White Heat

by Jill Shalvis

  At that, Griffin looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You give back,” Brody said quietly. “You put yourself out there. You always do, Grif, and it’s awe-inspiring, if you want the truth.”

  “Look, all I’m doing is avoiding you calling in the troops.”

  “You’re that afraid of Mom? Come on, after all you’ve faced?”

  Griffin stared at him for a long moment, and Lyndie’s heart cracked yet again at all that was going on behind those amazing eyes. “I didn’t want to be here,” he finally said.

  “I know.”

  “And you forced it.”

  “I know.”

  Griffin sighed, then let out a tight laugh. “You do realize I’m going to be your supervisor out there, right?”

  “Yeah. But you’ll go easy on me.”

  “Sure I will.”

  Brody blinked. “You’ll have me handing out drinking water, making sure everyone has snacks to eat, or something like that, right?”

  “Something like that. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I won’t worry about a thing.”

  Lyndie concentrated on flying, and evening out the tightness in her throat. Soon enough, she took them into their final descent through the dark and smoky atmosphere, the flying as difficult as last time with the limited visibility. But she was prepared for that, and it was nothing she couldn’t handle, marveling instead at the depth of love between the two men, despite all they’d been through.

  Would she have had a brother or sister if her parents had lived? Would she have done anything, anything, if her sibling needed her, including putting her life on hold to make sure he or she got back on with hers?

  As she had no blood connections left, the wondering seemed vain and silly, and certainly irrelevant, and she put it out of her mind.

  But she couldn’t put what she’d learned about Griffin out of her mind as easily, and found herself in the position of wanting to soothe him, heal him. Touch him. She wanted to pull him close and never let him go.

  As terrifyingly complicated, and as terrifyingly simple, as that.

  17

  They got to San Puebla late. Once at the inn, Griffin went to bed, leaving Brody with an entire evening in front of him and nothing to do.

  His favorite kind of evening. He’d been through Copper Canyon only once before, on the fly-fishing trip when he’d heard of San Puebla and their fire, but he’d not gotten this close to the village itself.

  He already knew he loved Mexico. The weather was always good and the fishing even better. Plus the people here lived on their schedule, meaning things got done in their own good time—his favorite part about the place.

  At the moment, his stomach was full from Rosa’s cooking, and he stood right outside the small inn where they would sleep tonight, staring down at a running creek so full of fish swimming by the pale, smoke-filled moonlight he could have reached out and grabbed one.

  Now here was a place where a man could take a decent breather, a place where he could forget any stresses and just kick back. Life was for nothing if not kicking back.

  Unfortunately with every breath, he inhaled thick smoke, but Griffin would fix that, he was confident.

  “Maldita sea.”

  Knowing a little bit of Spanish, Brody lifted his brow at the oath let out in a musical female voice. Turning, he could barely make out the outline of someone sitting against a tree, their feet in the water. Taking a step closer, he saw it was Nina, Tom’s beautiful daughter. He’d gotten a nice eyeful of her at dinner, and had enjoyed her wild spirit.

  Long hair tumbling down the middle of her back, she wore the same bright red sundress she’d worn at the table, and he spent a moment to marvel that she’d packed her curves into such a snug fit. Not that he’d been complaining. Lord, no. He liked nothing better than to look at a gorgeous woman over a mouth-watering dinner.

  At the moment, she was concentrating down at the pages of an opened book, her lips moving as she read, and also as she swore, quite impressively.

  “Now, darlin’, if that book is annoying you,” he said, “just toss it aside.”

  Her head jerked up. Her lips stopped moving.

  He leaned back against a tree to enjoy the sight of her. “Life’s too short to spend it reading a story you don’t like.”

  Slowly, she set down the book and laid her almond-shaped dark, dark eyes on him. “What are you doing out here?”

  Pushing away from the tree, he came closer and looked into the water rushing over rocks and sand. “Love that sound,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

  “I…” She let go of her aggression and let out a low laugh. “I don’t even hear it anymore.”

  “Well, that’s just a sorry shame, if you ask me. What were you reading?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing always make you swear?”

  She sighed. “Princess Diaries.”

  “Princess Diaries.”

  “It’s the original American version. I’m…” She gave him a long don’t-you-dare-laugh look. “Teaching myself to read English.”

  He stared at her. “But…that’s amazing. You speak it so fluently I just assumed you could read it as well.”

  Her lush bottom lip pushed out just a little. “No. Not so good. I learned to speak it by ear, not formally.” She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes. “You read English?”

  Of course he did, not that he gave much thought to it. “Yes”

  Nina stretched out a little, arching back, thrusting up her pretty breasts in the moonlight before giving him another sidelong look to make sure he was watching.

  He most definitely was.

  She patted the spot next to her.

  And because he was a male, and apparently a very weak one at that, he sat.

  “If I read out loud,” she purred, “you could tell me all the words I do not know.”

  “I could,” he agreed, smiling when she made sure her thigh, hip, and breast were snug to his side. She settled the open book half on her lap and half on his. Serious now, she bent her dark head over the pages and flipped her flashlight back on.

