She turned away, digging her fingers into the warmth of the thick sweatshirt, part of her regretting the interruption, another part of her grateful for it. She locked the outer door of the restroom, but went into a stall, just in case.
The shirt smelled like the man when she pulled it over her head, musky and smoky. Though Gabe wasn’t much taller than her, his sweatshirt fell to the tops of her thighs and the sleeves covered her hands. She fisted them in the material, warming her fingers.
She left the stall and inspected herself in the wall-length mirror, swallowed in another man’s shirt.
God, he was like Dan, reeking of testosterone, drawing people to him. Everyone had admired Dan.
The pain came, still sharp after nineteen months, and she rubbed the heel of her hand against the football emblem over her sternum. When Dan had been at work, which was most of the time, she’d kept close to him by wearing his shirts. After he died, she’d continued the practice until the fabric no longer held his scent. The implied intimacy of wearing another man’s shirt almost made her take the sweatshirt off. Maybe the warmth was the deciding factor, but she couldn’t convince herself that was all.
She was wildly attracted to Gabe Cooper. She was a grown woman, a widow for almost two years, alone all that time. Cooper was movie star handsome, with an athletic body that came from hard work instead of a gym, sexy eyes that snapped with intelligence, and he rescued women and children with stunning regularity.
The problem was, that wasn’t what attracted her. God help her, his courage was what drew her, the courage that carried him into the forest to bring fifteen girls to safety. That had brought her to safety. The trait made him the man he was, made him the man she couldn’t have.
She was determined to never get another phone call telling her the man she loved wasn’t coming home.
If she went to the front desk and rented a room, snuggled under a pile of covers, she could block out the sounds of the party, the uncomfortable thoughts of Gabe Cooper, of her new feelings for him, the fear of being alone with him now that they were in civilization.
The party was just getting started when she emerged from the bathroom. More fire crews had arrived, and the poor little waitress was running her tail off. Peyton made her way through the yellow-shirted men and women to the table, only to find her barely touched plate had been cleared.
She edged toward the bar and waited to draw the waitress’s attention.
“I want to get a room,” she told the now-harried girl.
The young woman tossed her head in the direction of the dance floor. “We just rented out the last one. Sorry. You want to pay the tab?”
Peyton reached for her money. “Sure. What is it?”
The number the waitress named floored her, and she dropped the money on the counter. “Why so much, exactly?”
“They said you were paying for the whole table.”
“Who said?”
“The redhead.”
Of course. Kim really had it in for her, and after seeing her with Gabe, Peyton understood why. Jealousy was an ugly thing. “She was mistaken.”
The waitress grimaced at her in sympathy. “Are you a rookie?”
“Pretty obvious, huh?”
“Just a joke I’d seen played before.” The younger woman swept her with a glance. “Funny, I didn’t think Gabe Cooper took rookies.”
Wow, even the waitress in this tiny town knew his reputation.
“Don’t worry about the bill.” She waved Peyton off. “I’ll get it divided up.”
“No chance on the bed, though, huh?”
“Sorry.” The waitress moved off, her arms loaded with plates again.
Great. So now she was tired, stranded and bedless. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Gabe hadn’t gotten her hopes up. She’d ask for the keys so she could sleep in the van. At least it would be quiet out there.
Gabe and Kim still danced, backing around the floor in shuffling steps, his hand at the small of Kim’s back, his thumb stroking mindlessly. Peyton followed the movement of his thumb, felt it against her own back.
Their hands were clasped and folded between their bodies, Gabe probably not thinking about what the gesture would mean to the girl. He laughed at something she said and his eyes crinkled handsomely even as he hid his teeth.
No wonder Kim was in love with him. The attention he gave had to make her feel like the only woman in the room. Kim rubbed her free hand up and down his arm and Peyton could almost feel the contour of his muscles beneath her own palm. Memories of last night, pressed against his body, safe in his arms, resurfaced, flooding her with longing.
If only she’d had the courage to turn in his arms. Kim would have.
All thoughts of finding a bed left as she watched them. The waitress brought her a beer and she slid her fingers over the condensation on the bottle as smoke and noise whirled about her. Yellow shirt after yellow shirt asked her to dance, like they were betting which man she’d accept, but she brushed each off. She had one thing on her mind. One person, one overwhelming need.
As a slower song played, Gabe parted from Kim with a shake of his head. Kim did a little bounce of frustration, trying to convince him, alcohol loosening any inhibitions she might ordinarily keep in place so Gabe wouldn’t see her true feelings. He just smiled, shook his head again and turned away. He moved with such confidence Peyton couldn’t take her eyes from him as he led with his shoulder through the crowd.
Firefighters and locals alike stopped him at every table, congratulated him, offered him beer, quizzed him about his narrow escape. She liked the way he brushed off the adulation, as if his skill and know-how had no bearing on the outcome of the day. Since when could Gabe Cooper be humble? She never saw evidence of it when he dealt with her.
“Hey.” He reached the bar and edged closer to her than necessary. “Hanging in?”
