Burns So Bad (Smoke Jumpers) (31 page)

The
noise of the returning crew drowned out Rosalie’s laughter. Battered pickups
bounced over the rutted road, disgorging a load of hotshots and the
unmistakable smell of smoke and outdoors and something else indefinably
masculine. Although the odd woman worked the ground crew, most of the team were male. Through and through.

She
eyed the approaching horde.

One
kiss. How could it hurt?

“All
right.” She had decided. “I’m in.”

Rosalie
tossed her a pot of cherry lip gloss. “Lube it up,
honey. Give him something to remember.”

The
way Dade Johnson saw it, the last twenty-four hours
had sucked from beginning to end. The roads had been crap, a rabbit’s warren of
sharp twists and deep ruts. Part fire access, part logging route, the pavement
had run out after about twenty yards, leaving them to bump northwest for hours.
Then, the pumper truck had hit mud left over from last week’s storm and bogged
down. He and the boys had thrown a cable around a handy tree and winched like
hell trying to pull the truck out. Eventually, he’d dumped almost two hundred
gallons of water to lighten the load.

Which
had worked.

Until
the next colossal mud puddle had done the truck in again.

The
fire hadn’t cooperated, either. Eventually, with the wind picking up and
fanning the flames for a steep upslope run, he’d had to admit that fire was now
burning out of control. Hand tools wouldn’t get the job done, not now. He’d
called for a tanker drop and then started the long drive back to camp. Lining
up for pancakes and coffee seemed like a waste of time when there was still
fire to fight, but there were fresh guys manning the line now and the Rogues
needed the rest. The sooner he got started on the downtime, the sooner he’d be
back out there.

He
parked his truck on auto-pilot, replaying the last
hours in the field in his head. Take that line ten feet farther south and call
in the tanker twenty minutes sooner . . . That was where the day had gone
FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition right there. A hand slapped him on the
back, jolting him out of the full-color replay in his head.

Sam
Clayton fell into step beside him. He didn’t look much happier to be on recall,
either. Sam didn’t usually wear his emotions on his face—and, hell, Dade
wasn’t looking—but one more hour. That was all they’d needed.

Sam
didn’t bother with pleasantries. After all, there was no need to say
hi
and
bye
when they spent the kind of time together that they did. “Not
ready to pack it in?”

Dade
snorted. “Not likely. You?”

“Nope,”
Sam replied pleasantly. “And yet here we are. Back in base camp.”

They
exchanged knowing glances. There was more than one way to get back out there
sooner rather than later.

“No
worries, though.” Sam nodded a head toward the plume blocking out the daylight.
“Plenty of fire out there to go around. She’ll still be there when we finish
our R and R.”

Sam
looked like a man who’d just remembered that he had plans for his downtime, all
of which undoubtedly involved Olivia Albert. Dade was happy for Sam, he really
was. He didn’t have the same draw to go home. If he was being honest, he didn’t
have much of a home to go back to. That made a difference. The fire camp was a
temporary way station at best. He had his RV and his pillow, but where he hit
the hay didn’t matter much. Sure, sleep sounded good right now, as did a real
hot shower, but getting his hands on a Pulaski and digging line sounded better.
They’d been damned close to licking this latest flare-up when the order had
come in to fall back and take a breather. Waving the white flag wasn’t his
choice.

“We
were close,” he growled. “Another hour and we’d have had her.”

Leaving
a problem unfixed went against the grain. Fixing what was wrong just made
sense. Eight hours of knocking down flames, shoveling dirt wherever the orange
popped up. Everything was dry and heated, ready to go up at a moment’s notice,
and then the wind had shifted and they were staring defeat in the face. The
flames hopped the line they’d scratched out like it was nothing and raced
upslope. Fire didn’t offer do-overs. Just overtime.

“Maybe.”
Sam shrugged. “But rules are rules, and coming in for a few hours isn’t hurting
us none.”

“You
say that because you’ve got a date with Olivia tonight.” Sam’s engagement with
the FBI agent was an unending source of amusement for the team, and the guys
missed no chance to give Sam guff about the unexpected rekindling of his
romance with his former high school sweetheart. She was a good woman, even
though Sam was the last man Dade had imagined looking for happily-ever-after.
“You taking her somewhere better this time?”

