Page 8 of Hot Shot

I land with a thump in a cradle of coarse leather that smells like it’s soaked up every campfire for a thousand years. My eyes blink open to find that perfect, beautiful face of his inches from mine. His breath licks my lips.

For a second, neither of us move. The leather of his bunker gear is rough against my bare breasts, sharp against my bristling nipples, his hands gripping me through thick gloves, though I swear I can feel their warmth as if we’re skin to skin. One is around my waist, the other on my bare ass cheek. My pants are twisted around my ankles like absolute dickheads.

He breaks the spell, shielding me from the rest of the guys with his body as he turns his head. “Get back to the truck,” he orders.

“I dunno,” someone says, I think Tate. “We should take a good look and see if that fire’s contained.”

The guys snicker.

“It’s contained,” Wilder snaps. “And if you don’t get back to the truck right fucking now, you’re not gonnaseeanything but the inside of your ass for the next week.”

“You could give them amnesia,” I mumble. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

He stands us up effortlessly as the others exit the backyard. When he chuckles, his eyes twinkle, still close enough that I can see the little gold flecks catching firelight. His tone lowers, gravelly and rich, like he’s about to impart a secret. “Not me. I’d like to remember this for a long, long time.”

My cheeks flush like the fire just kicked up a notch, and I try to sound nonchalant when I laugh, but it’s so chalant, I want to die.

His strong hand keeps my body flush with his, and he looks down at me, smirking just a little.

“Tell me I have a gorgeous body, and I’ll hold it against you.” My attempt at a joke is so pathetic, I’m not even sure I deliver it right.

But my attempt at humor melts into a lecherous puddle when his smile fades and he says, “I’ve been thinking about your gorgeous body for ten years. I should be a gentleman and say I didn’t look, but somehow, you’re even more perfect than I remember.”

My mouth hangs open as my eyelids, my breasts, and my baby maker grow heavy and warm. But before I can speak, he flips the switch and looks to Jessa like he hadn’t just said what he’d said.

“Where are her clothes?” he asks her.

I wonder if I imagined it. “The fire,” I answer for her, refusing to be ignored.

“Here,” Jessa says from somewhere behind me. “Let me…ah, here’s a robe. Come here, darling, let’s get your arms in this…yes, that’s it. Good. Now turn around and…there we go.”

I don’t intend to mewl when Wilder steps back, but booze has obliterated any semblance of a filter I might have possessed. Jessa laughs nervously.

I look down to find that she’s put me in the short, silky white robe I wore on my wedding day. My face scrunches up as I tug it taut, to read the most offensive word in the English language—Bride—upside down and with one eye closed. “Ugh, seriously? You put me inthis?”

She ignores me. “I’m terribly sorry, Wilder. We were just?—”

“Burning that traitor’s shit,” I finish.

He chuckles again. Why is that sound so sexy? His crooked smile and gorgeous mouth put a big fat multiplier on the effect. “Mrs. Crowley called 911, said there was a fire at your house,” Wilder says. “Maybe it’s time to call it a night?”

“Of course.” Jessa adjusts her arms around me, shifting to take my weight when I lean into her.

“Boo.” I blow a raspberry and offer a thumbs down.

He eyes us as Jessa struggles to keep me upright. “Think you can get her inside okay?”

“Psh.” I wave a hand. “I can walk. I’mfine.”

Jessa glances at the fire, then at the house where the stairs between me and bed stand, her face betraying her. “Erm…”

“Here, I’ll take her,” he says, and Jessa looks relieved.

“First off, I’m right here, helloooo?” I wave a hand between them. They still ignore me. “And second, I said I’m—oh!”

Just like that, my hot firefighter ex-boyfriend has me in princess carry and is walking me into the house. We’re silent as he carries me up the dark stairwell.

For once, I don’t know what to say.

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