Hot Shot

by M. J. Fredrick

“Good to know that wasn’t the case.”

  He eased his mouth back to nibble her ear, traced his tongue along the edge, driving every coherent thought from her head, then glided his mouth down her throat. Pausing at the swell of her breast, he let his hot breath rush over her flesh. Her nipple pearled painfully before he teased it with lightning-quick touches of his tongue. His name escaped in a sob and he took pity on her and pulled her sensitive skin into the heat of his mouth.

  Her whole body contracted with pleasure as he suckled her, circled her nipple with his tongue before teasing it with less practiced movements. Her throaty groan was alien to her ears.

  They tangled with each other as they undressed, unwilling to move too far away from each other, and suddenly Gabe’s hands were everywhere, skimming over her skin, her waist, her back, her breasts. As if they’d been making love forever, he knew just where to touch her to make her crazy—the insides of her wrists, the backs of her thighs. He pulled her closer until she whimpered his name. Longing knifed through her, deeper than simple sexual desire. She wanted this. She was sure now.

  Together they fell to the bed. The mattress creaked ominously and Peyton’s breath escaped in a grunt.

  Gabe shifted his weight so he wouldn’t crush her, and leaned over to dig his wallet out of his pants on the floor. Peyton rolled with him, eager, practically straddling his lap as he pried a foil packet from the leather folds of his wallet, ripped it open.

  “What the—?” She stared at the gummy substance inside.

  Gabe swore. “It melted.”

  She looked at him, fighting the urge to laugh or cry, she wasn’t sure which was bubbling inside her. “It melted? You took it up on the fire line?”

  Eyes wide with chagrin, he shook his head. “I didn’t even know I had it.”

  “So—now what?”

  He regarded her for a beat. What kind of picture did she make, sitting on the middle of a cheap bedspread in her cheap underwear, her wet hair a mess from his hands, her skin scraped red by his kisses?

  Apparently an appealing one, because he was suddenly all motion. He hopped off the bed, grinning, and bent to brush his mouth over hers. “There’s a condom machine in the bathroom. And you thought this place was tacky.” Several long minutes later he extricated himself from her and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Peyton pulled back the bedspread and was inspecting the cleanliness of the sheets when Gabe popped out of the bathroom, hanging both hands on the doorjamb over his head, displaying his form to advantage. The T-shirt he’d been wearing hadn’t been nearly snug enough to follow the lean line of his body, the hard muscles beneath. A dark scattering of hair covered his chest, thickened and narrowed into a line that pointed to his navy boxers and their interesting shape. A stab of good old-fashioned lust shot through her and she reveled in it until he said, “You got change for a five?”

  His meaning took awhile to sink in. “You’re kidding.” Reaching for her fire pants, she pawed through her pockets, trying to remember where she’d tucked her cash. “Maybe safe sex is overrated.”

  “Really?” Hope tinged his voice.

  She shot him a glance from under her hair. “No. What does it take, quarters, dimes, dollars?”

  “Any of those.”

  She dug out her change and poured it into his palm. “Hurry, all right?”

  “Why?” He stopped, squinting at her. “You going to change your mind?”

  Arching her back to entice him, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I might.”

  He closed his hand around her wrist, buried his other in her hair, let the money fall around them, and kissed her hard. “Wait for me.” He pushed her toward the bed and ducked into the bathroom.

  The fall of coin after coin into the machine rang out through the room, a twist of a lever, muttering, then banging on the metal dispenser. A horrible crash had her leaping from the bed to check on him, but he strolled in nonchalantly and dumped a handful of condoms on the nightstand.

  “Problem?” she asked, looking from the pile of cellophane wrappers to him, trying to keep the laughter from her voice.

  “Problem solved.”

  He skimmed off his boxers and dropped over her, the mattress squealing a protest.

  “You didn’t use your Pulaski, did you?” She reached for him and watched his eyelids lower as he bent to kiss her.

  “Woulda if I’d had it.” He covered her mouth with his.

  Shock and pleasure had her gasping as he nipped his way down her body. He glided his fingertips up her thigh. She cried his name and clutched his wrist when he slid one fingertip into her, then two. How were these sensations coming from her body? Her mind fragmented.

  “Feel what you do to me. Touch me, Peyton.”

  He groaned her name when she brushed her fingertips over the swollen head of him before dancing them down the underside. This time her name was a squeak, strange coming from his big body, and he closed her hand around him, ending her teasing touch.

  She ached, hollow and empty, mindless from his fingertips stroking up and down over the backs of her thighs. Otherwise she couldn’t have worked up the nerve to tilt him onto his back and rise up over him, to guide him inside her. Her body resisted him at first, but he glided his fingers between them, touched the new center of her nervous system, and she took him into her so fast and deep she lost the ability to breathe.

  He curled into a sitting position and buried his face against her throat. Peyton clung to his shoulders and raised and lowered her hips, feeling her body contract in his absence, expand at his depth. She no longer needed his encouragement as she followed the path.

  He tried to soothe her, to steady her, but she threw his hands off. He tried to kiss her, to help her regain her rhythm, but she was focused, driven to pursue the pleasure he offered her.