  “Why Princess Diaries?”

  “Lyndie brought it for me. She likes to call me a princess because…” With a low, sexy laugh, she shifted a little, closer, snugger to his body, which was beginning to enjoy the attention—a lot. “Because let’s face it, I am a princess. No use denying the truth, no?”

  Brody laughed a little huskily, enjoying having such a beautiful, interesting woman come on to him. “No use.”

  “Are you like your brother, Brody Moore?”

  “What do you mean?”

  With one finger, she lightly touched his heart. “Do you give and give, until there’s nothing left?” Her smile was sad when he looked at her in surprise. “I can feel people,” she said. “And in your brother, I feel an emptiness.”

  “That’s not from helping others. That’s from loss. Big loss.”

  She nodded. “I’ve lost, too. But life is too short to dwell on it. Life is too short to do anything but what you want.” She ran her fingers up his throat, around the back of his neck, sinking them into his hair and tugging, just a little, so they were that much closer.

  Only a breath away, he looked down at her mouth. “My brother would give his last breath to anyone who needed it,” he said softly. “I’m…far more selfish than that.”

  He thought she’d back away at his brutal honesty. Instead she brought her other hand up, cupped his jaw. “Then you’re like me. You do what it takes, whatever it takes, to do as you please.”

  “Yes—”

  Which was the last word he got out before she closed her mouth over his.

  * * *

  Griffin slept like the dead and woke with a start, already aware of one most unusual fact: He hadn’t dreamed.

  He sat straight up, scrubbing his hands over his face as the covers fell away from him, racking his brain for remnants of
the lingering nightmares, because surely he’d had them. He always had them.

  Nothing.

  In amazement, he dropped his hands from his face and blinked Lyndie into view. She stood at the foot of his bed wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a smiley face on it.

  “Are you wearing that so you don’t have to smile?” he asked.

  “You know me so well.” But she just stood there, watching him.

  “Uh…good morning?”

  “Did you dream about them?”

  “Who?”

  Her voice was full of compassion, so unexpected it bowled him over. “Your crew, your friends. Greg.”

  His voice was rough from sleep and the emotion that came with thinking about Greg. “I…usually do.”

  “You lost so much.”

  “Yes. But last night…” He shook his head, baffled. “I didn’t dream about any of that, no.” I dreamt of you, came the startling realization. He’d dreamt of Lyndie in his arms in the river by moonlight, her soft-skinned, tough but curvy body writhing against his.

  A direct hit to his usual brooding memories, and yet he didn’t flinch as he might have only a week ago. He’d spent the last year mourning the loss of his friends, men like brothers to him, men who had fought fires with him, men who had sweat and cried and laughed with him. He’d been miserable for so long, and overwhelmed by the sense of loss. Their memory was firmly entrenched in his mind, but suddenly there was room for something else.

  The wanting of this strong, amazing, beautiful woman.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Brody shouldn’t have told you.”

  “I don’t think he told me all of it.”

  “No.”

  She looked at him, clearly waiting, and he shook his head. “I don’t talk about it, Lyndie.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. I wish you didn’t know.”

  “I’m glad I do. It helps…” She bit her lower lip, looked away, then met his gaze again. “That first night, by the creek. Do you remember?”

  “When I took a bath in the creek for your amusement? I remember,” he said dryly.

  “I…wanted you. I wanted you hard and fast and quick, and then I wanted you to go away. That’s…that’s how I like it.”

  He let out a surprised laugh at her admission. Her honesty never failed to startle him. He loved that about her. Comparisons were wrong, he knew that, but he’d always had to drag the feelings and thoughts out of the women in his life. Lyndie could have no idea how refreshing it was not to have to do that.

  “But you didn’t want me that way,” Lyndie told him. “When you want, you said, you want for the long haul.”

  “I remember that, too.” His voice seemed serrated and hoarse now, which could no longer be blamed on the early morning.

  “You have a family you’re close to, you have friends from kindergarten.” She looked baffled by that. “You’re the long haul type of guy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not.”

  He sighed. “Lyndie.”

  “I’m not saying it’s any easier to take,” she said. “That I threw myself at you and you backed off.” Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “But at least now I can understand it. I can understand you. I’m so sorry for what you went through, Griffin. I know people say those words when they don’t really know what they’re talking about, but I do.”

  “I doubt you feel like you have twelve lives on your head.”

  “You shouldn’t feel that way either—”

  “Don’t tell me how to feel.” As soon as he said the words, he regretted them, and lifted a hand when she would have spoken. “No, I’m sorry. Look, clearly I’m unfit for human company.”

  A little “mew” sounded then, and Lucifer took a flying leap at the bed. He missed by a good foot and ended up clinging to the side of the mattress, his razor sharp claws digging into the blankets as he gazed at them helplessly.

  Unable to do anything else, Griffin helped the kitten the rest of the way up.

