Wilde Fire (4 page)

The curse and blessing of being a woman.

“Miss Chase. Of course. Glad you’re here, and just ignore these guys. They’re animals. They do one hell of a job fighting fires, but we don’t let them out of their cage much other than that. They’re a menace to society.” The older guy was rewarded with a chorus of jeers and poker chips flying his way. “My name’s Jim Conway, but around here, I’m called Captain.”

I liked this guy. He could shake my hand, introduce himself, and look in my eyes. “My name’s Bree Chase, but wherever I go, I’m known as the ballbuster.”

When Captain chuckled, the corners of his eyes creased. “Well, boys. You heard the lady. Who wants to get in line first to get their balls busted?”

I’d never seen grown men move so fast. In less time than it took me to tame my smile, every single guy was standing in a straight line in front of me.

I was about to point my pen at the first one in line—go figure, it was Blondie—when someone powered up to the front of the line and shoved everyone back.

“Well, Miss Chase, looks like Jake’s up first.” Captain winked at me, slugging Jake’s arm as he headed back to his hand of poker. “Think you can handle him?”

Jake shoved the rest of the guys pushing on him, making their complaints for his cutting in line known. He was acting possessive. Protective. Almost jealous. That was a good thing. A sign he didn’t like the idea of sharing me or my time with any of these other guys.

When Jake looked down at me, I cocked an eyebrow. “I
know
I can handle him.”

SHE WAS IN my bed. Right now. She was all sprawled across it, my sheets hugging the curves of her body . . .

And I was out here. On the couch. With an old blanket and pillow.

I didn’t know how I made it through the day without bashing someone’s head in. I loved the guys in my crew, respected the shit out of them. I’d die for any of them, but after today and the way they’d all looked at Bree . . . I’d almost killed each and every one of them.

After giving me my ten-minute interview, she proceeded to interview the other ten guys at the base today. All of the interviews had gone longer than mine. A few of them had drifted past the half-hour mark. When Finch came back from his interview with her with that perfect smile of his, high-fiving a few of the other guys, I had to sit on my hands to keep from ripping every strand of that blond hair out of his head. Damn horny bastard.

She was mine. If anyone was giving it to her this summer, it was me. If anyone’s cock got close to her, it would be mine. That’s what I kept telling myself, despite knowing every last dickhead except for the Captain and Banks would fuck her any way she let them, even if that meant them bending over and having her drive some giant strap-on into their assholes. That’s how bad they all had it for her.

God, and then earlier, all of the back and forth banter. The pen chewing. What in the hell was she doing? Toying with me? Flirting with me? Teasing me? I didn’t have a clue, and that’s what made it so damn frustrating. I didn’t have a fucking clue what Bree thought when she looked at me, and I supposed I could have just asked, but I wasn’t sure she’d give me an honest answer. I guessed the only way to find out was to wait. Let time reveal the answer to that puzzle.

As much as I hoped she was flirting with me—because my dick wanted her so bad I wasn’t sure it would ever stand at attention for another woman after her—I hoped she was just messing with me the way I was used to Bree teasing me. That would keep things simple between us. Friendly. Platonic.

I got back to replaying my theme song of ‘Off-Limits’ before eventually falling asleep.

I WAS DREAMING. At least I was pretty sure I was because when I pinched myself I didn’t feel it. I was still on the couch, the hard pillow under my head, the coarse blanket draped around my body, but something was moving beneath it. Slowly, methodically, something was rising and falling right above my crotch.

And fuck . . .

My head fell back over the arm of the sofa. I was dreaming, I knew it, but this was one hell of a dream because it was Bree moving beneath my blanket. My boxers were gone, and her warm mouth was around my cock, licking it, tasting it, sucking it with long, languid pulls.

My body tensed when she took me deep into her throat. One arm wound behind my head, gripping the arm of the sofa to keep from falling off the ledge of the earth, and the other one slipped beneath the blanket, searching for her head. When I found it, my fingers braided into her hair, gripping it as I showed her how I wanted it. Slow. And deep. She took me in, all of me, until I could feel her lower lip wet against my balls.

I grunted, knowing I was so close to coming it was only sheer willpower holding my orgasm off, because it just felt too fucking good to come to an end. Her fingers crawled up my stomach, digging into my chest when they reached my breastbone. I cried out a little, the pain making the pleasure that much more intense.

When I pulled her hair, hinting that I wanted it faster, I started pumping my hips into her. She moaned, like she’d reached her own climax from my insistence, and that was my undoing. I came hard and violently, draining myself in her warm, welcoming mouth.

Her head pumped against me, sucking my seed deep within her, and just when I thought I’d buried everything I had deep inside of her throat, I felt it building again . . .

That’s when I snapped awake.

Fuck.

My head fell back over the sofa arm again as my cock pulsed, right before I felt the warm spray of my cum shoot across my stomach and chest.

I was grunting and pumping my hips like I was fucking someone, even though I wasn’t. I wasn’t buried ten inches deep in Bree. I wasn’t even touching myself. Still, I came as hard as I ever had, experiencing another orgasm that set a new bar.

