Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire 3)

Thankfully she'd stashed the letters back in the dresser in the workshop. If she'd had them with her when they left the workshop they would have gotten soaked.

Connor saw her grab her keys and purse. “Heading out?”

“I just remembered an errand I've got to run.”

It almost felt like lying, not telling him that she was going to give Isabel the letters, but she didn't think mentioning those right now would make his day any better and, at least for today, it seemed more important to protect him from any further pain.

“Come here first.”

The command in his voice, along with the sensual promise in his eyes, had her walking over to him in a semi-daze. And then, when she was barely within reaching distance, he pulled her into his arms, his fingers threading into her hair, his mouth coming down over hers. His kiss consumed her and she felt herself falling, heading further and further beneath his spell.

Finally, he let her up for air. “You sure your errand can't wait?”

And even though a voice in her head told her that making love with him again was only helping him hide out from everything he needed to face, she couldn't walk away. Not only because giving herself to him like this was the best

— and only — way she could think of right now to provide the comfort he desperately needed.

But, on a less altruistic note, because stealing every hour that she possibly could with him was what she most wanted for herself.

By the time Ginger walked into the diner, the old letters safe in her large purse, Isabel was just turning the sign to CLOSED.

“This is a nice surprise. I didn't expect to see you here today. Hungry?”

“No. I've already had lunch.” And then some.

“What's up?” Isabel stopped fiddling with the blinds on the windows, looked more carefully at Ginger's face. “Is it Connor? Did something else happen since I last saw you?”

Ginger hadn't come here to talk about Connor, but now that her friend was asking she just couldn't hold it in.

“We… he… and then…”

Isabel grabbed her arm, pulled her over to a bar stool. “Coffee. That's what you need. And then you can tell me everything.”

“But what about how you said I should stay away from him?”

“I'm not sure that's exactly what I said, but you were right. Just because I have a past with his father, doesn't mean I have anything against Connor. If you say he's great, I'm sure he is.” She put a cup down in front of Ginger. “So how great is he?”

Ginger blushed, tried to buy herself time by taking a sip.

“Never mind. I think I get the gist of it already, just looking at you.”

But Ginger wanted to try to put what she was feeling into words. Maybe then she'd understand it better.

“It's like something in him just pulls at me. And every second we're together, I just…” She put her hand over her heart. “Right here. I feel him here.”

Isabel came around the counter, sat down next to Ginger. “You're in deep already, aren't you?”

There was no point in lying to herself about it. “Yes. And I don't know how to stop it.”

“That only matters if you want to stop it.”

“It's just a summer fling.” It was all they'd agreed on.

“No reason summer can't turn to fall,” Isabel suggested.

Suddenly, Ginger realized they'd made that agreement when they thought he was going to be heading back to work for the Forest Service in California. But now that everything had changed for him, she realized that every day she spent with Connor was going to start and end with her hoping for one more day. For more of him.

Even after he'd told her flat-out that he had nothing to give.

“You're scared, aren't you?”

Ginger looked at her friend, saw love and concern in her eyes, and knew she could confess, “More scared than I've ever been. And at the same time, I'm so incredibly happy. Almost as if I could burst from it.”

Isabel leaned her head on Ginger's shoulder, two friends sitting in an empty diner, sharing confidences. “I wish I knew the right thing to say to you. The perfect advice to give to make it less confusing. But I'm afraid you're talking to someone who doesn't know the first thing about making relationships work.”

Damn it, Ginger thought. She'd forgotten about the letters again.

“Actually, I came here to give you something.” Ginger reached into her purse and pulled them out. “I found these stuck behind one of my dresser drawers.”

Isabel's face went white with shock. “My letters to Andrew.” She rubbed her fingers over the papers. “He kept them.”

“Isabel, I'm sorry,” Ginger blurted, “but one fell open and then once I started reading, I couldn't help myself.”

But Isabel didn't seem to hear her. “I was so young,” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “Sitting here, just like you are now. So in love with him that I could hardly see straight.”

Isabel's words nearly knocked Ginger off of her stool. She didn't think Isabel had even heard what she'd just said, she was so wrapped up in poring through the letters. But now that it was there — love, oh God, could that be what this pull was? — Ginger couldn't look away from it.

“I can't believe I wrote these things,” Isabel was saying. “I had the future all planned out.” She pressed her lips together. Sighed. “Stupid girl.”

“I still don't get it,” Ginger said, working like crazy to focus on what her friend was saying, rather than the swirling mass of emotions pushing around inside her. “How could all of that,” she gestured to the letters, “have become ten terrible words?”

Isabel shrugged. “Who the hell knows. Andrew and I were just kids who didn't know any better, I guess.”

“Is it going to be weird to see him when he comes out for Sam's wedding?”

“Very,” Isabel admitted. “But at least I have a few weeks to prepare myself for it, right? Not,” she said with a rueful grin, “that I should be wasting too much time on that.” Pushing off the stool, she said, “I know you have a lot of painting to get done. Thanks for bringing these to me.”

