by Jill Shalvis
Unwavering, direct.
He was so not prepared for that. For her.
“The rio,” she said. “It’s low right now—”
“It’s still music to my ears.” He scrambled through the bush, with her right behind him, until they came to it. It was definitely a river, low-running, yes, but falling north to south from the peak above, running parallel to where they stood, then eventually falling again, down another rocky cliff, to the ranches and town below. “My God…”
“What?”
“A natural firebreak.” He let out a rare smile before adding some of the coordinates on his GPS. “So. We’ve got a river bisecting a canyon, and a hard rock hill above us, both of which are good, very good.” He slipped his unit back into his pocket and wriggled his fingers. “We’re going to cross. Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“So I can help you.”
She laughed. “I can manage.”
No doubt she could, so he lifted his hands in surrender and let her pick her way unaided over the rocks and branches through the water.
He’d known what he was going to be doing today, and he’d dressed appropriately in boots. Lyndie hadn’t. She’d counted on flying him in, and then leaving again, hence the tennis shoes, which hadn’t been too much of a problem until now, as they began some serious climbing. Another concern he’d had all along…her blouse, the sleeves of which she’d shoved up past her elbows. He’d asked her twice to pull down her sleeves, but she hadn’t. He stopped. “We’re not going on until you pull down your sleeves and put on the gloves Sergio gave you. I have an extra shirt, too—”
She shot him one of her patented quelling looks, one he was quite sure sent everyone in her path shaking in their boots. But he had far too many other things going on to allow her to scare him.
Hell, his very life at the moment was terrifying enough. “Just do it, Lyndie.”
She tipped her head up to the sky, sighed, then looked at him again. “You always so bossy?”
He thought about that. “Yes.”
She studied him for a long time, then lowered her sleeves. “I am, too.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. So watch it.”
He would. He watched it and her as they continued to hike along the perimeter of the fire, with him occasionally making notes, sometimes coming close enough to the flames to feel the heat of it on their exposed skin, sometimes able to stay so far back it was hard to believe the mountainside was burning at all. They had no trail to speak of through the bush for another half of a mile.
Then suddenly they came to a rock cliff—miraculously, the northern tip of the fire. Griffin eyed the rock. Not so high, maybe forty feet, it had a jutting point, and he figured he could get an excellent view from up there. The burning was behind them now, to the south and west. “I’ll be able to see everything from up there.”
Lyndie craned her neck, too. “Right.” She glanced behind her at the bush. They couldn’t see the flames, but they could hear them, crackling and popping, accompanied by the whistling wind coming through so eerily and the faux darkness of the day.
Uneasiness flickered over her face, the first sign maybe she wasn’t quite as tough as she wanted him to believe. “Stick with me,” he said, and pulled her by the hand close to his side.
“Yeah.” With her free hand, she rubbed her chest as if her lungs ached. His certainly did. “I’ll be so close you’ll be wondering if I’m attached.”
They began their climb. She scrambled up the rock beside him, their shoulders brushing, their legs brushing. He had the inane thought that she smelled…soft. A bundle of contradictions, this woman who was hustling up the rock cliff as if she did it every day, stumbling here and there but still meeting him inch for inch.
The climb wasn’t novice. Rocks interspaced with dry, rough, scratchy vegetation that clung to their arms and legs and exposed faces as they went up.
And up.
“Here.” He pointed out her toe hold when she kept slipping. He reached down for her ankle to put her foot in the right place.
Her gaze flew to his, surprise there, as if she wasn’t used to being helped.
He took his hand off her ankle and put it around her wrist. “Reach here—”
“I’ve got it.” She turned her head away to survey the climb, tickling his nose with her hair.
“Hold here—”
“Really,” she said tightly. “I’ve got it.”
He looked into her face as they hung there, some thirty feet above ground. “You’ve got some trust issues, don’t you.”
Hanging there by her own sheer will, she frowned at him, her chest rising and falling. “I don’t need to trust you. I’m just here to translate.”
“Yeah.” He sidled even closer on the rock they clung to. Beneath them and to the west were the flames. Above them, more rock. She was at his right, and at her right the cliff jutted out in a peak, though they couldn’t see the other side. “So you’ve mentioned a hundred times or so,” he said, thinking they needed to stay away from that jutting edge, where the rock and sand would be uneven, and therefore dangerous to be hanging from.
She squinted at him. “What does that mean, so I’ve mentioned?”
“It means you want me to think you’re only here because you have to be. Well, I don’t buy it.”
“Thank you, Dr. Griffin. Should we examine your head now?”
“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fall, Lyndie.”
“I won’t.”
Not if sheer will counted for anything. But this wasn’t about sheer will, it was about the elements, and the exhaustion on her face. He was responsible for her out here, and hell if he’d lose another single person on his watch. Ever.
She shifted sideways, away from him, and around the jutting edge.
Just where they shouldn’t go. “Lyndie—”
“Hey,” she called back. “There’s better rocks over here on this side, and softer—”
“No—wait.” He reached out to grab her but she scooted out of his way, and around the corner faster than he expected.
