He opened his mouth and covered hers, licking the seam between her lips from end to end, tugging on them gently before pulling away.

Her panting breaths mingled with his and he groaned huskily as he spoke against her mouth.

“If we don’t stop now, Emma, I don’t think I can. And as much as I want to pick you up and do all kinds of carnal things to this sexy body of yours—” he stopped, drawing in a deep breath “—I don’t want you to think I’m trying to manipulate you, trying to…” He closed his eyes. “I just don’t want to screw this up. I—”

When she placed a hand over his lips, his eyes opened to see her staring up at him.

“You’re not manipulating me. I know exactly what I’m doing. I know exactly what I want.”

He drew in a harsh breath when her small hand reached between them to stroke the front of his pants, cupping his bulge through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“And what I want is you. Now.”

Hot to TOUCH
Kimberly Kaye Terry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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About the Author

KIMBERLY KAYE TERRY

Kimberly Kaye Terry’s love for reading romances began at an early age. Long into the night she would stay up until she reached “The End” with her Mickey Mouse night-light on, praying she wouldn’t be caught reading what her mother called those types of books. Often, she would acquire her stash of those books from beneath her mother’s bed. Ahem. To date she’s an award-winning, acclaimed author of fourteen novels in romance and erotic romance, and happily calls writing her full-time job.

Kimberly has a bachelor’s degree in social work and a master’s in human relations and has held licenses in social work and mental health therapy in various cities within the United States and abroad. She volunteers at various social-service agencies weekly and is a long-standing member of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc., a community-conscious organization. Kimberly is a naturalist and practices aromatherapy. She believes in embracing the powerful woman within each of us and meditates on a regular basis. Kimberly would love to hear from you. Visit her at www.kimberlykayeterry.com.

Books by Kimberly Kaye Terry

Kimani Romance

Hot to Touch

To my beautiful daughter who always inspires me to be

the best that I can be.

Acknowledgments

To “Buck,” Bruce Nelson:

The courage that you and your fellow jumpers display, the sacrifices you all make, is truly humbling. Your willingness to share your knowledge, point me in the right direction, and answer my emails at one o’clock in the morning and not choke me was truly amazing ;). Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Dear Reader,

I’m very excited to introduce you to Shane Westwood and Emma Rawlings. Writing their story was an absolute blast! Shane is a smoke jumper used to fighting extreme fires in the West, and Emma is a photojournalist who is always after the most dangerous stories. Yes, they are two hotheads! Two stubborn people who fight against love, but when they finally give in, boy, do the fireworks start! They took me from scaling walls, to jumping out of airplanes…to hot, sultry nights making love under a starlit sky. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I loved the West so much that I decided to stay there for a while. Look for To Tempt a Wilde, book one in my new Wilde family series, featuring sexy alpha cowboys in Wyoming, coming out this spring. I appreciate your support and will do my best to continue writing hot, sexy, exciting stories featuring alpha men and the women they love!

Keep it sexy,

Kimberly Kaye Terry;)

Prologue

Eighteen months ago

The roar of wind competed against the loud purr of the turbine engine, breaking the silence that otherwise prevailed inside the Twin Otter plane.

Butterflies fluttered in Shane Westwood’s stomach as he sat hunched on the narrow bench, shoulder-to-shoulder alongside six other men, as the plane circled the dark column of smoke that rose from the blazing fire below.

He fingered the Celtic cross around his neck unconsciously, before tucking it inside his beige, Kevlarcoated jumpsuit.

The closer they flew to the billowing smoke, the more anxious he became.

His anxiety had nothing to do with the jump ahead, or the potential danger he and the others faced. Like a junkie jonesing for his next fix, Shane lived for the exhilaration and potential danger each mission would bring. After his first jump six years ago, he had logged in more than 125 jumps; 75 for training and 50 live fires.

No, his anxiety had everything to do with the fear that he wouldn’t make it in time to save his best friend.

“Give us the go-ahead already, damn it,” he spat out tersely into the microphone line in his ear, connecting him to the ground crew.

“The pilot doesn’t have a clear landing shot, Shane…hold your damn horses, man, we’ll get down there!” one of the support crew shot back in response to Shane’s impatient demand. The drama of what was unfolding below was evident in his voice. Jumpers and ground crew alike were feeling the stress.

“Get us a clear shot…time is running out.”

“We have to be at three thousand feet before it’s safe to jump.”

“Aww no…I think I’m gonna hurl!”

When he heard the man next to him moan, a rookie smoke jumper, Shane didn’t bother giving him a second glance—not in the mood to give the rookie a pep talk.

The fact that the rookie was his jump partner for the mission hadn’t sat well with Shane, but they were running low on jumpers as all the other available men were already on the ground.

He knew it was the young man’s first “live” fire jump, and he knew that like most of them, rookie or seasoned pro, he’d either hang on or get the hell out. There was no in between.

No matter how much instruction you had, no amount of training could prepare a man for his first jump into live fire. It was as exciting as it was frightening. And, it was their way of life. Most men figured out pretty quickly if they had what it took to be a smoke jumper.

“Get ready, men, we’ve found a landing spot.”

Shane swiftly stood, motioning for the others to follow. The spotter had identified an opening.

The plane flew with doors opened and Shane peered down, viewing over three hundred acres of red flames crowning the large spruce trees below, as the plane circled around the billowing columns of smoke, trying to find a safe spot for the men to jump.

His heartbeat kicked up a notch, his gut clenching at the sight.

The acrid, sweet scent of wood smoke filled the plane as air rushed in through the open door. Shane and the others quickly donned their masks and flipped down the heavy wire-mesh screens.

An unexpected bump of turbulence hit. Shane swallowed down the nausea that rolled through his stomach. Steadying himself, he grabbed the overhead cable.

