Blazing Hot: Californian Wildfire Fighters Book Two Read online

  Even her heart didn't feel safely remote, anymore.

  "Look at me," Landon murmured. Panting, Alex glanced up from watching herself gyrate on top of him. It was easier to focus on the rhythm and mechanics than it was to look him directly in the eyes. If she looked, she was certain she would—

  Landon cupped her face, and Alex had no choice. His loving gaze swallowed her whole, and she was drowning, falling through depths she had forced herself to proudly meet by the light of day, and to staunchly avoid when they came together in the shadows.

  "Alex . . ." He whispered her name—and clearly intended to say more—but yanked her to himself suddenly with a hiss. She had chosen that precise moment to rise up and sink herself down onto him. Biting off a curse, he came hard, emptying himself inside her in a quick sequence of hard, bucking thrusts.

  As Alex rode the last one upward, her stomach tensed and flooded with warmth. A ragged sigh passed her lips as she clutched him close and returned his embrace. She came again in his arms.

  Just sex. The words spun themselves out in her brain like a broken record. It can't be more. It can't be more.

  I can't let it happen again.

  Chapter 11

  Landon

  "We probably shouldn't do this anymore."

  "Hm?" Landon glanced past his right bicep, folded behind his head, to take in the lovely vision lying beside him. After getting pounced by Alex when he’d arrived home from work—and after spanning every inch of the kitchen they shared as he’d worked them both up into a feverish lather—they had retired without showering to his bedroom.

  "Sex," she said flatly. "We probably shouldn't do it anymore."

  Hearing this from her now seemed absurd. She was pressed against him, and her fingers had tangled themselves idly in his sparse chest hair. Landon caught her fingers to lay a dismissive kiss on them, but Alex pulled her hand away.

  That was when he understood the full seriousness of the situation. "I'm confused," he admitted. He figured it was best just to come clean. "Aren't you having fun?"

  Alex choked on what sounded to him like a mirthless laugh. She sat up to meet his eyes. "Of course I'm having fun. The thing is . . . I'm just not sure I want to get tangled up with you."

  "Little late for that."

  "I'm not sure I want to stay tangled up with you, knowing that you're going to head back out to the fire, and then . . . back home, I assume." She tucked a sweat-soaked strand of hair back behind her ear.

  Landon blinked. She looked so young, so vulnerable. He had described her from the beginning as having angelic features, but this was the first time he had ever seen Alex struggle against something that lay below the surface. He knew she had demons. Hell, so did he. But she suddenly looked like she was losing the battle against them, and Landon wasn't sure what that meant for them.

  "I know I'm blowing hot and cold here, Landon. I wish I wasn't. But—I am. I wish I could be different, but I'm not."

  "I don't want you to be different." He meant every word of his assertion. "Look—Alex—if I gave the impression that I was going to push you—I won't. I don't want to force you somewhere you don't want to go. God, that's the last thing I want." He ran his fingertips along the silky lock of hair she had displaced, herself, only seconds before. "If the situation needs to be complicated until you figure things out, then that's okay by me."

  His eyes searched hers for some sign that she heard him. He had the full attention of her searing blue eyes, but did she really register what he was saying? Did she know just how much she had grown to mean to him?

  "I'm complicated, too," he continued after the long pause. "This fire isn't going anywhere for a while, and neither am I. We don't have to worry about the future until it arrives. But if this is your way of saying you're done with me . . ." His gut sank, even as he kept his voice level. "I understand."

  He didn't. His heart clenched in revolt at the words, blackened and flaked away in pieces to think that she might end it—just like that.

  But he had to risk it. He had to split himself open to her and spill the parts of him he had guarded for so long.

  "It's not about being 'done' with you!" Alex shot up, and she surprised him with the answering force of her protest. "I'm not using you!"

  Sounds to me like you doth protest too much. Landon winced. Clearly it was a thought that had crossed Alex's mind on more than one occasion, considering he hadn't mentioned it himself. Aloud, he said, "It's all right if you are. I just want you to know that."

  "It's not all right!" Alex hung her head.

  Landon stroked her temple. He was almost at a loss of anything else to do.

  Almost.

  He couldn't compete with a ghost if he was too afraid to bring the man up. "Look, I get it. You're not over Henry. And I want you to know, right here and now, I'm not asking you to be." He pressed her hands in his, stroked her knuckles with his thumb. "Don't hurry yourself to get there, especially not on my account. You've only just started to really come to terms with losing him. Allow yourself some time to grieve." He looked off across the room, into a corner of the past he hadn't allowed himself to delve for a long time. "When I lost my mom, it took me years to feel even remotely normal again. Even today, there are times when the world doesn't make sense to me without her."

  "Thank you, Landon." Alex sat upright and shifted the sheet over one bare shoulder. "I . . . I didn't know. About your mother."

  Landon nodded. How could she? He had never brought it up.

  "I'm just . . . Jesus, how do I say this?" Alex shook her head as if to clear it. "I've been around so much sorrow. Not just my own, but every day at work. I'm surrounded by it. And I'm not sure our traumas are comparable. I grieve differently than you do, and you grieve differently than me. So whether or not I need time . . ."