“Shit,” he muttered, going after her. “Slow down, damn it—”
But she wasn’t listening, and had gone completely around the jutting edge so that he couldn’t see her until he followed.
Right onto the unstable hill. Christ. “Lyndie, stop. It’s unstable, you’re going to—”
Her body slipped a little, and she gasped.
Fall. Heart in his throat, he scrambled farther along the slippery hillside to catch her, and felt the difference in the hold immediately.
From their weight and movement, several rocks loosened, both above and behind him, and hundreds of little pebbles pelted them, falling to the ground below.
Lyndie took a hit on her shoulder and winced, just as he took a heavy hit on his chest. “Lyndie—” He reached for her, but before he connected, she let out a little off, and lost her hold.
He snagged her by the wrist, barely. “Don’t move.” His other hand clung to a rock he could feel was about to give way, and his heart slammed against his ribs. “Lyndie, listen to me,” he said urgently, eyeing the more gradual slope beneath them on this side of the rock. Thank God. “I’m going to let go of you.”
She choked out a response that he didn’t catch.
Probably a good thing.
“It’s okay,” he said as calmly as he could. “There’s more sand here, and more of a slope than a sheer drop. You’ll slide,” he said into her wide eyes.
At the last fire he’d fought, in that hellish event that he relived every night, he’d looked into Greg’s eyes and yelled “run.” Griffin had, and it hadn’t been until it’d been far too late that he’d realized Greg had momentarily frozen in shock. A terminal mistake.
No freezing, and no hysterics for this woman, she simply braced herself and let out a tight nod.
But he couldn’t let go, he just couldn’t do it. He looked into her amazing green e
yes for a long moment, longer than he should have, and she jerked her head again, impatiently this time.
He got the message—she knew what she had to do, she trusted what he’d decided they had to do.
She did trust him. Hell of a time to realize the burden of that. One last time, he looked into her eyes.
And then let go of her.
He let go of his own perilous hold, as well, following her down, desperately trying to make sure he didn’t kick or fall into her.
Dirt went up his nose. He heard her cry out as he hit his hip on a rock. A branch raked across his face.
And still he slid.
He could smell the smoke, it choked the air out of his lungs. More dirt deposited itself in every part of his body. He could feel the heat in the ground, but it was the sound of a sudden and viciously hot wind that got him as they slid, because behind it came the ominous crackling of the actual flames.
They were sliding to the west of where they’d climbed up, and by the sound and feel of it, right into the fire.
“Lyndie!” he yelled, but he heard nothing but his own whoosh of air as it left his lungs.
And he figured he knew right then.
In all the fires he’d worked on, he hadn’t died.
All through last year when he was so grief stricken, he hadn’t died, not even when he’d wanted to.
And yet now, out in the middle of nowhere, with only an oddly thorny, oddly irresistible woman at his side, he was going to.
6
Lyndie’s graceless slide was broken by a nice bush. Unfortunately her weight was no match for said nice bush, and she plowed right through it, fell through the air again, bashing her knee, and also her ribs, and what seemed like a lifetime later, landed with a splash.
With a gasping breath—an extremely tight gasping breath because her lungs had tightened and dried like a Shrinky Dink—she sat in a running river, the body of which was maybe thirty feet wide and currently swirling up to her belly button. Behind her was the sharp, craggy rock and sand they’d just slid down.
On the other side of the river, blowing straight at her along with the harsh wind, was a wall of fire. Mesmerized, horrified, she stared at it.
Then, from behind her came a splash. She jerked out of her shock to remember Griffin had fallen, too, and had landed a few feet away.
Turning in the water, she set her eyes on the only steady point in a crazy, dangerous world.
“Lyndie.” As drenched and dirty in his Nomex flame-resistant clothing as he was, he came to his knees, then hauled her up to hers, as well, his expression tense and tight with what she realized was fear. For her. “You all right?” he demanded, and when she just stared at him, he added a little shake. “Lyndie. Are you all right?”
Sure. Unless she counted the yearning for the safety of his arms. But she didn’t need anyone’s arms, warm or strong or otherwise. She never had. She had no idea then, why she shook her head no in answer to his question. “I don’t think so, no.”
“God.” He hauled her into the arms she’d wanted around her. “I’m sorry.”
She could feel the pounding of his heart, the bite of his wet fingers spread wide on her back. It didn’t feel like anything but the protective hug of a man she could count on, who’d be there if she needed him.
Like now. Horrifying herself, she let out a sound that might have been a pathetic whimper.
He pulled back, only to run his hands over her body. “What’s hurt?”
Actually, she had no idea. If she was relying on a man she didn’t even know for comfort, when she never relied on anyone, then no doubt, she’d hit her head. She glanced down at herself. Two arms, two legs…everything seemed to be in focus and all in one piece, but before she could answer, he’d put his hands on her face, tilting it up to his.
“Lyndie.” His voice was hoarse, rough. His clothes clung to his every hard inch. The yellow shirt delineated the fact that he was made up of corded muscle, without an inch of excess. Something she already knew, now that she’d been plastered against him. He had a scrape over his chin and another on his throat, both bleeding lightly, and yet he never took his eyes off her. “Talk to me.”
