Burning Up

by Anne Marsh

  “It’s possible,” Jack growled. “But don’t you of all people tell me it’s probable. He’s going to burn down the entire goddamned town.”

  They both knew what could happen to sleeper fires in the dry summer weather. “You want to put the plane up?”

  There was a pause on the other end. He could almost hear Evan running numbers, pitting the cost of fuel against getting an easy peek at their possible hot spots. “Let’s put her up,” he said finally. “Get a good look from the air. If it’s really arson, there may be more than four. ”

  Perfect. “I’ll be there in ten. Round up the crew. We need to put those fires out.”

  That pause repeated itself on the other end of line, as Evan did some figuring of a different sort. Then he said, “Thought you were otherwise occupied.”

  “You called,” he pointed out, ignoring the question in his brother’s voice. “Have I ever missed a fire?”

  “No.” Again there was a pregnant pause. Hell, he hadn’t known Evan had that much tact in him. Someone had been teaching his younger brother manners. “You’ve always come through, always gone up with the jump team. Just thought today might have been different, that’s all.”

  Right. He wasn’t touching that one. “There’s nothing different about today.” The words were harder to say than he’d imagined. “Whenever we get a fire, I’m there.”

  “Right.” His brother’s husky chuckle sounded relieved. “Of course I’m not putting up our plane without letting you know first, you bastard.”

  “True.” Snapping the phone shut, he shifted into high gear. Four minutes to get the truck from the farm to the hangar; that left him six minutes to get his clothes on and his ass down the stairs.

  Moving silently, he slipped back inside the room and reached for last night’s clothes. A neat stack should have been within arm’s reach of where he’d slept. Man didn’t fight fires without learning to sleep light and to dress on the run. Instead, he’d dropped his clothes on the floor in his hurry to get into bed with his Lilybell. He had a feeling that change wouldn’t be the only one he’d be making if he stuck around.

  Definitely time to hit the road.

  And yet he couldn’t ignore his arousal. He still had the taste of her on his mouth, the sweet scent of her on his skin sending the blood rushing to an erection that was already hard and thick, demanding he crawl right back into the bed with her and make love to her all over again.

  So, the question really was, was he running to the fire—or from the woman in the bed? Hell if he knew.

  “You’re going out?” Her sleepy voice reached out from the shadowy cocoon of the bed. He had to go. Needed to go. So why his feet were taking him toward her and not the door was a damned mystery.

  “Fire call, baby.” His knees hit the side of the bed before he could stop himself, before he could keep himself from curling the fingers of one hand around her wrist. Her skin was baby-soft there.

  “So you’re just leaving.” Her words weren’t anything more than a statement of the facts, but it didn’t take much to interpret the flat tone of her voice. Yeah, he didn’t need four-foot neon lights to know what the sheet shoved beneath her arms meant. He’d erased the intimacy of last night the instant he’d taken that call.

  He’d always known the job came first, and, until now, he’d never had any regrets. Fires were just another ironclad excuse to slip away when the nighttime hours were finished.

  “This is what I do, Lily.” Bending down, he brushed a kiss against the side of her jaw, the edge of her ear. Her stoic silence had him biting back an impatient growl. She’d known the rules. Known what he had to offer—and what he couldn’t give her.

  So why did this time feel so different? He told himself that what they’d shared the night before was just sex, even if having his Lilybell had been the hottest, most mind-blowing sex of his life. But he had a niggling suspicion—no, a deep-rooted conviction—that the attraction between them was more than sex. Long, slow, and sweet. That’s how he wanted to love her. If he wasn’t careful, she just might be more than a summertime romance for him.

  She’d been kicked, and she was sure as hell down. But Lily was smart. When the San Francisco police couldn’t ID her stalker, she hadn’t stuck around for him to finish whatever sadistic game he was playing with her. And yet, despite all the lemons life had handed her, she’d been determined to get right on up again. He admired that. He admired her.

  But the walls were still closing in on him, and the fires were a gift-wrapped present with his name on the label. He needed to get his ass in gear. Plane wouldn’t wait—not long. He’d never backed down from a call, and he wasn’t starting now.

