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Authors: Anne Marsh

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BOOK: Burning Up
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Whether
she
liked it or not.
Maybe, before the summer was over, she'd lose him a little more, this time to Lily Cortez. That didn't have to be a bad thing, she reminded herself, watching him stride down her steps and get into that battered old pickup of his. She wouldn't be losing him. Just sharing him.
Sharing was good.
She wouldn't be lonely. She had her boys and her town. That should be enough for any woman, now, shouldn't it? Sometimes, though, when things got real quiet, she admitted the truth to herself. Waving to Ben, who was crossing the street toward her, she settled back in her chair. Somehow, over the years, it had become tradition for him to park himself on her porch in the late afternoon to share a drink and the day's gossip. Better than a girlfriend any day, Ben was, even if all they drank now was lemonade. She shook her head ruefully. Past sixty and wanting something, something different for herself, even though she didn't have the words to describe what was missing. This was a real good first step, though.
Whatever she imagined was missing, having her boys home and sitting on her front porch would help fill the hole.
Chapter Three
J
ack Donovan had a date with his past. As he guided Betsey along the smooth curves of the long driveway, the two-story farmhouse came closer and closer, and his good intentions receded further and further. Hell if he knew what he was doing driving up here. Two days in Strong, and all his good intentions had gone up in smoke.
He'd recognized years ago that hands-off was the honorable approach when it came to Lily Cortez. She was someone special—and even his rebellious younger self had recognized that truth. She was the kind of woman who tempted a man to wrap his arms around her and hold on. At sixteen, she'd been peach sweet, all innocence and passion, and too damned young for the kind of thoughts he had whenever she brushed past him.
He'd left because leaving had been the right thing—the honorable thing—to do, and he wasn't bad to the bone. Not yet. He knew he was hard and experienced. He'd seen things, done things. Life on the streets of San Francisco hadn't been easy. Neither were three tours of duty in the military. He was older now.
And so was Lily.
He killed the engine, letting the truck coast to a gritty halt on the gravel surface of the driveway. No one was on the porch to meet him, which meant he was going to have to get out of the truck and haul his ass over there. Unfortunately, he wasn't half as reluctant as he should be. No, the problem was, he wanted to knock on that door, all right.
Smoke jumping was a dangerous thrill—and a damned serious job. Which was why he was here, he reminded himself, shoving open the door of the truck. The door shut behind him with a satisfying slam. He needed to warn the neighborhood. Wedged square on the California-Nevada border, the town of Strong was pure trouble in fire season. Ben had shown him the hot zones in the nearby wildlands. And this year, with a possible arsonist added into the mix, there was bound to be trouble. He'd put the team on jump alert. Plane could be up in the air in ten minutes.
The hand-painted sign announcing the farm's name—Lavender Creek—was beautiful, all painstakingly lettered, and it was going to burn faster than shit if the sign's owner didn't get her ass into gear and cut back the grass. The front porch wasn't much safer, a feminine spill of lavender and roses. Purple and rich, shocking pink, the silky petals scattered across the ground in a thick carpet, a boldly sensual statement teasing a man to reach out and slide a finger along the fragrant cups of color.
Pure tinder.
He assessed his surroundings with the practiced eye three tours of duty as a United States Marine had perfected. House might sit on a hilltop, but the land dropped away, covered in bone-dry waves of steel blue and green. Lavender. Acres and acres of lavender. At least the fire would smell good.
Worse, the house on top of a low hill sat with its back to the wildlands. To the north and west, fields surrounded the farmhouse and cut off access to the roads. Only way out in a hurry was down the main drive and out to the county road.
As he got out of the truck, the heat hit him hard. He hadn't felt heat like that since the last time he'd gone head-to-head with a wildfire. Maybe he could convince Lily Cortez to hit the swimming hole with him. Relive their high school days. Shucking the flannel shirt he'd pulled on in the cooler predawn hours, he tossed it onto the passenger seat through the open window and grabbed a handful of fire-prevention literature.
Yeah, right. She wasn't going to be happy to see him. He strode across the gravel and took the porch steps two at a time—the boards had warped and needed replacing—and banged on the door.