Because he looked so serious, and because she was quite relieved to find herself in one piece, she let out a strangled sound that was half laugh, half cry. “I’m…good.”
He didn’t look convinced. His finger gently stroked her jaw, and the growing swelling there from where a rock had glanced her.
“Superficial stuff,” she whispered. “Really.” For a moment, a very brief moment, she felt like putting her mouth to his cuts and bruises to kiss them all better, and with another man she might have, but she retained her sanity. Griffin Moore—sexy, brooding, haunted—was not a man to mess with. “Guess what…we lived.”
He blinked once, slow as an owl. “Yeah.”
Because she was still just a bit in shock, she splashed him, and then because he looked so surprised, she did it again. “Feel that? Alive.”
Another slow blink, and then the hands that he’d put on her face tightened, just a little. His expression was fierce, so fierce, but before she could soothe him, he’d leaned in, sinking his fingers in the tangled mess of her hair.
She could feel the heat of his breath against her face, and then her own shockingly needy response.
“We’re okay,” he murmured.
“Right.” Against her brain’s command, her body struggled to get even closer to his. “We’re okay.”
He stared down into her face, specifically at her mouth, which she nervously wet with her tongue, making him groan, and then in the next breath, his mouth hungrily covered hers.
Just one quick, hard kiss. She had the time to think he tasted like sun and incredibly yummy man, but then it was over before she could even fully register it.
He stared at her, still close enough to bring his mouth back to hers without effort if he chose to, which to her disappointment, he didn’t.
“What was that?” she asked, breath heaving even more now.
“A good, hard fall.”
“No, after that.”
“You were in shock.”
“Was not. You put your lips on mine.”
“I kissed you.” His gaze dropped to her mouth again. Speculation and something else flickered in his expression. It was the something else that got to her.
“It was a confirmation of your statement,” he said. “We’re alive.”
As a rule, most men were intimidated by her, and if they weren’t, well, then they usually weren’t interested. In all the kissing she’d experienced in her life, she’d have to say, she’d started most of it.
She hadn’t started this.
Or had she? She’d have liked to hit rewind and relive it.
A few times.
Griffin took in the flaming vegetation so close, and shook his head in surprise. “It does feel good to be alive. I’d forgotten how good.”
She felt herself leaning toward him, drawn by an energy she couldn’t seem to resist.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, misunderstanding her reason for wanting to be close. “We’re both really okay.” He stood, and pulled her up as well. Both of his hands came up to once again cradle her face, his big, warm hands amazingly gentle.
“Yeah.” But still she leaned in, craving the next kiss as she craved…air. This time he didn’t disappoint, his mouth covered hers, deepening the connection, using his entire body, his tongue, and this time it wasn’t a kiss driven by fear and desperation, but one of warmth and affection. And then, need. Hunger.
When it was over, she slowly pulled back. Licked her lips to enjoy every last taste. Then turned toward the fire.
Griffin shook his head as if to clear it, drew in a ragged breath, and also eyed the burning bush only a few feet away. “I’d have done anything to keep you from having to fall like that—”
“I’m fine.” Even if her breathing hadn’t slowed or eased, and the problem wasn’t so much a sexual
reaction to a delicious kiss, but asthma-related.
“What you are,” he said, “is tough as hell. And for what it’s worth, it’s pretty damn inspiring.” He touched her again, just a brief stroke of his finger over her jaw. “At a time when I needed inspiring. I owe you for that.”
“What you owe me is to get control of this fire.” Never comfortable with compliments, she tried to turn away, but he stopped her.
Purposely she looked down at his hands on her, then up into his face, giving him a look that had singed the hair off plenty of men.
And yet he didn’t scare off. “I know,” he said. “You want to get on with it, but Lyndie, you are amazing. You’re amazing to me.”
“Look, I don’t know what to do with words like that, okay? Or the way I liked your kiss but don’t want to like you.”
He let out a sound that might have been a laugh. “Make that two of us.” Once again he turned to the flames licking at the brush lining the river. Most had burned black by now, but there was still plenty left for the fire to eat up. “Let’s go upriver, I still need to see above the fire, see how far west it goes. Then back to the men and set a plan in motion.”
“Right.” She took as deep a breath as she could—which wasn’t much—fortifying herself for another trek. “Up the river.”
She started trudging through the water, but Griffin stopped her with a hand to her elbow.
Slowly she looked up at him.
“Thanks for not letting me quit,” he said quietly, shocked by how much it meant.
She tried to shrug him off. “I didn’t do much. You just have a misguided sense of heroism.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You have a ‘save the world’ complex, Ace.” She patted his arm. “It’s actually quite annoying.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is it, now?”
“Yeah.” Looking quite smug for someone with dirt on her nose and a ripped blouse, she splashed her way down the river, breathing heavily, clearly assuming he’d follow. When he didn’t, she turned and cocked a brow at him.
He cocked a brow right back. “Would it be showing my…misguided sense of heroism, if I pointed out that you’re going the wrong way? I want to go up-stream.”