  Stepping away from the bed, he pulled his shirt over his head. Lily just sat there and watched him. Maybe that was a good thing, that silence of hers. Maybe she wouldn’t make him say the things he didn’t want to say. A man could hope.

  “You’re running away, Jack.” She slid off the bed, taking the sheet and the silence with her. Wrapped the sheet around those curves he’d explored last night and shot his peace of mind all to hell.

  “This is a fire call, Lily.” He was explaining, and he didn’t do explanations.

  “No,” she said, walking toward him. Damned if he was going to back up. He held his ground like he’d hold a fire line. Time was slipping away from him. He had to leave. “This isn’t about some fire up on some mountain somewhere. This is about us. About you. If you don’t want this to be any more than a one-night stand, Jack Donovan, that’s fine. I didn’t ask you for more than that. You go right on out that door.”

  The explanations just kept on coming. “I’ll be back.”

  Her chin came up, and her face was pure stubbornness. “Don’t bother,” she said, all sweetness, as if he’d offered to bring in her groceries or do a little fetch-and-carry for her. “I’ve done just fine without you, Jack, so here’s a news flash for you. The world is going to keep right on turning when you head on out that door. I’m not going to collapse in a tearful heap because you’ve decided now is a good time to leave. Last night was fun.” She shrugged. “I admit I was curious.”

  “Curious?” His voice was a rough growl.

  “Curious,” she repeated sweetly. “And, now that you’ve answered all my questions so nicely, we’re good.” She nodded. “Good and done. So lock up when you hit my porch, and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, Jack.”

  Damned if she didn’t head right for the bathroom. She couldn’t even be bothered to see him down the stairs.

  He might not want to stay, but he wasn’t letting her slip through his fingers like this. Not again. His hand shot out and shackled her wrist gently before he could think things through. “You call last night whatever you want, baby, but we’re not good and done. Not by a long shot.” He knew she heard the heated promise in his voice, because she stopped and gave him a look that would have done Nonna proud. It was the look that said she saw his bullshit and raised him, too.

  She didn’t scare, his Lily. Not easily. No, instead of running, she just turned and stepped into him. The heat and scent of her flooded his senses, making him hard again. Which was a bitch, because she’d kept that sheet between them, and he still needed to leave. “You want to leave,” she accused quietly.

  He did. He didn’t. Jumping out of a plane at fifteen hundred feet didn’t scare him, but this one woman did. She was getting under his skin. No one else ever had, and, even though she wasn’t asking him to stay, he wanted to.

  “Fine, Jack. You go. I don’t want you to stay.”

  The anger and possessiveness drowning him came as an unpleasant shock. She was his. He didn’t know where the primitive sensations came from, but damned if he didn’t embrace them. She’d wanted him to change, so she was going to have to deal with that man he was becoming.

  “I’m going to be late,” he warned, his voice a low, throaty growl.

  “What?” Those brown eyes mocked him. “You’ve got two minutes, Jack, bef
ore you blow your schedule. You can’t take care of business here in two minutes?”

  Turning away from him, she dropped the sheet without so much as a give-a-damn, reaching for her own clothes. Her body was pale and sexy in the gray dawn light, and his mouth went dry. Yeah, he hadn’t had him enough of her. Even now, as she grabbed the clothes he’d turned inside out as he’d stripped her helter-skelter, he wanted to take her straight back to that bed and make her moan some more. Instead, he just watched as she tidied up. Her panties were tangled in the legs of her cut-offs, and the lace strap of her bra dangled from her fingertips as she turned and dropped the lot into a wicker hamper. Disposing of the memories.

  Like hell. “Don’t push me,” he growled.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Jack,” she said tightly. Turning her back on him, she stepped into a fresh pair of lacy white panties, and he swore he felt his control snap. Lily was playing with fire, and she was about to get burned. Before she could so much as squeak, he had her backed up against the wall of her bedroom. He was bigger, stronger. And she had him far too hot and bothered. Slapping one hand on the wall beside her head, he reached down and captured her chin with his other hand.

