Her Reluctant Hero: A Romantic Suspense Boxed Set
Page 45
Adrian reached across the bed to Mallory, only to find the sheets cool. His heart lurched. “Where is she?”
“Sir, I think she—” She moved into the room and set her chart on the table at the end of the bed.
He rolled to his feet in one movement, jolting at the sensation of the needle in his vein and automatically reaching to pull it free. The nurse hurried forward and covered his hand with hers to stop him.
“Sir. Just—you need to calm down, sir.” She pressed her other hand against his chest in an attempt to push him back on the bed and glared when he wouldn’t budge.
He raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to stand in his way. How long had he been asleep? He shook his head. “God, I screwed up. I took her for granted instead of knowing how goddamned lucky I was to have a woman like her love an idiot like me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “If she’ll have me, I’ll never be that idiot again. Are you going to take this out, or not?” He jerked his arm toward the nurse, pointing to the IV.
She’d probably gone home to Austin now. How long had he been asleep? Adrian calculated the length of the flight as the nurse unhooked him and pressed a ball of cotton to his arm. He’d have to find her once he got there.
Well, his job was finding things.
Movement near the door caught his eye.
Mallory stood there, in her hospital gown, leaning on her IV pole, her hair a tumbled mess, her eyes watery as she stared.
Relief whipped through him, as mind-lightening as narcosis. He crossed the room and caught her against his chest, bent his head to her throat as he wrapped his arms around her, catching his fingers briefly in her IV tube.
“Jesus, I thought you’d gone,” he murmured, breathing in the scent of her, the underlying smell of the ocean in her hair, on her skin.
“I’ve grown up.” She tried to ease away, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. “I don’t run from trouble anymore.”
He pulled back to grin at her. God she was so pretty, her hair all wild, her face wet with tears, her eyes shining. “Are you calling me trouble?”
She cupped her hand over his cheek. “More than you know. Especially if you’re going to freak out every time I go to the bathroom.”
“Dr. Reeves?”
Both of them turned toward the door, and the young man standing there with tousled hair and rumpled clothes, a digital tape recorder in his hand. “Yes?” they asked in unison, and Adrian squeezed her waist in amusement.
“I’m Jordan Gilbert from Archaeology Today,” he said. “I heard you have a hell of a story to tell.”
Two days later, Adrian stood on the deck of his recovered boat in the sun, running his hand over the smooth wooden rail, acting like a man who’d come home. Jacob and Toney were in Belize keeping watch over the caskets until they could be inspected by the Belizean Department of Archaeology and then shipped to the States, where Adrian and Mallory would study them and Adrian would write his book. Mallory was fairly certain she’d have to play wife and prod him on that one. But now, she’d enjoy his company, their freedom, their newfound appreciation for each other.
“So where are we heading?” She stepped up to the rail beside him, her bare arm brushing his. “Back to the site? Dive one more time?”
“I’m going to sell her.”
She snapped her head up. “You are? Why? She’s beautiful. We’ve never had anything like her.”
He turned, lifting his hand from the rail to stroke her hair back from her cheek. His smile was tender, tinged with a touch of sadness. “But think of what a beautiful house we could afford.”
Shock weakened her knees and she sat on the padded bench, hard. He’d been saying goodbye to the boat. “What?”
Lines of anxiety etched his face as he crouched before her. “Marry me again, Mallory. I promise you I will give you what you need this time.”
Marry him again. Her heart gave a kick of longing as she looked into his eyes. Marry him, work with him. She would raise her children as she was raised, and they might grow up longing for the same things she had.
But Adrian loved her. She had no doubt of that, not after what he’d done to keep her safe. And she loved him. She’d never stopped. This past month only proved how much she missed him. Wherever he was would be her home.
A frown creased the skin between his eyes as he waited. “If you say the word, Mal, I’ll walk away from this,” he said softly.
If she loved him, she could never ask that. She wouldn’t want it.
“I don’t want you to walk away.”
But she hadn’t accepted his proposal. She saw him closing in on himself, preparing for the pain of her refusal.
“I’m not walking away, either,” she said, just as softly as he’d offered. “You don’t have to sell the boat. You don’t have to tie yourself to a house. Maybe someday that’s something we’ll both want, but now I don’t want anything but for you to love me, Adrian. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“I can do that.” He stood, reached down to her with his good arm, pulled her close. “I can do that.”
“And we don’t have to get married again,” she murmured, nestling her head under his jaw. “I never filed the divorce papers.”
