by Amelia James
“We have a new boss.”
“Simon Lev Q? Leveek?” Cassandra botched the name.
The hair on his arms prickled while he scanned the email for the details.
Wilhelm County Emergency Management Services has hired Simon Leveque as its new operations manager…
The rest of the words blurred as that name brought back memories he’d never managed to forget. “It’s pronounced LeVeck.” But the name he knew had been Simone—female—not Simon.
“It sounds French.”
“It is. A friend of mine…”
More than that. She’d been his constant companion since he’d walked her to the nurse’s office in junior high after she missed a step while staring at him and rolled down the stairs. He rushed to help her, but she’d jumped up and cheered, “Ta-da!” and got a laugh from the kids watching. Classic Simone. Always playing to the crowd. Then he’d noticed her arm bent in the wrong direction.
“My high school sweetheart was named Simone Leveque.” His heart hammered as he said her name out loud for the first time in years. Sweat dotted his forehead and he grabbed the glass of ice water.
Cassandra put her phone away. “That’s an unusual name. Maybe he’s a relative.”
“I doubt it.” Dash shook his head. An image of Simone’s brown fingers curled around his cock rattled his spine, and he gnawed his lower lip to keep a moan from escaping. Cassandra had said something. He blinked and focused on her. “I don’t remember a Simon in her family.”
A devious smile curled her lips. “Maybe it’s a typo and it’s actually her.”
“Ha. No.” Dash tightened his grip on the icy glass as his chair seemed to spin. “That would not be…” What would it be like to see her again? Sweet memories warred with the sour poetic verses their breakup had inspired. Awkward teenage sex with passion and enthusiasm that had never been equaled by anyone else. Pain that had shattered his young world, leaving him to put the pieces back together alone. “Not good.”
“What happened?”
“We broke up.” He mashed his lips together, refusing to relive the argument that had finally driven them apart. But images and anger plagued him. The accusations, the necklace he’d given her. His brother.
“No kidding.” Cassandra laid her hand on his arm. “Come on, she must’ve meant something to you. The ice in your glass is rattling.”
He shoved the glass away and it bounced off the budvase in the center of the table. Yeah, she’d meant something, all right. His whole life. But he wouldn’t admit that to Cassie. “She was my first…” First love, first-time sex. First everything. “You know.”
“Ah. What was it like?”
Focus on the sex. “Good—for me. It didn’t last long enough for her to be impressed.” Quick and awkward, the first time for both of them, but fueled by the tense undercurrent that always seemed to ripple between them and a long-denied desire to get in each other’s pants. “We did it in my truck after a football game I lost…after a fight.” He allowed a brief smile to twist his lips. “Makeup sex.”
“She’ll always have a special place in your heart.”
“Something like that.” He’d kept that place locked up tight for years, and he had no idea where he’d stashed the key. After they split, he started writing down the poetic lines in his head. Therapy, he’d called it. A couple of years later, he published a collection. Closure, his agent had called it. Dash had tried to believe that, and he stopped writing for almost a year. But when Wyatt dragged him to a Lincoln High homecoming game, those old wounds ripped open and the words bled out again.
He signed the check with a slashing scrawl, left a decent tip, and stood up. “Let’s go.”
Cassandra clutched her blouse closed as the wind threatened to expose her again. “I need to get back to the news station and check the radar.” She stepped between Dash and the exit. “But I have time for a quickie.”
Dash’s gaze drew downward as her fist uncurled, and she let the breeze expose her persistent quest to get him back in her bed. “Quickie?” He allowed her to clasp his hand and lead him to the parking lot. “I have no idea what that word means.” He hadn’t done quick since his first time with Simone, and that had been quickly followed by a repeat performance. Damn it, let go of her!
