Page 29 of Falling for the Firefighter
Every time I stumble on a slick stone or a hidden root, his hand is already out.
Steady. Ready.
The warmth of his palm against mine feels like more than mere assistance.
We reach the ridge overlook mid-morning. The mist has burned away, revealing valleys unfurled below us like a crumpled green blanket, distant peaks piercing a sky washed clean by yesterday's storm.
I unclip the topo map from my belt, the paper crisp between my fingers.
"We're off by a quarter mile from the firebreak projection." I hold out the drawing, my lines precise in blue and red. "The runoff pool's farther west than your GPS thinks."
Mac pulls out his device, the sleek technology incongruous against the ancient landscape. He frowns, sunlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes, then meets my gaze.
"My GPS says otherwise."
I jab the map, paper crinkling under my finger. "And I live here. My lines are drawn from memory and what the ground says. You want to override that?"
He steps into my space, close enough that I can smell yesterday's desire on his skin. Takes the map, folds it carefully with those strong fingers that mapped my body hours before, then slides it back into my pack. The casual intimacy of the gesture leaves me breathless.
"No," he says, voice like gravel over velvet. "I want both. Redundancy saves lives."
I blink. That wasn't what I expected. Not the easy capitulation, not the acknowledgment of both our strengths.
But before I can reply, he grabs my hand, pulls me into the trees behind the overlook where shadows dance across damp pine needles, and kisses me like he needs it to breathe. Likewe're still in my cabin, not standing out in the open on public land. His mouth tastes of coffee and certainty.
He palms my breast through my jacket, mouth dragging along my jaw, stubble rasping against sensitive skin. I gasp, and heat floods my veins.
"That sound. I'll never get enough of it." He doesn't linger. Doesn't soften. Just turns and strides back onto the trail, leaving me trembling in the dappled light like he didn't just set me on fire.
I catch up to him breathless, heart hammering from more than the incline. He walks like nothing happened, like he didn’t just kiss me breathless in the trees. Like my nipples aren’t still peaked and aching, jacket zipped tight against the evidence.
He doesn’t look back. Just tosses over his shoulder, “Keep up.”
I do. Barely.
The next half-mile is steep, rocky, and shaded by sun-dappled trees. Pines crowd the trail in places, casting shadows over everything. My thighs burn. My breath fogs. But it’s nothing compared to the ache between my legs. The weight of that kiss. Of the promise in his hands. Of what I told him in the dark.
When the trail bends around a granite outcrop, he stops.
Dead.
I stumble to a halt behind him, nearly crashing into his back. “What?—?”
He turns. Eyes dark. Sure.
No smile. Just heat.
Predatory.
I freeze mid-step, my breath catching, something in my chest folding in on itself. His gaze tracks me like a target. Like I’ve already said, yes, even though my lips haven’t moved.
He steps closer, gaze locked to mine, until there’s no space left between us.
“You said you imagined me. That first day. Shoving you to your knees.”
A breath stutters out of me.
My stomach tightens. My pulse goes wild.