  Then with one accidental shift of her hips, she found it, and flung herself back, depending on his arms to be there to hold her as she expanded and shattered. She thrust down on him, hard, holding him prisoner inside her body, exploiting her pleasure. She felt him follow her, heard his soft moan of surrender, felt the short jerks of his hips, felt his teeth dig into her shoulder.

  For endless moments, they floated in the hazy denouement. Finally she found the strength to move her arms from their limp submission behind her, to wrap them about his shoulders. Apparently that was all he needed to tip him back onto the pillows, carrying her with him. They sprawled, damp and slack, him still deep inside her. He turned his head and nuzzled her hair.

  “I didn’t mean for it to be over so soon,” he murmured.

  She looked up from his chest, watched him open his eyes with some effort. The expression in them was replete. Their skin, where it touched, was slicked with sweat. She savored the sensation and, feeling a bit wicked, shifted a bit, enjoying the friction. An answering twinge from within her made her smile.

  “I don’t think it’s over,” she replied, kissing his shoulder.

  Peyton sat in the chair in the corner of the motel room, wrapped in Gabe’s sweatshirt, and stared out the window at the night sky. The scene was peaceful, no one would suspect a fire blazed just out of sight. Across the room, Gabe slept on his back, snoring softly, one arm tossed above his head, the other where she’d been lying. The sheet draped over his hips barely preserved his modesty. His position surprised her. A man so controlled in wakefulness was so unguarded at rest.

  Dan always slept curled on his side, as if he could spring to action at the least provocation.

  God, what had she done? She hadn’t thought about the past or the future, and it had been wonderful, liberating.

  Why did she feel guilty now? She hadn’t dishonored Dan’s memory—a suitable period of time had passed, and while she would always love Dan, the resentment she’d felt when he’d left her alone had dulled her love to a pleasant warmth. She’d been ready to move forward.

  She pulled her knees closer to her chest and pressed her face into the sweatshirt stretched acros
s them, drawing in the scent. The person she chose to move forward with was what disturbed her. Gabe was exactly what she didn’t want, a man so committed to his job there was no room for anything else in his life. A man who would expect more than she was able to give. Oh God. She couldn’t—absolutely couldn’t—live a life of waiting and worrying again.

  Because while she could tell herself this was only a one-night stand, she was already too attached. And there had been nothing casual about that sex.

  He shifted on the bed. “Peyton?” he called gruffly.

  “Over here.”

  “What’s wrong?” He rose up on his elbows. “Come back to bed.”

  She unfolded her legs and dug her toes into the shag carpet as if that would help her resist the pull of him. “I can’t sleep.”

  “Who said anything about sleep?” His voice was low and sexy, and remembering the feel of his mouth, his hands on her had everything female in her humming.

  God, why did she have no will where he was concerned? Why did she let her body rule her head?

  Okay, as long as it was just her body and head at war, she would be fine. When her heart got involved, she’d be in trouble.

  He held the covers up for her and she slid between them and into his arms. At the touch of his hands on her skin, her mind emptied and she gave herself over to the sensations.

  This time the languor of sleep dictated the pace. Hands coursed over bare skin, dipping, clutching, skimming. Breath escaped in sighs, then moans. Skin heated and dampened. By the time he entered her, she had no concept of place and time, only of Gabe and now. When she shattered and floated back in fulfillment she decided she could be happy with that.

  “It’s almost a shame to leave this lovely room,” Peyton teased as she packed her meager belongings in a brown paper sack, looking around the room decorated in early tacky, with orange shag carpet and black laminate furniture.

  “You mean you aren’t going to go home and redecorate in retro Halloween?” Gabe teased, swinging his pack on his shoulder.

  “Ha ha.” She stretched and cricked her back. “No matter how hard the mattress was, it beats sleeping on the ground.”

  He looped his arm over her shoulders and kissed her temple. “Imagine making love on the ground. We might want to keep your tent where it is, away from the rest of the crew.”

  Surprise flashed through her. There was a wealth of revelation in those words. He wanted to do this again, with her, and he wanted to keep her with his crew.

  He was talking about more than one night. She couldn’t think about a future, even of only a few more days. Last night had been a big enough step. “You said one shift.”

  “I thought—are you leaving already?” His voice was a smooth drawl, but his fingers tightening on his bag showed his tension. Clearly he thought she was here for the whole fire, maybe beyond.

  Her plan had been to leave today. She had her story. She’d never top the rescue of the scouts, the run up the mountain, being rescued by slurry. Never in her career.

  But there was the idea of the book. She just hadn’t worked out the details—like how to make a living while writing the book. She couldn’t go on to write other articles and focus on this. Did she want to make a living as a Hot Shot the rest of the summer? It wasn’t easy work. And she wasn’t sure she had what it took, especially after their brush with death.

  But she would be with Gabe, who wanted her. Gabe, who thought she was brave.

  Gabe, who could destroy her again.

  “I did want to get some pictures,” she hedged, unwilling to say no, unwilling to walk away from him. “My photographer is finishing up his training and will be here in a day or so.”

  “And then you’re going.” His voice was flat.

