Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) (12 page)

She rested her chin on her hands that were pressed against his chest and met his gaze. “Are you afraid to be seen with me, Captain Cowboy?”

One of his eyebrows shot up. “Afraid to be seen with Glacier Creek High School’s Miss Congeniality? Hell, no. My reputation could use the boost.”

“It’ll just be two people having breakfast.” She reminded herself as much as Sam.

He nodded solemnly. “I like what I do with my life, Laurel. That’s not going to change.”

“I repeat, just breakfast, Captain Cowboy.” Laurel was proud of her ability to remain cool in spite of the fact that her insides were shouting at her to end things now before she got in too deep.

“I like this, too,” he said softly before leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose. “A lot.”

Laurel liked it a lot, too, which was precisely why she was ignoring her insides. She rolled off him, hoping the loss of contact between their bodies would help refocus her head.

“I just need to check in with Bryce first. I want to talk to Tyson before they head out to the park for the day.”

“Sure. I’ll get the shower warmed up.”

Sam climbed out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. Laurel paused as she dialed her phone to admire the perfection that was Sam’s naked ass. When he stopped at the kitchen and poured some food in Oreo’s bowl, Laurel realized she was in big trouble. The man prowling through her loft was more than just a sexy ass. And that was probably what she was attracted to the most.

“W
hat’s the over-under
on this crop of rookies, Cap?” Hugh Ferguson called to Sam from behind the bar.

The man was filling pitchers of beer for the rowdy crowd that had assembled at The Drop Zone. Apparently, it was a tradition in Glacier Creek for everyone to celebrate the men and women who survived the first day of rookie camp with a beer and a fish fry at the local tavern. It was barely five o’clock on a Monday and it seemed like most of the town had crammed into the bar. Sam had to give Hugh Ferguson his due for being not only a top notch smokejumper, but a marketing genius as well.

Sam glanced toward the back of the room where the twelve men and three women were being congratulated for passing the initial PT unit. Although, he wasn’t sure the rookies should be celebrating just yet. The forest service’s requirement of seven pull-ups, twenty-five push-ups, forty-five sit-ups, and a one-and-one-half mile run in under eleven minutes was a cake walk compared to what they’d face during the brutal four-week camp, much less the actual four to five month fire season.

“You know as well as I do that the odds are only five or six will make it to the end of the month,” Sam said. “But there’s a lot of talent in that bunch. I’m confident that between this rookie class and the part-time staff we’ll have the right crew when the season starts.”

“Pfeiffer will drop out by Thursday,” Ferguson said as he pulled the cork from a wine bottle and poured Chardonnay into two glasses. “He tries out every year but never gets past the first pack out. Last year, he was screaming like a girl at the tree climb. I swear he only comes to camp to get laid by the smokejumper groupies.”

Sure enough, the bulky firefighter in question had a harem of young women surrounding him, hanging on his every word. Sam grinned as he lifted his bottle of beer to his lips. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for using every tool in the shed.”

Hugh scoffed as he headed down the bar, the two wine glasses in his hand. “If you’re lucky some poor woman will marry his ass before he ages out.”

“Who’s Uncle Hugh marrying off now?”

Laurel slipped in between two barstools, her body brushing up against Sam’s as she propped her elbows behind her on top of the wooden bar and leaned back so that she had a clear view of the rest of the room. Sam let out a slow, agonized breath at the sight of her. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d last been near her—last touched her—and his body was feeling every second of their separation.

The frilly, yellow sundress she wore swirled around her knees when she moved. A perfect white pearl tethered to a leather band swayed provocatively from side to side just above the valley between her breasts. When Laurel hooked the heel of her boot on the rail at the base of the wooden bar, one of the skimpy straps of her dress slid down her shoulder. Sam didn’t bother checking his movements. He reached out and slowly pushed the strap back up, allowing his finger to trail along her smooth skin as he did. Laurel watched him through the fringes of her eyelashes, her lips seeming to part on a sigh.

