Combustible

by Lexxie Couper

She fought not to turn to look at him. Why was her stupid mind convinced he wasn’t talking about the fire? Why did her goddamn pussy throb and pulse so much at the thought of what he might be talking about?

  Because you’ve never been so undone by a single kiss, woman. Never. And as much as you don’t want to admit it, you want to be undone again.

  Puzzled contemplation narrowed Evan’s eyes. “You wanna stay longer?”

  “No.” There was no hesitation in Desmond’s answer. “I will get what I want later.”

  The slight emphasis on the word will sent another rush of contracting tension through Jess’s lower body and before she could stop herself, she shot him a glance over her shoulder.

  His lips curled in a slow smile as his gaze connected with hers. “Isn’t that correct, Captain.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.

  A lump filled Jess’s throat. Liquid heat flooded her sex.

  Clenching her jaw, she spun back to Evan and stomped—carefully—toward him. Away from Desmond and his conceited, arrogant assumptions.

  She didn’t utter a word as she climbed into the helicopter and plonked herself down in the copilot’s seat. Not even when Evan cast her a humorous look as he climbed into the pilot’s seat. She could tell by his grin he was aware of what she was doing—forcing Desmond to sit behind her again.

  She didn’t care.

  It wasn’t just that she didn’t want Desmond to ride shotgun in the chopper, it was that she didn’t want to spend the flight back to Wallaby Ridge looking at him from the back.

  If she did, if she spent those long minutes studying his dark hair with its salt-and-pepper strands at the temples, his hawkish profile, the smooth column of his neck, his broad shoulders wrapped up with tailored perfection in his pristine white shirt, she’d probably be unable to stop herself doing something utterly insane when they touched down in the Ridge.

  Like go to his hotel room, knock on his door and ask him to—

  “Let’s go,” the bastard ordered behind her, no doubt looking as sexy as all hell back there.

  “You got it, boss,” Evan said, pulling his headphones on before firing up the helicopter.

  Jess narrowed her eyes at him. “Boss?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, Captain.”

  The chopper took off, the heavy pressure on her belly not remotely smothering the unsettling feeling that Desmond was smirking behind her.

  Smirking at her.

  Studying her.

  Waiting for her to turn and look at him.

  Almost two hours later, her jaw aching from clenching it so tightly, her shoulders in an equal state of pained tension, Jess climbed out of the chopper and stepped onto the Wallaby Ridge Rural Fire Brigade’s helipad.

  Although truth be known, climbed probably wasn’t the correct word.

  More like scurried.

  Scrambled.

  Fled.

  God, she had to get away from him.

  His superior understanding of how fire burned, his almost freakish skill at dissecting the scene of the fire, of identifying minute details that divulged exactly how the Broken Downs fire had progressed…all evident during the flight home as he and Evan talked.

  She’d sat in the front and listened to it all, incapable of stopping her body responding to the confident caress of his voice. By the time the chopper had landed, she was one “burn pattern indicates” away from a freaking orgasm.

  It had all fed the ball of heat in the pit of her belly that had ignited the second she’d laid eyes on him.

  If she didn’t get away from him, that ball of heat would engulf her. Control her.

  Make her do—

  Shutting the thought dead, she stomped across the dusty stretch between helipad and stationhouse, yanked open the door and hurried over the threshold.

  She didn’t stop to write up notes on the investigation. She’d do them back at her house. At the dining table that functioned mainly as her home-office desk.

  For now, she needed to get away from Desmond.

  “Captain?”

  Her feet stumbled beneath her at the sound of his voice, its now familiar calm stoking the turbulent need building inside her.

  Sucking in a slow breath, her stomach knotted, she pivoted on her heel and met his gaze. “Yes?”

  Somewhere between the helicopter and the stationhouse, he’d slipped into his suit jacket. The sight of him, sexier and more composed than any man had a right to be, infuriated her.

  And turned her on.

