SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle

by S. M. Butler

  “I’m not hearing you offer me a beer.” And… he was still holding her breast like it was the handle of an ax.

  “Sorry.” Fuck. He yanked his hand back. “The campground’s under a mandatory evacuation, ma’am.”

  Yeah. Definitely a ma’am. At least, he hoped like hell he hadn’t just felt up a minor, because then he’d have to kick his own ass. She shoved her hair out of her face and recognition hit him. Nope. He didn’t have himself an underage, illegal camper, but a whole different kind of trouble.

  Deelie Jacks.

  Her heart-shaped face was downright unforgettable, as were the hazel eyes with the flecks of green he’d spent days of his high school career trying to describe in excruciatingly bad rap lyrics. Deelie had always been the prettiest girl in town, although he suspected that had hurt more than it had helped her. People didn’t always bother to look past the pretty package and see who she was inside. They got stuck on the honey-colored hair tumbling around her face to her shoulders and how she looked—in the best possible way—like she’d just rolled out of bed. She’d won homecoming queen and at least two magazine competitions, but then she’d stuck around Strong when the rest of their high school class was busy leaving.

  The pink streaks in her hair were new, but otherwise, she hadn’t changed a bit in the twelve years since he’d seen her last. The part running down the center of her head was the only portion of her that stuck to the straight and narrow, and even then, it wasn’t perfectly straight. No, there was nothing perfect about his Deelie—except that once upon a time he’d looked at her and thought that she was perfect for him. His friends and family had been happy to explain just how stupid that particular plan of his had been. She’d dumped his sorry ass spectacularly.

  From the slow smile on her face, she remembered him too. Her gaze dropped like she was trying to eyeball his crotch through the side of her Caddy. Yeah. She definitely remembered him.

  “Why, if it isn’t Luke Dawson.”

  *

  The last time Deelie had seen Luke, she’d had his pants and his boxers down and her mouth on his dick. It had been a shockingly good look for him, and she’d enjoyed the heck out of herself that night. That had been just one of the many reasons why she’d cut him loose the next day. Luke’s parents owned a cattle ranch, and he’d helped out there all through high school, making him a bona fide part-time cowboy. She’d enjoyed a good (or bad) cowboy fantasy even then. The younger Luke had been tall and lean, although not so big that he approached mountain territory. He was still cut, moving with a confident prowl. She’d bet he still kissed with that same confidence he’d shown twelve years ago. Mr. In Charge, right up to the moment she dropped to her knees and gave him his first blow job. A boy didn’t forget his first.

  She could feel her lips curving up in a smile even as his eyes narrowed briefly, before the edges crinkled up in a smile. He’d always had a sense of humor.

  She waited to see if he recognized her. She’d learned the hard way a few shifts into her second career at Ma’s that guys didn’t always remember the cocktail waitress they’d fucked the month before, the week before, or even the night before. And it had been—she did a quick mental count—at least twelve years since she’d run into Luke.

  “Deelie.” His growly, rough voice saying her name made her toes curling, even though she knew it wasn’t personal. He always sounded like such a tough ass, and yet she knew he had a sweet side.

  “We have to go.” When he turned away, she squashed a pang of hurt.

  “No good-bye kiss?” It was like poking the sore spot in a tooth. She knew she shouldn’t do it, but how could she not? Plus, she was still half-stupid from the sleeping pill she’d downed a few hours ago, which had to explain why all she could do was stare at him and think holy hotness.

  He stopped and turned around, hands propped on his lean hips, thumbs hooked into pockets of the olive pants. She got up on her knees, because she was shameless and he was worth looking at. Yum. Steel-toed boots. The sexy on his bottom half made up for the neon yellow shirt he wore and the hard hat.

  “Three words. Mandatory. Campground. Evacuation.”

  Right. He’d barked something at her. Vicious had failed to bark, and then Deelie had started staring at his dick. Conversation over. He gestured behind him and up, and she automatically looked. Holy crap. The sky was on fire. The orange glow was huge and, now that she inhaled consciously, she smelled smoke. It was just her luck that she’d go camping and end up in the middle of a forest fire.