  Landon cupped her covered shoulder with his palm, and then he rose. He saw Alex's eyes widen as she tracked him in the darkness of the room. "You need space," he said. He managed to keep any hurt or confusion out of his own voice. He compartmentalized. He was determined to review it all later—when he was alone, and when Alex's fragility didn't hang in the balance.

  "Landon, I didn't mean . . . I'm sorry, I . . ."

  Landon shook his head and started to dress. "You need space," he repeated. "And, look, if you do just need someone for comfort, even if it's only physical, I'll be whatever I need to be." He paused in the doorway, shirt still balled in his hand. "I care about you. But I have to be myself, too."

  "I know you do." Alex tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gazed down at the sweat-soaked sheets they had rumpled together. "I don't want you to be anyone else."

  Liar. Landon stared at her bowed forehead and wished the word didn't strike him like a bolt between the eyes. He knew that what he did for a living alarmed Alex; he knew that she disapproved. How could he separate who he was as a man from what his soul needed to survive? He needed to be on the frontline, to be the first one responding, the first one with his foot half in the fire and a hand held out to the person who needed rescuing.

  Alex's bedroom was dark. The window was cracked, and a cool evening breeze filtered in past the curtain, bringing the stinging wildfire smell with it. If the room had been on fire, Landon reflected, he would have known how to navigate the space between them to pull Alex to safety.

  But she had to help herself out of this one. She could heal him, but he couldn't heal her.

  He turned and left to close himself inside his own bedroom and think on this. He had never felt more at a loss . . . and a part of him couldn't help wondering if things stood any chance of working out between them.

  Chapter 12

  Alex

  "It must be some sort of addiction, Lana," Alex sighed as she poured them both another glass of wine. "First Henry, now Landon. I haven't even looked at another man since Henry passed away. You know that, right?"

  "You don't need my validation," Lana said. The two women sat together in Lana's parlor. Though she loved La
na's famous sweet tea, Alex had elected to bring something a little stronger with her today. She passed the deep crimson-brimming glass to her friend and cupped her own. She had overpoured on purpose; they had two bottles to get through between them, and Alex had vowed on her way over to limit herself to only one night of griping.

  Luckily, Lana’s house was not that long a walk from hers.

  "I think it's wonderful that you and Landon are trying things out," Lana continued. "It's so romantic, don't you think? You nursed him back to health, and now he's helping to mend your wounded heart."

  "It's not like that at all!" Alex stressed. Her voice sounded tight, like she had almost used up all the oxygen available to her to protest with. Lana was still watching her with the same small impression of a smile but waited for her to finish. Alex composed herself. "And anyway," she continued, "how do I know this isn't just history doomed to repeat itself? He's reckless, Lana. He can't stay away from danger. I'm afraid he's the same exact person Henry was."

  "Landon is not Henry." Lana's tone surprised her with its severity. "And you had better not start down that track thinking that he is. You're only going to hurt yourself and those around you if you try to replace your husband."

  Alex sighed. She wasn't communicating the way she wanted to, today—first with Landon, and now with her dear friend. "I know he isn't Henry, Lana. But some days, it all just feels so . . . similar. I've been single for four years, and the first guy I fall for has the same sort of brash disregard about doing things likely to get him killed. I can't go through that again."

  "It's a hard place to be in," Lana said sympathetically. "I certainly understand not wanting to relive the past."

  Alex thought she had conveyed her feelings effectively on the matter, but she couldn't help feeling foolish, like a teenage girl venting her problems overdramatically to the passive girlfriend whose job it was to listen.

  "But enough about me," Alex said quickly. "Have you seen Hank since he came back to town?" She was desperate to turn the tables and prove herself worthy of Lana's saintlike patience.

  Lana shook her head. "I mean, we've technically seen each other from a distance. But you don't want to hear about all that, now."

  Alex opened her mouth to protest, but Lana shook her head again. "Really, Alex, I'd prefer to talk about you. You've been through so much, these past four years, and I don't see you giving yourself enough credit now."

  Alex sat up. She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped herself. If there was anyone in the world she didn't want to interrupt, it was Lana.

  "Landon sounds like a good man, from the way you describe him," Lana said. "Maybe your type isn't what you think it is, at all. Maybe, rather than finding yourself attracted to men with a death wish, you simply find yourself attracted to good men.” She tilted her head to the side as she asked, “Isn't that a better way to see it?"

  "I don't know if I'd be deluding myself if I accepted your take on it," Alex admitted. She took an introspective sip of her wine. She put her glass down, swallowed, and suddenly blurted the truth she had been holding back: "He's right, you know. He told me I hadn't taken the time to actually grieve Henry's death. I can see now that I've been running, and I know it's all my fault." She hung her head.

  "It's not your fault, honey," Lana whispered. "You've been through an unimaginable tragedy. No one on God's green earth would ever blame you for dealing with it as best you can."