Cassie shoved him up against his truck, pinning him against the door while her fingertips trailed down his chest to play with his belt buckle. He should’ve fought her off, should’ve turned his head when her lips claimed his. His eyes drifted shut as memories assaulted him. Simone had always made a good show of resisting him, pushing his hands away from her breasts, grabbing at his shirt, clawing and scratching until he realized she’d maneuvered his hands between her thighs and pulled his shirt off. He twisted her hair in his fist and slipped his fingers into her open blouse, groaning on her lips. “I need to fuck you.”
“Not here.”
His eyes snapped open and he frowned, slightly shocked to see blonde hair instead of black, pale skin instead of dark. Dash released his grip on Cassandra and stepped aside. “Right, sorry.”
She rearranged her hair and covered her bra. “What got into you?”
Hunger he hadn’t felt in far too long. “Old habits.” He sucked in a shuddering breath while his racing heart returned to a normal pace, taking the aged memories to the darkest corners of his mind where they quietly haunted him. Serious relationships had become an aversion after Simone left him, but this thing with Cassie could’ve been meaningful…if he’d let it.
Cassandra smiled and slid her hand up his arm. “Well, do it again. Please.”
“No.” His stomach turned on itself as she rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek.
An odd-looking low cloud cast a shadow over them. His nose wrinkled as a whiff of a campfire hit him. He scanned the horizon and spotted a column of gray smoke rising from the mountainside west of town. “Shit. That’s not good.”
Cassandra ran to her car.
The two-way radio in Dash’s truck crackled to life and barked orders. He scrambled into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. The radio spit out Keith Richard’s distinctive guitar riff from “Jumping Jack Flash,” bringing back memories of Simone arguing with him about the lyrics. Jesus Christ, they’d argued about everything: music, sports, even whether or not the sky was actually blue. He stepped on the gas and tightened his grip on the steering wheel to still his quivering fingers. They’d fought hard and made up harder. He’d fallen in love with her slowly, unaware until his brothers mocked him for it.
The CB issued more instructions, snapping Dash back to reality. He switched the music off and turned the radio up, speeding toward the fire’s location. Gravel flew in all directions as he spun around a corner and skidded into a thick bank of smoke. The fire engine pulled up behind him, and he grabbed his mask, shouting orders to his crew. Red hot ashes rained down on them, bouncing off helmets while they dug a fire line. A noise like ten thousand fire crackers exploding at once ripped the air, and Dash jumped in front of Ray, pushing him out of danger as a burning tree toppled across the road, just missing them.
“Homely ship, that was close.” Ray patted Dash’s smoking sleeve, snuffing out the smoldering ashes. “Sacrifice your body for the game.”
“Right.” Dash nodded. Shit. He hadn’t heard those words since high school.
Dash turned as Corey clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry I missed that block, man. How’s the knee?”
He was able to stand, but kept most of his weight on his good leg while gritting his teeth so the pain wouldn’t show on his face. “It’s fine. I’ll be good as new next week.”
Corey nodded, but Simone snorted a laugh behind them.
“You gave it all you had, Mad Dash.” Corey shook his hand. “We’ll kick their butts next year.”
“Damn right.” Dash refused to move until his center had jogged back to the gym. When he felt certain no one was watching, he hobbled toward his truck.
“Good as new by next week
? I call bullshit.” Simone caught up with him in two steps. “When are you ever going to listen to me?”
“Not tonight.” He tossed his duffle bag in the truck bed and yanked the door open.
She climbed in the other side. “Get rid of the ball and save your ass.”
“And risk turning it over? No way.” Gravel sprayed the car next to his as he stomped on the gas. “Taking the sack kept the drive going.”
“But you had to watch the next play from the bench with an ice pack on your knee.”
Pain shot through the swollen joint, but he gritted his teeth and growled back at her. “I had to give the team another chance to win.”
“I know. ‘Sacrifice your body for the game.’ You say that every week.”
“Damn right.”
“But what good does it do when you lose?”
A wall of flame roared up in front of Dash, and his crew scrambled for cover. But he refused to back away from the heat. His heart raced and he squelched the urge to run. He couldn’t let his crew see his badass act falter. “We’re not losing today!” He grabbed his Pulaski axe, and they dug the line wider.
