Page 16 of Twister

“We’re wedged all the way to the back. We’re clear.”

“We’ve got some heavy equipment ready. It’s going to get really noisy and dusty for a few minutes. Cover your noses and mouths.”

The whir and revving sound came from the pile of debris blocking the entrance, and there was no more time for talking.

Twister bowed his head, clearly trying to regain his equilibrium from both his panic attack and the kiss.

That kiss made her assess everything she believed about who she was…the kind of woman she was. He incinerated her with his hot, plundering kiss, and she almost felt reborn by that fire.

“Copy that,” he growled, scrubbing his hand along his partially stubbled jaw. As the heavy machinery started up, he turned back to her, and Sadie got hit with a sudden riveting rush that set her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. His burnished eyes bored into her, searing her with that burning look. Then he grabbed the back of her neck in a lightning-quick move. With a low growl, showing both his frustration and urgent need, he slanted his mouth across hers, and sank his tongue deep, kissing her in such a reckless way, she wondered if he was really over that panic attack. His mouth tasted of hardcore sex and uncontrollable desire, and Sadie had never known this fever of need, this raw, acute hunger. She gave herself up to the maddening sensations, knowing without a doubt that Twister would catch her before she fell.

“Twister,” she said against his mouth.

“Shane,” he whispered. “My first name is Shane.”

Her senses disintegrated. His name wasn’t just sexy, but he offered it to her like a gift, and she couldn’t help the vision it created in her mind. That of a lone gunman who had saved a whole town, expecting nothing in return, riding away, thatcrushing loneliness in the stiff set of his shoulders, and the pain in his heart captured in that little boy’s voice as he called to him with such despair.

The debris shifted, and a small backhoe bucket broke through, shifting the remnants of the wall. On a jagged intake of air, Twister caught her jaw and dragged his mouth away. His breathing raw and labored, he tried to gentle his hold. “Sadie,” he whispered brokenly, his breath hot against her ear. “You do fill up every space.”

His words were…intense, as if they had another…aching…meaning, and she wanted to know what it was. What had he meant?

The bucket tore away some more of the rubble—chunks of drywall, splintered wood, insulation, wiring, and rebar—widening the hole enough for the light to come streaming in. Dust swirled across the small space, drifting back to them. They covered their noses and mouths.

The grind of the backhoe squealed into their small space, and she endured the horrible noise as it shifted position and raked the rest of the wreckage out of the now large-enough hole. There were more voices than she could distinguish from each other, all of them right outside the now gaping opening. Dust settled on them as Twister said, “Let’s go, babe.”

Babe? Oh, that was nice. She liked that a lot.

He rose into a crouched position to help her up. She placed her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet. “Can you walk? Any pain?”

“I’m all right,” she said with a mixture of dismay and relief. It was stupid and certainly not a place to have sex, but there had been more than enough room. If only they could have rescued them just a little while later.

He didn’t seem to register her words, or he wanted to keep his hands on her just a little bit longer. He banded his armaround her waist and helped her to the hole, giving her over to his waiting teammate, his hands reluctantly leaving her. Dagger grabbed her wrist, and she maneuvered over the rubble beneath her feet.

The area was full of carnage and much more rubble…and, she swallowed hard, blood. A lot of blood, but Twister was greeting his teammates with a look of profound relief to see them all whole, albeit with cuts and gashes, but no one was seriously hurt.

“Damn, when we couldn’t find you, man, we were worried like hell,” Flash said, giving him a hard, backslapping hug.

“Where’s my kit?” Twister said, going immediately into medic mode. Brawler handed it to him, blood on his face, and a scrape on his arm.

“There’s a lot of people who need you, buddy.”

He nodded, turned to her and gave her a look that told her to sit and rest, then he was off.

Dagger took her arm and took her over to a mostly intact restaurant, righting an overturned chair. He left for a few minutes and came back with some paper towels and two bottles of water. “Thank you,” she said as Twister moved from person to person, giving what aid he could, working feverishly over one man who was struggling to hold on. When Easy touched his shoulder as he tried to revive the man, his face said it all. Utter devastation.

That was when she realized how strange it must be for him to operate with these two conflicting goals. Healer and operator. The giver of life, and the taker of life. She had to wonder if that was adding to what she’d witnessed in their “bomb shelter.” Or if it was something else. She hungered to know him as she watched him give aid, knowing that he must be utterly exhausted.

Finally, all the injured and dead had been tended to and bundled up and raced to the hospital. She couldn’t seem totake her eyes off him. He was kneeling near a pool of blood, the fatigue in him tangible. He dropped his head, his altered position accentuated the strong contours of his jaw and the muscled thickness of his neck, and Sadie was struck again by his powerful build.

His dark hair shone in the light almost as if it was at that moment when coal turned into diamond. He turned his head, and even as that fatigue dragged at him, he got to his feet and treated every single one of his teammates. His glances at her said he was saving the best for last.

When he finally sauntered over, he was watching her with an intent that Sadie found unsettling, making her even more conscious of what they had done together in a moment of great personal need. God, what a man—so masculine, his looks, his size, his strength, even the way he moved. But now everything was rigidly contained behind a wall of the coolly reserved professional.

But she could still taste the passion on her lips and knew better. She had seen that fiery core of him, something she wouldn’t soon forget. With that memory came the deep, dangerous waters in the form of vivid images, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The sensation intensified as he reached her with that confident stance of a warrior in action.

He was standing very close to her, and Sadie was transfixed by the intensity of his gaze as he reached out and slipped his fingers under her chin, turning her head to the side. He studied the side of her face for just a moment before releasing her and dipping down to his bag, pulling out alcohol and gauze.

Very gently, he cupped her face and, with his focus on the wound on her temple, he cleaned it gently and thoroughly. “You don’t need stitches,” he said gruffly.

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