Epilogue
Adrian closed his hand into a fist on his lap as the cab pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. He’d been here every day for a week setting up the exhibit to showcase the four Byzantine caskets, but this time he was being strangled by a monkey suit. The people streaming up the wide stairs into the museum were dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns, and he felt like a fraud.
He resisted tugging at his tie, since Mallory had already chided him for it. But damn, he was ready to get out of this city, get back on a site. He needed to get his hands dirty.
He flexed his hand. Mallory slid her palm along his thigh to link her fingers through his. He turned to his gorgeous wife. If living in civilization meant she’d wear things like this, the deep blue dress showing off the glow of her skin, falling softly over her beautiful breasts, looping around her neck and baring the smooth skin of her back, he might give city living a shot.
Okay, maybe not. But he might lure Mallory into the coatroom to get his hands under that dress.
She leaned against his arm. “This is what you worked for, remember. This is what you wanted.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, holding her gaze. “A man shouldn’t have everything he wants. Seems unfair.”
“There’s a price to pay tonight.” She bumped his shoulder gently with hers. “Get out of the car, Adrian.”
He opened the door, slid out, then reached for her. He smiled at the manicure she’d gotten for the party launching their book two nights ago. They’d ended up coauthoring it, and if that didn’t prove their marriage was meant to last, nothing did. Neither of them had a small ego and finding a balance had been tough, but they’d weathered that as well as the creative process. He flicked one of her fingernails now, teasing her. She laughed before she leaned into the cab to say something to the driver, the dress draping over her world-class ass. Adrian fidgeted, eager now to get this evening over with and head back to the hotel with his wife.
The trunk popped open. Mallory straightened with a toss of her hair and slipped past him to open the trunk, where she pulled out…his duffel.
She held it by her thigh, the ratty canvas incongruous with her pretty dress.
“What the hell?” He looked from the duffel to Mallory’s smile.
“The funding came through for the Etruscan site today. Toney and Jacob are already on-site. So all you have to do is get through this and we can leave right after.” She dangled the duffel in front of him.
Excitement surged. Freedom beckoned. He could damn near taste the ocean air. “I don’t need to get funding?”
“No.”
“So why do we have to go here?” He motioned to the building behind him.
She leaned close, chin tilted up, eyes glittering, lips shining with a layer of
gloss he was determined to kiss off. “Your moment of glory, Adrian. Just a few hours, soak it in, and we’ll be on our way.”
He slipped his hand around her bare back. Her eyes darkened, her breathing deepened. He didn’t deserve her, this woman who knew him so well, who loved him so much. He’d do everything in his power to make sure he was worthy.
“We can go back to the hotel after this, for a few minutes?”
She looked up at him through her lashes, chiding, but her mouth curved. “We have a plane to catch. A man shouldn’t have everything he wants, isn’t that what you said?”
But as he followed her up the steps, he knew he already had it.
Hot Shot
MJ Fredrick
Dedication
To my two heroes, Fred and Josh—thanks for seeing me through to this point.
Table of Contents
Contents
Breaking Daylight
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Beneath the Surface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Hot Shot
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
So this was Gabe Cooper.
Peyton Michaels stood at the edge of the group in front of the mess tent to watch the legendary firefighter step up to brief his crew.
Stories about Gabe Cooper and the Bear Claws, the best Hot Shot crew in Montana, had abounded during Peyton’s training to become a wildland firefighter. Most of the stories had been cautionary tales from the instructors, but even some of the trainees had heard about this crew. And when Peyton had been assigned to the Bear Claws, well, nervousness didn’t touch her jitters. Cooper didn’t take rookies, and he didn’t take to reporters. She was both, and would have to work hard to prove herself.
Was she ready?
Scratching her arm beneath the brand-new itchy Nomex shirt, she turned her attention back to the crew leader.
Movie-star handsome, with a long jaw, lean cheeks, deep-set brown eyes framed by long lashes and broad shoulders hugged by a black T-shirt. She’d forgotten how the sight of a handsome, confident man could kick up her pulse.
Cooper’s posture defined self-assurance. The lines that fanned from his eyes and the silver flecking his brutally short hair spoke of his years of experience. His tires-over-gravel voice conveyed his weariness, though it was only July, not quite the middle of the fire season.
The topographical maps on the bulletin board behind him were veined with different colored lines, and Cooper had marked their route in black Sharpie. He traced over it for emphasis, his hand square but oddly graceful as he dragged his finger down the line. The path appeared pretty darn straight, and with all the brush and gullies and boulders, that couldn’t be the easiest way.
