Mark waited passively.
“Is this another one of your goddamn lessons? I’m getting tired of those, you know.”
Mark shrugged, not answering the question. “I’ve been puzzling at that all night.”
“You’ve been playing poker all night.”
“A man can do a lot of thinking while doing that.”
“Which is your lame excuse for losing fifty bucks to Robin?”
Mark shrugged. It was a yes this time if Gordon was reading him right.
Gordon sighed. “I had a few ideas, I guess. Evacuate immediately. Most of ten minutes went by while we were getting to that point. Maybe if we’d concentrated on dousing the base itself: buildings, cars, propane tanks. Let the field burn, it wouldn’t have been a loss, just a free mowing job.”
“I reached pretty much the same conclusion. Did you think of that during or after?”
Gordon tried to recall the jumble of images from the moment he’d spotted the irregular shadow of sunrise along the treetops. He’d known. In that first instant he’d known they were about to lose the base. Even before Vanessa went aloft and TJ hit the fire alarm. So why had he hesitated? Because it wasn’t his place? Because he was just a pilot without an aircraft?
“You were the first to figure it out,” Mark stated. “I saw the same thing but didn’t understand it until we were aloft, and some of it I only understood as I was busy losing fifty dollars building Robin’s confidence so I could sweep her up next time. You’ve consistently been ahead of everyone; I can point to a dozen incidents where that’s true. Spotting the fire yesterday morning. Getting everyone moving to protect Timberline Lodge. This spring at the Leavenworth, Washington, fires you kicked ass as well.”
“You weren’t even there.”
“No, I was in the Yukon, Alaska, and Korea.”
Mark waited a beat for that to sink in, which was good because it took Gordon a moment to remember how to breathe. Korea. Not South Korea, but Korea. As much as admitting to fighting a fire in North Korea. And Brenna’s comment about the repairs to Firehawk Oh-one… They hadn’t flown to fire, Robin had flown into it. Something truly serious would have to go down for that to be necessary. Not just Robin—Robin and Mickey. They’d come through a literal trial by fire together. No wonder their bond was so certain, so deep.
“Doesn’t mean that I didn’t get reports from the Leavenworth fire chief,” Mark prompted. “His daughter Candace, the leader of the hotshot crew, had some good things to say on top of that.”
Gordon remembered that they’d both proven to be the real deal on the fire.
“MHA only hires the best people.”
“Which always made me wonder how I got in. Vern, Robin, Mickey, Jeannie: you’ve got a long list of unreal pilots. Carly and Steve—the best fire behavior analyst in the business teamed up with a former lead smokie turned drone pilot. What the hell am I doing here?”
“Carly sees fire, but that’s all she sees. Steve is the perfect complement to her, providing her with even more information about the behavior, but she’s not a pilot. She doesn’t really understand what we can do and who is best at doing it.”
Gordon toyed with his half-eaten donut, not willing to risk another bite just yet as he could still feel the powder burn from sneezing it back out. Mark was training him. That was no longer a question…but he couldn’t figure out for what. Maybe simply trying to prepare him for whatever their upcoming adventure might be.
Mark had taken up the deck of cards that Robin had abandoned in a scatter on the table before chasing after Mickey. He turned them into an orderly pile, then began shuffling them.
“I’m not playing poker against you.” He’d be broke in an hour.
Mark kept shuffling.
“Seriously! Not a goddamn chance.” Maybe half an hour.
Mark dealt out ten cards and thumped the rest of the deck on the table. “How about Gin Rummy?”
Gordon laughed. At himself. At Mark. At this crazy whole situation, including sleeping with Ripley and the shock of waking up alone. “Sure.”
“Five hundred points.”
Gordon picked up his hand.
“Twenty bucks a game just to make it interesting.”
Gordon sighed and drew a card that matched absolutely nothing in his hand. He set it down and Mark snatched it up.
Chapter Ten
Gordon had been right; they didn’t rush to a fire as soon as they were on the ground.