  He didn’t cross to where she stood. Nor did he insult her with an overt inspection of her body. Instead, he buttoned his jacket and held her stare. “I’m staying at the Sunburnt Country Inn.”

  She folded her arms. “And you’re telling me this because?”

  He had the audacity to smile, his lips curling in such a way that Jess almost whimpered. “You know why.”

  And with that, he exited the stationhouse.

  Leaving her alone in the one place she’d always felt most calm.

  Except she wasn’t feeling calm now.

  She was feeling enraged. Incensed.

  Nervous.

  Confused.

  And, god help her, horny.

  So fucking horny it hurt to breathe.

  Bastard.

  Chapter Four

  The knock came on his hotel room door two hours after he’d left her at the station house.

  Desmond had spent those two hours preparing.

  He’d written up his notes on the Broken Downs fire, officially declaring it deliberately lit.

  He’d spoken to the Prime Minister, the Deputy Prime Minister and Wallaby Ridge’s Senior Constable, Charlie Baynard.

  He’d opened the file on his laptop containing all the notes and reports he had from his father’s years as the state’s leading arson investigator. Skimmed each one for the name Montgomery without any success. If she’d had a confrontation with his father, Darius might have included it in his report, as a way to gloat over a perceived victory.

  Unsettled by his failure to find any connection to Jess but determined to track down the pertinent report, he’d emailed the State Fire Brigade Records office and requested all Darius Russell reports be emailed to him ASAP, and then showered, shaved and dressed, choosing black boxer briefs, a dark charcoal suit, white shirt and no tie. It was rare he went without one, but he’d caught the way Jess’s eyes had lingered on the base of his throat when he’d loosened his tie back at the fire scene. Had noticed the way she’d sucked in a swift breath.

  He wanted to see that response again.

  And more so.

  He’d refused to let his hand move to his cock while under the cold water of the shower, no matter how rigid and engorged the organ was. It was that way because of Jess Montgomery, and it was Jess Montgomery who would deal with its erect state.

  He knew she would come. No matter how much she glared at him, and no doubt told herself she wouldn’t, he saw it in her eyes—a conflicted need. A confused want.

  And a smoldering desire.

  At precisely one hundred and twenty-two minutes after he’d exited the Ridge’s fire station, a knock sounded on his hotel room door.

  Three raps. Not exactly soft, but not confident either.

  Desmond drew in a slow breath, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and crossed the small but tastefully decorated hotel room.

  He didn’t open the door immediately, despite the rush of liquid heat flooding into his groin and the powerful craving to gaze upon her face, to hear her husky voice utter foul words once again.

  Control.

  He needed to regain control. Not only of his own desire, but of the moment.

  The knock came again. He counted each strike of knuckle on wood.

  One. Two. Three.

  The third knock was harder. The time between the second and third quicker.

  Desmond stared at the door, picturing Jess on the other side. What was she wearing? Jeans? That same sn
ug white T-shirt that hugged her breasts to perfection? Or had she changed her clothes? Was she in a dress? A skirt?

  Are you nervous, Russell? Are you procrastinating? There’s something about Jess. Something more than sexual. You’ve never experienced it before, have you? And it makes you—

  Another three knocks. Followed by the distinct sound of a female muttering “That’d be right. The fucking bastard’s not…fuck, woman, what are you doing here? What the fuck are you—”

  Desmond opened the door.

  And bit back a curse of his own at the sight that greeted him on the other side of the threshold.

  Jess stood rooted to the spot, staring up at him. The white T-shirt was gone, as were the jeans and work boots. Taking their place was a pair of faded denim cut-off shorts that revealed thighs both smoothly toned and sun-kissed bronze; beat-up cowboy boots; and an oversized, off the shoulder black silken top that exposed the finely-muscled curve of her right shoulder and very clearly said she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  His body coiled tight at the hint of her nipples pressing against the soft fabric. His cock thickened at the tease of her unrestrained breasts separated from his touch by only the thinnest barrier of silk.