It was a bold, proprietary statement in front of most of the town, but Sam didn’t give a shit. He wanted everyone to know they were involved. More importantly, he wanted Laurel to know it. She was still hung up on him being a smokejumper, he got that. But this wasn’t about marriage and a white picket fence. This was about two people enjoying each other’s company in an adult, no-strings-attached relationship for as long as it lasted.

At least that was what he kept telling himself.

She slowly lifted her gaze from his finger that was still loitering on her shoulder to study his face. “Someone’s getting married?” The breathless way she asked the question made his body grow hard.

Reluctantly, Sam pulled his hand away from her warm skin. “No. Just wishful thinking on your uncle’s part about Pfeiffer.”

She laughed. “Pfeiffer hasn’t given up yet? How many pull-ups did he manage this year?”

“He eked out the seven he needed.”

Laurel’s eyes seemed to be fixated on his chest while she chewed on her plump bottom lip. “How many can you do, Captain Cowboy?”

Sam swallowed a long sip of beer in order to quench his suddenly dry mouth. “I did twenty-four this morning.”

Her chin jerked up and Sam was surprised at the heat in her green eyes. “I’ll just bet you did.” Her smile was a bit smug. “I’m sure you enjoyed showing off in front of your team and the new recruits. I hope you didn’t let anyone best you.”

He took another pull from his beer before answering. “Dodson got twenty-five.”

Laurel’s gasp sounded more like a laugh. “I have to say I’m surprised, but then, Tyler is a bit of a stud.”

Jealousy, hot and sharp, licked at Sam’s gut at the thought of Laurel ogling Tyler Dodson while he flaunted his washboard abs at the pull-up bar this morning. Kingston had been the first to shed his shirt, throwing it down in challenge when there were only five remaining in the competition. Clark, Ferguson, and Dodson had followed suit, causing a chant among the rest of the crowd for Sam to do the same.

Laurel had been right. Sam had something to prove, not only to the rookies, but to the team serving under him. Answering their challenge, Sam had yanked off his shirt and tossed it on the pile. The five of them took to the bars, flexing their muscles and showing the rookies and everyone else what kind of strength it took to be a smokejumper. And when it was over, Tyler had nudged Sam by one.

“I let him win.”

This time her laughter rang out across the room as she tossed her head back to let the sound escape. That pulse was beating wildly at her neck again and Sam wrapped his fingers more tightly around his bottle of beer to keep from touching her there.

“I would have liked to have seen that,” she said, her eyes drifting to his chest again. She’d likely already heard all about the testosterone-fueled exhibition from her cousin, Miranda, Sam realized too late. “I’m sure you had a good reason to let Tyler beat you.”

He had. One of the trainers, a hard-ass former smokejumper, had been berating Dodson from the minute he’d stepped on base that morning. It was only after inquiring of Jacqui Edwards that Sam learned the guy was Dodson’s stepfather. It irked Sam that, even as adults, the guy would try to belittle his own family. “Mike Eldridge was being an ass to him.”

Laurel’s face softened and she turned and linked her arm through his. “So, you’re a big softy with people as well as dogs.” She gave his arm a squeeze and Sam suddenly wished they were anywhere but this crowded bar. “There’s a lot of history there. Mike can be a prickly jerk to his stepson. Russ used to act as a buffer between them. I’m glad you’ve stepped into Russ’s shoes. I’m pretty sure Tyler feels the same way, Captain Cowboy.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I wouldn’t let Tyler in on your secret, though. He’s got a lot of pride packed into those sexy muscles.”

A bartender slid a plate of nachos and Laurel’s white wine toward Sam. He was glad for the distraction because he didn’t want Laurel thinking about Dodson’s damn muscles. She reached over to snag a chip off the plate, but Sam pulled it away.

“You’re not going to share?” She gaped at him incredulously.