  Those eyes of hers were pure challenge mixed with a healthy dose of anger. She didn’t like being intimidated, but she wasn’t running. Lily wouldn’t run again. He knew that. And he couldn’t ignore the sensual attractiveness of that bedrock strength in her.

  He should have warned her, should have given her a chance to demand he get the hell out of her house, but he wasn’t feeling nice. Hell, he was angry.

  And possessive.

  He didn’t particularly like himself right now, but he wanted Lily Cortez, and he wouldn’t hide that truth. So he lowered his mouth, not taking his gaze from her face. Those damned brown eyes of her eyes didn’t flinch. Her angry look matched his, reading the reaction to her he couldn’t hide. Whatever she saw there on his face, she must have liked the message, because she gave a little hum of excitement and melted into him.

  Damn her.

  His mouth slanted over hers, tasting, teasing, and he was so damned lost, he wondered if he’d ever find himself again. Her mouth was sheer, raw heat. She was wet and needy, so boldly honest in the sensual excitement she felt that his entire world had narrowed to her and the shadowy bedroom where he’d wrapped her up in his arms.

  “Open up,” he growled, swallowing her little gasp of feminine excitement. He brushed his lips against hers, stroking between their plumpness with his tongue. Drove inside her. No excuses. No hiding. Just raw sensation overwhelming him like a brush fire jumping the line and sucking all the oxygen out of his lungs. Drowning in the liquid heat of her.

  Her tongue tangled with his. Exploring. Her mouth met his in a sensual throw-down. He’d kissed her at least a dozen times now, taken her mouth almost every way he could imagine last night. He should have recognized the taste of her, the intimate shape of that mouth. And yet this kiss was pure discovery and unexpected pleasure. He was never going to get enough of her.

  She moaned something into his mouth. Maybe his name. Hell, she could have been uttering heartfelt profanity or reciting bad poetry. He didn’t care. All he could do was thread his hands through her hair and hang on to this impossible, fabulous woman wrapped in his arms. Let his mouth devour hers, using his lips and tongue and teeth to stoke the furious blaze in her. With a wordless cry, she arched up into him, riding his jeans-clad thigh as the hot, wet heat of her silently demanded he scoop her up and carry her back to the bed she’d abandoned.

  Their bed.

  Instead, his cell buzzed, jolting him into awareness.

  “I guess it’s official. You’re late, baby,” she drawled.

  His whole body jerked. Thick and hard, his dick rose to meet that feminine challenge. So he gave her back her challenge, gave her one of his own with each hot stroke of his hands. Possessive. Raw. He wasn’t letting her forget what they’d just shared—or letting her dismiss him that easily. He thrived on challenges, and she’d just thrown down.

  She eyed him like she hadn’t been devouring his mouth. “Good-bye, Jack.”

  “I’m coming back, Lily,” he growled. “Make no mistake about it. I’ll be right back here, in your bed, tonight.”

  With that, he left.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Spotted Dick leveled the plane out, bringing her nose around for a final check. He was the best damned pilot Jack had ever flown with. Too profane and too ornery for commercial airline work, but he knew his way around a plane. Or a chopper. If the bird had wings, Spotted Dick could fly her. He had nerves of steel, as well, and no landing zone was too small or too short. Any landing he could walk away from was a good landing in Dick’s book.

  The crew was comprised of eight men. Jack had pulled military tours in the deserts of the Middle East, fighting his way through oil rig fires and gun battles. He’d learned more than he wanted about hot and dry and exposed. His third tour had taken him to South America. That tour was all about the drug wars and covert ops. The entire jump team was ex-military, ex-Marine, men he’d fought beside during those three tours. He knew them. Knew precisely what they were capable of. Fighting fires was simply one more battlefield, and they’d checked gear as soon as Spotted Dick put the plane into the air, because you never fucked with your gear. Gear was survival, plain and simple.

  Beside him, Evan re-strapped his blade, whistling silently.