The scent of smoke clung to him, probably was a part of his DNA after so many years on the fire line. She’d attributed the odor to the place, and now would always recognize the scent as Gabe. He was so close she couldn’t take a breath without smelling him. It didn’t stop her from breathing.
She tried to shift away for her own sanity, but the bar was too crowded to go far. “No. I left my will to stay upright on the mountain.”
His low, sexy laugh curled around every nerve in her body, coaxing them to the surface of her skin, where they shimmered with anticipation.
“Good thing we don’t have far to go.” He dangled a motel key from his fingers. So he’d gotten the last room. And he wanted to share. “The room’s right upstairs. Thought you might enjoy a long hot shower.”
For God’s sake, a thirty-two-year-old widow should be able to control her blush. Was she embarrassed because the bartender overheard, or because a gorgeous man handed her a line?
That was all it was, right? A fresh line? God, she couldn’t think with his thigh pressed against hers.
“One room?” she asked, and hated the shakiness of her voice.
“That’s all they got. Take it or leave it.”
“Do you come with it?”
He smiled into her eyes, amusement and arousal a breathtaking blend. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t—”
Before she could answer, the bartender set an unordered bottle of beer in front of Gabe and he glanced up questioningly. The bartender pointed to a table of local men who waved when Gabe looked their way. He saluted them with his bottle and took a long drink. Peyton was so close to him she could feel him swallow.
“Dance?”
The twang of music had changed to something softer, slower, sexier. On the dance floor, couples shifted closer together. Her body hummed at the thought of being up against all that maleness. It had been so long.
Time to step into the fire.
The minute he folded his hand around hers, she could imagine the rough skin of his palms on her body. She wanted him to smooth away the goose bumps his touch raised.
What the
hell was she doing? She knew where this would lead.
He eased them through the crowd to the dance floor and turned her to him with just a shift of his hand on hers. She faced him for a beat before putting her hand on his shoulder, willing it not to wander, and he put his hand on her waistband, under the hem of the sweatshirt, and slid a finger through an empty belt loop to anchor her. The possessiveness of the move sent a shiver of longing through her, and she struggled to mask it.
The pounding of her heart, the rhythm of his breathing drowned out the music. She wanted to look into his eyes, but was afraid what he would see in hers, so she lowered her gaze to the column of his throat, below her eye level. His thumb rested on the edge of her waistband, and if she bent to the right, just a little, his fingers hooked through her belt loop would be against her bare skin. Her entire consciousness focused on the imagined pleasure.
She bent, and his breath caught as he encountered flesh. The scrape of his finger over her sensitive skin sent heat spiraling downward, making her muscles weak. But she wasn’t ready to lean into him.
“What kind of name is Peyton, anyway?” His voice was a growl vibrating in his chest. She should have known better than to toy with an alpha.
She glanced up to see him watching her, his eyes crinkled in amusement, completely at odds with her thoughts. Damn, that was sexy. “A family name.”
“What, like a last name?”
His words brushed warm over her skin as he turned her to avoid another couple. “Mm, my mother’s.”
His eyes were still crinkled, but they’d twisted more toward shrewd than good-humored. He’d figured it out; they all did as soon as she explained. Only wealthy families had the audacity for that pretentiousness. Poor little rich girl.
What did she care what he thought? She wasn’t sticking around. She never did. And that made it easier when he released her hand to press his against the small of her back, brought her against his body, which made it easier to tilt her face up to see his descending. Made it easier to part her lips in anticipation as her nerves skittered from where he touched her to where she wanted him to touch her. So close, she could already feel his kiss.
She expected to feel guilty for wanting this man, but the guilt didn’t come. Maybe she’d been alone too long, maybe her connection with Gabe was stronger than she credited. Maybe her anger with Dan for dying had killed her love for him. Sleeping with Gabe Cooper wouldn’t be a betrayal of her husband, but it might be a betrayal of herself and all she wanted.
“What’s happening here?” she asked breathily.
A teasing smile curved his lips. “You know, the whole life-in-peril thing, adrenaline transfers to arousal. Danger is a big turn-on. You said so yourself.”
Her breath hitched and she tried very hard not to focus on his mouth, or how it felt against hers as he leaned closer.
She swallowed, hoping it would make her voice stronger. “They say danger, or escaping danger, is like a sexual rush. Is that why you do what you do?”
He brushed his cheek against hers, the stubble an erotic caress on her suddenly sensitive skin. Peyton struggled to keep her eyes open and her knees locked.
“I don’t have to almost die to get turned on.”
“But it doesn’t hurt.”
“If I waited for that, I’d have some long dry spells. Not that this one was short.” His low, husky voice sent shivers through her as they swayed, though the song had changed to a faster pace. Maybe he thought she was still cold.
Then she realized what he meant. “What?” she asked incredulously.
“It’s been awhile.”
She pulled her head back to look up into his eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Have you seen yourself? Just today I saw two women throw themselves into your arms. You are not what I’d call the celibate type.”
“Yet here we are.” He leaned close, let his breath fan her mouth. “Maybe I’m ready to end the drought.”
She forced her eyes to his instead of giving in to the urge to kiss him. The flirting was delicious, but a kiss would be anticlimactic now.