Part of his legend was that he didn’t do things the easy way.
Peyton scanned his crew, most of whom cast curious glances in her direction. She could learn a lot about the man by his crew.
A young redheaded woman stood at his shoulder and faced the rest, arms folded, a white bandage on one hand. She wasn’t quite one of them, but also wasn’t in charge. Every time the young woman glanced at Cooper, admiration glowed in her eyes. Cooper didn’t appear to notice. Perhaps he was accustomed to it.
Peyton was a little surprised to see almost a third of the crew were women. Five women besides the redhead, all mid-twenties, not unattractive, proved he had nothing against women.
The men who rounded out the crew ranged from farm boys to rock-band rejects, teenagers to men near her age, some with tattoos and earrings and others with wire-rimmed glasses. All gave Cooper their full attention. He was without question the stuff legends were made of.
Peyton had had her fill of mythical creatures.
“Any questions?” Cooper asked, directing the question at her, sending her nerves skittering. When none were forthcoming, he dismissed them to get their gear, and moved straight toward her.
The skittering nerves started a mambo, and it took everything in her not to step back. The rest of the crew moved slowly as they gathered their gear, watching Cooper.
Not taking her eyes from him, she reached down and hefted her pack onto one shoulder. “There’s been a mistake.” He flicked his gaze to the freshly stenciled name on the pocket of her fire shirt. “Michaels.” His tone had softened a bit from when he was addressing his crew, but still had a take-no-crap edge to it. “I don’t take rookies on my crew.”
She straightened. “I’m not. I mean, I am. A rookie. But I’m Peyton Michaels from Up to the Minute magazine. I’ve been assigned to your crew.”
A reporter. Gabe scowled. That explained everything but the fire shirt that bore no crew insignia. Maybe she’d borrowed it to get into camp. What the hell was she talking about, though, assigned to his crew? He glanced toward the media tent. “I beg your pardon?”
His harsh tone made her draw back, but only a little. “I’m going out with the Bear Claw Hot Shots. Jen Sheridan said you were the best.”
Jen Sheridan. The name kicked him in the chest.
He studied the reporter in front of him. Her elegant features, slender nose, high cheekbones, pale skin, hinted at a privileged upbringing. Her cleanliness pegged her as a rookie. The odd thing was, she was no young girl. Her sharp eyes, the slight creases near them and also around her mouth, made him think she was in her thirties. What kind of job did she think she was walking into?
“The last thing I need is some reporter following me all over the mountain asking stupid questions and getting in the way,” he said.
“I assure you, I’ve done my research and gone through the necessary training.”
“I assure you, I could give less than a damn,” he drawled. “I’m here to get a job done, and I don’t intend to let anyone slow me down.”
“I’m here to get a job done as well,” Peyton said, shifting her pack. “I have my fire card. I can pull my weight.”
He expelled a doubtful snort. “Pulling your weight on my crew isn’t the same as making it through the Forest Service’s sorry course. The Bear Claw Hot Shots are the best of the best, and they’re that way because I don’t tolerate slackers.”
She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her face. “I can understand being the best. That’s what I want, and that’s why I wanted you.”
He took a step closer, dragged his gaze over her. A beautiful woman saying that to him shouldn’t raise his temper. “Ego strokin
g is not necessary.”
She didn’t move away and returned the inspection. “No, I can see that.” A smile quirked his lips at her boldness.
“Who assigned you to me? Jen?”
She blinked up at him. “Yes. Do you know her?”
Did he know her? When Kim had told him that Jen was IC on this fire, he’d considered asking to be sent to another fire. But to ask would be to admit defeat, to admit working for his ex was too difficult, that his feelings for her were too strong.
If he took the reporter without a fight, Jen would think he was avoiding her.
He gave the reporter—he had to think of her as that and not as the compact little blonde who glared up at him with big brown eyes—a last glance and turned toward the command tent.
Jen was alone in the tent, behind a folding table, her attention on the maps spread in front of her. She looked up at his approach, and her expectant expression froze, morphed into something bland, distant, like she didn’t know him. Way to hit a man right in the ego.
The past three years had been good to her. The healthy tan set off her streaky blonde hair. She appeared—softer, her face fuller. Damn.
“Gabe,” she said quietly, easing back in her chair. “I heard you were on your way out. Good to see you.”
To fight the stab of pain at the encounter, stronger than he’d expected, he slapped his hands on the scarred table between them and glowered down at her.