Through the closed door, he clearly caught the feminine curse on the other side as the door's owner wrestled with the knob. Heat or age or just general poor maintenance—he shot the porch a quick look—had the door sticking. She needed a handyman.
When she finally managed to shove it open, she kept on coming, sailing through the door frame and landing firmly in his arms. The day was looking up. She was even more beautiful than she had been all those years ago. Before, she'd been a pretty girl. Now she was all woman. Still on the short side but all soft curves and long, dark hair. She'd let her hair grow, a riotous mane that tumbled halfway down her back. Heat made little curls out of that hair, curls that clung to his fingers as he gripped her arms to steady her. Filling his arms full of Lily Cortez felt damned good.
“Thanks,” she said, and then, “That's embarrassing.” Her laugh made his dick hard, and she hadn't even looked up yet. Hadn't recognized him. She was still getting her balance.
“No problem,” he said, and he set her on her feet. Those feet were delicate, sun-tanned, and he couldn't have stopped himself from sweeping his gaze up those long, bare legs if he'd wanted to. And he didn't. What he wanted was her.
Then she looked up, and her face froze.
“Oh, no,” she said. Yeah. She remembered their kisses.
He remembered those eyes. Always watching. Watching him. Watching him as he horsed around with his brothers. The erotic thrill of those eyes wasn't something he figured he'd ever forget. What she'd made him want should be illegal. She'd driven him crazy with wanting to know what it would take to convince her to stop watching. To join him. He'd masturbated to that fantasy—and felt like an asshole. Because those eyes were both curious and innocent, and even then, before he'd done his tours in the military, he'd known that innocence made those eyes off-limits.
When he'd finally kissed her, that long, sweet, hot kiss after the drive home from the swimming hole, he'd pulled her slowly up against him, drinking in the heat and the scent of her, while he waited to make sure she was sure, that she didn't really want to pull away from him. He'd kissed her and kissed her, and she'd kissed him back, and he'd never managed to figure out what he'd done to encourage her. Or what it would take to convince her to kiss him again. Seeing her now brought all those old fantasies crashing back.
She dressed differently now, no longer hiding beneath her clothes. The snug tank top and cutoff denim shorts were clearly meant for comfort, but she filled them both out, too, and his fingers itched to touch, his mouth watering to taste all that sun-kissed skin. She'd taste every bit as good as she looked. Watching the sexy ease of her body slipping across the porch, he was sure of it.
Once upon a time, she'd looked at him as if he were her prince charming.
The soft slap of her bare feet on the worn wood of the porch filled up the silence, so he watched silently as she slid sun-browned feet into white flip-flops, her toes curling into the rubber. His erection pressed against his jeans, reminding him he had unfinished business with Lily. She was ignoring him, and that pissed him off. So he set out to get her attention.
This time, he wasn't going anywhere.
“All grown up,” he drawled, settling his large frame against the low railing of her porch. Those brown eyes widened as she finally looked him in the eye, and he swore his dick got harder.
“Jack Donovan,” she said finally, and, no, she didn't sound pleased to see him. He could kiss his fantasies good-bye.
“Why are you here?” She made it sound as if her front porch was off-limits, and that just put his back up. He'd learned a thing or two about holding his ground, and no way she was going to push away him now.
“It's fire season, and there have been a number of small incidents around your farm,” he growled. “I need to give you some fire safety pointers.” His social skills were rusty, but he expected her to make some polite noises. Ask a few questions. Hell, maybe he'd been expecting an invitation to share a lemonade—he didn't know, because, as always, she had him at sixes and sevens—but what he didn't expect was her reaction.
Her face paled, the sudden white a startling contrast with that golden suntan of hers. She was scared. Not of him, he was betting, because then she would have been backing toward the door. No, her eyes went straight over his shoulder, as if she expected to see a fire burning in the middle of her driveway.
“Where were the fires?” she said, and he wondered if she knew her nails were carving small pink crescents into her palms. He recognized the scent of fear and desperation. He'd seen it too many times when he'd had to confront a homeowner who wouldn't accept that nature had her own plans for that person's house and property and that there was nothing Jack Donovan could do to stave off the disaster.