  When Jack signaled to huddle up, they pulled in. Seven hard faces turned toward his. His jumpers were big, strong men. Fighters. Stubborn as mules. And damned uncivilized. They’d have fit just fine into Strong when the town had been a lawless mining camp. Hell, he wasn’t sure all of them had gotten the memo that they were inhabiting the twenty-first century.

  “I need to call in a favor,” he said, “when we’re done on this job. I need eyes and ears on Lily Cortez.”

  Even over the roar and throb of the plane’s engines, he heard the low whistle from one of the jumpers at the back. “Setting the bar real high for the rest of us, Jack.”

  The other jumpers chimed in with cheerful obscenities, and Jack knew that this was simply playful banter. Should have been just another line in the game they all played. Enjoy life, enjoy the summer. Take what was offered because tomorrow there was always another fire. Another chance to jump. Another chance they weren’t all coming back, because shit happened on the fire lines, and no one had ever pretended otherwise.

  “She’s off-limits,” he said, because he couldn’t pretend, and the catcalls cut right off. He didn’t know what was written on his puss, but clearly the boys had gotten the message. Loud and clear. “Some son-of-a-bitch is stalking her. She cuts a damned flower out there, I want to know about it. As a favor to me. This is off the books. Give me your hours, and I’ll take care of you, but this is personal.”

  They’d all known someone—a mother, a sister, hell, even a girlfriend of their own—who’d been given a raw deal by some bum. They’d fought covert wars, holding the invisible lines separating good guys from bad. They were damned good because they’d had two choices. Get real good, real fast—or die. Lily wouldn’t know they were there, not unless they wanted her to know.

  The plane banked smoothly, coming around. Jump site was coming up fast.

  The four fires weren’t that far away from Strong, but they were in a location that was pretty inaccessible. Just the one main road in and then a handful of service roads. Problem here was water. Or, more precisely, the lack of water. You drove it in or you flew it in, but you weren’t hooking up to a hydrant. Their job was to jump in and cut line until the fires burned themselves out.

  Dropping a team made sense. Up in the air, the team had a big-picture view that teams on the ground wouldn’t have. And, once you’d dropped, that same team became eyes and ears on the ground. He needed those eyes and ears.

  Both here and on Lavender Creek.

  He said the words that sealed the deal, guaranteeing that none of his ju
mpers would let Lily’s stalker walk easy. “He’s a serial arsonist.”

  This time, the curses weren’t good-natured. A man who set fires was a danger. A walking, ticking time bomb threatening to take a team of good men with him, because they’d be the ones jumping into the heart of the blaze to clean up his shit. Now he’d dragged Lily into the mix, and none of them liked that.

  “She down with this?” Sprawled on the floor of the plane, shouting to be heard over the engines’ vibrations, Zay should have looked ridiculous. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his jumpsuit, exposing ink from a half dozen tours of duty across most of Asia.

  He gave Zay the truth. “She won’t know you’re there. I don’t want her to hear you or see you.”

  “Straight up?” Joey shifted, his head coming up from the gear bag he was organizing. “That’s how you want to play it?”

  “You ever met Lily Cortez?” Joey’s silent head shake said it all. “Let me be real clear. She doesn’t believe there’s really a problem. She thinks she can handle on her own a man who’d set a forest fire just to scare the piss out of her. You and I—we both know what kind of a man sets wildland fires.”

  They’d read the profiles, even met some of the assholes who’d done that kind of thing. Almost all of their wildland arsonists were male. Looking for a little fame and glory or out for revenge or an adrenaline rush. A man like that was no one Lily Cortez should have to handle on her own.

  “So we watch Lavender Creek,” Zay drawled. “We stick to your Lily like a stamp to an envelope. Got that part. Then, say this little bastard decides to pay Lily a visit out at her farm—tell me how this next part unfolds. We return the favor?”

  From the cockpit, Spotted Dick bawled a heads-up and an altitude. The first jump site was coming up fast. Jack had no illusions about his team. Hell, he had no illusions about himself. If the only way to stop the arsonist required lethal force, he’d do it. Any one of them would. Part of him wanted to give in to the primal urge to hurt as Lily had been hurt. Strong, California, wasn’t a battlefield, however. Not yet.