WILD HEAT

by Bella Andre

  He opened the fridge and handed her a soda. Suddenly realizing how dry her mouth was, that she hadn't touched anything at the restaurant, she took a long drink from the can. And then she made the mistake of looking back at Logan, and it took superhuman strength to pull her eyes away from his fingers on the pop tab, his lips on the aluminum rim, his Adam's apple moving beneath his tanned, lightly stubbled skin.

  She forced her attention back to his very impressive house. “I would have known you built this house the minute I saw your floors.” She pointed to the tight-fitting inlays in the hardwood. “Most contractors won't do this kind of detail work. It isn't worth their time.”

  “Is your boyfriend a builder?”

  Her eyes flew to his face. “No.” She found herself stumbling over words, found herself wanting him to know. “I don't have a boyfriend.”

  Logan's answering smile knocked the wind out of her lungs and she spun away from him. She couldn't stand it when he looked at her like that, like he knew exactly what she wanted, because he wanted the very same thing.

  “Good to know,” he finally said. And then, “While we're here, are you sure McCurdy isn't going to insist that you rummage through my file cabinets? My bedside table, maybe?”

  Great will was required to stave off the redness in her cheeks. “I've seen condoms before.”

  His voice was smooth and sexy as he hit her with “Even the supersized, ribbed-for-her-pleasure kind?”

  Damn it. He was good.

  She turned and walked out of the kitchen, keeping her reaction to herself. Because even though she knew he was just joking around, her crystal-clear memories of that afternoon six months ago—and how his big erection had pressed hard into her belly—told her he was only half kidding.

  The workshop was dark and cool. She pulled out a Ziploc bag and a sterile glass jar.

  “I'm surprised that thing hasn't given you a hernia yet.”

  She put the heavy messenger's bag down on the cement floor. “I like to be prepared.”

  Quickly and efficiently, she began to collect samples, using a baby wipe to clean away any petroleum on her hands before moving to collect a sample of fertilizer. Her face was as serious as it'd been at the hotshot station when she'd suspended him from duty. Just as he had then, he wanted to pull her against him and kiss the solemn expression off her face.

  She looked up and caught him staring. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  He'd never wanted a woman as badly as this. “I wish I could,” he said, his words more honest than he'd intended.

  She lowered her head again to the bag of fertilizer. “I wish I didn't have to do this, Logan. I wish I didn't have to take these to David's lab for analysis.”

  “Stop blaming yourself, Maya. We'll figure this out.”

  She surprised the hell out of him by spinning around and saying “Could you stop being so fucking calm already?” Little white pellets fell out of her bag and scattered all around their feet. “Just stop being so goddamn self-sacrificing for one second!” She shook the half-full bag of fertilizer in her fury, and more tiny pellets skipped onto the ground.

  “If these match the samples from the explosion you could be in serious trouble. You could go to jail for something you didn't do. If Robbie doesn't live, they'll call you a murderer. And my hand will be in it. My saying you didn't do it won't mean a damn if your supplies came from the same stores and the same lots.”

  He moved closer, covered her hands with his. “It's not going to come to that. And if it does, we'll find a way to fight it.” He rubbed her palms lightly with his thumbs. “Together.”

  She stared at him like he'd lost his mind, her face awash with emotions. Lust was there, of course, it always was between them. But there was also hope. And fear.

  “You're either the most optimistic person I've ever met, or the most delusional,” she said, but already he could feel her relaxing moment by moment.

  And then, just as he was about to pull her into his arms, she moved out of his grasp, backing into the bags of fertilizer.

  “We'd better go.”

  God, how he wanted to make her face up to the fact that they belonged together, naked and sweating in his bed. But she wasn't the kind of woman a guy could push around. One wrong move and she'd back so far away he'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of her across a crowded room.

  He followed her sweet ass in her tight-fitting borrowed jeans back out to his driveway. When they got in his truck, she scrunched up her nose.

  “It still smells like we're riding behind that tour bus.”

  He frowned, thinking the same thing. “Might just be all the smoke in the air.”

  He started the engine and began to back out, when it suddenly felt like the bottom of his seat was on fire. And then it hit him: What they were smelling had nothing to do with the exhaust from a random tour bus.

  Someone had sabotaged his truck.

  He shut off the engine. “Get out of the truck, Maya.”

  “Why? What are you talking about?”

  “I think there's a bomb under my seat.”

  She didn't ask any more questions, just unhooked her seat belt and reached for her bag just as his ass started to smoke.

  He hooked one hand around her waist and her mouth opened with surprise as he dragged her out of her seat and through the driver's-side door. A faint hissing sound pricked his ears, and it was sheer instinct that had him picking her up off the ground and throwing her away from the truck.

  Her body arced through the air, her hands moving to shield her face, her knees curled to protect her stomach and groin as she hit the ground.

  Logan felt the force of the explosion a split second before he landed on top of her, covering every square inch of her head and back and legs and arms from the flying shrapnel.

  Where am I? And why am I lying on the ground under someone? were the first thoughts in Maya's brain as she slowly came to. Her body ached in a hundred places. She felt bruised and battered all over.