  “I hadn’t decided.” She turned to get her own bag. “I have to move on to the next story. And I have to write this one.” Successful journalists did it, moved from story to story. The one thing she’d found she was good at, even if it didn’t put her in the middle of the action, of the people. Which was the appeal of this career, at least for her.

  “What’s the next one?” There was a lack of curiosity in his tone.

  “I don’t know yet.” She forced a smile. “Nothing can top this adventure.”

  He stepped closer, cupped her head in his hand. “Give me a chance.” To top the adventure, he meant. But the longing in his eyes told her last night had been something more to him too. Why was she surprised? He’d been so, um, focused.

  God help her, she wanted to. Looking into his eyes, feeling his touch on her skin—when was the last time, other than last night, she’d done something without thinking of the cost? Could she risk starting now?

  If he knew her, the real her, would he still want her?

  “Gabe, we can’t—if I stay on your crew, we can’t—”

  His eyes were triumphant with his certainty she would stay. “Why not?”

  “I think what happened last night should stay here, not follow us back to camp,” she said.

  He set his bag on the dresser and leaned against the piece of furniture, arms over his chest, his posture deceptively casual. “Why?”

  “Well, the reason behind it. The sex.” She used the excuse of checking the bathroom for belongings as a reason to not look at him. “It’s an emotionally charged job—people react to the thrill and the danger.”

  When she turned back, he was staring at her. “You think that’s all this was?” He gestured toward the bed she’d insisted upon making.

  “No, of course not.” She shook her head vehemently. If that was all it had been, would she be so reluctant to push him away now? “But let’s face it. It probably wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t nearly been killed up there.”

  Her throat squeezed. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the memory of running for her life or the idea she might not have spent the night in Gabe’s arms without living through it.

  “You didn’t even like me when we started out. All I’m saying is, let’s not put too much energy into thinking about what might happen between us, because worrying about it may just be a waste of time and energy.”

  “God, you sound like a guy.” Gabe pushed the words out of a tight throat. He hadn’t expected her to be the kind to throw up barriers after last night. He hadn’t expected her to be all clingy either, but, damn, this wait-and-see attitude was throwing him for a loop. Sure she was leaving, eventually, but wasn’t that all the more reason to seize the moment?

  She was right, at least partly. He hadn’t liked her until he was forced to spend time with her, but now he admired the hell out of her.

  There’d been entire stretches out there on the mountain where he’d forgotten she was a reporter altogether, even before she’d been in his bed. Dangerous behavior. He’d been burned before when he let his guard down. It was just so hard to keep it up around Peyton. His guard, that was.

  What had happened here last night? It had been more than two people relieving stress, more than two people reveling in being alive. They’d both found something they hadn’t known they’d been looking for.

  He hadn’t opened himself to a woman since Jen, hadn’t trusted his own judgment after she left him. Could he trust his own judgment now? Peyton’s reluctance made him more uneasy. Only on the fire line was he sure of his actions, his decisions.

  He captured a strand of Peyton’s hair between his fingers, sensing a connection with this woman, a kind of pain beneath the surface.

  He couldn’t be so off to think last night hadn’t been extraordinary for her as well. She’d erupted like she’d been holding something back for a while. Last night neither of them had held anything back.

  So what was wrong?

  Then it hit him. He wasn’t sure what had blinded him to it before, especially with his past experience.

  “You got someone waiting for you?” he asked, as if it wouldn’t matter.

  She whipped around in shock. “No! Do you think I would have—?” She gestured
to the bed. “No! God, Gabe.”

  “Why not?”

  She spluttered, so he had to clarify.

  “I mean, why don’t you have someone? You’re a pretty girl, and you’re smart, and—”

  She broke away from him to stare out the window. Funny how she was damn quick to ask questions, but didn’t care to answer them. He was stewing about the double standard when she finally spoke.

  “I was married. Before.”

  The words hit him like a hammer in the chest. He hadn’t expected it, but couldn’t say why. She wasn’t a kid. But hell, she’d walked away from all those jobs. Had she done the same to her marriage? He didn’t know what to say, except, “You still love him. You think you might go back to him?”

  She lifted both hands to her head, like she was holding herself together. “No, he died. Nineteen months ago.”

  Gabe felt a rush of relief at the same time he felt idiotic about his assumptions. Like he needed proof he was an asshole. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head as if she’d heard those words so many times they’d lost all meaning. “It was another lifetime.”

  He folded and unfolded his hands on the dresser behind him, wanting to hold her, not sure he should. Not sure he should ask, but he did. “How did he die?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “He was on the SWAT team. First through the door, every time. The last time someone was waiting for him.”

  Though he sensed what was coming, the words hit hard. “God.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. He hated seeing her in pain, wanted to stop the flow his question had brought.

  “They’d staked out a chop shop for months and were ready to bring it down.” She gave a little laugh. “Bring it down. I even talk like he did. Anyway, it was totally by the book, the flashbangs, the count. Dan was first through the door, except someone was coming out. They shot him in the face a second after he came in.”

  Gabe didn’t have the best imagination, but damn, those words brought a chilling picture to his mind. He wondered how good of an imagination she had, how forthcoming the police department would have been with those details, and a thought struck him.