“Better
than a night in the woods?” Sam eyeballed the menu propped up by the cafeteria
door. He didn’t look like he minded one bit that he’d been forced to spend a
night camping in the woods with his FBI agent earlier in the summer, a night
that had led to some unexpected intimacy and an end to his single status. Of
course, Dade had seen Olivia Albert. She was a real pretty woman. Nice, too.
Sam was smart, scooping her up like that.

“We’re
first in line.” Hell. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
Usually, the chow line was more stampede than orderly queue.

Sam
Clayton shot a second glance at the cooks, waiting to serve up the day’s
breakfast, and shoved Dade forward. “After you.”

“Not
hungry?”

Sam’s
drawl was amused. “Not for what those girls are cooking up.”

How
bad could the food be? There were only so many ways to ruin a pancake, and Dade
appreciated the effort the cooks made to feed them all. Cooking for the fire
camp was a thankless task. If those gals could dish it up, he figured he could
swallow it.

When
he reached the start of the food line, he spotted Sarah Jo right away. Now
there was a bright spot in his day. Her blue T-shirt announced
Firemen
do it hotter
, the pink curlicues scrolling across her breasts. He knew she
had on a matching hot-pink bra, too, because he could see the lacy strap
peeking out. He shouldn’t be looking, but she was wearing that skirt he loved,
some kind of clingy fabric that hugged her ass and stopped two feet above her
hiking boots. He honestly had no idea where she’d gotten the idea that get-up
was camp wear, although it suited her.

She
glanced toward the start of the line, and parts of him perked right up.

Which
was bad. Dating anyone in camp was a messy mistake, and he had no reason to
think she might be interested anyhow. Plus, it seemed unlikely she’d last out
the summer. She couldn’t cook worth a damn, although her enthusiasm more than
made up for it as far as he was concerned. Her interest in the team was
unfeigned as she handed out Styrofoam cups of coffee and fussed over the cream
and sugar. She remembered how he liked his, and she always asked how his day
had been.

Free-spirited,
he’d thought, the first time he’d got an eyeful of the woman with multicolored
shaggy hair, an impish grin, and more piercings than the Rogues had
Harleys. He couldn’t decide what
color her hair had been originally. Those chunky strands were a L’Oreal rainbow, browns and blonds mixed up with the
occasional streak of red. Like her choice of hair color, every emotion she
felt, was painted on her face. Watching her talk up the other cooks was like
staring at a merry-go-round. She was full of life and color, and damned if she
didn’t make him dizzy. The ride would be worth it, though.

He’d
imagined
riding
her. More than once.

Which
wasn’t nice of him, but the truth was what it was and that T-shirt of hers
wasn’t helping any. She looked away, bending over to grab something, and the
cotton stretched tight over her breasts, gifting him with another flash of pink
and lace. Christ. Her bra was pink
and
black. He was a goner.

She
looked back, and this time her gaze honed in on him like a bird dog sighting
quail and her blue-gray eyes lit up. That he knew what color her eyes were was
just one more sign he was in trouble.

“Dade
Johnson,” she announced loudly, nodding her head like she was continuing a
conversation with herself. There wasn’t much he could say, so he just let her
continue while he grabbed a plastic tray from the closest stack. “That’s just
perfect.”

Whatever.

She
was too young for him. As soon as he’d laid eyes on her, slinging eggs and hash
browns, he’d started running numbers in his head, guessing at her age. He’d
pegged her for maybe twenty-four, and he’d last seen that side of thirty more
than two years ago. She was part-Goth, part sass—but he was betting that,
beneath the hard, polished exterior of all that hair and makeup, she was one
hundred percent sweet, hot female. She damned certain deserved better than him,
and no way she belonged out here in the woods.

He
didn’t care how she’d gotten hired on despite not being able to cook. Frankly,
there weren’t too many people interested in camping for the summer, slinging
eggs and burgers twelve hours a day for minimum wage. She looked more Corvette
or racing car than RV, but she gave her job her all and he respected that.

“Morning.”
Nodding his head toward her, he grabbed a tray from the stack and eyed the
dishes on offer.

“That’s
settled,” she said. He got the distinct impression that he’d just walked into a
half-done conversation.

