Slow Burn (Smoke Jumpers) (24 page)

“They couldn’t see you.” His voice sounded anything but calm. “Goddamn it, Faye. You know what a hose like that can do to a body? Imagine someone driving a pickup truck right at you.” His voice rose. “You don’t run toward a fire. Not any fire.”

“You do.”

He cursed hard and low, his next words shocking her, as blunt as the man himself. “You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you, Faye. That hose came around, and you were in its line of fire, and I didn’t know if I could get there in time.”

He’d worried for her. “I’m okay.” Freeing her hands from his Nomex, she slid them up his chest, finding the sides of his face and cupping them gently. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “You are, darlin’.”

He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was unexpected and exactly what she craved, as if he’d crawl right inside her and stay there if he could.

He smelled like fire. The rough five o’clock shadow on his jaw chafed her fingertips. Nomex and smoke and man. Her very own, bona fide hero. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Time to choose, once and for all. She looked at that hard face, turned away from her now to watch the fire. Assessing. He was a firefighter to the core.

When he scooped her up and carried her to the perimeter, she didn’t protest. She simply put her head on his shoulder and waited for what came next.

 

“You got her? She okay?” Rio hollered, concern flashing on his face.

Christ, he hoped so. “She’d better be.”

He didn’t know who or what he was threatening, but those words were a promise he’d do anything to keep. He prayed some, too, as he got her behind the perimeter. Plenty of action remained out there in the parking lot, but that was none of his biz right now.

Faye was.

She moved in his arms. He put her down, and her hands shoved at the suffocating folds of his coat, pushing the heavy Nomex away. She sucked in fresh air, coughing.

“I’m getting the EMTs over here,” he said grimly. He wasn’t taking chances. “Have them check you out, give you some oxygen.”

“I’m fine.” Her fingers clutched the folds of his fire coat, pulling the heavy material around her shoulders like some kind of a blanket. She stared past him at the thick cloud of black smoke and the car burning down to its frame.

“It’s all gone.”

What did he say to that? That car was more than a car to Faye. He knew that. Whatever she’d been running from in L.A., that car had been her ticket out. So handing her platitudes about filing insurance claims and it-was-just-a-car wasn’t a good option.

He cleared his throat. “That’s true, Faye.” He thought about her face when she was taking the Corvette down the highway to the hangar, the windows down and her foot on the gas pedal. She felt free when she was in that car. Kind of her version of going out in the jump plane and into the air. “We’ll make it okay, though, Faye. I promise you.”

Her snort of laughter was unexpected. “Evan, you’d promise me we’d be okay if I’d lost both legs.”

“True.” An answering smile tugged at his mouth. Yeah. He’d do that. What she didn’t get, though, was that then he’d
make
it okay. These weren’t empty words he was giving her. “But you work with me here on this. We’ll figure out your car, Faye.”

“Sure.” She looked at him as if she was trying to read his face, and he wondered what she was looking for. In another minute, he’d give in to temptation and pull her into his arms. “It really is just a car, Evan. Even if it was a really, really expensive car.”

“Faye—” He should hang back. He should give her space, not crowd her. But he wanted to touch her and hold her and whisper promises into her ear. She didn’t look as if she wanted to run back to L.A. right now, either, though. She was staring at him, all brown eyes and something else. Hope?
Christ. He
hoped so.

He was still searching for words when a shout went up behind them, loud enough to be heard over the pounding of the water and the wailing of sirens. They both swung around.

The guys were wrestling Hollis Anderson down to the ground. Mack and Rio belted out curses and angry words while they got busy with their fists. Hollis looked as if he wasn’t quite ready to throw in the towel, but he wasn’t fighting too hard, either. He knew he was busted.

“They’ve got him.” Faye didn’t step away, but she hadn’t closed up that little distance between them, either. She simply stood there, waiting. Evan looked back at the fight. Not much of a fight, since it was two-on-one. Mack and Rio had Hollis good and pinned on the ground outside Mimi’s now. He should go over there, should make sure no one took a swing and that Hollis ended up secure in the back of a police cruiser, but his feet weren’t moving.

Faye Duncan looked at him as if she
needed
him.

“Good,” he rumbled. “That means our arsonist is done lighting up Strong.”

“You think they can hold him without you?”