  She shot to her feet, feeling her brow furrowing. Wrinkles. Bad. She was already looking at the wrong side of thirty, and it wasn’t like working part-time at Ma’s Bar earned her a paycheck that could afford Botox treatments. Or even half a treatment. In fact, after losing her other part-time gig, she’d been reduced to sleeping in her car because at least her car was paid for. Most of her stuff was parked in a storage unit, where she might also have camped once. Possibly twice. Somehow she’d thought that sleeping out in the woods beneath the stars would be an awesome upgrade on her shitty life.

  Big mistake.

  “We need to go,” Luke said in a perfectly calm voice, like the hill wasn’t on fire and they weren’t going to burn alive. “You’re going to pull out in front of me, and I’m going to follow behind you. It’s a straight shot to the main road. If, for any reason, the road is blocked, I’ll flash my lights at you and you’ll stop.”

  “Were you always this bossy?” She vaulted over the side of the Caddy. If she flashed him panties, too bad.

  “I’m with the Black Mountain hotshot team. We’re responsible for evacuating this campground. You weren’t at any of the registered sites,” he said pointedly.

  Oops. Yeah. She’d preferred being a little more off grid given her probably illegal living-in-her-car act.

  She opened the driver-side door, slid in, and rummaged around. Five seconds of searching produced a pair of bright purple Crocs. Pants would have been nice, but she preferred not burning to a crisp. Plus Luke had already seen her legs. When she turned the key, nothing happened, and wasn’t that just the cherry on her shit-day sundae? A hundred and twenty thousand miles and her car picked now to poop out on her.

  She tried again, and all she got was an irritating, terrifying clicking sound. She didn’t have the money to fix the car anymore that she had wings to fly out of the forest fire’s range.

  “Problem?” Luke tapped on her window, and she rolled it down.

  She demonstrated. Turn. Click. Nada.

  Being a guy, of course he leaned in and tried turning the key himself, as if she didn’t know how to stick the key into the ignition. She might not be rocking the executive suite in a big city, but she knew how to start her car.

  He cursed, which she mentally seconded. “When’s the last time you changed your battery?”

  She shrugged, because honestly she had no idea. When stuff broke, she fixed it. If she had the cash. “The last time it died on me? Maybe five years ago.”

  She’d been dating a mechanic that month, which had been an awesome coincidence she’d really appreciated. He’d driven her to the auto parts store and had even popped the new battery in for her. Maybe her car woes had scared him, because he’d come back for one more night—which, in retrospect, made her feel vaguely sleazy—and then he’d hit the road. She hadn’t seen him again.

  “New plan.” Luke opened her door. “You’re riding in my truck. Grab anything essential, and let’s go.”

  She stared into his brown eyes, wondering if he’d been this bossy twelve years ago. “I’m not leaving my car.”

  Because it’s the only thing standing between me and homelessness.

  He sighed. The radio in his truck squawked. “Take a look at the horizon. Then take a look around your campsite.”

  She wasn’t blind. Her pretty woodland campsite had several new additions, including flying sparks and orange embers, which was reason number one thousand twenty six that she wanted to get in her car a
nd drive like hell.

  “We don’t have time for me to jump your car, and that’s assuming that the problem really is a dead battery. The alternative is that I reach in there,” he continued. Maybe he’d learned how to read minds while he’d been away from Strong, because he’d managed to hit on her biggest objections without her ever opening her mouth. “I can pull you out and put you in my truck, but that’s doing things the hard way. It’s your choice.”

  She gaped at him. “Really?”

  He shrugged. “If you’re into BDSM and enjoy being manhandled, we’ll have to renegotiate after we’re out of the burn zone.”

  She tried the key one more time, but all she got was that stupid clicking. Okay. Think. She got out and grabbed the hobo bag stuffed with her clothes, Vicious’s kibble, and her stack of paperbacks from the library because replacing those would probably bankrupt her.