They’d landed at Cairns International airport at the northeast corner of Australia after more than twenty hours in transit. Unlike the first leg, Ripley hadn’t slept a wink on the much longer Hawaii-Australia flight. By some chance, most of the other plane’s MHA crew came over to join them and the passenger area of the second Antonov had turned into a party zone.
It wasn’t until they were aloft that she missed Gordon. She’d asked around and Jeannie had seen him with Mickey on the other aircraft. Ripley felt bad about that. She’d avoided him on the ground because she’d needed some time to process Vanessa’s encouragement. The others’ too, but it was Vanessa’s feelings about Gordon that had the greatest impact. And Ripley knew that even being in Gordon’s presence shut down her ability to think. Whenever he was nearby, all she wanted to do was feel. His conscious caring combined with his unthinking power was a heady tonic that evaporated anything as trivial as her own thoughts.
But she hadn’t meant to make him feel unwelcome near her. No! While walking back and forth trying to clear her head in the darkness of the Hawaiian night, she’d decided that she really did want him close.
For once in her carefully built life, she wanted to break out.
Take a chance.
Even the Weasel had been carefully thought out. How long was a woman’s career in the military anyway? There was no way to be a military couple and raise a child. There was…a whole boatload of crap that she now saw that Weasel had fed her until she’d bought in. She wasn’t even planning to have kids, but somehow that hadn’t shot down his sales pitch. He’d been so convincing until the moment she caught him butt-fucking the caterer, still in her cook’s apron, her slacks around her ankles and holding onto the kitchen sink to press herself back against him.
Ripley hadn’t even been surprised. Hurt, yes. Surprised…no.
Gordon, however, didn’t fit into any structure she’d ever had and surprised her all the time. And he kept doing it in a good way.
He wasn’t some tall, macho jerk. He was a nice guy—a genuinely nice one. Definitely outside her experience.
Her contract was temporary. She’d be gone after the fire season. So nothing long term and she didn’t do short term, not much anyway.
But no man had ever made her melt at the lightest touch the way Gordon did.
Ripley’s attempts to get off by herself during the flight were stymied at every turn. At the front of the main cabin seating area, Denise and Jeannie talked about the former’s pregnancy in soft tones. Brad, Janet, Brenna, and Vanessa were having a giggling conversation in the far back seats. Brenna and Vanessa were sitting apart, across from each other, but they looked comfortable together, which was a start. Carly and Steve, along with Cal, were lounging at one of the kitchen tables, puzzling over why Emily wasn’t with them.
“Two kids.”
“Heard that’s why she left the military in the first place.”
“They’ve got a nanny.”
“Fire seasons are hell. Maybe she wasn’t seeing enough of her kids.”
“What about Mark?”
Shrugs exchanged.
“Never saw a guy who so loves carrying his kids around.”
When Ripley expressed disbelief, they all started talking at once.
“Seriously.” “He’s completely goofy around his kids.” “He’s so cute with them.”
“Yeah, he almost becomes human,” Cal laughed, but Carly and Steve were nodding. He projected such pure hardass that it was hard to imagine.
The talk shifted to
fires after that and Ripley was soon enjoying their three drastically different views of fire: the behavior analyst, the smokie turned drone pilot, and the hotshot turned award-winning photographer. With her own piloting view, all they were lacking was the Incident Commander-Air.
The rest of the flight had passed as quickly and almost as pleasantly as sleeping in Gordon’s arms.
Within an hour of landing at Cairns, their birds were refueled and ready.
Again she’d missed Gordon. And not because she was trying to avoid him this time. As soon as her helicopter had been safely unloaded, she’d gone looking for him, leaving the remounting of the blades to be overseen by Brad and Janet.
But Gordon had already gone. “Off somewhere with Mark,” Robin had waved somewhere vaguely toward the west end of the airfield. And Ripley had been left with nothing to do but return to watch her crew remount and test the blades.
As soon as they were set up, they’d then flown a hundred and fifty kilometers through the pre-dawn light, north to Cooktown Airport, and landed.