“Good luck with that,” she teased, and ducked away.
Gabe came after her but was waylaid by another crew of firefighters demanding to hear his story. Peyton grinned over their heads at him and saluted him with her beer. He jerked his head toward the stairs, signaling escape.
“Shower,” he mouthed exaggeratedly.
Her heart pounding, she resolved not to think about what she was doing and hurried down the hallway. He broke away from the other firefighters to follow, then caught her hand and led her through a group of women waiting for the restroom. Gabe was brought up short by a pair of very young female Hot Shots in matching tight T-shirts.
“Hey, Gabe, want to party?”
He nodded toward Peyton. “No thanks, ladies. I have plans of my own.”
“The more the merrier,” one called after them as they headed up the stairs.
“Three women?” Peyton asked, shock forcing out a giggle. “How is that even possible?”
He waggled his eyebrows at her, startling her with his playfulness. “You pair off.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Yeah, well, two of them aren’t there for the guy anyway.”
Peyton laughed out loud and Gabe hushed her, one finger over his frowning mouth.
“How many women in this building right now have you slept with?”
He considered. “None.”
She let her eyes slide the length of him, assessing, felt the thrill of arousal that she was the one he wanted tonight. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, about ten years ago, the answer would have been different. I probably slept with a lot of these girls’ older sisters.”
“And their moms.”
He gave her an evil grin as they reached the top of the stairs.
“My heavens, Gabe, no wonder you were able to save us on the mountain today with those maneuvers,” she said in mock seriousness.
“You want to see maneuvers?” He tugged her to him. She shuddered in delight at the sensation of his hard body against hers. “Let’s find that room.”
Chapter Nine
Peyton’s blood thrummed in her ears as Gabe opened the door of the motel room. Maybe he’d just rented the room as a reward for her courage today, but if that was the truth her heart wouldn’t be pounding, her skin wouldn’t be tingling.
She wouldn’t be worrying about wearing her new panties.
What would it be like to act on all these feelings, the fear, the excitement, the lust? In her thirty-two years she’d never had a fling with a man she couldn’t imagine having a future with; maybe it was time.
Gabe smiled at her, sending off flutters in her belly, twinges of longing.
“Want to shower first?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” She ducked under his arm as he held the door for her. She pulled her hair from her wet ponytail and found herself with her back against the wall, Gabe’s arms braced on either side of her head, only the heat from his body pressing against her.
Every atom in Peyton’s body quivered in anticipation. He must have sensed it, contrary beast that he was, for he hesitated, his breath teasing her lips, shattering her nerves. She couldn’t let him know, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She took a deep breath. Big mistake. The scent of him, smoke, man and Irish Spring, intoxicated her.
Just her one moment of hesitation was enough for him to dip his head and brush his mouth tauntingly over hers. Her lips trembled open, her tongue rose to meet his. The rasp of his tongue, the way it curled about hers, made her forget he wasn’t touching her. She pressed her hands back against the wall, pretending if she didn’t touch him it would be easier to change her mind. At the same time she raised up on her toes to deepen the kiss.
Her conviction not to touch him faltered as his mouth pulled at hers, thickening her blood, eliminating everything but the two of them. She rea
ched up to hold him, savored the sensation of his short hair tickling her palm.
He drew back slowly, drawing her lip out between his, and rested his forearm on the wall above her head. She closed her eyes against the power of those deep brown eyes that read her emotions so well, and dropped her head back against the wall.
“So you want me to take you back to camp?” he asked, his voice rough-edged.
She opened her eyes to look into his, saw a sharpness there focused on her. “No. No, I don’t want to go back to camp.”
He closed his hands around her waist to bring her against him. She gasped at the abruptness, and he took her gasp into his mouth, dipping his tongue inside, dragging it along hers. The play of his lips over hers, stretching and parting her own so his tongue could tease between them, evoked images of kisses in more intimate places.
He coursed his hands over her body, hip to shoulder, strong and determined. God, she’d forgotten how feminine a man’s hands could make her feel. Urging her legs apart, he made space for himself between them. She whimpered when he dropped his weight against her, pinning her to the wall.
Oh, she loved how he kissed her, savoring her one moment, devouring her the next. She couldn’t say which she preferred. Not knowing what to expect kept her off balance.
He released her mouth and dragged her head back to devour her throat, his caresses hot, slick, knowledgeable. Peyton tugged at the neck of her sweatshirt so he could reach more of her skin with those magical lips.
His eyes twinkled with promise as he slid his hands under the hem of her sweatshirt, pulled it over her head in a fluid movement, his fingers barely brushing her skin as he unfastened her fire pants. How could the way he wasn’t touching her turn her on?
“What the hell is this?” he asked, encountering the bra from the middle ages. She’d forgotten about it and reached behind her to discard it.
“It was all they had next door, and I can’t really go without.”
He made a strangled sound as he eased back to inspect the garment. “It looks like your boobs caved in.”
She unfastened it and let it fall between them. Eyes bright with laughter, he looked back up at her.
Hot Shot Page 11
