Reburn (6 page)

He listened, drinking in the soft sigh of her breath, the rustle of her clothing as she pushed closer. His dick was hard, but there were two of them here and he was going to make this good for her. If this was the only chance he had to touch his Livy again, he’d make it count. Every kiss. Every touch.

She inhaled and he breathed with her. In. Out. He wouldn’t rush this. No way.

He slid his hand down the straight line of her spine, over the round curve of her ass—Christ, he loved her ass—and lower, slowly slipping her pants off before returning to her core. The damp heat of her through her lacy panties was pure temptation, all that femininity hidden beneath. Wet and hot, for
him
.

“I missed you,” he admitted. The words were too rough, too blunt, but he was in heaven here and he’d never been a poet.

He’d been her first. He’d known that. And she’d been his, too. What he hadn’t realized, until now, though, was that she’d also been his best. He’d wanted her and not because they’d got up to any sexual gymnastics. Sure, the sex had been good, but they’d been close. The closest he’d ever felt to someone else. They’d learned about sex together.

“You missed
this,
” she countered, rocking backwards into his hand. The motion put her pussy against the tips of his fingers. He moved his hand lower and her breath caught.

“Say yes,” he said roughly, the words a hoarse plea in her ear.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Just for tonight, Sam.”

He could make do with that. Christ, he’d missed her. So much so at first that it had been a physical ache.

“Part your legs,” he ordered. “I want all the way in, honey.”

She did.

Christ, she did.

Her sweet, hot mound covered his palm and, damn, there was nothing better than that delicious fullness. He held her like that for a long moment, then moved his middle finger in deliberate, slow strokes. Her pussy followed his hand, a husky moan spilling from her.

“You going to tell me what you want here, or are you going to make me guess?” He gave her another slow stroke of his finger while he waited for her answer.

“You’re doing just fine.” Her fingers clenched and released. He wanted her hands on him, her nails biting into his skin, marking him.

He was on fire.

He caressed her, first over her panties, teasing the hot, wet center of her. Pushing the damp fabric in and up. Tugging gently where she was exquisitely sensitive.

Her breathing changed, the shallow pants warning him she was close. Her head braced on her arm and he wrapped an arm around her waist, bracing her against his body. Taking her weight so all she had to do was hang on and enjoy.

So damn sexy
.

He pushed her panties south and she rewarded him with another sexy gasp.

“Oh, my God, Sam.” She twisted, seeking more.

Her thighs trembled, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately. His baby was close and he was on fire. His dick jerked, wanting inside, but this was for her. He needed to feel her coming for him.

He kissed his way up the side of her throat, loving her throaty gasps, and found her ear. He did some more kissing, because no way he ever got enough of her.

“You know how good you feel?”
Hell
. Was that hoarse rasp his voice?

Running the fingers of one hand up her neck and through her hair, he found the sensitive scalp. Anchored her in place, tugging gently.

The fingers of his other hand played with the hard bud at the apex of her thighs. She tightened around his hand, her back bowing. “You got to open up, baby. Let me in. Let me make this real good for you.”

“I need—”

“I got what you need.” He touched her the way he’d been dying to touch her, letting himself have this fantasy-come-true.

She wanted him, too. His fingers were slick with her juices, sliding deep into her pussy. He remembered her like this, trembling in his arms. Coming apart for him.
Coming
. He wanted to ask her if she’d let other men touch her like this, but then the thought vanished. All that mattered was that she was back and he was here, losing himself in her again.

She panted out something, but damned if he knew what she was saying. All he knew was that the words weren’t
no
and then she went up on tiptoe, pushing hard against his hand in silent demand.

“Just like that, honey.” He whispered rough words of praise, telling her how pretty she was as she came against his fingers. How sweet. “I love feeling you like this.”

 

After what had to be the world’s most satisfying orgasm, while she sagged against him in boneless aftermath, he scooped her up in his arms.

What did you say to the man who’d just rocked your world?
More, please
came to mind. Instead, she looked up at him through her lashes as he carried her the short distance to their makeshift bed. “Please tell me you have a condom. And that it didn’t come from Holm Arthurs’s bunker.”

His chuckle was rueful. Regretful. And neither adjective boded well for her night.

“Yeah. I got condoms, honey. Number one choice of the U.S. Forest Service for transporting water from point A to point B. But now’s not the time, Livy.”