Hollis Anderson was one man, and he was no superhero. And Evan knew exactly what Rio and Mack were capable of. They had this. Sure, he should be over there with them. But this woman standing here, watching him—his Faye—she needed something, too. And she came first. Something unlocked, clicking into place inside him. Faye came first.

She always would.

“They’re going to have to.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. She didn’t resist, just stood there and let him cup her head and hold her tight. “You come first, Faye. You do, darlin’.”

E
van could have held Faye like that for a week, but there were words that needed saying. Words that counted to Faye. He should have brought flowers or made up a poem—which was a ludicrous thought—anything to dress up what he wanted to say here. Anything to make her understand she was his L.Z., his landing zone, the one woman he’d make for when everything else heated up around him and the whole world was on fire.

Instead, he just said it. “I love you.”

Her eyes got wide. The fire was still like the Fourth of July and Chinese New Year rolled into one around them, so, yeah, his timing was off.

He should have waited. Picked a better time—

She wrapped her arms around him, though, and that had to be a good sign. She was hanging on to him, and he had her covered. Or, rather, he had her pinned in a bear hug in the middle of the street with what had to be half of Strong looking on. It didn’t matter. He was okay with that. He loved this woman. He loved Faye Duncan.

He picked her up. It didn’t take much—a quick slide of his arms underneath her—and then he cradled her to his chest and breathed in for one long moment because she was safe and she was right there with him. And, yeah, because he wanted to kiss her so bad, it hurt.

“You feeling the déjà vu here?” He’d carried her out of Ma’s like this, that first night. “You remember the night we met?”

“Evan—” She inhaled, and he knew the argument was coming.

“Hold that thought,” he said, “and let me get you out of here, okay?”

She nodded, and he tucked her closer to his chest, shifting her so he could see her face clearly. The fire and smoke had done a number on her—plenty of black soot, and her skin was pink from the heat. He carried her to the fire truck because he didn’t know where else to take her. The firehouse was looking more than a little scorched, and her poor Corvette—well, he hoped like hell she had insurance on the thing, because there was nothing left. Only a burned-up frame.

Dropping the tailgate, he sat her on the lip and put himself beside her. The engine had made a dent in the car fires, but it was still kind of like having a ringside seat at a fireworks display. Plenty of flames and smoke and popping noises every time something new went up.

She looked up at him, and there was all that hope again in her eyes. He pulled her into his side, while his hands petted her hair, her back, her arms. Checking her out for injuries while his mind raced, trying to put together something romantic. Hell, even a sentence. All he came up with was more of the same-old, same-old.

“I love you.” He gave it to her again. “I wish I knew another, better way to say that, Faye. Something poetic or pretty. Something real special.”

“You’re doing okay,” she said. He followed her gaze to the burning leftovers of her Corvette. Someone had finally run a second hose, and the shooting flames were under control. “So say it again. And again. That’s something I can never hear too many times.”

He needed her even closer, so he settled her on his lap, swung his legs up onto the truck bed, and stretched out. She settled right in, and he whispered the words into her hair over and over.

“I love you, too, Evan.”

The words punched him hard in the gut. He hadn’t dared hope.

“You mean that?” It was hard to unlearn years of caution. “I’m no prize,” he warned.

She dropped her head onto his chest and looked up at him. The impact of those brown eyes had parts of him stirring underneath all the denim, too. Ruthlessly, he punched those feelings down.
Words
. This was the talking part, and, this time, he was getting it all right.

She snorted that half laugh of hers. Maybe he’d get to hear that laugh for the next fifty years or so if he was lucky. “Too late to take it back. You put the words out there, Evan. Tell me now if you don’t mean them.”

His hand smoothed her hair back from her face. There was a little shakiness there, as if both his body and his head knew what was at stake here. Yeah, he was nervous. This mattered. This was his forever and their happily-ever-after.

“I mean all three words. I love you. You want more than that, I’ll give you whatever I’ve got. I’m going to be right here for you if you want me to be. That’s my promise to you. I may not be much, but I’m all yours if you’ll have me. You just give me a sign.”

Her warm smile heated him up somewhere inside where he hadn’t known he was cold. “You’re a good man.”