It was a bewildering place to come to. A single asphalt strip surrounded by green grass and low trees. The six helicopters of the MHA flight increased the airport’s number of aircraft to ten. It didn’t look like much of a fire zone to Ripley’s weary eyes. But it was certainly an out-of-the-way location.
They’d all been trucked over to a nice hotel, a very nice one, in the center of the small town. Another disorienting moment. Firefighters often camped near their helicopters. When they got a hotel, it was generally clean but had little else going for it.
Ripley kept blinking to bring it into focus, but it didn’t change. Cool tile floors, a ceiling fan, nice chairs, a pretty view of trees and a slice of the ocean less than a block away. There was a sitting area beside a small river (that she immediately blocked by closing the curtains), and a big bed with fresh sheets.
It had been over thirty-six hours since she’d awakened to be called “serious eye candy” just moments before a firefight. Two hours asleep in Gordon’s arms hadn’t begun to cover the sleep deficit. She should at least shower and wash off the long flight…and the buzzing energy that necking with Gordon had instilled in her body. Her decision to lie down for a moment was a bad one. Her face-plant into the pillow was the last thing she remembered.
Gordon looked at the motel door and debated his next action when his knock wasn’t answered. The sun was still low over the ocean, the bright and pleasant morning an affront to his senses. Which was about the only part of him still operating.
Five games to three, he’d only lost forty dollars to Mark. Having barely enough cash on him to settle the bet, Gordon begged off. He’d pay Mark later…in Australian dollars. That would save him about twelve dollars due to the exchange rate. He would argue that it was only fair as they hadn’t started the game until after they were over international waters.
He could go back to the desk and get a room of his own. Or he could use the card that he’d talked out of the desk clerk beneath Mark’s amused expression.
He’d woken up alone on the Antonov only shortly before landing. Ripley had been distant while they’d been on the ground in Hawaii. Gordon of old would have accepted that, getting his own room and leaving any future follow-up to her choice.
But it couldn’t be over. Not with the way she felt against him. Not with the way she’d slid into his lap and kissed him like they’d been together far longer than two days.
Nope.
He swiped the card and eased the door open.
Ripley lay sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, even her shoes.
He took a step into the room and nearly fell over Ripley’s duffel bag. He shoved it aside, dropped his small PG bag on top of it, and looked at her again.
You’ve come this far, pal. Don’t stop now.
Gordon pushed the door shut behind him, casting Ripley into dark shadow. But his eyes slowly adapted to her dark outline on the light sheets. He eased forward, encountering no other obstacles until he stood directly over her. If she was going to sleep, she should at least be comfortable.
Sitting on the bed, he eased off one of her boots and then the other. Then socks. Her feet were warm to the touch and he held onto them, appreciating the intimacy of the moment. He considered feeling bad for the voyeurism, but she was the one who had slid into his lap on the plane and then lay down beside him. It was only a few moments of rationalized justification before he slipped off her jeans as well. Then he folded back the side of the covers she wasn’t sprawled over and lifted her gently onto the sheets and re-covered her before he could do something indecent about her long legs.
He stripped down to his underwear and climbed into the side of the bed she had occupied. Her warmth had penetrated the covers and he could feel the remnants of her body heat as he lay there refusing to give in to the urge to jump her.
Ripley stirred. The mattress flexed as she rolled over.
Gordon stared at the ceiling and tried to remember the weight loading table for a Firehawk operating at four thousand feet on a ninety degree day.
Ripley’s roll bumped her against him. She didn’t stop, or even hesitate. Instead she continued the roll until she was snuggled up tight against him in a space no bigger than the narrow bench seat on the Antonov. Except this time the leg she threw over him was bare and smooth against his own skin. When he brushed a hand from her knee to her hip, she purred—a happy hum deep in her throat.
“Some lousy lover you are,” her mumble in his ear was almost incoherent with sleep. Her breath tickled his cheek. “You get me half naked and stop?”
“You were asleep.”