  “Come on, Vicious.” When she made kissy noises and the dog popped over to the side of the Caddy, she scooped her up.

  “You need any of the stuff in the back here?” Luke nodded to the truck bed.

  “That bag.” She nodded toward a jute bag in the corner.

  “Got it.” He grabbed the bag and strode toward his truck. “Jesus. What are you packing, rocks?”

  She choked. Yeah, actually she was. The bag held a collection of sticks, rocks, and leaves that she’d use to make the custom wallpaper prints she flogged on Etsy. Business wasn’t booming, but she had hopes. Big, tall financial pie-in-the-sky hopes. Letting them go up in flames wasn’t happening.

  “Seat belt,” he grunted when she got in his truck.

  Right. Like she was worried about dying in a car crash? Another ember landed two feet away, and a little flame shot up.

  “The grass is on fire,” she volunteered. “Maybe now would be a good time for you to start driving.”

  “In a moment.” He handed her two wet towels. “Hold this over your mouth.” He pointed to Vicious. “See if you can do the same for baby doll.”

  Then he put the truck into drive, and holy moly, he had a powerful engine. The truck leapt forward, gunning up the road. She slammed a hand against the dash, steadying herself. No wonder he’d recommended a seat belt. She snuck a peak at him.

  His face was intent, focused on the road, strong hands gripping the wheel as he guided them over the dirt surface. She bounced as he hit a pothole, her butt slapping the seat.

  “You know how to show a girl one hell of a Friday night.” The next bounce drove her breath out of her. Vicious curled up on her feet, whimpering.

  He gave her a small grin. “At least I’m taking you home.”

  “Right.” She chewed on her lower lip. Nope. No need to tell him that she had nowhere to go. It just figured that she’d end up on a wild truck ride wearing only Monday panties (on a Friday, no less), a man’s flannel shirt, and a wifebeater. Unfortunately, when she checked the side mirror, it became horribly, pressingly clear that her wardrobe limitations weren’t her biggest problem. That honor went to the wall of flame moving down the hill toward them.

  Did he realize that they were about to be baked alive in his truck? Because she had to believe he could drive faster. Fly. Levitate. Hell, she’d take any bone Karma chose to toss her at this point.

  “Luke?” Shoot. She sounded scared and she hated that.

  He took one hand off the wheel—so not his best idea—and squeezed her thigh gently. Her bare thigh. She wasn’t sure he’d even intended to get so personal—based on their track history tonight, the man had terrible aim—but her hormones gave a happy squeal anyway. She should take him home. Make him hers for the night. Or better yet, since she didn’t currently have a place of her own and she didn’t want to think about what might be happening to her Caddy, he could take her to his place and that would kill two birds with one stone.

  “We’re good,” he said gruffly.

  “I’d feel better if you said that when we didn’t have a twenty-foot wall of flame riding our butts.”

  He looked. She’d give him that. “Good thing you weren’t any further down the road,” was all he said.

  She gaped at him. “Do I want to know why?”

  He removed his hand and put it back on the wheel. “Because then we would have had to shelter in place, and neither of us would have enjoyed that.”

  She didn’t want to know. “Tell me later.”

  The next ten minutes were the longest of her life. Then the wall of flame filling up the rear view mirror fell away and the temperature in the cab dropped. He slowed down a little as they approached a roadblock. When the cop waved them down, he brought the truck to a stop, which didn’t seem like the best idea because she’d have been happy to gun the motor all the way to Canada or, better yet, someplace on the ocean where there was unlimited water and no raging inferno.

  Leaning out, he exchanged a few words with the guy who came up to them. He wore the matching outfit to Luke’s and, if possible, was even larger and rangier-looking. Apparently, “broad shoulders” and “manners fit for a feral wolf pack” were job requirements for the Black Mountain hotshots crew.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, turning to look at her. “I need to get back to work. We’re hoping to stop the fire here.”

  He’d brought her to the front lines? What did that make her campsite—Armageddon?