“Not so much. I’m no hero.” He’d done plenty that hadn’t ended up right. He’d screwed up often. He didn’t know much about where he came from. He’d spent time living hard on the streets and, even though he’d been a kid then, he’d still done things that didn’t make a man proud. He’d fought for what mattered, though, first in the Marines and then for Donovan Brothers. He had something here in Strong, a home with Nonna and his brothers. Maybe that counted for more than he thought, because she was looking up at him, and even he couldn’t miss the hope shining in her eyes.

“I don’t need a hero.” She shifted on his lap, turning around. Her legs pinned his as she straddled him, planting herself on the erection that hadn’t gotten the message that this was emo time. “You want to kiss me?”

“Hell, yeah, darlin’.”

“Then kiss me real good, and let’s get started on that happily-ever-after.”

“
S
mile for the camera.” Faye framed Evan in the lens of her camera. She looked happy, perched beside him in the cab of his truck. She’d been looking forward to tonight for a long time. Now it was showtime, and she was ready to go. Shaking his head, he got out of the truck and came around to open the passenger-side door and help her down.

“Darlin’, smiling for your camera got me into a world of trouble.” He slipped a hand beneath her elbow. “I can’t show my face anywhere in Northern California without the hoots and hollers starting.”

“Baby.” She nudged him with her shoulder, and he scooped her up against his side. Faye fit well there. The black jersey number she was wearing hugged her curves in all the best places, and she’d picked out some killer heels. The heels lent her inches, and he liked the sexy sway those shoes gave her walk. He had plans for those shoes later tonight. Lots of plans. Rio wasn’t the only one living out his fantasies.

She bounced up the steps next to him and then came to a dead stop when they hit the gallery’s front door. The gallery was front and center on Main Street. The jump team had brought over the leftover paint from the firehouse renovation and gone to work with paintbrushes and hammers. Even he had to admit, the old building looked real good. Faye claimed that all that old wood and beams paired with plenty of windows so you could see the art from outside on the street was what made Strong’s shoppers stop in. Evan knew better. Faye’s pictures did that. She was amazing.

Her fingers tightened on his arm, tugging. “Look at that . . . We did it.”

He looked down at her, and he couldn’t hold back a grin. “You sure you don’t want to trade it in for another Corvette?” She looked like a kid on Christmas morning. The insurance company, which had paid out one hell of a lot on the burned-out Corvette, had played Santa for Faye. Unsalvageable, they’d called the car. Well, Faye had sure salvaged something. She’d taken that check and bought this place, and tonight her gallery was having the grand opening she’d been dreaming of.

“Absolutely not.” She poked him. “This is way better than a Corvette.”

“Uh-huh.” He tipped his head back and eyeballed the sign:
JUMP SPOT ART GALLERY. “
Sign’s still crooked.”

“It is not.” She made a sound of feminine exasperation. “It’s perfect. You hung it.”

He had. He was good with a hammer and nails, and that part had been easy. It was tonight’s shindig that he’d been dreading for weeks. The gallery was all lit up, with rent-a-waiters passing out bubbly on silver trays. Yeah. It was one fancy scene. A low buzz of conversation spilled out onto the street, warning him they weren’t the first to arrive tonight. Through one of the big windows, he spotted Rio and Jack. The rest of the jump team seemed to be there, as well. Everyone had come out to support her. He tugged at his shirt collar.

Which was fine. She hadn’t shot
them
naked.

“You can’t do it again,” he demanded.

“Do what?”

“No more photos,” he said.
Damn it
. He sounded desperate. He could hear himself losing ground. He needed to hold his line, or she’d overrun him.

Although maybe it was already too late. He was head over heels for her, so he’d already lost his fight against love. Her mischievous grin as she looked up at him, her fingers stroking the strap around her neck, did something to his heart, and speech temporarily deserted him. He knew that seductive rhythm. She touched
him
like that.

“Tease,” he said roughly.

“You like it.” She didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“It’s not too late to turn around and go home.” He’d make it up to her. For hours. She’d like that.

The look she shot him said she wasn’t buying, and he still had to go in.
Well, hell
. Escape had been a long shot, anyhow. Dropping a kiss onto her forehead, he held the door for her and followed, watching the sexy glide of her ass beneath the black jersey because he really didn’t need an eyeful of what was hanging on the walls.