  “That damn cat.” Belying her words, Lyndie reached out and stroked Lucifer beneath his chin. “I told you I lost my parents. I was four,” she said quietly. “And later, when I was older, I lost my grandfather, too. He was all I had left.” Her eyes clouded over when she met his gaze. “I know loss. I might not know it to the same degree as you—”

  “Loss is loss,” he said gruffly, his throat tight. “And I shouldn’t have implied otherwise. Lyndie, you being so nice and understanding right now is making me feel like slime.”

  “Well, Slime, it’s time to rise and shine.” She offered him a hand.

  He stared at her. Here was one of the strongest women he’d ever met, a woman without need or want of softness or compassion for herself, and she was trying to give some softness to him.

  “And you’re right about one thing,” she whispered. “Loss is loss. I’m sorry you find yourself here, having to face it all over again.”

  “I’m not sorry I’m here, not if I can help.” He’d taken her hand, but now let it go. “Okay. I’m going to get out of this bed now.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m not wearing much. Actually, I’m not wearing anything. Fair warning.”

  Her gaze ran down his bare chest, then to the part of him the blanket covered. No blushing for this woman, just frank interest.

  He might have laughed, if his body wasn’t responding to that unmistakable hunger in her eyes, a body that hadn’t worked for him in that way in a year. “Lyndie—”

  “Right.” Whirling, she headed toward the door. She could feel her face get hot, which was new, and she glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll just meet you out—” She broke off because he’d moved fast. He’d already kicked off his covers, put his bare feet to the floor, and stood.

  Gloriously naked.

  He didn’t run for cover, or leap back into bed. Nope, he just stood there, looking rumpled, brain-cell destroyingly delectable, and just a little confused. “I thought you were leaving.”

  “Right. Leaving.” Her feet didn’t move. But her eyes did, all over him, she couldn’t seem to help herself. Good God, he was beautiful.

  The man actually took a step toward her. “We keep dancing around this, don’t we.”

  “D-dancing?”

  “You wanting me, me wanting you…”

  “You didn’t want me.”

  “Oh, I did. I just didn’t want a quickie. But if you keep looking at me like that, I just might change my mind.”

  Her gaze flew off his fascinating…parts…and up to his face. “You’re going to sleep with me?” Oh, God, was that her voice, all hopeful and needy?

  “I wasn’t actually thinking about sleep.”

  She felt her body react to that. Her skin tightened, her nipples went happy, thighs all quivering, the whole works.

  Damn, it had been far too long.

  But his first instincts, the ones that had him warning her about the long haul thing, were good. And needed to be respected. With a sigh for what might have been—and what might have been promised to be so fantastic her body heated up yet another notch—she took one last good look. She just couldn’t help herself.

  And then slowly backed to the door.

  “You running scared?” he asked.

  He didn’t mean it, she knew that. She’d only pushed him into reacting for the moment. She fumbled for the handle, turned to face the wood.

  “I guess you’re all talk, then,” he said. “Isn’t that what you once accused me of?”

  Damn it. She could only be so strong for the two of them. “I’ll show you all talk,” she promised, and whipped around. Then gasped, because he was much closer than she remembered.

  “Is that right?” he asked silkily.

  “Damn right.” She gulped as she took in his amazing body. “When there’s not eighty-something men depending on you.” Summoning up all her willpower, much of which had deserted her, she turned again—God, he was impr
essive—and ran out the door.

  She escaped into the kitchen for lack of a better place to go, and she ended up standing there, a little overwhelmed by what had just transpired, fanning her hot face, her body on the highest of high alerts.

  “Que pasa, querida?”

  So lost in her own world, Lyndie nearly jumped right out of her own skin at Rosa’s voice. “What? Nothing.” She stopped fanning her face and strove for looking casual. “Nothing’s up with me.”

  “Uh huh.” Rosa gently shoved Tallulah out from underfoot and handed Lyndie a plate loaded to overfilling with heuvos rancheros. She eyed Lyndie from head to toe and then back again. “You look like you were just visited by Santa Claus.”

  “No.” Lyndie started shoveling in food, a little bowled over by one fact—Griffin really did want her. She’d just seen the most magnificent proof of that bouncing in the morning air.

  High on the rush of that, she grinned. And had to fan herself all over again. “Not Santa Claus.” Her grin spread. “But something just as good.”

  18

  Ten minutes later, still off balance, Lyndie glanced out the window of the kitchen as she set her plate in the sink. She worried about the thickness of the smoke and how close the fire might be. Rosa had just left to check on a guest and, thinking she was alone, Lyndie turned to go outside to a barely new day.

  And ran right into Griffin.

  His hands came up to steady her. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” She tried to keep her gaze on his instead of on the body she now kept picturing naked. “Are you?”

  He looked over her shoulder and out the window, to where the Jeep was parked. Brody was out there already, as was Tom. “I hated coming back,” he admitted. “I hate that there’s a need for me to be here, but…” He drew in a deep breath, shook his head. “But living again, having something to do other than mope and brood…that’s been an interesting—if painful—process.”

  “I’m sorry, Griffin.”

  He lifted a shoulder, eyeing the smoky sky. “Tom told me they’ve lost control three or four times, the worst being yesterday. We have some work ahead of us to save the other ranches.”

  “Tom’s grateful you’re back, and…”