“Yes. It is,” she countered fiercely.

Sam had always been in control. Tonight, he’d let go of that control just a little. He’d shown her
his
wild side. All the rough, dark need he kept bottled up inside him. Apparently, they were both taking what they wanted tonight.

And it seemed she wanted Sam Clayton.

Back in her arms. Back in her life. She was realizing she’d made a terrible mistake ten years ago.

He set her down on her feet, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. They could see the fire’s glow from their hideaway and he was all hotshot again. She could see the longing in his eyes to be out there,
doing
. Sam Clayton didn’t sit still, never had. Then he was turning away from the fire, turning towards her.

“Let’s get you ready for the night.” He’d hollowed out the ground earlier, layering dry grass with plastic tarp, and now he unzipped a sleeping bag.

“Boy scout?”

“Marines.”

“I didn’t know you served.”

“One tour. Couple of hops to the Middle East. CFR—Crash, Fire, and Rescue. We rode out on the truck when there was a pilot who was more crash than land. Hosed down the pieces and got the guy out when we could. Some of the other men I served with went on to become smoke jumpers, but I came back here, because I knew fighting wildland fires and the U.S. Forest Service was where I wanted to be. I like having my feet on the ground, being right there on the frontlines. This is a different kind of fight.” He shrugged. “But our national parks are the frontlines for some really nasty stuff. You know that. You came in here hunting for a domestic terrorist.”

Sam’s dad had been a park ranger, so he’d had parks in his blood. His one tour with the Marines had been practically an aberration, except that he’d chosen to go in for CFR. He’d enlisted because he’d been at loose ends and he’d wanted to get out and see the world some, and because he’d spent every year in one place. And, after Livy had left, suddenly that place hadn’t been enough.

“Every day’s another chance to be a hero?”

She grinned at him as she asked her question, and he couldn’t have stopped the answering grin from spreading across his face if he’d tried.

“Not really. Most days, it’s all about the shovel. Why’d you do it?” He spread out the sleeping bag, fleece-side up. He’d have preferred getting her inside, all zipped up, but she might be particular about cozying up to a terrorist’s bag.

“The FBI?” When he nodded, she continued. “Quantico was a challenge, but a good one. What I’d learned in the classroom at college was interesting, but it didn’t push me. Not the way the academy did. We were being asked to solve real problems, for real people. The missions were important. We kept people safe.”

Her quick smile warmed him to his core. He got this. Got her. “Funny to think that maybe we’re not so different after all, huh?”

“Yeah.” She smiled back. “Other than the obvious.”

Different but not different. She could think that all she wanted but, truth was, they came from different worlds—and they both had to go back when this night was over. He eyeballed the nest he’d made for her. He wanted her warm and, even in summer, temperatures in the park dropped pretty low at night. The canyon walls were going to protect her some, though, and the gear was definitely rugged. He gestured toward the canyon entrance. “This not being the St. Regis, you’re going to have to step outside to take care of any business you might have.”

She went. He followed right on her heels, until she stopped and pointed. “This is where you stay, boy scout. Privacy is a definite requirement here.”

“If there’s so much as a chance that Holm Arthurs is running around out there, you get an escort service.”

“I’m armed,” she pointed out, picking out a thick stand of bushes and making for them.

He scanned, but nothing moved. Right now the night held only shadows. “You show me how well you draw, aim, and fire when your pants are down around your ankles.”

She shot him a grin. “Point taken. I’ll return the favor.”

“Much appreciated,” he drawled.

She disappeared and he could hear all too clearly the rustling sounds from the bushes that said she was doing what needed doing. Deliberately, he focused on the night sounds and their surroundings, giving her what privacy he could. They’d been lovers and he’d touched her again tonight, but some things a woman didn’t want to share.

She came back, and he motioned for her to go into the canyon.

“Your bed.”

She sank down, reaching for her boots. Her fingers unlaced them, tugging at the heavy soles. He shouldn’t have found that so damned sexy, but apparently he’d take what he could get, because his hard-on was back. When she pulled the boots off and set them to one side, she gave him a shot of her feet in practical white cotton. She sighed, digging her toes into the sleeping bag’s plush.

He tucked the gun into his waistband.

“Here,” he said gruffly, sinking down beside her and pulling her feet onto his lap.

