to wish to God almighty I had called the law. Now get off my property.”
To expedite the matter, several of the men hoisted the barely conscious big guy and his moaning companions into the truck, then stood like a wall until it drove away.
Gull received a number of shoulder and back slaps, countless offers of a drink. He wisely accepted all of them to avoid an argument as he watched Libby, Cards and Gibbons help Dobie into one of the vans.
“Do you want a doc to look you over?” Little Bear asked him.
“No. I’ve had worse falling out of bed.”
Little Bear watched the van as Gull did. “He’ll be all right. It takes more than three assholes to down a smoke jumper.” He gave Gull a last shoulder slap, then turned back toward the bar when the van pulled out of the lot.
Gull stayed where he was, trying to reach for his calm again. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but at the moment, elusive.
“Is this yours?”
He turned to see Rowan holding his cigar.
“Yeah. I guess I dropped it.”
“Butterfingers.” She took a few puffs until the tip glowed true again, then helped herself to one long, deep drag. “Prime cigar, too,” she added, then offered it back. “Shame to waste it.”
Gull took it, studied it. “That’s it,” he decided.
He flung it down again and, grabbing her, yanked her against him. “That’s it,” he repeated before his mouth crushed down on hers.
A man could only take so much stimulation before demanding release.
She slapped both hands on his chest, shoved. “Hey.”
For a moment he figured he’d experience her excellent uppercut up close and personal. Then she mirrored his initial move and yanked him back.
Her mouth was as he’d imagined. Hot and soft and avid. It met his with equal fervor, as if a switch had been flipped in each of them from stop to go. She pressed that killer body to his without hesitation, without restraint, a gift and a challenge, until the chilly air under the sizzling stars seemed to smoke.
He tasted the sharp tang of tequila on her tongue, a fascinating contrast to the scent of ripe peaches that clung to her skin; felt the hard, steady gallop of her heart that matched the pace of his own.
Then she drew back, looked in his eyes, held there a moment before drawing away.
“You’ve got skills,” she stated.
“Ditto.”
She blew out a breath—a long one. “You’re a temptation, Gull, I can’t deny it. Stupid to deny it, and I’m not stupid.”
“Far from it.”
She rubbed her lips together as if revisiting his taste. “The thing is, once you mix sex into it, even smart people can get stupid. So . . . better not.”
“No’s your choice. Mine’s to keep trying.”
“I can’t hold that against you.” She smiled at him now, not her usual smirk but something warmer. “You fight like a maniac.”
“I tend to get carried away, so I try to avoid it when I can.”
“That’s a good policy. What do you say we postpone the tequila and get some ice on that jaw of yours.”
“That’s fine.”
As they started back, she glanced over at him. “What was that technique you were using on those bastards?”
“An ancient form called kicking ass.”
She laughed, gave him a friendly hip bump. “Impressive.”
He returned the hip bump. “Sleep with me and I’ll give you lessons.”
She laughed again. “You can try harder than that.”
“I’m just getting warmed up,” he told her, then opened the door to the overheated bar and lousy music.
ROWAN ZIPPED her warm-up jacket as she stepped outside. She’d put in some time in the gym, and checked the jump list on the board in Operations. She was first load, fourth man. Now she wanted a solid run on the track, maybe some chow. She’d already checked and rechecked her gear. If the siren sounded, she’d be ready.
Otherwise . . .
Otherwise, she thought as she shot a wave to one of the mechanics, there was always work, always training. But the fact was she was ready, more than
To expedite the matter, several of the men hoisted the barely conscious big guy and his moaning companions into the truck, then stood like a wall until it drove away.
Gull received a number of shoulder and back slaps, countless offers of a drink. He wisely accepted all of them to avoid an argument as he watched Libby, Cards and Gibbons help Dobie into one of the vans.
“Do you want a doc to look you over?” Little Bear asked him.
“No. I’ve had worse falling out of bed.”
Little Bear watched the van as Gull did. “He’ll be all right. It takes more than three assholes to down a smoke jumper.” He gave Gull a last shoulder slap, then turned back toward the bar when the van pulled out of the lot.
Gull stayed where he was, trying to reach for his calm again. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but at the moment, elusive.
“Is this yours?”
He turned to see Rowan holding his cigar.
“Yeah. I guess I dropped it.”
“Butterfingers.” She took a few puffs until the tip glowed true again, then helped herself to one long, deep drag. “Prime cigar, too,” she added, then offered it back. “Shame to waste it.”
Gull took it, studied it. “That’s it,” he decided.
He flung it down again and, grabbing her, yanked her against him. “That’s it,” he repeated before his mouth crushed down on hers.
A man could only take so much stimulation before demanding release.
She slapped both hands on his chest, shoved. “Hey.”
For a moment he figured he’d experience her excellent uppercut up close and personal. Then she mirrored his initial move and yanked him back.
Her mouth was as he’d imagined. Hot and soft and avid. It met his with equal fervor, as if a switch had been flipped in each of them from stop to go. She pressed that killer body to his without hesitation, without restraint, a gift and a challenge, until the chilly air under the sizzling stars seemed to smoke.
He tasted the sharp tang of tequila on her tongue, a fascinating contrast to the scent of ripe peaches that clung to her skin; felt the hard, steady gallop of her heart that matched the pace of his own.
Then she drew back, looked in his eyes, held there a moment before drawing away.
“You’ve got skills,” she stated.
“Ditto.”
She blew out a breath—a long one. “You’re a temptation, Gull, I can’t deny it. Stupid to deny it, and I’m not stupid.”
“Far from it.”
She rubbed her lips together as if revisiting his taste. “The thing is, once you mix sex into it, even smart people can get stupid. So . . . better not.”
“No’s your choice. Mine’s to keep trying.”
“I can’t hold that against you.” She smiled at him now, not her usual smirk but something warmer. “You fight like a maniac.”
“I tend to get carried away, so I try to avoid it when I can.”
“That’s a good policy. What do you say we postpone the tequila and get some ice on that jaw of yours.”
“That’s fine.”
As they started back, she glanced over at him. “What was that technique you were using on those bastards?”
“An ancient form called kicking ass.”
She laughed, gave him a friendly hip bump. “Impressive.”
He returned the hip bump. “Sleep with me and I’ll give you lessons.”
She laughed again. “You can try harder than that.”
“I’m just getting warmed up,” he told her, then opened the door to the overheated bar and lousy music.
ROWAN ZIPPED her warm-up jacket as she stepped outside. She’d put in some time in the gym, and checked the jump list on the board in Operations. She was first load, fourth man. Now she wanted a solid run on the track, maybe some chow. She’d already checked and rechecked her gear. If the siren sounded, she’d be ready.
Otherwise . . .
Otherwise, she thought as she shot a wave to one of the mechanics, there was always work, always training. But the fact was she was ready, more than
Similar Books
