Burns So Bad (Smoke Jumpers) (5 page)

Eventually, when he got tired of
watching, he stepped onto the crowded dance floor, cutting in smoothly. Two
well-aimed steps and he stood between Gia and Mack. Not that she’d noticed.

Which was part of the problem.

About the only time he had her eyes
on him was when they were three thousand feet in the air or fighting fire. He’d
always be a firefighter—and he suspected Gia would be too—but that
wasn’t
all
he was. Because fuck if he
didn’t want Gia to look at him and see a man.

He moved in and Mack flashed him
the bird. “Wait your turn.”

Like there was any hope of that.

The music howled, the cowboy singer
loud in his praises of Saturday night honkytonk, and Mack vined, the dance move
setting his steel-toes tap-tap-tapping. He must have seen something on Rio’s
face—or was just plain feeling charitable—because Mack sashayed
back, leaving room for Rio to step up.

Gia spun back, laughing.
Gotcha.
Unaware that he’d joined in the
fun, she slammed into him. Déjà vu.

He steadied her with his hands on her
hips, savoring her warmth through the faded denim. Flexing his fingers, he
repointed her in the right direction, waiting for her feet to rediscover the
song’s rhythm.

“Wow, Donovan.” She blinked at him
“Give a girl some warning, would you?”

Damned if he didn’t want to kiss
the surprised look right off her face. Or put it back there for a whole
different reason.

Mack slung a hand around her waist,
dragging her back into the line. “Cut the man some slack, Jackson. He just
wants to make sure you appreciate he’s been working out.”

Gia’s eyes dropped down Rio’s body
and he felt her passing glance like a lover’s hand wrapping around his good parts
and squeezing in all the right ways. Predictably, his dick sprang straight to
attention, leaving him rock-hard for his jump partner. Which probably was a
testament to how long his current sexual dry spell had been.

Nothing more.

Mack danced Gia down the line. Rio
hadn’t planned on letting go, but his fingers slipping away from her hips and
maybe—although he wouldn’t admit it—brushing her ass. He didn’t
want to dance, but he did want to get his hands on Gia. Since dancing was the
only way to do that right now, he tucked his thumbs in his belt and let his
feet find the rhythm of the country song.

Rio was a good dancer. He’d always
excelled at anything physical.

Gia was—enthusiastic.

She sashayed back up the line, not
quite to the beat, laughing and calling something over her shoulder to Mack.
Rio was fairly certain her parting shot had included at least one obscenity.
His partner had a potty mouth. Her eyes, though, were happy. He thought about
that for a moment, but that was the right word. And Gia enjoying herself was a
sight to see. He was used to seeing her tightly disciplined and focused, with
eyes for nothing but her LZ and the waiting fire.

Except when she had her arms around
him. Of course, she’d been rescuing his ass—if he was being fair, which
he wasn’t inclined to be, not right now—and her options had been hold on
tight or let go. Since he still wasn’t a fan of freefalling
sans
chute, he was glad she’d decided to
hold on.

The problem was, that almost
embrace had him imagining other scenarios where she held him wholeheartedly.

The fundamental problem with line
dancing was that no one needed a partner. There was also not much in the
touching department. Trading Ma’s in for a Regency ballroom and a waltz had
never seemed like a better idea.

Snagging her wrist, he pulled her
into line next to him.

“Dance with me.”

She shot him a look—as if
he’d forgotten what they were doing—but she popped into the line beside
him as Bob Segar belted out of the jukebox. He could have told her that he’d
known where she was and what she was doing the entire summer. But that would
have been creepy and the last thing he wanted to do was drive her away.

Because he wanted to pull her
close.

“Tush push!” Mack bellowed. Joey
sent up an answering whoop from his left and then the whole line exploded,
boots stomping the floor as the team swung into action to the mellow tones of
the sex and Segar’s voice rasping nostalgically.

Heel toe heel heel. Right foot,
left foot.

Mimi had invested in bar stools,
not dance floor, and thank God there was no space to spare. Each time Gia scooted,
her hips brushed his. When her hands swung up, clapping enthusiastically, her
fingertips brushed Rio’s chest. Thank God for small spaces.

