when the sweat had mostly evaporated from his body.
She sat up, her earlier languor gone, her eyes bright. “Do you mean it?”
He dragged his hands over his face, his usual stalling tactic, still not believing he’d come to that decision. “Yeah. I mean it.”
“Let me just get dressed—”
“There might be something to be said for doing a naked interview,” he teased, needing a touch of humor after what felt like a momentous decision.
“Right.” She reached for her underwear and jeans, clearly not willing to give it a shot. Still, she moved with a lack of modesty he appreciated. “You’re just wanting a distraction.”
“Not me.” He rolled onto his side to watch her. Even the way she dressed was such a feminine task. He let himself enjoy the show, and she allowed him to, not speaking until she was decent.
“Are you going to get dressed?” She looked pointedly at him.
He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back on the mattress.
“Nope.”
“All right. Well, you know my first question.”
“I thought your first question might be what just happened here.” He sure had a question or two about those three little words. Still, he kept his tone teasing.
She dragged her eyes over his body with lazy approval. His instinct was to cover his reaction to her perusal, but he resisted. “I bet you’d prefer that off the record.”
“Oh, you shallow, shallow girl. Aren’t you going to get your notebook?”
Facing him, she sat cross-legged on the bed. “I can remember. And I believe you’ll be more comfortable talking if I’m not writing everything down.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’d hate to be misquoted.”