Before they got ten feet inside, well-wishers pried Faye away from his side, and the guys started in, ribbing him over starring front and center in that damned smoke-jumper calendar Faye had shot. Ungrateful bastards. The proceeds from that calendar had more than paid for fixing up the firehouse.

“Hey, Evan, looking good.” Zay hailed him with a low wolf whistle.

“Yeah, don’t recognize you tonight, man,” another jumper chimed in.

“That’s ’cause he’s dressed,” Mack shot back, and, Christ, Evan hoped he wasn’t blushing. This shouldn’t be such a huge deal. It was just a couple of pictures. No biggie.

Mentally plugging his ears and rearranging his face into a mask of big-and-silent, he eyeballed the pictures on the wall. His Faye was damned good. The photos were a mix of sexy and serious, playful and deadly. That was smoke jumping, and she’d captured it perfectly. The DC-3 lifting up. A jumper coming down, chute out behind him. Soot-blackened faces with face-splitting grins because they’d held the line. Jack pulling Lily into him for a kiss because he was home.
Hell
. He frowned. How come Rio had pulled the PG moment?

In the center of the gallery, right at the heart of the talking and chitchatting, Jack launched smoothly into his speech. He welcomed everyone and then acknowledged how Faye’s smoke-jumper calendar had raised a truckload of money for the firehouse restoration. Everyone raised a glass of California bubbly, agreeing that Faye was a talented photographer and the firehouse was lucky to have her on their side. That was no news flash. Faye was fucking amazing, and what she’d accomplished had him bursting with pride.

He didn’t need Jack or a cocktail party to tell him that.

Rio strolled up to him, and the look on his brother’s face said the teasing meet-and-greet at the gallery’s front door had been merely the warm-up. Rio was here to serve the entrée.

“You seen Faye’s masterpiece?”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, taking the champagne flute his brother offered. He shouldn’t have let her coax him into it. But, damn, she’d looked at him, and she’d asked, and he . . . he hadn’t been able to resist her. Hell, he hadn’t even tried. Much.

Rio laughed. “You’ve seen the calendars—wait until you see this.” Yeah, there was mischief all over his brother’s face. Of course, he was Mr. December, and he had been wearing part of a jumpsuit.
He
had nothing to worry about.

“It gets worse?” He’d jumped into two-thousand-acre fires with less trepidation.

“She had the pictures blown up,” Rio said cheerfully. “Twelve by twelve.”

“Inches?”
Yeah. Definitely desperate
.

“Feet,” Jack confirmed, coming up behind him. “Congratulations. You’re a sensation. A
huge
sensation.”

Evan looked for Faye, but she was surrounded by a knot of people spouting congratulations. She deserved every minute of that, so he couldn’t pull her away now. His big plans would have to wait until later. Instead, he followed Rio and checked out the photo Rio was teasing him about.
Christ.
It was huge. There was no missing it—she’d put it front and center.

She’d taken that picture right after he’d come home from a call. She’d pulled him into bed, and he’d gone willingly. Afterward, she’d grabbed her camera and told him to smile.

“She didn’t tell me it was a trap.”

“Crybaby.” Rio laughed. “For those of us not off the market, Faye’s calendar is excellent advertising.” A slow, sexy smile tugged his brother’s face, and Evan did
not
want to know what Rio was thinking. “You’re the only man complaining.”

“I’m the only man
naked,
” he emphasized.

He eyed the photo again, as if maybe something had changed there, or someone had passed out fig leaves. No such luck. He was still bare-ass naked, sprawled on their bed. The sheet didn’t begin to cover said ass, and they were going to have more words about that. Faye had heard of Photoshop—but she’d refused to cover him up. Her lens had captured his boots, kicked off by the side of the bed, and the jumpsuit on the floor. Yeah. He hadn’t been following any SOP there. He’d been too eager to get her into his arms.

He was smiling right at the camera, too, because on the other side of the damn lens was Faye. A great big come-hither smile, as if he enjoyed what she was showing him. Which he had. And did. Which was the whole point of tonight’s operation. He patted his jacket pocket, checking.

“No worries,” Rio said quietly. “You’ve got this.”

Yeah, right. And his certainty explained the herd of manic butterflies rampaging around in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing certain except how he felt about Faye.