One and two and three and
four—

The tush push shoved her ass and hips
forward and then back. Thanks to the limited dance floor her sweet curves
brushed his front. His arms enveloped her as he clapped over her head. That was
as close as he was getting to holding her tonight, unless his luck changed. He
didn’t want to need her like this, to spend every minute plotting to get
closer. That wasn’t how he rolled. Wasn’t who he was. He didn’t
do
need. Except when he was around Gia
Jackson.

She grooved, her body finally
catching up with the music, swinging her hips in one sexy circle. He danced
along, because, really, watching the faded denim pull tight over her hips and
ass was no hardship at all.

Cha-cha forward. Back. The blood in
his dick thumped out a drumbeat all its own, reminding him that his sexual dry
spell had gone on for far too long. Off-limits, he reminded his southern parts.
He could dance with her—he just couldn’t sleep with her.

One,
two, three four
.His thigh
brushed hers as she missed the count and stepped early, hopping on one foot to
rediscover her place in the line.
Five,
six
. Her fingers bounced off his hip as she moved.

The
heel of her boot planted itself on his toes. He grinned and leaned in. “You’re
a lethal weapon, Jackson,” he growled against her ear.

Tipping
her head back, she smiled up at him. “Suck it up, golden boy. You’ve got a pair
of steel-toes.”

Her hair brushed his
cheek—because he might, just might, have angled his face towards
hers—and he sucked in a deep breath of coconut-scented Suave.

Seven, eight.

He
could have kept dancing all night.

###

Gia collapsed in the booth, resting
her feet. The damned cowboy boots were nowhere near as comfortable as they looked, even if the red leather had screamed
Buy me
when she spotted the pair on
Macy’s sale rack. She considered slipping them off underneath the table but
decided against it. Riling Mimi up with a health and safety code violation
probably wasn’t prudent if she wanted the bar’s owner to give her a ride home.

Plus, Mimi’s tequila packed a
punch.

If she took the boots off, her body
might assume that was a memo to relax completely and go to sleep. Not her best
plan. She’d heard that was how Evan had met his soon-to-be wife. Faye Duncan
had given in to the tireds in Ma’s and Evan had scooped her up. Gia didn’t want
a diamond ring or a trip down the aisle herself, but Evan seemed happy enough.
He’d pulled Faye out of the line and he was slow-dancing her to a tune only the
two of them could hear, his big arms wrapped tightly around her.

There were worse fates.

Maybe she should try dating again.

There were other pretty fish in the
sea besides Rio Donovan, and surely her hormones could pick an alternate man.
He couldn’t possibly be the only one to get her all worked up. Evan bent his
head and kissed Faye, Gia looked away. Was being a great kisser a family thing?

Not going there, she reminded
herself.

The bar was a happy blur and she
could feel herself relaxing for the first time in weeks. Of course, maybe that
was because she wasn’t pussyfooting around her jump partner. She had to do
something about the way he looked at her. Other people were starting to notice.
The problem was, she liked the way it made her feel. It probably didn’t mean
much of anything—Rio loved women, loved touching—but she warmed
right up inside when his dark eyes slid over her and then paused like he’d
found something he liked.

Had
he
fantasized about kissing her?

Once again, so not tonight’s
problem. She munched a few peanuts and curled up in the booth, her head tipping
back against the booth. Five minutes. She’d close her eyes for just five
minutes and then—

“You’re not driving.”

Gia’s head snapped forward with a
jerk. She blinked sleepily up at the big body blocking her view of the bar.
Yep. That was Rio leaning in and cutting off her exit route. “Of course not.
I’m not stupid or suicidal.”

He didn’t touch the opening she’d
handed him. Instead, he tucked a hand beneath her elbow and gently tugged her
forward. “I’ll take you home.”

Newsflash. He still looked at her
like he wanted to eat her up.

Her girly bits were fine with that.

Her head? Not so much.

“No need.” She pulled back, waving a
hand toward the bar. “I’m bumming a ride from Mimi.”

