The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5 (126 page)

To expedite the matter, several of the men hoisted the barely conscious big guy and his moaning companions into the truck, then stood like a wall until it drove away.

Gull received a number of shoulder and back slaps, countless offers of a drink. He wisely accepted all of them to avoid an argument as he watched Libby, Cards and Gibbons help Dobie into one of the vans.

“Do you want a doc to look you over?” Little Bear asked him.

“No. I’ve had worse falling out of bed.”

Little Bear watched the van as Gull did. “He’ll be all right. It takes more than three assholes to down a smoke jumper.” He gave Gull a last shoulder slap, then turned back toward the bar when the van pulled out of the lot.

Gull stayed where he was, trying to reach for his calm again. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but at the moment, elusive.

“Is this yours?”

He turned to see Rowan holding his cigar.

“Yeah. I guess I dropped it.”

“Butterfingers.” She took a few puffs until the tip glowed true again, then helped herself to one long, deep drag. “Prime cigar, too,” she added, then offered it back. “Shame to waste it.”

Gull took it, studied it. “That’s it,” he decided.

He flung it down again and, grabbing her, yanked her against him. “That’s it,” he repeated before his mouth crushed down on hers.

A man could only take so much stimulation before demanding release.

She slapped both hands on his chest, shoved. “Hey.”

For a moment he figured he’d experience her excellent uppercut up close and personal. Then she mirrored his initial move and yanked him back.

Her mouth was as he’d imagined. Hot and soft and avid. It met his with equal fervor, as if a switch had been flipped in each of them from stop to go. She pressed that killer body to his without hesitation, without restraint, a gift and a challenge, until the chilly air under the sizzling stars seemed to smoke.

He tasted the sharp tang of tequila on her tongue, a fascinating contrast to the scent of ripe peaches that clung to her skin; felt the hard, steady gallop of her heart that matched the pace of his own.

Then she drew back, looked in his eyes, held there a moment before drawing away.

“You’ve got skills,” she stated.

“Ditto.”

She blew out a breath—a long one. “You’re a temptation, Gull, I can’t deny it. Stupid to deny it, and I’m not stupid.”

“Far from it.”

She rubbed her lips together as if revisiting his taste. “The thing is, once you mix sex into it, even smart people can get stupid. So . . . better not.”

“No’s your choice. Mine’s to keep trying.”

“I can’t hold that against you.” She smiled at him now, not her usual smirk but something warmer. “You fight like a maniac.”

“I tend to get carried away, so I try to avoid it when I can.”

“That’s a good policy. What do you say we postpone the tequila and get some ice on that jaw of yours.”

“That’s fine.”

As they started back, she glanced over at him. “What was that technique you were using on those bastards?”

“An ancient form called kicking ass.”

She laughed, gave him a friendly hip bump. “Impressive.”

He returned the hip bump. “Sleep with me and I’ll give you lessons.”

She laughed again. “You can try harder than that.”

“I’m just getting warmed up,” he told her, then opened the door to the overheated bar and lousy music.

 

 

ROWAN ZIPPED
her warm-up jacket as she stepped outside. She’d put in some time in the gym, and checked the jump list on the board in Operations. She was first load, fourth man. Now she wanted a solid run on the track, maybe some chow. She’d already checked and rechecked her gear. If the siren sounded, she’d be ready.

Otherwise . . .

Otherwise, she thought as she shot a wave to one of the mechanics, there was always work, always training. But the fact was she was ready, more than ready, to jump her first fire of the season. She cast a look up at the sky as she walked toward the track. Clear, wide and as pretty a spring blue as anyone could want.

Below it, the base chugged along in early-season morning mode. Jumpers and support staff stayed busy, washing vehicles or tuning them up—or tuning themselves with calisthenics on the training field. After the night’s revelry plenty were getting a slow start, but she wanted air and effort.

And saw as she looked toward the track, she wasn’t the only one.

She recognized Gull not only by the body, but the speed. Fast feet, she thought again. Obviously tequila shots and a bar fight hadn’t slowed him down.