The plane lined up for their initial pass over the identified target and the spotter threw the first set of drift streamers out to gauge the wind. The spotter turned to Shane and held up two fingers, giving the team the “go” sign. Everything looked good. Time to roll.

Shane acknowledged the sign, paused and glanced at his temporary partner. When the man nodded, letting Shane know he was ready, he turned back to face the door. As the senior jumper, Shane would be the first man out.

Despite the gear, Shane felt the heat hit his face as he stood at the edge of the jump door, his gaze sweeping the scene below.

When he felt the spotter’s slap on his shoulder, he propelled himself forward, immediately starting a mental countdown “jump-thousand, look-thousand, reach-thousand, wait-thousand, pull-thousand…” he thought, his fingers curling around the rip cord as he jumped from the plane.

Timing it just right, he pulled on the cord, threw back his head and watched his bright orange-and-white-striped parachute balloon open with a smooth-sounding pop.

Shane yanked the toggles and faced into the wind for landing.

Steering his chute away from one of the flaming trees, he felt every muscle straining, sweat pouring down his face behind the mask as he fought against the pull of the wind, his chute violently swaying back and forth.

In less than a minute he’d be on the ground. And once he was, he’d have to hit it running. His concentration was fully on making a safe landing, but soon all other thoughts would have to be shoved to the side.

His best friend’s life depended on it.

Chapter One

Push off. Legs spread. Release. Push off. Legs spread. Release…

Shane leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and studied the woman, his brow creased in concentration.

He ignored the activity going on around him and throughout the gym, his attention focused solely on the small figure several feet away, making her way down the faux-stone-covered wall.

One small, black-gloved hand was wrapped securely around the rope just above her at chest level; the other was loosely wrapped around the part of the rope near her backside as she made her way down the wall.

And what a backside it was.

Shane found himself staring at her curvaceous little body in fascination as she rappelled the wall. His gaze shifted away from her round, firm buttocks—that even the shapeless khaki shorts she wore didn’t disguise—to trail down her bare, dark brown legs.

Shane shook his head, berating himself for noticing her legs, sexy or not.

Although it had been too damn long since he’d been with a woman, this one was definitely off-limits.

This was the woman who’d managed to wrap his base manager around her finger and somehow convince him to allow her to do an “in-depth” story on him and his fellow smoke jumpers.

He tore his gaze away from the petite woman and glanced around at the crowded gym.

Although it was P.T., the time of morning when his men, if not on mission, performed physical training, apparently the base manager wasn’t the only one taken with the reporter, Shane noticed, his scowl deepening. Several of his men were hanging around the rappelling wall, watching the reporter, nudging each other and pointing at her like schoolboys checking out a cute girl.

He pointedly stared and made eye contact with several of them, but his scowl didn’t seem to scare them off. If anything, it seemed to encourage them. One of his men gave him a thumbs-up, jerking his head toward the woman, grinning his fool head off, as if Shane had something to do with her being there. Not even close, Shane thought, his irritation growing. And if he had his way she’d be packing up as soon as her curvy little body hit the ground.

He’d recently returned from a mission where he’d volunteered to help the short-staffed Alaska unit with a kicker that had blazed for twelve days before they’d gotten the fire under control. Afterward, he’d stayed on and helped with the massive cleanup.

Pleased with how it had gone, but beyond exhausted, a month later he was just looking forward to a little R and R. Preferably in the form of staying in bed for forty-eight hours with one of the always-ready, always-willing, long-legged blondes from the local town of Landers.

When Roebuck, his base manager, had first informed him on his way back home that he was allowing a reporter to come into the jumpers’ camp to research an in-depth article on their lives, one that would possibly hit the national papers, Shane had been less than enthusiastic.

After the series of fires taking place over the last eighteen months across the coast, their small, sleepy community had been a hive of activity, gaining national exposure and bringing in a lot of media attention.

In particular there was the fire that had occurred near the start of the spree that resulted in two jumpers dying and the only female jumper on staff leaving. There’d been plenty of speculation as to why she’d left, but no one besides Roebuck, Shane and a few of the senior jumpers knew the real reason.

When Roebuck had explained his reasoning for allowing the reporter access, eager for a chance to show what he and the men did on a daily basis, a reluctant part of Shane had understood. The attention the article would bring, would give good press to their small base, and with it, much-needed donations to keep the satellite office up and running.

That was until he’d found out that Gene Raw was in fact Emogene Rawlings; that the reporter used the shortened version of her name on her byline.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her—”Emma” in person—carefully, but swiftly make her way down the wall, pushing away the spark of admiration he felt for her ability.

From his vantage point, he had an optimal view of her. He found his attention riveted on her small nuances—the way her brow furrowed as she scaled the wall, the way the full bottom rim of her lip was pulled between her top teeth, the small bead of sweat that rolled down past her temple, over her cheekbone and down the curve her of her cheek.

She quickly maneuvered her way down the rest of the wall. Once she made it to the floor, she spun around jubilantly and gave several of the nearby men high-fives.

“She’s amazing, huh, Shane? I’ve never seen a first-timer go down the wall so fast!”

Shane turned to one of the jumpers who’d come to stand next to him. He nodded his head curtly and glanced around. He’d unconsciously moved closer as he watched her and was now standing a few short feet away from the rappelling wall.

“Yeah, she’s a regular marvel.” As soon as he made the snide remark, Shane wished he could retract it. The younger jumper frowned, a puzzled look on his face.

“Do you know her, Shane?”

Shane shook his head and turned to watch the reporter with narrowed eyes.

“I guess you gotta wonder about a woman like that,” the man went on, oblivious to Shane’s irritation.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked.

The jumper shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know. She’s so small, looks kinda fragile to me. Wouldn’t think a woman like that would be in her line of work. I guess I figured when they told us a reporter was gonna be following us around, living at the camp, I didn’t figure it’d be a woman. Damn sure not one as fine as Ms. Rawlings.”