“I’ll take you,” he repeated. “The
bar doesn’t close for another hour and you’re asleep sitting up.”

True.

“You’re on my way,” he continued.
“Hell, we could drive to my place and you could walk home. Your cabin is six
down from mine. But, if you ask nicely, I’ll stop the truck in front of your
door.”

He held out his hand and grinned at
her. His other hand swiped her purse from the table.

She thought about the offer for a
minute, more to prolong the moment than out of any true hesitation. It probably
counted as sad and pathetic that her dance with Rio was the closest she’d
gotten to any action lately. Or that she liked the way he held her hand now.

“An offer I can’t pass up? I’m in.”
She slid out of the booth, brushing against him as she stood up.

Most of the jump team had left
while she’d been holding her snooze fest in the booth, and only a small handful
of regulars propped up the bar. She caught Mimi’s eye and waved as Rio steered
her toward the door.
Don’t need a ride
she mouthed and Mimi shot her a thumbs up.

It was just a ride, but she
appreciated the vote of confidence.

Rio didn’t say anything else as
they crunched their way across the parking lot gravel. The night air cleared
her head some, although she still was better off riding shotgun. Rio’s truck
was a big black sleek beast—parked next to hers. She hesitated, but she’d
come back for the vehicle tomorrow.

Rio reached around her, popping open
the passenger side door. The heavy weight of his hand burned into the small of
her back as she grabbed the roll bar and swung up. He was probably afraid she’d
fall on her ass in the parking lot. She considered the possibility and decided
it was still on the table.

Damn tequila.

Rio’s truck was a mid-range with
plenty of power. The tow rig said he meant business, but all the stuff in the back
was neatly organized in milk crates. That he’d labeled, for crying out loud.
She didn’t know anyone even made label makers anymore. That kind of
organization effort was superhuman. She tried not to stare while she buckled up
and got comfortable. Moments later, he dropped into the driver’s seat and
started the engine. While she pretended he was the Strong taxi service, he
drove them out of the parking lot and down Strong’s one main street, headed for
the base camp where the jump team had a row of summer cabins. Since she didn’t
need to provide directions, she had plenty of quiet time to stare at him.

His hands on the wheel, big and
sure, effortlessly guided the truck down the road and over the occasional rut.
He drove well, like he did everything. Which got her to thinking about what
else he might do well.

And that was trouble she didn’t
need to borrow.

As soon as they reached the cabins,
she opened the door and jumped down before Rio could come around and get the
door for her. She could feel him looking at her, but this wasn’t a date and she
didn’t wait for a guy to lend her a hand when she had two perfectly good ones
of her own.

There was probably a bad sexual pun
in there, she thought muzzily as she fished in her purse for her key. Maybe she
should borrow Rio’s label maker, because the bag needed a CDC intervention and
her key was definitely not surfing the top layer of crap.

He plucked the bag from her hands
and, wouldn’t you know it, found her key immediately. At least she wouldn’t be
sleeping on the porch.

“Home sweet home,” she said. “You
didn’t even make me walk.”

He grinned and bumped her shoulder
with his, subtly steering her towards the porch of her cabin. She hadn’t
bothered turning the light on before she’d left, so the front was pitch black.

“I can be a gentleman.”

“So I’ve heard.” Sometimes. The
whispers promised Rio was a wild man in bed.The stories he told around the campfires
were nothing compared to the rumors. He was big. He was bad. He was a damned
Donovan, with the sensual creativity and drive to match. He also liked being in
charge, if what she’d heard was true. Very, very much in charge.

Gia didn’t give up control.

But Rio tempted her.

He fell into step beside her, heat
radiating from him. Yep. Definite temptation.

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip,
Jackson.”

He’d called her
Gia
earlier. Now she was clearly back in
the partner bucket.

“But it’s really good gossip,” she
pointed out and clomped up the stairs. When she jabbed at the lock with her
key, she missed. Definitely too much tequila.

“Let me.” His hand closed around
hers and took the key away.

That sounded perfect. There were
all
sorts
of things she was ready to
let him do.

“Okay.” She leaned in toward him.