He swipes his pants from the floor, fishing for his utility knife. “Don’t move.”
I lie there, blinking a little because I’m finally right where I want to be. I don’t want to leave. A quick slice of the blade, and my wrists pop apart. I roll, taking in the intent look on his face. His big hands rub at the red marks from the ties.
“Shit.” He frowns. “I should have cut you free sooner.”
“It’s all right.” And it is. I sort of want to cry and to yell and to climb all over that big body of his and make him feel the pleasure, too. Pick is my hot zone and my safety zone, and I’m more than ready to spend fire season—and forever—in his arms. We’ll take turns being in control—or letting go. It’s going to be okay, even if I don’t get it right the first time. All I have to is practice—and trust Pick.
And I do. I trust him with every tied up, too scared, not quite sure enough inch of me, starting with me head and ending with my heart. I love him, and he loves me.
“I’m okay,” I repeat.
He frames my face with his hands and kisses me, a hot, sweet kiss that makes me heat up. “In that case—”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing. “You’ve got something to finish.”
“One thing first.” His face, watching mine, is suddenly serious. “I don’t want to be finished here. I just want you to know that. Stay or go, that’s your call, but you should know that I’ll be here waiting for you. You don’t need to say anything, but I needed you to hear that.”
“You don’t mind? If I’m not in the mood for talking?”
“Honey”—he eases his hand along my shoulder—“this isn’t about what I want. You say what you need to say. Whatever you’ve got, you give it to me.”
“That’s it?”
He slides his fingers into the tangled hair at the back of my neck, urging me forward for another kiss. It’s a fabulous idea—one of the best he’s had all night.
“Probably not,” he admits. “We’re going to fight. Kiss and make up.”
I walk my fingers up his chest. “Maybe it’s time for that kissing part.”
“Uh-huh.” I can feel the low rumble of his laughter beneath my cheek. “I could do that.”
“I love you.” I say the words quietly, but I know he hears me.
“Say you’ll stay the summer. The fall. I’ve got four seasons, and every one of them is for you.”
“I could do that.” I pull his head toward mine, wanting his kiss. “You still looking for that hot zone, hotshot?”
He smiles slowly. “Could be.”
“Then sign me up. I’m all yours.”
THE END
The Big One
Available now!
Hunter
She’s a screamer.
My ears assure me of this fact even as other parts of me perk up and take notice. For a guy in the act of smothering a fire with a blanket, sex should occupy no part of the real estate in my brain. I should be focused entirely on the job at hand, which is making the world safer for the brunette bouncing up and down on my left as words pour from her mouth. Unfortunately the words aren’t kind. Whoever she is, she’s most definitely displeased with me, and she’s got two equally unhappy girlfriends playing very loud back up to her unhappy. She’ll have to take a number. Once I’ve got this fire out, I’ll pretend to listen to her complaints and then I’ll go on my way, knowing that there’s one less chance of a catastrophic fire starting tonight.
Automatically, I bring the blanket down over the flames, cutting off the flow of oxygen, and then start kicking dirt onto stray embers.
The feminine shrieks as I go caveman on the fire sound like a chorus of Greek furies. Yeah. I do know what that is, courtesy of the required English lit class for my fire management degree. Part pissed off, part startled, the sound is my heads-up that they’re more than ready to go ballistic on my male ass. Doesn’t matter who I am or who my audience is because Mother Nature has already divided us into teams, boys versus girls, and the opposing team has just declared me the loser.