“Man of the hour!” Mack handed him a cold beer, and Evan didn’t ask where the other man had gotten the bottle. The flute felt awkward and fragile in his hand, and he gratefully palmed his off on one of the passing waiters. The beer bottle—that was familiar.

“Sleeping with your photographer.” Mack winked. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

The whole calendar-buying, gallery-visiting, magazine-reading world now knew what he had in him. Watching Faye walk toward him, those high heels drawing his eyes to the feminine sway of her hips, he didn’t mind. Not one little bit.

“You look handsome.” Her arms snugged around his waist, and, for a long moment, he simply enjoyed the delicious weight of her pressed up against his back.

“You set me up,” he growled.

“Get over it.” She sounded delighted. “You know how many pictures I’ve sold tonight? You’re the man of the hour and the best calling card ever. I should print you up and add you to my business cards.”

“Don’t,” he warned. He didn’t really care what others thought of him, but teasing her felt good. One of many things that felt good, that felt
right,
about having this woman at his side.

He tugged her closer and steered her out of the crowd. This was it, the moment when he jumped from the plane and hit the air. He was on his way down. There was still plenty of foot traffic in the gallery’s small side room, but it was slightly quieter and away from the conversational roar. The only other available place was the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms, and he didn’t need a consult with Rio to know that
that
wasn’t romantic. And it was probably busier than hell, given the volume of bubbly the gallery’s guests were downing.

He braced himself, looking for his L.Z. “I need to talk to you.”

Her lashes flickered down, then shot back up. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah.” Stick with the script. He’d thought this out. This once, he knew what he wanted to say. “You have naked pictures of me.”

Her mouth curved. “I have more. You haven’t seen them all.”

Hell
. He stared at her, the script flying out of his head. “You do?”

“Absolutely. No way I’d miss such a”—her eyes slid down his body and fixed right on his groin—“
big
opportunity.”

He slapped a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in. “No.” Her eyes widened, so maybe he needed to tone down the growl. “You’ve got 144 square feet of me on display in there. Anything else you’ve got, that’s for the two of us. You got me?”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Her teeth worried her lower lip, but her face didn’t look anxious. No, his darling looked flushed. Aroused. She was playing with him, and she liked the growl just fine. “You going to make me behave, Evan?”

He liked hearing his name on her lips. Leaning in closer, he put his other hand on her hip. Tugged her body flush with his.

“Let me tell you what you’re going to do.” His mouth was on her throat now, nipping and kissing the sensitive skin. “You’re going to make an honest man of me, darlin’.”

“Evan?” It was her turn to look uncertain. He liked the dazed look in her eyes. Good. She’d turned his world upside down, so it was only fair he returned the favor. “What are you asking here?”

“I’m asking you to marry me. Will you?” Threading his fingers through her hair, he kissed her, soft and deep. Not giving her a chance to answer because, if he was wrong about how she was feeling, he wanted this last kiss.

He pulled his mouth off hers and repeated his question. “Will you marry me?” Her lips were swollen and wet, and he tasted cherry lip gloss. He wanted to kiss her again, but he needed to hear her answer more. Slipping a hand into his jacket pocket, he retrieved the small box. Flipped the top open and showed her.

The ring was an antique, and he’d made two trips to Sacramento before he’d discovered the fire opal hiding in a jeweler’s tray. The stone looked as if it was on fire, all orange-red in the gold band. Two other brides had worn it, and their names and the names of their husbands were inscribed on the band. There was just enough room to add theirs.

“If you don’t like it, we can get something else.” Hell, he’d buy her an entire jewelry store if that was what she wanted.

“I love you.” A high-wattage smile lit up her face as she spoke the words he wanted to hear so badly, and the butterflies in his stomach abruptly landed. That was not a last kiss. She stared up at his face, watching his eyes, with worlds of emotion in her own. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Good thing,” he said gruffly. “Seeing as how you’ve exposed me to the entire world.”

“Shut up.” Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth over his. “Put that ring on my finger before I decide you need to go down on one knee.”

“I’d do it.” Picking up her left hand, he slid the ring over her finger. “That’s what this means. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I’m all yours. I want to come home to you every night for the rest of my life. I want to find you there, waiting for me, or, if you’re not there, I’ll wait for you to come home to me. And when you’re ready to hit the road looking for those adventures of yours, you take me with you. Because I love you.”