  “My fucking eyes are up here, Des.”

  Groin filling with impatient pleasure, he curled his lips in a smile and raised his gaze to her face. “You arrive at my door without a bra and wearing shorts like that and expect me not to take it all in?”

  “I expect…” She stopped. The incensed indignation and bluster fell from her face. A confused frown pulled at her eyebrows. She gnawed on her bottom lip with her teeth. “I expect you to…”

  Again, she faltered. A faint pink tinted her cheeks.

  Desmond cocked an eyebrow. “Kiss you?”

  He could tell by the way she glared at him, she fought for that same indignation again.

  He could also tell, by the way she flicked the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, that she failed. Carnal desire ruled her now.

  “Tell me why you’re here, Captain,” he said, risking it all. “Tell me what you really want.”

  She didn’t move. Her stare fixed on his, as if she was imprisoned by it. Her eyebrows dipped into another frown. A soft noise slipped from her throat. To Desmond’s ears, it sounded like a whimper of desperate surrender.

  His body reacted.

  Resisting the urge to step closer, he held her stare. His heart pounded. His groin echoed the fierce throb. “Tell me you came here because you want me to fuck you, Captain.”

  She flicked the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip once again, a quick, nervous swipe that caught Desmond’s attention. Fresh blood surged into his already rigid cock. He drew in a slow breath, almost undone by the fierce need to wrap his arm around her waist, haul her to his body and take utter possession of her mouth. Of her body.

  Of her heart.

  His own heart thumped at the unexpected notion. His life was about control, about emotional detachment. He’d exerted control over his emotions growing up to keep the chaos of his drunken father from crushing him, and he kept his adult emotions in check because it was the only way to survive being surrounded by the effects of such a destructive force as fire, and the heartbreak it wrought on lives, day after day.

  He’d never allowed the disciplines he placed on himself to waver, regardless of who he was sexually engaged with.

  But Jess…

  Christ, what was it about this woman that stirred him so much? Was it that she fought so hard to be in control, when he could see, simmering beneath the rough-diamond surface, a creature of molten passion?

  Was it that he’d already tasted that passion…and how sweet and hot and wild it truly was when she surrendered to it? And to him?

  His body thrummed with carnal hunger. “Tell me, Jessica.”

  “Fuck,” she ground out, torment etching her face even as her breasts heaved. “Fuck, why did you…how do you…” She shook her head, dragged her hands through her hair, turning the copper-red strands into a wild spikey mess before glaring at him once more. “Why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about you? You and your big-city smugness and your designer suit that has no place in the Outback, let alone at a fire scene. It makes no sense! I should despise you. You and everything you stand for. Every time I hear your name, I can’t help thinking about your father and how he…”

  She stopped. Raked her hands through her hair again, cursing under her breath.

  He didn’t speak. He waited. She needed to work through the conflict eating her up like a hungry flame. She needed to come to terms with it.

  Glaring at him again, she balled her fists at her side. “I hate that you are here. I hate that your very presence here undermines my position. And what’s even more fucked up is that I hate that you made me feel your equal at Broken Downs when I could see, just by observing you, that when it comes to fire investigation you run rings around me without even trying. But more than anything else, I hate that I can’t stop fucking thinking about you.” Frustration cracked her voice. Torment etched her face. “And wanting you to…to…fuck, I just want you to fucking make me come so fucking hard I’ll forget how much I fucking despise—”

  Desmond destroyed the distance between them with one step, fisted his hand in the hair at her nape and crushed her mouth with his.

  For a split second, she stiffened. Her palms flattened against his chest. She pushed once—a token effort—and then, as he tightened his fist in her hair and stroked his tongue over hers, moaned her surrender and melted against his body.

  The second she did, he tore away from the kiss.