After catching my breath, I realized I was coated in sweat . . . and cum. Shit. I’d just had a wet dream. I hadn’t had one of those since I was thirteen and exchanged coming in my dreams for coming inside of a girl.

I was too goddamn old for wet dreams.

THREE WEEKS HAD gone by since Bree showed back up in my life. It had been utter and total hell each day. The pull toward her, the things I felt, the things I wanted to do, the words I wanted to say to her. It’d been hell.

It’d been utter and total heaven too. Having her back. Having this bright spot in my life again. The fun she brought, the humor that was always at the ready, her smile . . . her laugh. I’d always appreciated those things about her as kids, but now, I appreciated them in a different way. The way a man might recognize something he needed to keep him alive, something he needed to get him crawling out of bed every day.

That’s what I’d come to realize in three weeks. I thought I might need Bree in my life. No, I
knew
I needed her. I didn’t just want to get her into bed because she’d grown into the kind of woman that turned every guy’s head; I wanted more. I wanted it all. She made my life better. She made it seem worthwhile. She healed old scars and was a buffer to new ones forming.

She’d always been a great part of my life, but now she’d turned into the best part of it.

Of course I couldn’t act on any of this. Of course I couldn’t have her, in
any
way, no matter how badly I might have wanted or needed her. She deserved better. She deserved the kind of guy who was like her.

I wasn’t that guy. I was a guy with a past who floated from dangerous job to dangerous job, whose history hinted at commitment being a foreign concept.

Bree was better off without me. I’d made it three weeks without acting on it; I could make it another three. Then she’d be gone. She could get on with her life, with the great guy she’d find one day, and I could get on with mine. Going from job to job, passing through life more ghost than man.

“Wilde Fire, you look like shit. Enough with the brooding in silence thing. Talk.” Banks slid into the chair across from me at the smokejumper base. I’d been sitting on-call a lot lately thanks to the dry summer turning Alaska’s forests into a damn tinderbox ripe for forest fire. Thank God we hadn’t had a lightning storm yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“I’m just tired,” I said, rubbing at my eyes, because I was. We all were. Came with the job.

“Yeah, and if you were mortal, I might believe that, but you are a damn immortal god, so why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

Banks had been jumping the past few summers like me and had been the guy I went to when I needed something, whether it be advice or help checking my parachute. I trusted him. He was a good guy who wasn’t a manwhore like the rest of the guys were. If anyone could give me some advice that didn’t come straight from the dick, it was Banks.

“It’s this girl,” I started, not sure how to explain it exactly. I hadn’t figured out a way to explain it to myself. “She’s fucking with my head. Bad.”

Banks glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the room where Bree was interviewing Finch. He was always at the ready for a follow-up question or a live demonstration. The only satisfaction I got from his incessant plays to get Bree in his bed was her iron wall to his charm and attempts. The more ignorant she played, the stronger he came on.

By now, after three weeks of failing to score, Finch looked close to whipping his dick out on the table for her. I guessed if he did that, she wouldn’t even flinch—she’d probably just keep scribbling down her notes, firing off her list of questions.

“This girl wouldn’t happen to be the hot blonde in the room, would she? The investigative reporter for one of the biggest magazines in the world? The girl every single guy in this room is getting their head messed up over?” When my gaze fired in Banks’s direction, he lifted his hands up. “Every guy except for this one.”

“She’s my old best friend’s sister. She was like my sister growing up.” I kept watching her. And Finch. I didn’t trust the son of a bitch. “I don’t know what happened, but five minutes after showing back up in my life after seven years, I had to go jerk off in my bedroom while she was in the shower. It was the best sex I’ve ever had.” I lifted my right hand in the air. “And it was buried in this guy. Three weeks later and I’m still doing the same thing. The only sex I’ve been having is with my hand. Thinking about her.”

Banks leaned back from the table and wrinkled his nose. “Please say you washed your hand after your last session.”

I shrugged and turned my hand around so it was facing me now. “Maybe.”

Banks kept that look of disgust on his face, but scooted back into the table. “So what are you going to do?” He snapped his fingers in my face when he caught me staring at Bree. Finch had just dropped his hand on her forearm. I was just shoving out of my chair when Bree slid it out from under his hand and folded it in her lap.

I smiled like a damn fool watching that.

“Nothing,” I answered him. “I’m not going to do anything about that. I’m going to keep on looking after her like I always have, but that’s all.”

Banks glanced back at Bree again. That was right when she looked in our direction, her eyes landing on me. She shifted in her seat when she saw me watching her, then got back to her interview.

“Why don’t you tell her?” Banks said. “See if she feels the same way?”

That suggestion was beyond tempting. I’d been tempted to tell her for days. I knew better though. I knew it would explode in my face, and then whatever friendship we’d rekindled this summer would be gone too. At least I had her in my life again. I’d take whatever part of her I could have. It was better than no part at all.

“Come on. A girl like that is not going to feel the same way about a guy like me.” I shook my head and dropped my gaze. “I mean, yeah, maybe she might let herself get really drunk one night and if she was really horny and had been through a long dry spell, then maybe she’d consider letting my cock get close to her. Other than that, she’s not letting any part of me—my cock or my heart—close.”

Banks leaned across the table. “What if she is?”