Part of him secretly hoped the email had been a typo, and he’d get the chance to prove Simone wrong. Another part of him with a long, selective memory hoped he’d get the chance to screw some sense into her. Horny teenage sex and so much more. They’d shared a bond that still lingered even after being tainted by betrayal.
***
“It’s Simone, not Simon. Why does everyone forget the E?” Simone Leveque deleted the email and snarled at her new assistant, Flynn.
The young man actually backed up a step. “I didn’t write it. It came from FEMA. I just forwarded it to the command center staff.”
“Ever heard of proofreading?”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t know you weren’t Simon.”
“No one ever does. I’ll give you that.” She reined in the flying monkeys. After all, she didn’t want to scare off her young hottie assistant on her first day. “Radio the superintendent again. I need to know what’s happening with that fire.”
Static crackled as Flynn grabbed the mic and adjusted the frequency. “Wilhelm Hotshot Crew, come in, over.” Silence and then static. “Come in, please.”
“Are they in trouble?” Simone’s heart raced and goose flesh covered her arms. Hotshot crew. She’d heard that term before, but struggled to recall what it meant. All her previous EMS assignments had been in urban areas. She grabbed her phone and quickly searched the term: an elite crew of highly trained and physically fit firefighters, sent to the most dangerous areas of a fire. These guys knew what they were doing. Thank God someone does.
She stood and paced in front of the radar display. The smoke had spread over the valley, pushed by the wind toward the city.
“I doubt it.” Cassandra typed a few commands on her computer and a projection map appeared on the radar. “This particular superintendent won’t be distracted while he’s fighting a fire. He’s that intense and focused.” The smile on her face suggested she knew from personal experience.
“He’s a big damn hero.” Flynn practically gushed all over his desk. “When the Nightfall Canyon fire started last year, he was the first firefighter to attack it—before his crew got there. His balls must be gigantic.” He held up both hands as if palming watermelons. “I’m joining the Wilhelm Hotshot Crew as soon as I finish training. Sooner if they’d let me.”
“The last EMS manager couldn’t contain him.” Cassie sipped her coffee, but the cup failed to hide her glowing eyes.
Flynn squirmed in his seat. “He answers to no one.”
“He’ll answer to me.” Simone yanked the mic from Flynn’s hand, but before she could speak, the radio crackled and a static-distorted voice filled the room.
“Wilhelm HC superintendent here. The fire is one hundred percent contained, over.”
“Good job,” Simone responded. “Report back to base, over.”
“Command center.” Flynn corrected her.
She snarled at him and he ducked behind his computer monitor.
“On our way, over.”
Simone walked away from the radio and surveyed her new command center. The circular room descended to a cluster of computer stations. A multi-screen monitoring system covered one curved wall, displaying real-time weather radar, satellite imagery, and several functions she hadn’t explored yet, but Flynn had assured her they were state-of-the-art. For this town.
Belladonna’s Peak. It meant beautiful lady in Italian. “How’d the city get its name? For a woman?”
“No,” Flynn shuddered. “For the nightshade that grows in the shady parts of the mountains.”
“Nightshade…isn’t that stuff poisonous?” An appropriate name for this place. The mountains loomed over her apartment building, casting long shadows at sunset and creating a chill even on the warmest evenings. Even though she’d lived there only a week, she got the distinct impression that the lurking peaks could be hiding something dangerous.
“Deadly.” Flynn typed a quick search on Google and pulled up a photo of a lovely bell-shaped purple blossom with glossy black berries. “If you go for a hike, don’t pick the flowers.”
Simone studied the image over his shoulder. “Got it.” Botany lesson completed, she resumed her survey of the command center. The rest of the equipment failed to impress her, but the staff seemed competent enough.
Cassandra Storm, meteorologist. Simone had read the woman’s file and found out that was her real name. She’d said it with pride when Flynn introduced Simone as the new boss, but the young assistant had to smother a laugh.