  And then she realized that Logan was covering her body with his own, his hard muscles a blissful blanket of safety. His chest rapidly rose and fell against her back as he worked to catch his breath.

  Oh God, his truck had blown up. And they'd almost died.

  She could feel the heat from the explosion all around them. She hadn't braced herself for hitting the gravel, and her cheek was pushed painfully into the sharp gray rocks, along with the rest of her. But it didn't matter how much it hurt.

  They were alive. And Logan had nearly died trying to save them both.

  Violent shaking started at her chest and worked down her arms and legs, even beneath Logan's heavy weight. Her teeth chattered and sobs built up in her stomach and chest.

  She heard herself moan, heard him whisper gentle, encouraging words against her hair, but the sounds came at her through a long, dark tube.

  Everything faded to black and she welcomed the darkness.

  He'd thrown her too hard. She hadn't had time to prepare for the landing. He was too heavy for her. He shouldn't have crushed her like that, could have broken her ribs when he'd landed on top of her.

  But she was alive. And getting her out of the truck had been the only thing that mattered.

  It was obvious that they were both moving targets. And odds were it was only a matter of time before the next attack. They had to figure out who was behind all this, and fast. Before they paid with their lives.

  His back and legs stung like hell, but he ignored the pain as he shifted to his hands and knees. Gently, he ran his fingertips over Maya's rib cage. Thank God, everything was where it should be. Moving to his feet, he scooped her up in his arms.

  Her eyelashes fluttered open, then closed. She moaned again, working to focus on his face as he carried her toward the house, and he was so damn glad to get the chance to look into her beautiful brown eyes again.

  Her golden skin was ash-gray and pockmarked with indentations from the gravel. The color had fallen from her lips. No lo
nger rosy, they were pale, sallow.

  He wanted to kill the person who'd done this. Coming after him was one thing. But almost killing Maya was unforgivable.

  For now, the wildfire—even the investigation—had to fade into the background. Everything else would wait while he tended to Maya.

  “You saved my life.”

  She didn't owe him anything. He didn't want her thanks. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

  “Someone tried to kill us,” she whispered.

  He hugged her closer to him, the heat of her body further reassurance the she was all right. She'd had an enormous shock. And he wasn't ready to let her go yet.

  “We don't have to talk about this now.”

  She tried to wriggle out of his arms while he carried her to his front door and kicked it open. He'd taken care of countless survivors. Her legs would buckle when they hit the floor. Not because she was weak. But because she was human.

  Still, he admired her pride. Her strength. Slowly, he let her toes touch the ground, keeping the bulk of her weight in his arms.

  She pushed back to stand on her own and her face immediately lost all its color. He pulled her close again.

  “Steady, now.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and gasped. “Logan, you're hurt.”

  His back had taken the brunt of the damage from the explosion. It was going to hurt like a bitch to clean up.

  “I've felt worse. I'll be fine. Right now, you need to focus on getting your equilibrium back.”

  “No,” she said, that determined glint in her eyes, “I need to focus on helping you.” Her eyelashes fluttered down. “I can never repay you for saving my life, Logan. Please, let me help you. It's the very least I can do.”

  He was helpless against her soft plea, against the warmth of her touch. She slowly ran her fingers over his shoulder blades, down his spine to his lower back, making contact with cuts and bruises and a couple of pebbles embedded in his skin.

  He bit back a groan of pain. He didn't want her to see his wounds and feel at all responsible for what had happened.

  “You're probably still in shock. Go lie down on the couch,” he instructed in a rough voice. “I'll be right back.”

  “I need to help you,” she insisted, ignoring his command as her hands found the edge of his T-shirt.

  She didn't wait for him to agree as she walked around his body. She sucked in a breath when she saw the damage his back and legs had sustained, but she didn't faint.

  “Hold still.”

  He clenched his teeth as she pulled the sweat- and bloodstained CSI Tahoe shirt away from his battered skin.

  “I hope this wasn't David's favorite shirt.”

  Any other woman would have been babying him, crying over his wounds, maybe even getting sick at the sight of so much blood. But not her. Instead, she was trying to make him smile, just as he had with her. She inherently understood he needed to focus on something else.

  It felt like white-hot flames were dancing across his shoulders. “His wife probably staged the explosion to get rid of the damn thing,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Maya's hand stilled on his back. “You don't deserve this, Logan. Not any of it. I'm sorry.”

  “It's just a truck,” he said, even though he knew she was talking about much more than that. She was apologizing for doing her job and pulling him off duty. She was apologizing for coming into his home to take back samples for the lab.

  “I'm sorry about your truck too,” she said in a wry tone as she lightly traced the outline of another wound with the tip of her finger. “You're a mess. A complete mess.”

  She'd barely walked away from an exploding truck. And she was worried about him.

  “I'll heal.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “The only thing that matters is finding out who did this. And staying alive.”

  Her eyes met his, full of resolve. “Hotshots always were some of the toughest people I'd ever met.” She searched his kitchen cupboards for a dish towel. “You'd better take your pants off too.”

