Page 4 of Falling for the Firefighter
His pupils dilate as he holds my hand a heartbeat too long.
“Had to change after a little weather surprise. Got caught in a downpour. Soaked through.” He lets the words linger, rich with implication. “Lucky I packed a spare set in the truck. Always prepared.”
Scout, traitorous bastard, bounds over like Mac hung the damn moon. She presses against his legs and looks up at him adoringly.
Well, this should be interesting.
“Looking forward to working closely with you on those evacuation routes, Ms. Mackenzie.” His voice turns silk-edgedsteel, the emphasis on closely dragging heat through my veins. “And don’t worry—I’m very good at navigating… even when someone intentionally sends me off-course.”
He releases my hand, long after it’s appropriate, but the damage is done. This is going to be a very long and perilous fire season… for me.
And he just struck the match.
Chapter 2
Professional Tension
Inhale.Exhale. Remain professional.
I square my shoulders and force a neutral expression onto my face. The heat in my cheeks refuses to subside, along with the lingering awareness of how his hands felt gripping my arms during our collision. Every nerve ending in my body remains traitorously alert, as if he's still touching me.
"Let's begin the briefing, shall we?" I retrieve a fresh stack of maps from my bag—thank god I always bring backups—and spread them across the conference table. "I've prepared detailed evacuation routes for each sector of our jurisdiction."
Mac leans casually against the wall. Like he’s got all the time in the world. He doesn’t move, but his eyes never leave me, tracking every shift in my body like he's already memorized the way I breathe.
The lazy curve of his smile deepens as the door swings open behind me and his team filters in, boots scuffing, laughter low and familiar.
They enter in a loose, confident wave—nineteen men and women in flame-resistant yellow shirts and green tactical pants, exuding calm authority and casual competence. They fill the room with the controlled chaos of seasoned professionals,peeling off in small clusters, claiming wall space, or leaning against the edges of the table.
Mac doesn’t sit. He remains standing. The position pulls his uniform taut across his shoulders, revealing the contours of muscle beneath. That infuriating half-smile plays at the corner of his mouth, promising trouble.
He watches me. Not the maps. Not the sheriff. Not his team.
Just me.
His gaze drags over my body like a slow touch, unapologetically focused. My coffee-stained shirt is dry now, but the pattern clings in a way that feels too revealing. I resist the urge to cross my arms or tug at the fabric.
Professional. Stay professional.
Sheriff Donovan clears his throat. "Captain Sullivan, would you like to introduce your team?"
"Of course." Mac straightens, the movement fluid and dangerous, like a panther unfolding just before a kill. My eyes betray me, following the way his uniform shifts with every subtle stretch of muscle.
He gestures toward the firefighters now settled in around the room. "Angel's Peak, meet California Hotshot Crew 37."
They nod, expressionless but alert, taking in every detail with the silent focus of people used to crisis. I catch a few raised eyebrows aimed at my coffee-stained shirt.
"Rodriguez, Martinez, Burke." Mac gestures to three firefighters near the windows. "Best sawyers in the business. Sanders, Williams, Nguyen—our medical specialists."
His voice fills the room, deep and assured, commanding without trying. And I hate how much I feel it—low and warm, curling under my skin like smoke. Like it could wrap around my spine and tug.
I imagine that voice against my ear, darker now, whispering orders I’d actually obey. My skin flushes traitorously at the thought, heat pooling low, sharp, and aching.
No. Don’t go there, Jo. Stay professional.
He continues through the crew, each name paired with a nod and their role in the team. They move with the instinctive rhythm of people who’ve faced down hell and walked out breathing.
"And Sergeant Parker." He gestures toward a tall woman with a silver braid and a sharp, knowing gaze. "My second-in-command and the person who keeps all of us alive when we're too stubborn to do it ourselves."