She
stepped around the food-laden table and stalked toward him, a determined look
in her eye. He didn’t know what she wanted, but he’d seen fire start up a hill
that way, unstoppable and devouring everything in its path. That look spelled trouble. He backed his ass up, doing a little fancy footwork. What. The
. . .

Heaven.

Sarah
Jo threw her arms around his neck, stretching up on tiptoe. Her enthusiastic
embrace pinned the empty tray between them, his fingers curling around the
edges. He’d catch hell from the boys for that one later. He felt cheated with
that hard plastic pressed against his chest instead of Sarah Jo. Those
millimeters separating him from her were a shame.

She
smelled good, too. Pancakes and syrup, with a hint of
something floral and feminine. She definitely smelled better than he
did.

She
pulled his head down toward her. There was nothing tentative or shy about her,
just that happy laughter in her eyes and in her voice. “It’s going to be a real
good morning, hotshot.”

He
opened his mouth. Damned if he knew what he wanted to say, but she took full
advantage.

Her
mouth covered his and she planted one hot kiss on him. Her tongue tasted his
bottom lip, swept inside, and tangled decadently with his.

The
groan was out before he could bite back the rough, hungry sound. He hadn’t
kissed a woman in a long time. Too many fires, not enough time. Sarah Jo had no
idea just how
hungry
he was, or that
he wanted to make a sensual feast out of her body. If she did, she’d have run
like hell.

But
she didn’t know and she didn’t run. Her mouth locked on his, her tongue
feathering along his lower lip with a light, teasing stroke that sent him
higher. And, Christ, when her fingers sought the back of his neck, tracing a
little up and down there, he was completely lost.

Being
kissed by Sarah Jo was nothing he could have imagined. When her tongue finally
dipped inside his mouth, he kissed her back as much as she’d allow. Pressed and
coaxed, answering her kiss with one of his own.

Dimly,
he was aware of the Rogues whooping and hollering around them, while the other
cooks laughed and cheered Sarah Jo on. Mostly, though, he was aware of the
woman in his arms and the sweet scent of her pressed against him. Maybe it was
her shampoo or perfume, or maybe it was some secret female thing, but she
smelled damned good.

When
she pulled back, her lips pink and swollen, and tried to dance away from him,
all he wanted was to hang on tight. That mischievous smile of hers tugged at
the corner of her mouth.

Too
bad for her he wasn’t done with her yet.

Tossing
the tray away, he scooped her closer with one arm. “Seconds,” he growled.
“Honey, I’m definitely wanting seconds today.”

Dade’s
big hands threaded through her hair, holding her in place for his next kiss.
He’d either forgotten about or didn’t mind their avid audience, because his
mouth covered hers in a take-no-prisoners kiss. He pulled her into his body, a
body that was every bit as hard and muscled as she’d fantasized. That full-body caress was followed by the firm press of his lips
and then the sweet, erotic sting of his teeth nipping her lower lip.
When she gasped, he swept inside like he belonged there and he’d just been
waiting for her to open up.

The
whole damn fire camp could burn down around them now. She wanted more of
this
. More Dade. More kissing. His
tongue stroked hers, exploring her mouth and leaving behind a wicked burn of
pleasure. Hell, the man kissed like he was in charge, and the heated arousal
building low in her belly said that her body, at least, had no complaints about
the change in management. God. Dade Johnson was one hell of a kisser. Sliding
her hands up over his arms, she held on to his broad shoulders as he deepened
the kiss.

This
attraction exploding between them was a five-alarm blaze. Dade wasn’t pulling
his punches, was going all out as he devoured her mouth. She’d tossed a lit
match into dry grass, and now they were both on fire. His mouth moved expertly
on hers, and he showed her exactly how he felt. Hungry.
Possessive
.

His
scent teased her. Unlike her city dates, who sported
expensive colognes, Dade smelled of smoke and pine, a woodsy, outdoor scent as
wild and rugged as the man himself. He should have come with a warning label.
She breathed in deeply, sinking further into his kiss.
The chest beneath the ash-smudged white T-shirt was as hard and unyielding as
the muscled thighs pressed against hers. There wasn’t an ounce of give in Dade
Johnson.