When Shane raised a brow, the younger man blushed. “Well, you know what I mean,” he murmured.

When the woman in question turned toward them, as though she knew they were talking about her, she and Shane locked glances. From his short distance away he saw her large brown eyes widen as he deliberately allowed his gaze to leisurely slide over her, from the top of her head down to her small, boot-covered feet.

When his eyes met hers again, he noticed the subtle once-over she gave him as well before her eyes darted away. But not before he saw the flush of red on her deep brown skin.

Chapter Two

He was the sexiest jumper she’d ever seen.

Although, truth be told, Emma had only been at the hub station for a short time and had never actually met a smoke jumper in person before her arrival. But, no doubt about it, this one was at the top of the food chain.

The jumpers gave new meaning to the term “alpha male,” from the base manager all the way down to the new recruits. It was a prerequisite for the men in their line of work to be in top physical and mental condition, always ready to go into action when the call came.

For all that, there was still something more about this one; something indefinable. A hint of danger and a sharper edge surrounded him, clung to him, made him that much more…prime.

He was the kind of man who, if placed in a room with ten other men looking for a fight, would be able to take each of them down, one by one.

Emma shivered.

The minute he’d walked into the packed gym the back of her neck had prickled in awareness and she’d turned around in search of the cause. As she stood braced at the top of the rappelling wall, preparing to go down, she’d paused and watched him as he casually spoke to the others. When he had turned to face her, as though aware of her regard, she’d quickly looked away before he’d caught her gawking at him. Giving the jumper who was assisting her an absent smile, Emma focused her attention on the task at hand.

The jumpers, at first cool toward her, had slowly warmed up and had begun to take her seriously. She didn’t want to erase the progress she had begun to establish by being caught eyeballing one of the men as if she were a starving woman and he a big, juicy steak.

She had been expecting that she would have to work harder to gain the respect of some of the men, coming in as an outsider and the only female in their close-knit brotherhood. She knew it would take more than the few days she’d been there, yet she’d been both surprised and pleased with the welcome they’d given her, so far.

Today was the first day they’d invited her to join them for physical training. She’d brought along her backpack that held her camera and mini-recorder, but she hadn’t pulled either out.

A natural athlete, she’d been thrilled when one of the squad leaders invited her to give the rappelling wall a try, a training they used to prepare themselves for their live missions.

Emma had scaled down some of the most intimidating mountains in the Himalayas while following a mountaineering guide from Nepal while writing a story on the Sherpas. So when one of the smoke jumpers invited her to try rappelling, she’d been more than confident in her skills.

She eyed the jumper who scaled the wall alongside her. Concentrating on the climb, she put thoughts of the newcomer from her mind and made short work of the twenty-foot wall. She made it to the linoleum floor, spun around and grinned widely when she finished minutes before the other climber did.

Several of the men surrounded her, clapping her good-naturedly on the back. Her smile faltered when she again felt that odd prickling awareness slide along her skin. Glancing over her shoulder, her gaze collided with his—the jumper who’d entered the gym before she’d begun her descent.

He now stood just a few feet away, staring at her with an intensity that was unnerving. His light blue eyes were fixed on her, a deep frown on his face, pulling his thick, dark eyebrows together until they formed a straight line as he continued to stare at her…assessing her.

When she’d seen him enter the gym, she could tell he was tall, but now as he stood next to one of the other jumpers she could see that he towered over the other men. Dressed in a variation on what looked to be the standard uniform the others wore for physical training, on him it looked completely different. It was more earthy…more masculine.

He wore the standard-issue gray T-shirt that hugged his broad chest and wide shoulders and a pair of loose-fitting matching gray gym shorts that cupped his lean hips.

His dark hair was cut short, almost military short, save for the slightly longer length on top. Although he currently wore a deep scowl on his face, his wide mouth was sensual and inviting. He casually wore an aura of command that set him apart from the others.

Like a lightbulb going on, it suddenly dawned on Emma who he was. Shane Westwood. He was the second in charge, after the base manager, the one she’d heard so much about from the others. According to the men, he was the golden boy, the man who could fight fires single-handedly…a regular superman.

She’d also learned from one of the rookies that he was staunchly against any female smoke jumpers gaining membership into the small substation. When she asked why, the man had shrugged his shoulders, claiming not to know the answer.

But she knew there had to be a story behind it despite claims to the contrary. Her instincts practically screamed at her, telling her so. And Emma never ignored her instincts. But she let it drop, choosing not to alienate her new informant by digging for more information he wasn’t ready to give.

When her eyes met his again, the look in them made her draw back physically. His animosity seemed to reach out and grab her, so vibrant it was almost as if it were a living thing. The effect was as though someone had punched her right in the stomach.

Emma forced her body to stay erect, forced herself not to take a step back, so sudden and unexpected was both the look and the effect it had on her. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her there. Okay. Fine. She could deal with that.

What she didn’t want to examine, much less deal with, was her body’s reaction to him. The way—despite the obvious dislike he had for her, whatever the reason was behind it—the sizzle of awareness between them made her tremble slightly. She’d never had that happen with anyone else, much less someone who seemed to have such an irrational sense of disdain for her.

Whatever his issue, Emma had no intention of allowing him to try and get rid of her. She had come for one purpose, and one only—to write the best damn article she could, one she hoped would go to national syndication and take her career to the next level.

He was the senior smoke jumper at the station, and after the base manager, he was the one in charge. He had a lot of pull. His influence, if he chose to protest her presence, would make her job difficult.

Too much was on the line to allow some guy with a serious attitude—no matter how fine he was—to mess it up for her. She casually looked over her shoulder. A shiver ran over her arms as their glances collided again.

That might not be such an easy task.

She held his gaze until he broke contact, only to allow his eyes to slowly, insolently run the length of her body. When his glance brushed over her breasts, she felt her body respond against her will. Her treacherous nipples stabbed against her sports bra, and Emma checked herself before she wrapped her arms around chest as though she had something to be ashamed of.

She wasn’t wearing anything provocative. Before her climb she’d tucked her oversize T-shirt into her knee-length shorts and pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and she was wearing no makeup. Yet the way he was looking at her, she felt naked. Exposed. She suppressed a shiver.

She placed a purposefully nonchalant smile on her face before turning away, but she could still feel his eyes on her. If he had something to say to her, he could come and say it, she thought, ignoring the sizzle of heat searing a hole straight through her back.

“Have you had a chance to go over and meet Ms. Rawlings yet?”

Shane turned as the base manager approached, dragging his attention away from the reporter.

“Ms. Rawlings?” he asked, raising a brow. His commander’s dark face flushed in acknowledgment of the emphasis.

“Listen, Shane, if I told you she was a woman, you never would have agreed to it.”

“Damn straight.”

There was a short pause, both men eyeing each other, neither one giving an inch. Finally, Roebuck sighed.

“Give her a chance. I’ve known her editor for years.

We go way back. If he says she can do the job, she can. We need the good press that’ll come from her being here and the potential donations from the public. I don’t have to tell you how tough the economy is. And the state budget is tight. This could get us the cash flow we need for new equipment. So please, play nice.”

Shane was ready to fire off a retort, just as the woman approached them. He clamped his mouth shut, folded his arms across his chest and waited until she stood in front of them. Giving Shane only a quick, cursory glance, her eyes darted away and she turned her attention to Roebuck.

Up close, her small, heart-shaped face was dominated by a pair of large, dark brown eyes, surrounded by long, full lashes. As she’d scaled down the rope, he’d noted how long her shapely legs were, but he had misjudged her height. Up close, the top of her dark brown head barely reached him at chest level.

Both her height and pretty face gave the appearance of a fragile doll. Still, although petite, her legs were long, shapely, and toned, as was the rest of her body, belying the notion that there was anything fragile about Emogene Rawlings.

Several strands of hair had escaped from her haphazard ponytail, and Shane felt a sudden and unwanted need to finger the dark tendrils and see if her hair were as soft as it looked.

“That was damn impressive!” Roebuck said to her, pulling Shane out of his observations.

“Thanks, sir. I can’t believe how much fun it was!”

“It’s hardly fun and games,” Shane said. “This is training—training the men go through on a daily basis to prepare them for whatever hazardous mission they may face on any given day. Call it what you will, but it’s hardly fun and games.”

Roebuck turned to Shane, heartily smacking him on the back. “Of course it isn’t, Shane. And I think Ms. Rawlings will fit right in, no problem at all!” If the commander’s hearty enthusiasm sounded a bit forced, no one called him on it. “And for the next four weeks, Emma will follow you, learn what it takes to be a jumper, interview the men and—”

“Now wait a minute, boss. What do you mean she’ll be following me? I never agreed to that!”

There was a long, strained silence. “Shane, Emma…why don’t we go to my office and discuss the particulars?” Roebuck turned on his heels, walking stiffly toward the exit.

Emma glanced around self-consciously, noticing they were the center of attention. With a tight smile aimed at the staring group of jumpers, she went to follow Roebuck out of the gym. From her peripheral vision she saw Shane hesitate, as though he had no intention of meekly following along.

She released a breath of relief when she saw him reluctantly follow them. So this was the jumper she was supposed to shadow. A sinking feeling settled in her gut.

Well, damn.

Chapter Three

“Sir, no disrespect intended, but I don’t really give a damn what ‘good press’ she’ll bring to the station. I just want her out of here. The sooner the better. And she sure as hell is not trailing me around. I have enough to worry about without playing babysitter to some damn reporter!”

Shane tried to keep his anger at a slow boil. He respected his base manager and didn’t want to go off half-cocked and say something he’d regret later.

Although Roebuck was in his early forties, his craggy features made him look older, deep lines scoring the sides of his full mouth, due to the hard life he’d led. He’d come to the smoke jumpers after serving several years in the military as a paratrooper, most of his service done during several deployments overseas. Despite all of that, Shane had rarely seen Roebuck blow his stack. Even when one of the younger jumpers screwed up, the captain always kept his cool and always treated everyone fairly, equally, from the newest jumper to the seasoned vets.

It was one of the many traits Shane admired about his commander, and one of the many reasons he willingly followed the man’s lead, trusting his judgment, something crucial in their line of work.

But not this time.

He turned away, walking over to face the large bay window, not really seeing the view of the mountains and the hill country below.

“Shane.”

When he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, he turned his head.

“Be reasonable. It’s a done deal. Nothing you can do about it. I’ve already given her permission.” Roebuck sighed. “Look, I know where this is coming from. But you can’t let one incident make you like this. It was an accident, no one—”

“She’s not ‘shadowing’ me. Period,” Shane interrupted, not wanting to hear what his commander would say next, fighting against memories of a time he tried his hardest to ignore.

“And I would think you of all people would understand why,” he finished, grimly.

Emma paused, her fist poised to knock on the door, when the voices inside grew louder.

After leaving the gym on their way to the office, her cell phone rang, a call from her editor.

Although she could have allowed it to go to voice mail, she used the call as an excuse to get away. She needed a chance to pull herself together and rally her defenses against what she knew was a battle she faced with Shane.

Although she’d taken the call, she’d spoken less than five minutes with Bill before ending the conversation with a promise to call him back.

The anger of the prudent never shows.

She’d learned the value of the wise old adage long ago, while on her first assignment in a small village in Burma. She’d incorporated the saying as much as she could into her everyday life, although at times it wasn’t so easy to do.

She took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to allow him to bait her into saying something she would regret later. He wouldn’t make her say something stupid and shoot herself in the foot before she even got it in the door.

When she could no longer clearly hear the angry staccato of words, she strained her ears to pick up on the conversation, stepping closer to the door.

After several minutes of silence, Emma mentally and physically squared her shoulders and knocked briskly on the door.

So, tall, blond and fine didn’t want her around his precious jumpers? Oh well. She had every right to be there. She hadn’t been given any special favors, she’d worked hard to get the assignment and no one was going to take this golden opportunity away from her.

There was a slight pause before she heard Roebuck’s deep baritone calling out for her to enter. Cautiously, she opened the door, plastering a bright smile on her face.

Like a magnet, her eyes were drawn to the jumper as he stood near a large window, his long legs braced far apart, big arms crossed over his chest, his back to her.

Roebuck motioned her to come inside. “Come on in, Emma. We were just discussing your assignment.”

Emma picked up on the false cheer in his voice and the worried glance in the commander’s eyes as he looked at her.

Obviously he was aware that she’d heard at least part of the discussion. Despite that, along with the accompanying tension so thick in the room she could cut it with a knife, Emma nodded and stepped inside the office, closing the door behind her.

The office was small, but everything was neat and orderly. An oversize, scratched, oak desk took up most of the room, upon which two monitors sat. One was a computer, and the other seemed like some type of weather-monitoring system.

“Have a seat, Emma. We can go over the particulars of the article. Your expectations and ours.”

“What did you have to do to get this job?” Before Emma could take the offered seat, Shane spoke, surprising her, turning to face her.

“So you can speak. I thought you were just here for my viewing pleasure.” Before she knew it, her mouth started in, before her head could rule it out, the retort tripping off her tongue.

Shane’s expression darkened, his brows nearly meeting in the middle as he took two steps toward her and stopped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.” Emma shrugged. “Probably the same thing you meant when—”

“Shane,” Roebuck broke in. “Emma, before this goes any further, let’s all sit down, discuss this like we have some sense.”

Emma fully faced Shane, her anger rising. She crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her expression light. “Well, you were asking me how I got the job?” she baited Shane. “Just what did you mean by that?”

“You call yourself Gene Raw, right?”

“Yes. And your point would be?”

“My point is you seem to be…billing yourself as one thing when you’re selling something else entirely.”

“I’m not selling myself as anything other than what I am. A damn good photojournalist.” Emma brushed off his not so subtle innuendo and focused on the latter part of his sentence.

“I don’t get how having a pen name makes me seem as though I’m billing myself—or as you like to say, ‘selling’ myself—in any way different than who I am.” Emma stopped and drew in a deep breath. “And I do that purely because of men like you. Men who think that just because I’m a woman, I’m not as capable in doing my job as any other journalist. I don’t have to—”

“Look,” he interrupted. “I don’t pretend to know how it works in your world. I don’t give a damn one way or another. What I do know is that lives are on the line here. There is no time for play, this is real—”

“And how will my presence here alter that?” Emma bit out angrily, her chest heaving, brushing against the hard wall of his abdomen.

She took a step back.

It was then that she noticed how close they stood to each other. One or both of them had moved so that they were so close they were touching. Emma caught the subtle hint of his cologne, mixed with his natural scent, wafting across her nose.

After backing up, she continued. “I didn’t get any special favors to get this job. I worked hard for it, just like I have for everything I’ve ever gotten. Every accomplishment I’ve ever had was because I worked hard for it.” She emphasized each word, unwanted emotion burning the back of her throat.

“No one gave me any special consideration.” She made one more attempt at civility, desperately trying to bring her anger and threatening tears under control.

“I’m sure you did nothing to get any favors, Ms. Raw,” he said, emphasizing her pen name. He just wouldn’t let it go.

“Like I said, I got this job fair and square, Mr. Westwood. And unless you want a sexual-harassment claim slapped on you and the rest of this camp, I suggest you put on your big-boy panties and deal with it.”

The back of her teeth hurt so badly from clenching them that she knew that as soon as she reached her room she’d have to pull out her industrial-sized, extrastrength Motrin to rid herself of the pain.

Turning on her heels, she strode toward the door. If the door slammed back against the hinges with more force than necessary, she didn’t really give a damn.

To hell with not allowing her anger to show. If only he wasn’t so fine.

Chapter Four

Shane threw his workout gear on the floor, and then grabbed his duffel bag from the chair in the corner and tossed it onto his bed. He yanked open the zipper and began to unpack, separating his clothes, his thoughts on the woman foisted on him by the general manager.

He still hadn’t unpacked since his return. Although he had a place in town, he’d decided to stay at the station to keep an eye on the reporter.

He’d been so tired after coming home that the only thing he’d wanted to do was lie down for a week straight and not think about the fire that claimed the lives of three civilians or the havoc it had wreaked on the small Alaskan community. He certainly didn’t want to think about the helplessness he’d felt watching families lose their homes, all their possessions, with nothing left but the clothes on their backs.

He didn’t want to think of any of it.

No, he’d wanted to chill and put all thoughts of the fire and the destruction out of his mind, decompress after the physically and mentally draining ordeal and indulge in a little mindless rest and relaxation.

Well, that was shot to hell, he thought, dumping the rest of his clothes in the hamper in disgust.

From the moment he laid eyes on Emogene Rawlings, his gut told him she was nothing but trouble wrapped up in a little package, big brown doe eyes staring at him. She might have fooled the others with her demure smile, dimples flashing, but he caught the speculating look in her eyes when she didn’t think he was looking at her. Sizing him up, no doubt, figuring out which angle to take to win him over. Even as he had the thought, he remembered the hurt look she tried to hide when he’d all but accused her of her sleeping her way to get what she wanted.

He felt a momentary stab of remorse, remembering the sheen of tears she’d tried like hell to hide. But he hardened himself against the look, and the way he’d wanted to apologize for the unnecessary remark.

It wasn’t going to work, not on him. He was on to her game. Their heated exchange echoed in his mind, reinforcing his belief that the kitty definitely had claws.

As he unpacked the remaining items from his duffel bag, the image of her legs as she rappelled flashed in his mind’s eye, her strong, lean muscles flexing as she pushed off the wall.

She had the kind of legs a man dreamed about, the kind he could imagine wrapped around his waist as he drove into her perfect little body.

“Damn!” he mumbled, shaking his head as though to purge the image of her long legs, along with what he wanted to do with them, from his mind.

He angrily dumped the few clean items he had into one of his drawers.

Before he turned from the dresser, he glanced down at the small, 3 x 5 framed picture, the only picture he had in his room. A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, replacing his frown. He looked at the image staring back at him, of the two men grinning ear to ear, faces covered in soot, as though they’d just conquered the world. He ran a finger over the edges of the frame before lifting the photo from the dresser.

It had been taken not long after completing his training. He and Kyle had just returned from fighting a forest fire in Idaho, a grueling job that had taken three weeks just to get the fire under control. His glance slid to the woman directly behind them, the smile slipping from his face.

Ciara Summers. The woman responsible for the death of his best friend.

The memories hit him hard, replaying in his mind, reel by reel, as though from some old movie.

Shane hit the ground, removed his chute and took off running. Ignoring the yells from the others to stay clear, he went after Kyle, who was trapped inside one of the remaining cabins in the decimated area.

Through the roar of the blazing fire, Shane made it to the cabin and heard his friend’s frantic call for help to save Ciara. After pulling the woman outside to safety, he turned around to head back to the cabin, despite the commander and other jumpers yelling for him to stay clear, that the cabin was collapsing.

The memories played out in slow motion. He stood, frozen in place, watching in disbelief as Kyle lay trapped beneath a fallen column, flames shooting in every direction around him.

Surrounding him, the hungry flames were eating the cabin alive when it finally shattered in a fiery explosion, collapsing in on itself, debris flying everywhere.

And then there was silence.

Shane carefully placed the frame back on the dresser.

Emma was just like Ciara, and no woman was ever going to get close enough to interfere with his work again if he had anything to do with it. Nothing had ever been the same again for Shane; the guilt ate at him just like the hungry flames that devoured his friend.

“Deal with it, my ass,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Round one is yours,” he said, aloud. “But, I’ll have you out of here before the week is out.”

As he made his promise, he ignored the inner voice that mocked his proclamation.

Chapter Five

As soon as she walked inside her room, Emma allowed the backpack to ease from her shoulders. Barely making it to the corner chair mere feet away, she slumped down into it lazily.

She untied the laces of her Timberlands and, using the toes of each foot, pushed one and then the other boot from her aching feet, kicking the shoes away. With a groan she lifted a foot into her lap. She sighed, massaging her instep before bringing the other foot into her lap and repeating the deep massage.

What was it about her that always made her attack any new thing she was told she couldn’t do?

After leaving Roebuck’s office too angry to think straight, she’d wandered into the gym. She’d felt as though every man’s eye was on her, feeling as though the words between her and Shane had spread like proverbial wildfire throughout the station. The word was out.

Shane Westwood didn’t want her there.

The men who’d begun to open up to her now turned away as she entered the gym. When one of the squad leaders approached her and asked if she wanted to participate in training with a few of them, she agreed, ignoring the way a few of the rookies nearby snickered at the comment.

Once outside, she scanned the course. At first glance it didn’t appear impossible for her to maneuver; she’d run courses before. This one reminded her of an obstacle she’d once done at a military post while doing a story on fighter pilots. Large, it spanned at least a quarter of a mile in length. Much like the military obstacle course, it was filled with rope ladders, high walls to scale and logs to run across, and at the end of the course was a rope swing where they’d have to jump over a pool of water to reach the other side.

Feeling confident to the point of cocky, Emma strutted over to where the others were gathering. A pin was stuck directly into her balloon of confidence when one of the squad leaders placed a large duffel bag at her feet, telling her to suit up.

“Suit up?” She frowned, speaking to his retreating back.

“You have two minutes to put on your jumpsuit and protective gear, including helmet, and then place the duffel bag on your back.” As he spoke, Emma swiftly began to don the suit, her eyes widening as she spied the heavy gear inside the bag.

“After the whistle blows, you have ten minutes to maneuver the course. This is the first of many trials for this particular test before your examination, rookies. Don’t screw up.”

Emma was seconds away from backing out, eyeing the heavy helmet in her hand and the even heavier duffel at her feet, when she felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She didn’t have to turn around to know where the source of the now familiar sensation came from.

Mentally squaring her shoulders, she completed suiting up in the allotted time. When the whistle blew she was off and running with the others.

“Carrying a friggin’ twenty-five-pound rucksack, wearing another ten pounds of gear while tripping over tires and going facedown in a pool of water in an obstacle course…what in the world was I thinking?” Emma wondered aloud, reflecting on her afternoon.

But she knew what made her accept the challenge. It was for the same reason she went after any new challenge, particularly one she was told she couldn’t do. She didn’t need any psychotherapist to give her an unneeded, expensive, in-depth analysis.

It wasn’t that she’d been abused physically as a kid. Instead she’d been ignored, or tolerated at best. Left on her own, she’d never had many friends, being shuffled from relative to relative. She learned to rely on herself and herself only, determined not to need anyone to take care of her.

That transient way of living, picking up and moving frequently, had also made it so that she’d never needed a “home.” If she occasionally thought of what it would be like to stay in one place longer than a few months, of having somewhere to call home, she reminded herself that she had the type of life she’d always wanted—an exciting career, traveling, experiencing the world on her own terms.

After completing the obstacle course, her body dripping with a combination of sweat and water from the headlong dive, she nearly collapsed as soon as she made it to the other side. Despite it all, she’d found herself grinning her face off, proud that she’d beaten several of the other rookies who’d started with her. A movement to her left caught her attention and she spotted Shane on the sideline with a few other men, his focus solely on her. Their gazes locked.

Emma inhaled a swift breath. The way her pulse quickened, heart banging against her chest, had nothing to do with the physical act she just completed and everything to do with the man who was watching her.

Emma caught the glint of admiration in his bright blue eyes before he turned away.

Groaning, Emma settled back against the headboard, crossed her legs and dragged her bag from the floor before plunking it down beside her.

She took out her cell phone, flipped it open and saw that she’d missed two calls. Without looking she knew that both had to be from her editor. She didn’t really have anyone else who would call her. Particularly because of her lifestyle, she had next to no one she actually called “friend.” The few she did were reporters or photographers and led a similarly transient life, and rarely made idle phone calls just to chit-chat.

And that was the way she liked it, she reminded herself.

When she’d spoken to her editor earlier, their conversation had been brief; she hadn’t gone on to detail her experience with Shane. She’d assured him everything had been going “peachy,” and then there’d been a pause and Emma had held her breath. Bill was one of the few people who could pick up on how she was feeling, no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him. Although he hadn’t called her out, just gruffly said, “good,” she knew she wasn’t off the hook.

“Might as well get this over with,” she mumbled.

She quickly punched in his number, the only one she knew by heart, and waited for him to pick up the phone.

After several rings, a gruff voice on the other end barked, “Hello.”

“Hey, Bill, it’s me.” Emma leaned back against the headboard, sighing deeply.

“You sound like hell.”

“Way to make a girl feel good,” she replied, laughing humorlessly.

“Been one of those days, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Humph. I was wondering when you’d call. How’s it going so far? You all settled in?” Emma heard the concern he tried to hide in his scratchy voice. Asking if she was settled in was his way of asking what she needed from him. Not if she needed anything, but what she needed. Emma knew that whatever it was she needed, he’d do everything in his power to help her. He never actually came out and told her that he worried about her, that he cared, it wasn’t his style, but Emma knew he did.

Bill Hanley knew her better than anyone, including her own family. He’d been the one to give her her first job, right out of journalism school. He’d also been the one to give her her first overseas assignment.

He was the first person to believe in her abilities as a reporter—even during the times she doubted them herself. Emma was determined not to let him or herself down.

“Yeah, Chief, I’m cool. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

There was a moment of silence. Emma was about to disconnect the phone when he surprised her. “Look, if things get funky, let me know. You don’t have to put up with bull. I know some folks,” he said, and she smiled.

His phrasing reminded her of an old mafia flick. Bill had an old-school way of speaking, straight and to the point.

“Is there something you neglected to tell me?” She shut her eyes, allowing her head to rest back against the wrought-iron headboard.

There was a slightly short pause before he spoke. It was small, but enough that it made her fatigue melt away and alertness take its place.

“Bill?”

“The base manager and I go back, way back. I once did a story about his firefighter unit in the army, back when he was in the military. We became friends and have kept in contact ever since.”

“And?” she asked when he paused again.

“And…about two years ago he lent his help to jump a fire in Alaska. There was a lot of talk surrounding the fires that he and several of his men helped to fight. Rumblings about negligence on the part of senior personnel, to jumpers ignoring direct orders from the general manager. One jumper died and one was pretty badly injured. As far as I can remember there was a lot of talk about a female jumper in particular. Someone blamed her for one of Roebuck’s jumpers’ death.”

“What was the name of the jumper who survived? The male jumper?” she asked, although she already knew the answer before Bill opened his mouth.

“Westend…Westwood. Shane Westwood, if I recall correctly. Why?”

Emma was silent. The feeling in her gut worsened. “And the woman, who was she?”

“Can’t remember her name offhand. After the dust settled, last I knew she was transferred to another station.”

Emma’s instincts screamed at her that Shane was the cause for the female jumper leaving.

“Don’t tell me…this is the guy who you’re shadowing?’

“Yeah. And he wants nothing to do with women,” she said. “Well, at least not on his turf. And if he has his way, I’m on the next flight out of Lander.” Emma blew out a tired breath. “Maybe this assignment wasn’t the best one for me.”

She felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, a desire to just say, “Whatever” and let it go. She was so tired of fighting. Tired of having to prove herself over and over.

“Since when did you let the way others feel affect you going after a story?” Bill asked gruffly, after a long bout of silence. “Look, you’re one of the best photojournalists in the business.”

“It’s not that. I know I’m good,” she said and laughed. “I don’t mean it like that.”

“Well, you should,” he replied firmly.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and you are. Not a damn thing wrong with being sure of your abilities. You’ve been on back-to-back assignments for the last six months. Maybe you need to relax, take some time off—”

“No, I can handle it,” she interrupted. “I just need to unwind, take a long bath and hit the sack…get my mojo back,” she tried to lighten the mood, laughing lightly. She knew she hadn’t fooled her editor one bit—the man knew her too well—but thankfully he let it go.

When she disconnected the phone she pushed away from the headboard, a thoughtful look settling over her face, contemplating the information Bill had given her. Another piece to the ever-growing puzzle that was Shane Westwood.

Chapter Six

Emma was awake before her alarm could go off, feeling refreshed and ready to take on whatever challenges Shane Westwood could dish out.

The jumpers’ days started early. Immediately after breakfast, everyone gathered in the ready room where the day’s agenda was set in a general meeting with the hub’s crew. Although the job of conducting the morning meetings was the senior jumper’s, Roebuck had conducted them over the last two days as Shane had been away.