Just seeing her feet, vulnerable and half-undressed, brought back his memories of touching her more intimately. He remembered all too well the sensation of sinking his fingers between her thighs and the slick, wet feel of her folds. Hell. He needed a cold shower, and that wasn’t happening out here.

Instead, he watched her face like a starving man confronted with a feast. She pulled her hair tie free like she was tired of the drag on her scalp and all that honey brown hair brushed against her face and shoulders. Long lashes fell and she exhaled. She was tired, but she was still game. He shouldn’t have pushed her. Hell, he couldn’t believe he’d touched her, made her orgasm, when they were waiting out a wildland fire with a possible terrorist dogging their escape. But he had.

And he wanted to touch her again.

Instead, he focused on her feet, dragging his thumb along the sensitive arch, and finding the pad of her foot and rubbing in a deep, hard circle. She sighed and wiggled her foot into his touch. Her lashes rose and fell.

“You coming to bed?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to watch for a while.” No point telling her he had no intention of sleeping while she might be in danger. He’d keep an eye out, both for the fire and for Holm Arthurs.

“D
on’t move.” Sam breathed the words against Livy’s “ear. Adrenaline pumped through him, his body readying for the coming fight. They had company. When she came awake with a start, he pressed his fingers against her lips until she nodded her head, indicating that she comprehended the sudden need for silence.

“Holm?” she mouthed, and he nodded.

Had to be.

He smelled smoke and that wasn’t good. The lighter smudge of light on the horizon said dawn was coming fast. The fire should have died down some over the night, but tendrils of smoke eddied around their campsite, closer and thicker. Their night had definitely gone to hell.

He could just make out her face in the dim light. Her hair was a tangle around her face, her familiar hazel eyes watching him. Trusting him even as her hand reached out for the weapon she’d set down beside her boots.

“Get dressed,” he whispered harshly. Whatever was coming, he’d make damned sure she was ready to run or to fight. Whichever kept her safest.

She was
his
.

For the second time in his life, he wanted more than a few stolen nights.

He wanted it all. He wanted her. She’d been his first, and now she’d be his last and best. The primitive need to protect her against the threat lurking in the darkness brought out the warrior in him. He scanned the shadows, considering his next move.

Gravel hit metal thirty feet to his right.

Sam rolled to his feet silently.
Son of a bitch
. Someone had set off the trip wire he’d set up on the camp’s outer perimeter because he hadn’t wanted unexpected midnight visitors. He tucked the handgun he’d lifted from the bunker into his waistband. The gun was fully loaded, but using the weapon wasn’t his first choice. It was too goddamned easy to shoot the wrong target in the dark. Instead, palming his hunting knife, he moved out. The blade was a reassuring weight in his hand and slipping through the dark reminded him all too clearly of boot camp training. The stakes tonight were personal, though. His adrenaline was pumping, but damned if he’d let anyone get the drop on him here.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Behind him, he sensed rather than heard Livy move. Damn it. She wasn’t staying put, either. That put a little pickup in his step and he moved away from their sleeping bag, blade out, scanning the shadows.

Holm Arthurs shot out of the shadows with no warning. Despite the camouflage paint on his face, there was no mistaking the lethal intent there. The knives hung about the man and the ammo belt strapped to his chest warned that the tango was packing. And he wasn’t hunting bear.

He was hunting Livy.

Sam, however, was making damned sure that never happened again.

Holm thrust, straight and hard, sending twelve inches of lethal nasty punching towards Sam’s gut. He held a second blade in reserve in his left.

“Park’s closed.” Sam snarled the words, twisting to move out of the danger zone. He pushed his arms down hard in an X-block, forcing Holm’s blade hand downwards as his steel toe made contact with Holm’s thigh. In the next moment, he pulled Holm’s arm over and back into a wristlock.

“Looks like you’re open for business to me.” Holm’s lips peeled back in a rictus of anger and pain. The man wasn’t giving up and the crazed look in those eyes said no one was home, either. “You like my fire, ranger?”

Hell
. Three hundred acres and Sam’s team was on the line. He damned sure hadn’t liked the implications of the arsenal stashed in Holm’s woodland bunker, but these words were fuel for his fury.

Holm wasn’t done yet, though. Cursing, he fought Sam’s wristlock. A snap of bone announced he was free. “You got to be willing to sacrifice,” he snarled, putting a few feet between him and Sam.