“Nothing but excuses.”
Gordon opened his mouth to protest his innocence. Then closed it. He wasn’t in the mood to be innocent. Was it inappropriate to take advantage of an exhausted woman? Badly. As she began lazily sliding her hand up and down his chest utterly electrifying his body? Not so much.
“’Scuses,” she mumbled, headed back toward sleep.
Final question: was it fair that she’d banished any thoughts of sleep for him and then she’d get to sleep? Absolutely not.
He rolled into her, guiding her leg so that it stayed over his hip. With her pants off, it was an easy matter to slide his hand up under her shirt and release her bra. He brushed his hand beneath it and slid his hand around to her breast. Firm but full, and so soft that he felt like a cad touching her with his callused hands.
“You’re supposed to be kissing me while you do that.”
“Awfully controlling for a woman who’s still asleep.”
“Okay,” and she lay back. “I’ll just sleep. Not a word. Go ahead. Do your worst.”
“Not a word?” Gordon teased her.
There was just enough light from the edges of the curtain to see her now that his eyes had adapted. She mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. Then she flopped back loosely as if she were a dead woman.
Gordon had always tried to be a gentle, caring lover. But Ripley’s teasing passivity awoke something inside him. Hell, Ripley “Wonder Woman” Vaughan gave him thoughts of just what he could do for the right woman. And if ever there was a right woman…
Stop thinking, Gordon.
And he did.
Instead, he felt. He ran his hand over the perfect round of her breast, down over her ribs and flat stomach and back. The room was warm enough that he had no qualms about brushing the covers down or her shirt up. She was a dark shadow upon the white sheets. His white hand a photographic outline against her skin.
Ripley lay still and let him explore. From time to time she shivered despite the warmth of the room. The first had been when he kissed one of those perfect breasts. Again as his hand ran up the inside of her thigh, brushing lightly over her white panties and continuing past to explore the curves of hip, waist, breast, shoulder, cheek.
There was nothing submissive in her giving. She might have intended it to be so, perhaps as a tease. But her short, sharp breaths gave
her away. As did the mad speed of her heart when he lay an ear between her breasts. She slid a hand into his hair to hold him there, but her heart rate didn’t slow though he lay a long while fascinated by the double-tap sound.
It wasn’t enough to know the magnificent curves of her front and he coaxed her into rolling over. He did it by teasing her with light touches until she growled in frustration trying to get more pressure from his touch. As she over-balanced onto her stomach, he now had a different view of the woman. Without beautiful breasts to distract him, he could see the curving outline of strong shoulders, slim waist, and full hips.
In the past, when in shadowed rooms, his lovers’ outlines had merged into the sheets, blurring their edges. Ripley’s darkness revealed her exquisitely against the light sheets. It made her impossibly real, as if she was more defined, more herself than any woman he’d ever had before.
As he ran his hands over the marvel that was Ripley, learning her body, he could feel the tense knots in her muscles. He massaged them as he investigated, working his way down her body. Several times she tried to roll over, but he straddled her legs to keep her facedown beneath him.
Unable to stand it any longer, he scooped a hand under her hips and she drove down against his palm, pinning it to the sheet with a soft cry.
It undid him. All of his investigation and teasing was suddenly meaningless. That soft cry of desperate need shattered something inside of him. He reached over the side of the bed and found his pants. He dug out one of the condoms he’d thought to buy while he and Mark were running errands in Cairns.
He rolled Ripley onto her back and, the moment he finished removing their underwear and he’d sheathed himself, she wrapped her legs about his hips and was pulling on his shoulders.
There was no gentleness left in him. And Ripley asked for none.
Ripley clutched at Gordon’s shoulders, pulling her chest up against his. Never had she so needed a man to be inside her.
Their bodies came together in one long smooth slide that carried him all the way in. It wasn’t an invasion, as it sometimes felt when a man entered past the threshold of her outer skin. Even when completely welcome, it always had been a strange sensation to have part of a man’s body inside of her.
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