  He twitched at her words, ready for action despite everything. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

  She pulled a blue-and-white-striped towel out of a drawer and turned on the tap, waiting several seconds for the water to grow warm. After washing her hands, she picked up a bar of soap and moved behind him again.

  “This is probably going to hurt.”

  He braced himself. “Go for it.”

  Slowly, gently, she brushed away dirt and pine needles with the pads of her fingers down the length of his back. The soap and water stung like a mother, but her touch was the perfect distraction, far better than any drugs would have been.

  He could feel her breath on his spine, the heat of her body warming his back. He wanted to turn around and heal himself with her lips, her curves, her responsive moans of pleasure.

  And then her hands stilled against his skin. “You could have died trying to save me.” She laid her cheek against his back. “I should have known something was wrong. I should have gotten out as soon as you said the word.”

  “No,” he said, undone by her touch.

  He didn't give a crap about control anymore, not when he'd almost lost her. He turned and threaded his bloodstained hands into her hair.

  “Don't you dare blame yourself. Not for a goddamned thing.”

  All he wanted was to forget the image of her sitting in a ticking time bomb and the utter helplessness of watching smoke rise from the engine. He had to taste her, had to confirm that she was flesh and blood and not just a figment of his desperate imagination.

  “I lost you once,” he said as he lowered his mouth to cover hers. “I won't lose you again.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LOGAN'S WORDS muddled together inside Maya's head. She tucked them away for a different time and place, when she could breathe normally, when she could think straight. Right now, all she knew was that she couldn't stop rubbing her hands over his abs, over his pecs, over every square inch of his glorious broad, tanned chest. And that she'd die if she didn't kiss him that very second.

  She'd never been so close to death before. His warmth, his heartbeat thudding against hers, the desire she read in his eyes—they all meant life to her. Keeping her distance from Logan and staying safe in her little world suddenly meant nothing. Not when one malicious act had almost robbed her of her chance to feel joy, to feel anything at all. She wanted to sample life's sweetness and allow herself a taste of the pleasure she'd refused for so long.

  Their mouths came together and it was a blur of heat and passion. No one was in charge. Instead, they were both taking something they desperately needed, something they could only find in each other's arms.

  He backed her to the kitchen island and she opened her legs to take him in closer. He was so big, so strong, so wonderfully hot as his hips shifted into place between her thighs. Ever since she'd seen him again on top of the mountain, barely twenty-four hours earlier—no, ever since she'd kissed him six months ago—she hadn't stopped wanting him.

  The floodgates flew open as she melted in his arms.

  She was discovering him all over again, just as he was discovering her. Little things like his scent and the way his stubble rubbed against her cheek sent dangerous emotions slithering in between her ribs, aiming straight for her heart.

  His hands were gentle as they cupped her face and she instinctively tilted her face up as his mouth moved from her lips to the concave place between her chin and shoulder bones. Her limbs felt heavy, drugged with his kisses. Her skin buzzed and her nipples were stiff and tight behind her bra as he nipped at her jaw.

  Through it all, she worked to hold herself apart from him and deflect the strong emotions threatening to overtake her, the voice in her head that was whispering something about Logan being her soul mate.

  No, that was crazy. He couldn't be.

  But when he flicked his tongue behind her ear, then pulled at her earlobe with his teeth, her body made
the decision for her.

  She knew the instant he felt her capitulation, by the tender way he caressed her shoulders and back muscles with deep, soothing motions. And then his fingers moved to her waistband and he pulled at her borrowed cotton T-shirt, dirty from her face-plant into the gravel. She shifted her hips slightly to give him better access, to help him strip her down.

  She knew better than to go here with him again. But knowing better didn't change anything. Knowing better couldn't possibly stop the heavy heat in her pelvis or the slick arousal that gathered between her thighs.

  Not when she was already so far gone.

  Not when being alive meant being with Logan.

  He pulled the T-shirt slowly up her body, over her aching breasts. When it was on the floor, she pressed herself against him. The muscles on his beautiful naked chest were tight and corded, the perfect foil to her curves.

  “You're beautiful,” she whispered, only realizing she'd spoken when she heard the words in the room.

  He looked down at her as he ran his thumb over the swell of her breasts. “No,” he said, bending his head down to lick the crevasse where her breastbone was, “you're the one who's beautiful, so beautiful you take my breath away.”

  Her breath caught at his words, his sweet caresses. No one had ever touched her like this, like he wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. No one but Logan.

  She found herself losing track of time again, six months fading to nothing since they'd last stood like this.

  She tried to right her thoughts, worked to lodge herself back into the impossibilities of the here and now, but when his mouth, hot and wet, came down over her lace-clad breasts, and his hands played against the sensitive skin at the small of her back, urging her to let go, she instinctively arched into his mouth.

  Goose bumps covered her skin as he softly raked his teeth over her hard nipple. Logan's fingers were warm and steady on her shoulders as he slid first one bra strap down, then the other. The heat in his eyes intensified as he stared at her naked breasts, and she was powerless to do anything but stand there and let him look his fill. Reverently, he cupped her flesh with both hands and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples.