She wanted him hard. She wanted him fast. And she wanted him now.

  “Easy. Easy,” he whispered between deep, drugging kisses while his heart damn near beat out of his chest. “You’re going to drown us.”

  “Don’t care.” Her lips raced over his face as she moved frantically against him. “Don’t…care…”

  Well, he did. At least, the part of him that wasn’t going to be satisfied with having her and dying in the process cared a lot. With her mouth still mated with his and her hips still pumping against him, he stumbled toward the bank, half wild with the effort of holding back, half crazed with the way she was moving against him.

  Finally, finally, he found dry ground. It was enough. He went down on his knees and, still buried deep inside her, let her do whatever she wanted with him. He was putty. He was clay. He was anything she wanted him to be as long as she didn’t stop moving like that and kissing him like that and making those throaty little sounds that drove him beyond the limit.

  “J-Jake.” Breathless, she whispered his name. Restless, she rode him until he thought he’d go blind.

  Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, she shuddered and cried out and, with a long, sighing breath, melted into a puddle against his chest.

  Gripping her hips in his hands, he went the same way she did, burying himself, riding with the contraction of her inner muscles, dying just a little from the sheer, pure pleasure.

  He’d made a bed of sorts for them out of the towels he’d stuffed in his saddlebags—just in case. Christine lay naked as the day she was born, curled into his side, feeling boneless and brazen and about as wonderful as she supposed a woman could possibly feel.

  Her head rested on Jake’s shoulder, and his hand slid in a slow, steady glide up and down the length of her back.

  It felt incredible to lie with him this way. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The smooth musculature of his shoulder pillowing her head, his heart rate slow and steady beneath the palm of her hand.

  The night smelled of summer grass and a little of the leather saddlebags. And it smelled of him. Musky and clean and sexual.

  “You okay?” he murmured, sounding just as drowsy and satisfied as she felt.

  “More than okay.” And though she was still drifting on the currents of her orgasm—my goodness, she’d actually had an orgasm—she couldn’t wait to feel that amazing climb to the summit and the dizzying ride from the top all over again.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and, emboldened by the intimacy of their tangled limbs, pressed a kiss to his neck.

  “Oh, no,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Thank you.”

  She giggled. Giggled. Her.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, pushing herself up on an elbow and looking into his eyes. His beautiful, beautiful eyes. “That’s never happened to me before.”

  The lazy smile left his mouth. He stared at her. Long. Hard. “You were a virgin?” he asked, sounding so appalled that she laughed.

  “Relax. I wasn’t a virgin. I mean—” She hesitated, feeling self-conscious suddenly.

  “What?” he said, touching a hand to her hair. “You mean you never came before?”

  She nodded. Lifted a shoulder. “Pretty sad, huh?”

  “Man,” he said after a long moment, “those other guys must have been jerks.”

  “Guy,” she said, again feeling self-conscious and horribly pedestrian and inexperienced. “There was only one. And…well, he said I wasn’t very good at it.”

  “Major jerk,” he said, hugging her again. “More like he wasn’t any good at it, or I wouldn’t be your first time.”

  It was a nice thing to say. And she realized he was probably right. She felt overwhelmed with this wonderful new feeling of power.

  “Lots of firsts for me tonight,” she said, rising above him. Twisting at the hip, she reached for her jeans, dug around for another condom, then grabbed his hat from the tree branch and put it on her head. “Never rode a horse before, either,” she added and watched as his eyes went all stormy and dark when she placed a foot on either side of his hips and slowly sank to her knees. “Never rode a cowboy.”

  “Sweet thunder,” he whispered on a groaning sigh as she dressed him then sank on top of him.

  Okay, so he’d made a miscalculation, Jake thought the next morning as he drove to town. He’d thought Chrissie would run. He’d never dreamed… Well, he’d never dreamed they would do what they’d done.

  He was an ass. A weak-willed, ruled-by-his-dick opportunist. He ought to be drawn and quartered.

  So why was he grinning?

  Well, hell. What man who’d experienced some of the best sex of his life less than—he checked his watch and rolled his eyes—four hours ago wouldn’t be grinning?

  Damn, did that woman turn him on. Those freckles were going to be the death of him. She had them on her shoulders, too. And on the very tops of her pretty breasts.

  Still waters do, for a fact, run deep. Chrissie of the china-doll eyes and silky-smooth skin was a tiger disguised as a kitten. And soft. She’d felt so soft in his arms afterward, vulnerable and spent.

  His mind flashed on an image of her wearing nothing but his hat and a smile, moving above him, and he damn near drove off the side of the road.

  It was kind of a blur how they’d gotten back to the house. They’d ridden double on his mount. He did remember that—and all the friendly touching and kissing that had gone on between them, while Cletus had happily plodded behind them.

  He flipped his turn signal when he hit a main intersection in town, then stopped at a light two blocks down. Waiting for the light to change, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and stared into space. She hadn’t clung when it was time to leave, he’d give her that. When they’d reached the house, she’d kissed him goodbye and with a coy smile said, “If you think I need any more lessons, just let me know.”

  He wiped a hand over his jaw, contemplating all kinds of lessons he’d like to give her. Problem was, he wasn’t sure who had been teaching whom last night.

  A car honked behind him and he realized his light had changed. Gunning it, he drove toward the office, damning his slow reaction. Running on one, maybe two, hours of sleep, he could hardly see straight, let alone think straight.

  He was mentally exhausted and clearly not in control of his faculties. It was more than enough excuse. When he finally reached his office, he shut his door behind him and reached for the phone.

  He got her answering machine. “Lesson number three. Tonight. Seven o’clock. My place. Wear the black dress.”

  She wore the dress. And the silver heels. And, as he was soon to find out, that was about it.

  “Hi,” she said when he met her at his front door.

  “Hi,” he said and that was the extent of the talking for the next hour or so.

  “I think you’re teaching me to be a nymphomaniac,” Christine said when she caught her breath.

  She lay on her tummy in the middle of Jake’s big bed, her dress in a tangled heap on the floor, her heels still on her feet. Beside her Jake lay on his side, his hand resting gently at the small of her back, his thumb stroking lazily along her spine.

  “And so far it’s going quite well,” he said.

  She smiled into the pillow, hugged it to her breasts and turned her head to look at him. He was smiling, too.

  “You’re amazing, Chrissie.”

  “Thanks. You’re pretty amazing yourself. A girl couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

  His smile suddenly faded. He rolled to his back, crossed his hands beneath his head and stared at the ceiling.

  “Chrissie—”

  “No,” she said, interrupting him softly. She had a pretty good idea what was going on here. Mr. Independent was starting to worry that she was pinning more on their “lessons” than he wanted her to. “It’s okay,” she said and reminded herself that it really was. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to get the wrong idea about what’s happening between us.”

  He turned his head and looked at her. Beautiful, beautiful face, she thought. So rugged and male and still unconvinced she meant what she said.

  “Look. It’s all fun and games. I know that. And it’s fine. I don’t expect more from you. I don’t want more from you.”

  “How can that be?” he asked, his eyebrows pinched together. “Every woman I know wants commitment. Why not you?”

  It was her turn to sober. She thought of all the pain commitment had brought her mother. Not that she figured Jake for a closet abuser—he was too gentle, too kind to ever be that. It was just that she never wanted to allow herself to count on anyone but herself. Life was less disappointing that way.

  “I know the difference between fantasy and reality, Jake. Commitment doesn’t necessarily mean happiness. And now that I’m better educated on life, thanks to you,” she added with a smile, “I’m happy to go on and experience a little more. I don’t need a serious relationship to do that.”

  He frowned again and she wasn’t sure why. She’d thought reassuring him that she didn’t have any long-term expectations would be a huge relief.

  “Now,” she said, feeling a need to lighten up things between them, “if you have any more lessons that you—devoted instructor that you are—feel compelled to put to the test, I’m burning to be enlightened.”

  Slowly, very slowly, his face lost that solemn look and he smiled. Sexy. This man was oh-so sexy.

  “Have I got a lesson for you.”

  He moved over her. The look in his eyes was so tender and searching when he lowered his head and kissed her. His lips were gentle, persuasive, as he settled them over hers, moved them over hers, softly caressing, expertly nipping, seducing her into very willing submission as he taught her more fine points of a kiss.

  She could kiss him forever, she thought as he changed the angle and simply sank into her. Strong yet gentle. Tender yet forceful. He devoured her mouth, feeding her hunger, rekindling her need. She stretched beneath him on a blissful sigh when he left her mouth to give special attention to her jaw. The slight abrasion of his closely shaven beard whispered across her skin, making her shiver, making her yearn.

  She arched to his mouth when he trailed a string of kisses—employing teeth and tongue and those amazing lips—along the length of her throat. She urged him toward her breast as he made his way slowly downward, his lips at her shoulder, his tongue flicking across her collarbone until she was begging, “Please, please.” He finally took her nipple into his mouth.

  Oh, did he know how to love her. He cupped his hand around her breast, plumping her for his pleasure, lifting her to his mouth so he could suckle and tease with the flick of his tongue, the whisper of his breath. She loved it. Loved how he knew what she needed.

  When he moved lower, pushed himself to all fours above her and trailed a path down the center of her body with his tongue, she understood that she was about to experience another intimate lesson in loving.

  The first touch of his mouth to her most vulnerable flesh was electric. She sucked in a harsh breath, let it out on a long, low moan and groped helplessly for a hold on the sheets on either side of her hips when he made the first lush pass with his tongue. And when he tunneled his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her hips to his open mouth, every pulse point in her body met there, between her thighs, where he made the most incredible love to her.

  She closed her eyes, felt tears leak down her temples as sensations she couldn’t begin to name assaulted her. Pulsing, surging pleasure so intense, it radiated to her fingertips, to her toes, flooded inward again, propelling her to an orgasm so huge and so powerful, she bucked into his mouth, cried out in wonder and awe and disbelief. It seemed to go on forever and yet not long enough, and even as she started the slide down, his mouth caressed her, whispered praise, settled her.

  When she finally came back to herself, he was moving up her body, his dark eyes intent on her face, his lips wet and swollen. She’d never seen anything so moving in her life. She reached for him. Whispered his name. Whispered her gratitude, then gasped on another storm of pleasure as he entered her, stroked her deeply and, on a mind-numbing explosion of sensation, took her to the limit yet again.

  The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of fun and sensation for Christine. In between her busy schedule at the hospital and the time she committed at the Historical Society, she still managed to meet Jake often. They never seemed to get around to talking about Jess Golden’s things, and frankly that was fine with her. She didn’t want to end their…fling. My God. She was having a fling.

  It made her smile just thinking about it. And about how often they made love. Jake was an inventive, sensitive and giving lover.

  But there was one thing she always had to remember—he didn’t love her.

  As she drove across town on her lunch break one day, heading for Hellfire, International because Jake had called this morning and asked her to meet him at noon, she reminded herself of that fact. He did not love her.

  It was something she found herself doing more and more often because, well, it would be easy to misconstrue the way he looked at her sometimes, the way he would reach out for no reason at all and touch a hand to her hair or to her arm, the way he made love to her. As if she was the one thing, the only thing, that mattered in the world.

  Yeah, it would be easy to mistake all of those gestures for love. And that was a mistake she just wouldn’t let herself make. Just the way she wouldn’t let herself mistake her feelings for him as love.

  “Hi,” she said, poking her head inside his office after Janice had said she could go on in.

  “Hi,” he said, his face solemn as he took in her white hospital uniform. “Shut the door. Lock it.”

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked, feeling a little surge of alarm at the dark look on his face.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Unless you count the fact that I’m just itching to make love to you in that uniform.”

  She grinned when he walked up to her and put his arms around her. “You’d look a little silly in my uniform, but hey, if it trips your trigger, go for it, cowboy.”

  “Smart mouth,” he said, then covered her mouth with his in a hard, demanding kiss.

  The next thing she knew, he’d reached under her skirt, stripped off her panties and deposited her on his desk. The shock of it, the heat of it, the urgency in him stole all reason. It thrilled her that he wanted her so badly. She couldn’t get his pants undone fast enough. Couldn’t get him suited up and inside of her soon enough.

  It was all over in minutes. And it was incredible.

  Panting, spent, she stroked his head where it lay on her breast, too satisfied to care that the desk was hard and unyielding beneath her back.

  “Wow. That was quite a lesson,” she ventured with a smile.

  “Not a lesson. A pop quiz,” he murmured and bussed her nipple with his nose.

  She laughed. “So, how did I do, teach?”

  “Well, I was going to make it a pass-fail, but since you obviously studied so hard, you get an A-plus.”

  Ten

  “Yeah. I miss it,” Jake confessed a week or so later as he sat with Chrissie in a booth at the Royal Diner one evening after burgers. They’d talked about a lot of things during the past couple of weeks, but this was the first time firefighting had come up.

  Had someone else asked, he might have hedged the way he usually did. Brushed it off. Made some lame statement such as, “Are you kidding? Miss walking into a wall of fire as hot as hell? Do I look stupid?”

  “Miss it a lot,” he confessed because this was Chrissie. He caught her sympathetic look and firmed his lips because he just couldn’t smile about it with her.

  She was easy to talk to. Easy on the eye. Easy to make love to. He liked her. A lot.

  But he didn’t love her. And that, he told himself several times a day, was why things worked so well between them. All the silliness about “lessons” aside, things worked for them because they both knew the score. Love was not on the table. And it never would be.

  “Tell me about it. What is it you miss?” she urged gently as she cradled a cup of decaf coffee between her hands. The same hands that could stroke him to arousal, ease him into sleep, amaze him with their gentleness.

  He stared into space for a bit. The diner was quiet this time of night. Besides the two of them, there were only a few other hangers-on sitting in booths on the far side of the room.

  Finally he shrugged. “I don’t know specifically. I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie. Love the rush. Live on the thrills. And I hate it that my men are out there putting their lives on the line and I’m twiddling my thumbs on the sideline.”

  “Running the machine—the business machine—isn’t exactly twiddling your thumbs. You give them everything they need to ensure they can do the job. You keep them safe in many ways.”

  “And I’d still rather be there beside them. Watching their backs. You don’t know how often I’ve found myself heading for a fire—”

  “You almost died,” she interrupted. “You cannot risk another incident with smoke inhalation. The additional stress to your lungs could kill you.”

  He nodded. “I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

  She covered his hands with one of hers. Stroked her thumb over his skin, then squeezed.

  “Is Connor as…oh, what’s the word I’m searching for?”

  “Pigheaded?” he suggested, needing to lighten things up a bit.

  She smiled. “That’ll work. Is Connor as pigheaded as you?”

  He shook his head. “Connor is driven.”

  “He seems very serious. At least, the few times I’ve seen him, he strikes me as that way.”

  “When you grow up in the shadow of someone who was always perceived as the golden boy and the popular twin, it has a tendency to make you try a little harder.”

  “Had to be hard,” she said. “For you, too.”

  Very insightful, this woman. Just one more thing he appreciated about her. “Yeah. I was who I was. Am who I am. Life’s been easy for me. People like me. It wasn’t that way for Connor. The old man leaned on him a lot—and it made for tension between us.