He reached out and smoothed a hand against her cheek before he could stop himself. He was attracted as hell, and she was scared. That made him, he figured, a bastard of monumental proportions, because he couldn't decide between wrapping her up in his arms to comfort her and hauling her off to his bed to seduce her. He wanted her, but he would never, ever hurt her. They both knew that. So he'd find out what was wrong here, and then he'd fix it. Her skin felt so warm against his hand.
“Baby, what's wrong?”
 
Larger than life, Jack Donovan filled a space and sucked the air straight out of it. That hard body of his was a weapon and a warning. He'd hold his own with anything life threw at him. His short hair was plain practicality, he'd told her once. Any longer, and fire would just singe it off. Looking at him now, with his dark eyes and sun-tanned skin, she saw he hadn't changed. Not in any way that mattered. He was the sort of man who was always outside; no one could lock him up or pin him down.
She'd always been cautious. Practical. Even back when she'd been ready for a high school sweetheart, Jack Donovan had been a delicious treat—and completely off-limits. He hadn't been a forever kind of boy, and she'd known she didn't really want to pay that kind of price. Flirt with it, sure. But loving Jack would have cost too much.
He was a damned hero, and she needed him off her porch. Now.
She'd heard through the grapevine that he'd done a few tours with the Marines, then started a private firefighting company. Now he was the hired gun on the largest, most dangerous wildfires. He put his men up on planes and then followed them out the door, jumping into the thick of the smoke and the heat to wage war. He was pure trouble.
“Fire.” She forced herself to step away from him, but she knew her stiff smile was a tell she couldn't afford. Jack had never been stupid, and the last thing she wanted right now was to draw attention to herself. “You drove out here to tell me there have been fires.”
Surely he meant wildfires, and that meant she was still safe. Thank God. Summer wildfires weren't personal. Dangerous as hell, if they blazed out of control. But not personal.
He
hadn't found her.
Jack's dark eyes watched her retreat. God, she'd loved his eyes. Those eyes had made her feel like the center of the universe. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “You know what I do, Lily. And it's fire season up here.” He hesitated. “Donovan Brothers is filling in.”
This summer was even drier than most. She watched the weather forecasts every night, tracking the elusive rainfall with spreadsheets and lists the hot California summers devoured. All the experts in the world couldn't coax a drop from those burning blue skies. She had to sit back and wait, hope and pray that the skies would eventually fill up and spill their bounty onto her fields. And that burning heat was only part of the trouble she had.
“You volunteered, you mean,” she said, keeping her voice deliberately light. She knew what his team cost. No way this town could afford them, so he was here because he had a soft spot for his childhood home, after all. That soft spot shouldn't make her want to smile. They weren't children. Not anymore.
“You need to be careful, Lily.” She didn't know whether he was talking about the upcoming fire season—or something else. Those eyes of his didn't move from her face. Uneasy, she tugged self-consciously at her shirt, and that made her angry. He was just a man. A childhood acquaintance all grown up. “Maybe think about leaving till things quiet down,” he urged.
She took the pamphlets he held out to her, his fingers brushing hers. Before San Francisco, she might have considered seeing where the spark of attraction led. Now all she wanted to do was lie low. She'd come here for the safety and familiarity of Strong. In running home to her roots, she'd found something even better. What she could build here was special. When she finally made it into bed at night, she might still be alone, but she knew she'd found something she needed here. Peace. Space. Healing.
The farm was her life now. She'd emptied her 401K, quit her high-powered advertising job, and bought this. She hadn't known a damned thing about lavender. Hell, she hadn't known a damned thing about gardening. She hadn't been home enough to keep a potted plant alive. The farm was more than money—those fields were a future she'd literally built for herself. Each plant she set into the ground was a promise. No one was running her off.
Not again.
“You're sitting in the middle of a firetrap, Lily.” He leaned back where he was sitting on her porch railing, folding his arms over his chest. As if he wasn't going anywhere, even if she hadn't had the decency to invite him inside.
BOOK: Burning Up
5.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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