“I’ll share my nachos, Laurel. But I’m done sharing you.”

Her lips closed and her eyes grew stormy, but Sam didn’t give her time to protest. He handed her his beer and her wine and turned her toward the crowd. Grabbing the plate of nachos, he took her elbow and guided her through the maze of tables toward a spot in the back corner of the bar. Partially obscured by a parachute canopy that had likely belonged to Hugh at one time, the table suited his purpose of privacy.

Unfortunately, his plan was botched by one of the rookies—Sam couldn’t for the life of him remember the guy’s name—who was already at the table shoveling down a piece from one of the cakes the local bakery had donated for the evening. He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide as Sam pinned him with a stare that he’d perfected on mouthy corporals in Afghanistan.

“Hey, Cap,” the guy murmured before his eyes darted to Laurel. “Uh, here, why don’t you take this seat. I’m headed home to catch a few Zs before tomorrow, anyway.” He swiped at the table with a napkin and skirted around Laurel, making his way to the front of the bar. “I’ll see you in the morning, captain. Sir.”

Laurel shook her head as she put the wine and beer down on the table. “Was that really necessary?”

Sam placed the plate of nachos on the table and pulled Laurel’s body against his. “Hell, yeah,” he growled.

Nudging her with his hips, he pressed her into the darkened corner as he seized her mouth in a deep, searching kiss. His hands found her ass through the thin cotton of her dress. The blood rushed from his brain to his crotch when her body arched into his.

He felt her start to resist, but then just as suddenly she was sliding her tongue against his, opening her mouth wider to give him better access. Sam wedged a thigh between her legs and she bucked. In return, Laurel fisted her fingers in his shirt seemingly trying to close the miniscule distance between their bodies. The noise from the bar faded away until all Sam could hear were the deep sounds of need coming from the back of her throat.

“I missed you,” she whispered when he broke the kiss to explore her neck. “The loft was lonely with only Oreo’s snoring to keep me company.”

“Let’s skip the damn nachos and go back to your place,” Sam said as his brushed his lips along her jaw.

Laurel sighed. “I. . .we can’t. My parents are there. I shouldn’t even be here. I’d planned on studying tonight.” She balled her hands into fists and thumped his chest. “Instead I’m doing this. With you. Again.”

Sam chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Because you like ‘this’ too much.”

She punched his chest again. “I’m still trying to figure out what ‘this’ is.”

“Damn it, it doesn’t have to
be
anything other than sex. Really great sex, I might add.”

She pulled out of their embrace and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. A strand of hair had fallen into her face and she blew at it with lips that were still puffy from his kisses. “If you were really that type of guy, you would have moved on by now.”

Sam took a step back, trying to focus on her words while still mesmerized by her mouth. Sighing heavily, he dragged his fingers through his hair. She was right, he wasn’t that type of guy, but he damn sure wanted to be. Life was a hell of a lot easier without putting his heart on the line. He’d learned that one the hard way. Women always had to complicate things, to pick apart everything, and talk about it until there was nothing left of a guy’s heart but one of those hollow, empty cardboard valentine boxes.

Damn, how Sam wanted to prove Laurel wrong and be that guy who moved on, who took sex without giving anything in return but toe-curling orgasms. But when he met her gaze, Laurel’s normally spirited eyes were damp and wary. Something speared in his chest, making him swear beneath his breath again.

“I should go,” she said softly.

He should let her go. Let
this
go. But he couldn’t. The pull with her was too great. Sam wasn’t going to change what he was, but he wasn’t above enjoying whatever scraps she threw his way before the bone-weary months of the fire season chewed him up and spit him out.

*

Laurel gnawed on
her bottom lip. Sam reached behind her and pulled out her chair. “Sit,” he commanded. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

She sat down with a disappointed huff. “Well that’s not really an inducement.”

He laughed as he slid into his own chair. “I can always count on you to speak your mind.”