She had to admire that.

As she jogged closer she noted that despite the cool air he’d worked up a good sweat, one that ran a dark vee down the faded gray tee he wore.

She had to admire that, too. She liked a man who pushed himself, who tested his limits even when he was in his own world.

Though she’d already loosened up, she paused to stretch before peeling off her jacket. And timed her entrance to the track to veer on beside him.

“What’re you up to?”

He held up two fingers, saving his breath.

“Going for three?” When he nodded, she wondered if he could keep up that killing pace for another mile. “Me too. Go ahead, Flash, I can’t keep up with you.”

She fell off his pace, found her own rhythm.

She loved to run, loved it with a pure heart, but imagined if she’d had Gull’s speed, she’d have adored it. Then she forgot him, tuned into her own body, the air, the steady slap of her shoes on the track. She let her mind empty so it could fill again with scattered thoughts.

Personal supply list, juggling some time in for sewing some PG bags, Gull’s mouth, Dobie. She should give her father a buzz since she was on call and couldn’t get over to see him. Why did Janis paint her toenails when nobody saw them anyway? Gull’s teeth scraping over her bottom lip. Assholes who ganged up on a little guy.

Gull kicking ass in a dark parking lot.

Gull’s ass. Very nice.

Probably better to think of something else, she told herself as she hit the first mile. But hell, nothing else was as appealing. Besides, thinking wasn’t doing.

What she needed—what they all needed—was for the siren to blast. Then she’d be too busy to fantasize about, much less consider, getting tangled up with a man she worked with.

Too bad she hadn’t met him in the winter, though how she’d have run into him when he lived in California posed a problem. Still, say she’d taken a vacation, dropped into his arcade place. Would she have experienced that sizzle if she’d met him across the lane in the bowling alley, or over a hot game of Mortal Kombat?

Hard to say.

He’d have looked as good, she reminded herself. But would there have been that punch if she’d looked into those green eyes when he sold her some tokens?

Wasn’t at least part of the zip because of what they both did here, the training, the sweat, the anticipation, the intense satisfaction of knowing only a select few could make the cut and be what they were?

And, hello, wasn’t that the reason she didn’t get sexually or romantically involved with other jumpers? How could you trust your feelings when they were pumped through the adrenaline rush? And what did you do with those feelings when and if—and most likely when—things went south? You’d still have to work with, and trust your life to, somebody you’d been sleeping with and weren’t sleeping with anymore. And one or both of you had to be fairly pissed about it.

Entirely better to meet somebody, even if he sold you tokens in an arcade, have a nice, uncomplicated short-term relationship. Then go back to doing what you do.

She kicked up her pace to hit the last mile, then eased off to a cooldown jog. Her eyebrows lifted when Gull fell into pace beside her.

“You still here?”

“I did five. Felt good.”

“No tequila haze this morning?”

“I don’t get hangovers.”

“Ever? What’s your secret?” When he only smiled, she shook her head. “Yeah, yeah, if I sleep with you, you’ll tell me. How’s the jaw, et cetera?”

“It’s okay.” Banging like a drum after the five miles, but he knew that would subside.

“I heard Dobie nixed the overnight for observation. L.B.’s got him off the jump list until he’s fit.”

Gull nodded. He’d checked the list himself. “It won’t take him long. He’s a tough little bastard.”

She slowed to a walk, then stopped to stretch. “What were you listening to?” she asked, gesturing to the MP3 player strapped to his arm.

“Ear-busting rock,” he said with a smile. “You can borrow it the next time you run.”

“I don’t like music when I run. I like to think.”

“The best thing about running is
not
thinking.”

As he stretched, she checked out the body she’d been thinking about. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They started the walk back together.

“I didn’t come out here because I saw you on the track.”

“Well, hell. Now my day’s ruined.”

“But I did admire your ass when you were whizzing by.”

“That’s marginally satisfying,” he considered, “but I find it doesn’t fully massage my ego.”

“You’re a funny guy, Gull. You tend to use fancy words, and read fancy books—I hear. You’re mean as a rattler in a fight, fast as a cheetah and spend your winters with foosball.”