Flynn McCarthy, administrative assistant fulfilling his other-duties-as-assigned clause, had been the first to greet her when she arrived this morning. Tall, lanky, not quite blond hair that swept his eyebrows. She could’ve spent the day staring at him, but the fire needed all of her attention.
Thunder had woken her up three minutes before her alarm was supposed to go off. She’d stumbled across her bedroom in the dark, tripping over boxes while searching for a light switch that had a lamp plugged into it. Lightning guided her, a bright flash immediately followed by a boom that rolled through the surrounding mountains. “Any ideas about what started the fire?” She stood at the top of the circular stairs, overseeing her minimal staff.
Cassandra spoke up. “A low-pressure system in the Pacific sent a line of thunderstorms through here early this morning.”
“Probably a lightning strike.” Flynn finished her thought.
“It’s developing circulation.” Cassandra’s brow wrinkled as she alternately studied the satellite image and the radar loop. “Almost like a tropical storm.”
“Unusual for this part of the country?” Simone descended and leaned over the meteorologist’s shoulder, watching the satellite photo spin.
“Yes, the water temperature is usually too cold, and the winds push most storms out to sea, but we’ve had a hot summer this year because of El Niño. It’s not impossible.”
“Keep an eye on it.” Watch anything and everything. Even the smallest detail could cause trouble. “Where’s the rest of my staff?”
“Everyone except me has another full-time job.” Flynn sat at his desk and rambled off the list of EMS team members. “The police chief, the fire marshal, Cassandra. The hotshot crew has their base here, but the superintendent is never around enough to break his chair in.”
“Not the type to plant his butt in the office?” The superintendent might be an alpha dog, but she’d make sure he knew who held his leash.
“He’s an active guy.” Cassandra’s face flushed red and that goofy smile curled her lips again. “When he’s not fighting fires he’s busy with prescribed fire operations, habitat improvement, trail construction projects, working out…” Her voice trailed off while she spun a golden curl around her fingers.
Office romance. Yay. Simone swore to put an end to that real quick. She crossed her arms and stared at the moni
tor wall, barely hearing the heavy footsteps behind her.
“Jesus Christ, it is you.”
CHAPTER 2
I know that voice. Ripples of pleasure cascaded down her spine, chased by a whisper of hope. Could it really be him? He’d left her behind, and she’d never once heard from him. Part of her heart had searched for him while the greater part tried to hold itself together. If she lost him again, there’d be no surviving it this time. It’s not him. It can’t be.
“Turn around and speak to me, Simone. Unless you want me to stare at your sweet ass all day.”
Flynn coughed and Cassandra gasped.
Simone slowly spun and faced him. He stood at the top of the stairs, holding an odd-looking axe in his hands and snarling down at her like Cujo having a bad hair day. Sculpted muscles filled out his once scrawny frame. Soot smeared his scowling face and streaked his clothes. His short brown hair stood straight off the top of his head as if shocked to see her. He could’ve been someone else, and for a moment her memory failed to place him. But that scar, the jagged lightning bolt on his cheek, marked him as the man who’d seen through her act and let her touch his soul. “Daschle Herbert Ryder.”
His knuckles turned white as his fingers tightened around the axe handle, and his scar popped in stark relief against his darkening face. “Don’t you dare—! I can’t believe you’re…I never thought…especially after all this time!”
A smile twisted her lips. She couldn’t help it. Sparks sizzled through her limbs and exploded between her thighs. So many years since she’d seen him and making him sputter still turned her on.
Aching loneliness crashed over her and she rocked back, bracing a hand against a desk to remain upright. My God, I’ve missed him! But she couldn’t let him know that. Bastard didn’t believe her then and he wouldn’t believe her now no matter how much she argued her innocence. She planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, using old, festering anger to support her quivering legs. She found the rage much closer to the surface than she expected. “I want you to…” Kiss me, touch me, bend me over this desk and fuck—Her heart fluttered and she clamped her lips shut before she said any of that. “To go to hell.”