Emma donned the black sweats that had become her uniform and then sat down on the bed to pull on socks and her Nikes. Neat by habit, she quickly made the bed and walked across the room to the small refrigerator in the corner.

Not normally a breakfast person, Emma was happy to find that the room came equipped with a refrigerator, which she’d stocked her first day at the station with all of her favorites from a nearby convenience store: milk, juice, assorted muffins, diet soda and Captain Crunch. She didn’t know what the day held in store, so she decided to forgo the bowl of cereal and diet soda in favor of a small carton of juice and one of the bran muffins instead.

Twenty minutes later, she was opening the door to the ready room, the raucous sound of the men inside reaching her ears before she stepped in.

Her gaze swept the room until they connected with the one man who she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind over the last forty-eight hours.

“Let’s go. Roll call!” Shane called out in a booming voice, his voice drowning out the din of chatter as he faced the waiting, assembled men. The room quieted within seconds.

“For those of you who didn’t know, I’m back. It’s good to see you all again. The commander briefed me on what happened during my absence. I heard a lot of great things—I’m proud of the job B crew did in assisting the Montana jumpers during a cleanup job…great job, guys!” he began.

“For those of you joining us after hiatus, welcome back. Hope you had a restful time off while the rest of us worked our asses off,” he said, and they all guffawed good-naturedly, slapping several of the ones who’d had time off on the back.

He then turned to a small group of rookies who stood to his left in formation. “And I haven’t had the thrill of meeting you all yet. Don’t worry, that will soon be rectified. We’ll be getting to know each other very well over the next six weeks,” he said, and several of the older jumpers openly scoffed.

“Now, let’s hit the agenda. There’s a new mandatory class on preventing fires, which is basic, I know.” He held up a hand when several groaned. “But it’s mandatory, so no complaining about it. Also, there’s a weapons-certification class for those who plan to or want to continue to carry guns. Remember, nothing smaller than a .357 magnum. Don’t beat your chest and go caveman on me, it’s not a field trip. It’s mandatory games policy. C crew, that means you guys. Last time I checked, most of you were due for recertification. Don’t shoot the bears unless they’re coming to eat you,” he yelled out to the men who began to file out.

One of the squad leaders jumped onto the raised platform, joining him, and yelled out, “All rookies—outside. NOW! Don’t know why y’all are here any damn way! Roll call is for smoke jumpers, not freakin’ wannabes!” His booming voice echoed throughout the room, as loud and intimidating as any army drill sergeant’s. The rookies wasted no time. Within minutes they fled from of the room.

Shane was in the process of speaking with one of the squad leaders when a prickling sensation crept across the back of his neck, coiled around his body and pooled in his gut.

Emma Rawlings had entered the ready room.

Shane turned, his gaze sweeping over the heads of the room and the fleeing bodies of the rookies before connecting with hers.

With only a slight pause, he continued the briefing. When asked a question, he reluctantly broke contact and answered. When he turned back around, one of the jumpers had come to stand beside her.

His eyes narrowed when he saw her withdraw a pad from the oversize bag she wore, busy scribbling notes. She placed the notebook back inside and then withdrew an expensive-looking camera, brought the lens to her eye and snapped off a shot of the jumper she was speaking to before aiming her lens toward the men gathered around her.

When a few of the guys turned toward her, and actually smiled for the camera, Shane knew he had to turn away or he was liable to go over and snatch it from her hand to further prevent his men from embarrassing themselves with their shameless display of eagerness.

“Each group has their general assignments for the day. Before heading out, check the board for further assignments. Any more announcements?” he asked, turning to the squad leaders. When none answered, he continued. “Roll call!” and proceeded to fire off the list of names to answering variations of “Yo,” “Yep,” and “Huah!” until everyone had been accounted for.

When several stopped on the way out the door to stand and talk to Emma, he barked, “I’ll meet with C team in the cargo area in ten. Ms. Rawlings, I need to speak with you.”

When the last man left, Emma had no choice but to face him, watching him approach warily while reminding herself that anything he could dish out, she could take.

When he stood less than two feet away from her he crossed his arms over his big chest. The stance, like the scowl on his face whenever he was around her, was becoming irritatingly familiar.

“Looks like you’ve met all the men.”

The way he said it made it seem as though she had stripped down and given each man a lap dance instead of the simple interview she’d conducted. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, refusing to let him see how badly he was getting to her.

“When the men are being briefed, I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t distract them,” he continued and stepped closer.

Emma took an involuntary step away. Her glance slid over his sensual mouth, one side hitched lightly in a mimicry of a smile as he stood there, looming over her.

She stood still. Like a doe caught in headlights, she felt hemmed in. The air around them grew thick, moist—dewy with an underlying tension she couldn’t break away from. She refused to back up even when he stepped so close she could smell the heated, musky scent of his aftershave mixed with his natural male essence.

She blew out a breath, slowly, her lips partially opening, her tongue snaking out to lick the lower rim. When his gaze followed the action of her tongue, Emma’s heartbeat began to thump frantically against her chest, her palms grew moist, her body hot.

Emma raised her chin, resisting the urgent desire to flee. “They seem like big boys. They can handle it, I’m sure.”

He raised a hand and brought one finger down the line of her jaw. She stared up at him, controlling the crazy desire to turn into his caress.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you that playing with fire is a sure fire way to get burned, Ms. Rawlings?”

With their gazes locked, his bright-eyed gaze roamed over her face, over her mouth and down her throat before meeting hers. Emma felt as though it were his hands running over her, her body responding against her understanding or will.

The ends of his nostrils flared, his mouth following the path of her tongue as it again wet her lips.

“I’m working with the men this morning. I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to entertain you, Ms. Rawlings.”

When he walked away, she expelled the breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding.

God, what in the world had just happened, she wondered, her body slumping back against the wall.

Unconsciously running her fingers over the part of her face he’d touched, she watched him stride from the room.

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