Page 86 of Falling for the Firefighter
"Next?" I echo, hands braced against the counter.
“The fire’s contained,” he says quietly, voice low like he’s trying not to spook the fragile peace that’s finally settled. “Immediate crisis is over.”
Relief rushes through me, but it doesn’t quite reach the tight spot in my chest. Not yet. He steps closer, boots scuffing against ash and gravel. His presence stills the air the way it always does—steady, grounding. Safe.
“I’ve been offered a position here. Full-time.” A pause. “Assigned permanently to Angel’s Peak.”
My breath catches. “You have?”
He nods. One hand lifts, hesitating a beat before brushing my cheek with his fingertips. Calloused. Warm. Surprising gentleness from someone forged in fire. His touch is careful, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to hope.
“Yes,” he says, then draws in a breath like the next part costs him something. “But there’s a condition.”
My stomach dips. “A condition,” I repeat, trying for lightness but already bracing. “Should I be worried?”
His eyes stay locked on mine. Unflinching. Raw.
“We barely know each other,” he says. “A week here. Another fighting this fire. That’s it. But that doesn’t change what I feel when I look at you. Doesn’t change what I want.”
My heart stumbles.
“I need to know if you want me to stay.” His voice lowers, rich with quiet urgency. “Not just in Angel’s Peak. In your life. Permanently.”
The air between us tightens, thick with heat and hope and the sharp edges of fear. I can’t breathe past it. Can’t think beyond the ache he’s awakened in me since the moment we met.
He takes a step closer, his hand rising to trace my jaw with the rough pads of his fingers. “The past week has been crisis conditions,” he says, thumb brushing just beneath my lip. “Adrenaline. Life-or-death decisions. It changes how people connect and how they respond to each other. I think we’ve been building something real. Something more than amazing sex, but I need to know you feel the same. That what’s between us isn’t just trauma response.”
I could dodge. Hedge. Take a breath and ask for more time. But that’s not what this man deserves. Mac doesn’t bluff or posture—he lays it all out, steady and real, and expects the same in return.
So I give it to him.
“I want you to stay.”
The words fall between us like a flare tossed into dry timber.
He stills. Something sharp and possessive flickers behind his eyes, the quiet firestorm that always simmers beneath his surface breaking free.
“I need to be very clear about what that means.” His voice drops to that commanding growl that makes my stomach twist with want. “I’m not talking casual. I’m not talking temporary. If you say yes, you get all of me, just as I will claim all of you.”
His hand moves from my jaw to my throat, fingers wrapping around the column of it—not tight, just enough to feel the strength there. My pulse hammers against his thumb, frantic beneath his control.
The dominance in his tone, in his touch, should scare me.
Instead, it grounds me.
“Do you?” His grip tightens slightly. “Do you want that? I want to wake up beside you. I want to learn every trail on your mountains. I want to come home to you after fighting fire all day. And I want to take you apart in ways that will ruin you for anyone else.”
“I do.” My breath trembles as I answer. “In Angel’s Peak. In my life. In my bed.”
“Is that a yes?” He leans in closer, breath hot against my lips.
“Yes,Sir.” The words come without hesitation, and something shatters in him.
His eyes darken—like storm clouds rolling in fast—and then his mouth is on mine, demanding and consuming, no pretense left between us. His hand slides from my throat into my hair, gripping tight, tilting my head back as he kisses me like he’s starving.
I respond with equal hunger, fingers yanking at the buttons of his shirt, needing skin, heat, him.
“Too many fucking clothes,” he mutters against my mouth, already pulling my robe down my shoulders.