  Her cry of dismay turned into a growl of contempt, her eyes blazing with heat. “What the fuck are you—”

  “I need to make this very clear, Captain,” he said, cutting her off. To his own ears, his voice sounded ragged. Christ, was this wise? What he was about to do? He’d never been so…unsettled. “If you cross this threshold, I am in control of what happens. I am in control of your body, your pleasure.”

  She remained motionless. Her eyes grew wider.

  “Do you understand?”

  For a taunting moment, he thought she was about to turn. A tension filled her face, her shoulders. If she did, he would go after her, regardless of how much control that gave her. He wanted her. Somewhere between their first telephone conversation almost fourteen hours ago and now, he’d become damn near obsessed with her.

  He didn’t like that, even as—on a level he didn’t want to analyse yet—he gave himself over to it.

  Her lips parted. Desmond braced himself for the profanity-laden insult.

  “I understand.”

  Her agreement, uttered on a husky whisper, slammed into him. His cock and balls throbbed with impatient heat. His pulse pounded in his throat, his ears.

  Drawing on every ounce of restraint he had, he lowered his head closer again to hers, so close he could feel her shallow pants on his lips. “Tell me then, Captain, and choose your words carefully. Why did you come here?”

  “I came here because I can’t stop reliving that kiss back at Broken Downs. I can’t stop wanting you to kiss me again that way.”

  “What way, Captain?”

  Jess gazed at him, unblinking. “Like you own me. Like…like I’m yours and you will have me no matter what. It made me feel…powerful. And sexy. And scared.”

  Desmond hissed in a slow breath. Her confession, her acceptance of the carnal, primitive dominating nature of his desire for her, seared through his veins. His cock throbbed harder, straining against the confining material of his boxers and suit pants. His throat tightened.

  “I came here because I want you to fuck me. I came here because I can no longer fight it.” Her eyelids fluttered closed for a heartbeat as she caught her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “I came here to surrender to it,” she whispered. “And to you.”

  A wall of hot desire and need crashed over Desmond. His head swam.

  The urge to touch his
fingertips to her jaw, to feel the delicate bone structure, the exquisite line, overwhelmed him. He lifted his hand.

  And lowered it to his side again.

  Instead, he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, turned on his heel and crossed to the bed. Without checking on whether Jess was watching him or not, he retrieved the bronze silk tie from where he’d placed it on the end of the bed after dressing.

  “Wh-what are you going to do…” Her shaky question turned to a shakier curse. “Oh fuck…are you…”

  He gave her a steady look over his shoulder, fighting the fire burning out of control within him. “I am the master of your pleasure, Captain. It’s not too late to walk away. It’s not too late to—”

  Holding his askew gaze, Jess stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her.

  She’d come here to ask him to kiss her again. That was it. After an hour and twenty fucking minutes pacing her living room, furious with him and his conceit and assumptions, she’d finally accepted that what she really wanted was for him to kiss her again. Just one kiss. That was all. So she could get him and his suit and tie and big-city arrogance out of her system. So she could scratch whatever this fucked-up thing was she seemed to have for him, and be done with it once and for all.

  And after he’d kissed her, she was going to say thanks and leave.

  So what in the holy name of fucking hell was she doing now?

  One kiss? Ha, you really believed you were coming here only for one kiss? The moment he opened the door, dressed in that suit...you were never leaving after just one kiss.

  Her stare lowered to his hand holding the burnished bronze tie. Her pussy contracted at the sight of it.

  What was he going to do with it? Blindfold her? Tie her up? Was she really going to let him do that? Surely not?

  The pulsing tension in her sex told her otherwise. She wasn’t just going to let him. She wanted him to.

  Oh god, when had she become so…

  “Submissive,” she whispered.

  Her pussy grew moist at the word. Her heart quickened. Mouth dry, she raised her gaze to his face again.

  “Come here, Captain.”

  She startled at his low command. Her heart punched faster against her breastbone. Clinging to some semblance of control, she clenched her jaw. “I’m not going to fucking—”