  “Take my truck,” he continued. “Go back to Strong.”

  She slid him a look. “You’re going to trust me with your keys?”

  He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “You need a ride to town. I can’t leave right now, but I can catch a ride back with one of the other hotshots. It’s only logical.”

  Trust wasn’t something she had too much of. She was the rule-breaker and the wild child, which generally made people distrust her. They certainly didn’t loan her pickup trucks without first extorting some kind of collateral like a kidney. The feeling was kind of… nice. She thought about that while she shimmied into a pair of yoga pants. When she looked up from sliding her feet into a pair of bedazzled flip-flops, he was staring at her.

  “Pants,” he said. “Nice touch.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You really trust me with your truck?”

  He gave her an unreadable look. “I know you.”

  Her lips curved up in a grin, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. That was familiar territory. Her firefighter was more than a little interested in her body. That, or he was remembering where she’d had her mouth the last time they’d met. Memories were a fantastic thing.

  “Do you?”

  He shrugged again and popped the door to the truck, swinging down effortlessly. While he rummaged in the back for his stuff, she climbed over the gear shift and into the driver’s seat. He had a really nice truck. Vicious promptly hopped up into the spot Deelie had vacated. She hoped he was okay with a little dog hair.

  She leaned out the window. “Stop by Ma’s, and I’ll return your keys and buy you a drink.”

  The flirtatious smile was automatic. She looked him over while she waited for his answer. God, he was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. She didn’t usually go back for seconds, but since she hadn’t really had him, that rule didn’t apply, did it?

  Plus she lived to break the rules.

  He gave her a small smile. “I don’t drink.”

  And wasn’t he just a boy scout? He hadn’t always been that way. “Come by the bar anyhow.”

  He nodded and then proceeded to go over where the registration and insurance papers were and the major safety features of the truck. She got it. Don’t speed. Don’t ding it up. Try to avoid firestorms. Shockingly, she was on board with that plan.

  Leaning out the window, she blew him a kiss and hit the road.

  Then she fishtailed the backend, spitting a little gravel as she hit the gas just because she could. Too bad she couldn’t see his pretty face.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Ma’s was hopping. It was Friday night, the place was the only bar in tow
n, and the entire firefighting population had just wrapped off the ten-thousand-acre fire that had swallowed up Deelie’s campground. Luke had blown off steam with the guys many times in the past, celebrating another mission won or—more often—another mission survived. Recognizing that he was alive and mostly in one piece was a good thing, but it wasn’t the reason he was here.

  There was only one thing he wanted, and that was Deelie herself. He didn’t think she’d gotten the memo though. He’d have to be clearer. She was cute and a total flirt, but he got the feeling she used her looks as a way of keeping people at a distance.

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. A blast of country music hit him. A line formed out on the teeny tiny square of hardwood that doubled as a dance floor as what seemed like half Strong put their dancing shoes on. He recognized several hotshots from the Black Mountain crew, along with at least half the local smoke-jumping team whooping it up. Since he didn’t dance, he looked around the crowded bar for Deelie.

  Working hard, Deelie slung drinks onto a tray. Even from twenty feet away, he could see the cherry-red lines of her bra through the tight T-shirt with the bar’s logo on her chest. She wore a short black skirt and cowboy boots that showed off her long bare legs. She’d piled her hair up on top of her head in sexy, loose curls. The only thing prettier had been the sight of her waking up at the campground, all sleepy-eyed and relaxed. Even better, as soon as she spotted him, she came over. Something warm uncurled inside him.

  “Hey, soldier.” For a moment, he thought she’d lean up and plant a kiss on his mouth, but at the last moment she settled for patting him on the chest. Deelie wasn’t predictable. He had no idea what kind of man appealed to her, although clearly she liked variety. She attacked dating with the same kind of glee his sisters pawed through a chocolate box. A bite here, a bite there.

  “I guess you came for that drink or something.” She smiled at him, a sexy grin that lit her eyes up with mischief and made his fingers itch to touch her.