Page 9 of Falling for the Firefighter
"I’m perfectly capable of driving myself and meeting you at the visitor center."
"I'll be at your place at 0800 hours. Don’t keep me waiting." His proximity makes the simple statement feel like something else entirely.
My breath stutters. My pulse hammers. He’s too close again, the air between us thick with challenge and something darker.
The intensity in his blue eyes suggests tomorrow will be about more than just verifying trails. Every nerve ending in my body lights up in anticipation and warning.
I should say no, and insist on meeting at the visitor center, surrounded by other people. I should create professional distance before this... whatever this is... escalates further.
"Don't be late," I say instead.
His grin turns slow and lethal while something ignites deep and dangerous in my chest, a slow-burning fuse leading to inevitable explosion.
"Wouldn't dream of it,Mackenzie." He reaches for a map I’m holding, fingers brushing mine—purposeful, possessive.
Chapter 3
Into the Fire
It’sthree in the morning, and I'm staring at my cabin ceiling, watching moonlight cast pine-branch shadows across the wood beams.
Sleep refuses to come. Every time I close my eyes, I see Mac's face—that infuriating half-smile, the challenge in his blue eyes, the way he leaned over my maps like he was studying more than just terrain features.
"It's purely professional," I tell the empty room. "A simple trail verification with a visiting fire captain."
Scout lifts her head from her bed in the corner, her expression calling bullshit.
"Don't look at me like that." I roll onto my side, punching my pillow into submission. "You're the one who keeps abandoning me for him."
Her tail thumps against the floor once before she settles back down.
Professional. That's all this is. I'm simply showing evacuation routes to a firefighter who needs local knowledge. The fact that my skin buzzes whenever he stands too close is irrelevant.
By the time pink streaks appear on the horizon, I've convinced myself this day will be strictly business.
That conviction lasts until I stand before my closet at seven, agonizing over what to wear, as if it’s a date instead of a work obligation.
"Ridiculous." I yank out my standard hiking gear—performance pants, a moisture-wicking Henley, and a lightweight jacket.
I swap the Henley for one that brings out the color of my eyes, then change back, disgusted with myself.
Scout watches from the doorway, head tilted.
"What?" I glare at her. "The blue one breathes better."
She blinks slowly, unconvinced.
"Fine." I grab my hair, twisting it into a practical braid instead of the loose waves I'd considered. "Better?"
Scout yawns dramatically.
"Some help you are." I lace my hiking boots with unnecessary force. "You'd probably suggest I wear a cocktail dress if it meant your new best friend would be impressed."
The knock at my door comes at exactly eight. Of course, he's punctual.
I open the door to find Mac in hiking gear that looks custom-tailored to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His dark hair is slightly damp, curling at the edges like he just showered. The morning light catches the stubble along his jaw, highlighting cheekbones that belong on a sculptor's model rather than a firefighter.
This is going to be a long day.