Understanding that her friend wanted to be alone with the letters, and glad to have some time on her own to think, Ginger headed out.

fully she'd stashed the letters back in the dresser in the workshop. If she'd had them with her when they left the workshop they would have gotten soaked.

Connor saw her grab her keys and purse. “Heading out?”

“I just remembered an errand I've got to run.”

It almost felt like lying, not telling him that she was going to give Isabel the letters, but she didn't think mentioning those right now would make his day any better and, at least for today, it seemed more important to protect him from any further pain.

“Come here first.”

The command in his voice, along with the sensual promise in his eyes, had her walking over to him in a semi-daze. And then, when she was barely within reaching distance, he pulled her into his arms, his fingers threading into her hair, his mouth coming down over hers. His kiss consumed her and she felt herself falling, heading further and further beneath his spell.

Finally, he let her up for air. “You sure your errand can't wait?”

And even though a voice in her head told her that making love with him again was only helping him hide out from everything he needed to face, she couldn't walk away. Not only because giving herself to him like this was the best

— and only — way she could think of right now to provide the comfort he desperately needed.

But, on a less altruistic note, because stealing every hour that she possibly could with him was what she most wanted for herself.

By the time Ginger walked into the diner, the old letters safe in her large purse, Isabel was just turning the sign to CLOSED.

“This is a nice surprise. I didn't expect to see you here today. Hungry?”

“No. I've already had lunch.” And then some.

“What's up?” Isabel stopped fiddling with the blinds on the windows, looked more carefully at Ginger's face. “Is it Connor? Did something else happen since I last saw you?”

Ginger hadn't come here to talk about Connor, but now that her friend was asking she just couldn't hold it in.

“We… he… and then…”

Isabel grabbed her arm, pulled her over to a bar stool. “Coffee. That's what you need. And then you can tell me everything.”

“But what about how you said I should stay away from him?”

“I'm not sure that's exactly what I said, but you were right. Just because I have a past with his father, doesn't mean I have anything against Connor. If you say he's great, I'm sure he is.” She put a cup down in front of Ginger. “So how great is he?”

Ginger blushed, tried to buy herself time by taking a sip.

“Never mind. I think I get the gist of it already, just looking at you.”

But Ginger wanted to try to put what she was feeling into words. Maybe then she'd understand it better.

“It's like something in him just pulls at me. And every second we're together, I just…” She put her hand over her heart. “Right here. I feel him here.”

Isabel came around the counter, sat down next to Ginger. “You're in deep already, aren't you?”

There was no point in lying to herself about it. “Yes. And I don't know how to stop it.”

“That only matters if you want to stop it.”

“It's just a summer fling.” It was all they'd agreed on.

“No reason summer can't turn to fall,” Isabel suggested.

Suddenly, Ginger realized they'd made that agreement when they thought he was going to be heading back to work for the Forest Service in California. But now that everything had changed for him, she realized that every day she spent with Connor was going to start and end with her hoping for one more day. For more of him.

Even after he'd told her flat-out that he had nothing to give.

“You're scared, aren't you?”

Ginger looked at her friend, saw love and concern in her eyes, and knew she could confess, “More scared than I've ever been. And at the same time, I'm so incredibly happy. Almost as if I could burst from it.”

Isabel leaned her head on Ginger's shoulder, two friends sitting in an empty diner, sharing confidences. “I wish I knew the right thing to say to you. The perfect advice to give to make it less confusing. But I'm afraid you're talking to someone who doesn't know the first thing about making relationships work.”

Damn it, Ginger thought. She'd forgotten about the letters again.

“Actually, I came here to give you something.” Ginger reached into her purse and pulled them out. “I found these stuck behind one of my dresser drawers.”

Isabel's face went white with shock. “My letters to Andrew.” She rubbed her fingers over the papers. “He kept them.”

“Isabel, I'm sorry,” Ginger blurted, “but one fell open and then once I started reading, I couldn't help myself.”

But Isabel didn't seem to hear her. “I was so young,” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “Sitting here, just like you are now. So in love with him that I could hardly see straight.”

Isabel's words nearly knocked Ginger off of her stool. She didn't think Isabel had even heard what she'd just said, she was so wrapped up in poring through the letters. But now that it was there — love, oh God, could that be what this pull was? — Ginger couldn't look away from it.

“I can't believe I wrote these things,” Isabel was saying. “I had the future all planned out.” She pressed her lips together. Sighed. “Stupid girl.”

“I still don't get it,” Ginger said, working like crazy to focus on what her friend was saying, rather than the swirling mass of emotions pushing around inside her. “How could all of that,” she gestured to the letters, “have become ten terrible words?”

Isabel shrugged. “Who the hell knows. Andrew and I were just kids who didn't know any better, I guess.”

“Is it going to be weird to see him when he comes out for Sam's wedding?”

“Very,” Isabel admitted. “But at least I have a few weeks to prepare myself for it, right? Not,” she said with a rueful grin, “that I should be wasting too much time on that.” Pushing off the stool, she said, “I know you have a lot of painting to get done. Thanks for bringing these to me.”

Understanding that her friend wanted to be alone with the letters, and glad to have some time on her own to think, Ginger headed out.