He bent to snag her jacket off the ground. “I like a good game of foosball.”

As she tied the sleeves around her waist, she gave his face a long study. “You’re hard to figure.”

“Only if you’re looking for one size fits all.”

“Maybe, but—” She broke off as she spotted the truck pulling up in front of Operations. “Hey!” she shouted, waved her arms, then ran.

Gull watched the man get out of the truck, tall and solid in a battered leather jacket and scarred boots. Silver hair caught by the wind blew back from a tanned, strong-jawed face. He turned, then opened his arms so Rowan could jump into them. Gull might have experienced a twinge of jealousy, but he recognized Lucas “Iron Man” Tripp.

And it was a pretty thing, in his opinion, to see a man give his grown daughter a quick swing.

“I was just thinking about you,” Rowan told her father. “I was going to give you a call later. I’m on the second stick, so I couldn’t come by.”

“I missed you. I thought I’d check in, grab a minute and see how it’s all going.” He pulled off his sunglasses, hooked them in his pocket. “So, a strong crop of rooks this year.”

“Yeah. In fact . . .” Rowan glanced around, then signaled to Gull so he’d change direction and join them. “Here’s the one who broke the base record on the mile-and-a-half. Hotshot out of California.” She kept her arm around her father’s waist while Gull walked to them.

“Gulliver Curry, Lucas Tripp.”

“It’s a genuine pleasure, Mr. Tripp,” Gull told him as he extended a hand.

“You can drop the mister. Congratulations on the base record, and making the cut.”

“Thanks.”

She had her father’s eyes, Gull noted as they covered the small talk. And his bone structure. But what made more of an impression was the body language of both. It said, simply and unquestionably, they were an unassailable unit.

“There’s that son of a bitch.” Yangtree let the door of Operations slap behind him, and came forward to exchange one-armed hugs with Lucas.

“Man, it’s good to see you. So they let you skate through again this year?”

“Hell. Somebody’s got to keep these screwups in line.”

“When you’re tired of riding herd on the kids, I can always use another instructor.”

“Teaching rich boys to jump out of planes.”

“And girls,” Lucas added. “It’s a living.”

“No packing in, packing out, no twenty hours on a line. You miss it every day,” Yangtree said, and pointed at him.

“And twice on Sunday.” Tripp ran a hand down Rowan’s back. “But my knees don’t.”

“I hear that.”

“We’ll get you a couple rocking chairs,” Rowan suggested, “and maybe a nice pot of chamomile tea.”

Lucas tugged her earlobe. “Make it a beer and I’m there. Then again, I heard the bunch of you had plenty of those last night, and got into a little ruckus.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Yangtree claimed, and winked at Gull. “Or you couldn’t handle, right, Kick Ass?”

“A momentary distraction.”

“Did the momentary distraction give you that bruise on your jaw?” Lucas wondered.

Gull rubbed a hand over it. “I’d say you should see the other guys, but it’s hard to be sure how they looked since they ran off with their tails tucked.”

“From having them rammed into your fists.” Lucas nodded at Gull’s scraped and swollen knuckles. “How’s the man they ganged up on?”

“Do you know everything?” Rowan demanded.

“Ear to the ground, darling.” Lucas kissed her temple. “My ear’s always to the ground.”

“Dobie’s a little guy, but he got some licks in.” Yangtree turned his head, spat on the ground. “They beat on him pretty good until Kick Ass here came along. Of course, before all that, your girl put two of them on their asses.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, too.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“So I’m told. Starting it’s stupid,” Lucas stated. “Finishing it’s necessary.”

Rowan narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t come by to check in, you came by to check
on
.”

“Maybe. Want to fight about it?”

She gave her father a poke in the chest, grinned.

And the siren went off.

Rowan kissed her father’s cheek. “See you later,” she said, and took off running. Yangtree slapped Lucas’s shoulder and did the same.

“It was good to meet you.”

Tripp took the hand Gull offered, studied the knuckles. “You’re off the list because of these.”