Well, hell. That was two kinds of crazy. A second later, he heard Livy behind him.

Holm charged and it was like being hit by a freight train. Holm rained down lethal punches, and Sam returned the favor, striking hard and fast as he kept his body between the other man and Livy, leading him away from their campsite. Another blow and he and Holm were locked arm in arm, grappling fiercely.

Strike. Hit hard. Block.

The world shrank to the man trying to kill him.

 

When the trip wire had sounded, Sam had rolled off her, putting his finger to her lips. Motioning for silence. In the predawn light, he was an unfamiliar warrior. This was the man who fought overseas, who picked up a gun and did what needed doing to keep his country safe. Now he was keeping her safe—and the fiercely protective look on his face was both thrilling and annoying.

She had a job to do here, too.

Rolling silently to her feet, she’d pulled on her boots and chambered a round in her Glock. She’d trained for this kind of confrontation and she wasn’t helpless.

The warmth and something
else
she felt at his fierce protectiveness were satisfying, but she wasn’t hanging back and waiting for him to take care of business. This was
her
business. FBI business. Pushing to her feet, she’d moved out. This could simply turn out to be a false alarm, a nocturnal four-legged visitor who’d wandered into Sam’s trip wire.

Or not.

Twenty feet downslope, Sam was a dark shadow. And he wasn’t alone, not by a long shot. Sam lunged in a blur of motion and the other male grunted. She heard the wet thud of flesh slamming into flesh. Her gun was a liability in the near-dark. She couldn’t see to aim—and no way she would run the risk of hitting Sam. Her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, but not enough to take the chance.

The sharp, acrid smell of smoke almost choked her. Downslope, the smoke was thicker and denser, a moving carpet of gray. The forest fire that had kept them out here still burned on the horizon. The night sky was black, the stars smoked out, except along that deadly orange edge. When she looked, she caught the occasional bright, hot flicker as a ponderosa candled and flamed up.

That smoke was drifting away; the twinkle of spot fires was like some kind of otherworldly Christmas lights. The slope here, however, was lit right up, bright enough to make out individual pines and the thick haze of smoke. Holm had started another fire. She’d bet everything on that.

Drawing, she pointed her weapon at the combatants.

“FBI. Stand down,” she snarled. “Get your hands up, Holm Arthurs.”

She had to play this by the book. An arrest was risky, but her job was to bring him in. Not stand here like a damsel-in-distress and watch Sam pummel him. Or get pummeled.

Holm landed a punch, a hard left hook to Sam’s jaw that snapped Sam’s head back. Sam just growled and returned the blow. She didn’t know how Holm was fighting with a clearly injured wrist, but the man was a demon.

“You’re not leaving my woods,” Holm spat around a mouthful of blood. “Stupid coming here.”

He pulled a blade and smashed his head into Sam’s jaw.

“Draw,” Sam ordered her, rolling and pinning the other man’s arm to the ground.

Holm scissored his legs up, jackhammering into Sam’s back. The knife disappeared between the two men.

“Take the shot,” Sam roared. “Livy, just fucking do it!”

She got her finger on the trigger and pointed the gun. At the man she just might love.
Can’t do this
. The two men rolled again, reversing positions, and she still couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring herself to take the chance that her bullet would slam into Sam’s side, Sam’s back.

Think
.

There had to be another way to end this. Fast. Grabbing a burning branch, she waited for the next desperate roll and then brought her makeshift weapon down hard. Holm reared up, blade coming down, and Sam groaned. Pushed back.

Again
.

She raised the branch over her head, but then Holm was screaming, a high-pitched animal noise. Sam brought his feet up and pushed hard against Holm’s chest and the man staggered downhill. On fire. The heat from the branch had ignited the camouflage paint on his face. In a frenzy, the man ran and the flames leaped greedily, sucking in the air generated by his run, and crawling over his forehead. His hair. Down his clothes.

The flames from the branch bit into her fingers and she dropped it.
Oh, God
. All she could do was stand there and watch as Holm disappeared into the forest fire he’d set, screaming until he stopped and there was nothing left but the sounds of the flames.

“Christ, woman.” Sam rolled, extinguishing flames, and pushed to his feet. “Are you trying to set me on fire?”