  "But I'm not dealing with it!" she exclaimed. "For four years, I didn't deal with it! And now Landon shows up, and I’ve never even started the process, let alone finished it." She swallowed, then raised a hand to touch her temple. "God, I've done this to myself. Worst of all, I've done it to him," she said bitterly. "Of course he had to come all the way out here from Alaska when the world's burning to find himself in my care." Alex snatched at her hair and cradled her head in her hands. "It's just . . . the worst possible timing on all fronts."

  Lana laid a gentle hand on her knee. "You just have to trust your heart. That's the only way you can make these kinds of decisions."

  My heart, Alex thought again as she trudged home, long after the last of the wine was gone. The heart is a muscle. The heart is an organ. My heart was dead for years before a smile from Landon gave it a jump. How am I supposed to trust what it says when I don't even speak the language anymore? And what if . . .?

  What if it told her exactly what it had told her when she met Henry? Hold on to this man and don't let him go? How could you hold on to a man who raced away from you to risk his life at every opportunity?

  As she approached her house, she saw a tall figure shoulder his way out the front door. The figure turned to lock the door behind him; the twisting turn of a spare key told Alex exactly who was bailing at such a late hour.

  "Landon?" she asked.

  Landon glanced up.

  He was carrying his duffle bag. Alex stared at his face in fixed astonishment.

  Was he . . . leaving?

  Chapter 13

  Landon

  Landon turned, leaving the key in the door.

  He locked eyes with Alex. He set his duffel bag down.

  He should have known this would happen. Had he really thought that after so much had passed between them, he could just up and leave without consequences? Still, a part of him had hoped to depart before she got home. Now the note he had left for her on her counter would be rendered completely obsolete.

  Oh, well. Time to face the music.

  Time to face the angel.

  She was already coming up the steps before he could make his feet move to descend them to meet her. She looked slightly unsteady on her feet, and he wondered if she had been drinking. Her eyes, by contrast, were clear.

  "Where are you going?" she asked him. Her gaze alighted on his duffel bag, and he knew there would be no lying to her. What's more, he found he didn't want to.

  "Honestly, I was planning on sneaking out." He grimaced a little, hoping to lighten the tone of his admission.

  Alex stared at him, stricken. “So, that’s it, then?”

  Landon scratched the back of his head. If he didn’t find a way to occupy his hands, he was afraid he would reach for her. And he needed to get this thing between them right. “Look, I like you, Alex. A lot. And if you want me to stay here, then I will. But I don’t think you really want me to."

  There. It was all out in the open now. That had been easy enough. Maybe.

  Landon gazed down at her, his eyes scanning her face for any indication of what her response would be. This thing they had together, this connection, was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He knew it couldn’t only be one-sided. He was half-confident that she would tell him he had it wrong, that she would ask him to stay. He didn’t bother to turn to retrieve the key from the lock. Not yet.

  He watched, and he waited.

  A million and one emotions flickered across Alex’s face. She must have definitely been drinking earlier—the usual tight control she kept of herself seemed looser, somehow.

  He took a hesitant step closer. All he needed was an invitation to come back inside, and they could work it out—or at least work toward some sort of—

  “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best." Alex‘s eyes flickered away from him, toward the door—or toward some spot that only she could see, an invisible wall beginning to erect itself between them. “You’re a . . . you’re a good man, Landon. A great man. It’s ridiculous how long it took me to realize that you were. You’re a hero, for God's sake, but—I have so much baggage." She swallowed thickly. "So much that I wish I could just leave behind." She gestured toward his duffel bag. If it was going to serve as a metaphor, Landon wanted to kick it. “But I see now, there’s so much I can’t just put down. And it’s hurting you. And that's the last thing I would ever want."

  Landon forced a laugh. When it didn’t sound as convincing as he’d hoped it would, he shook his head as a further demonstration that he was refuting her apology. “I’m a big boy
, Alex. Like I’ve said before, I get that you need space. And time—you need time to heal. This was just bad timing. Right?"

  But he was too invested in her response just then, too ready to hang on to her answer either way, and he knew it. So he didn’t leave her room to answer. When she opened her mouth, he stepped all the way to her, arms spread, and enveloped her in a hug. He tried to play it off as a friendly parting gesture and nothing more, conscious all the while of his sudden, roaring fear that this might be the last time he’d ever hold her again.

  Alex’s arms flew around his neck.

  Landon paused, nearly overwhelmed in the moment by the ferocity of her grip. He clutched her close, equally desperate. Surely, she would ask him to come inside with her now.

  She pulled away, and he felt her absence like a yawning chasm between them, but it was only to grasp either side of his face and yank him back in for a kiss. He could taste the sweet nectar of red wine on her lips. His heart twisted, and he ached to join her back inside the house and polish off a bottle together.

  When he started to kiss her back, she pulled out of the embrace. A hand on his chest prevented him from following her.

  “I’m sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that." Her eyes were on that invisible obstacle looming between them again. For a moment, Landon wondered if he could raise his fists and shatter the wall—finally sweep her into his arms without a barrier between them, and never let her go. “You better get going," she concluded.

  “Guess I’d better."

  He turned mechanically, barely conscious of what he was doing, and picked up his duffel bag. He wanted to say something more but decided that the safest course in the moment was to brush past her on his way down the steps. “Key's in the lock," he mentioned unnecessarily. “Thanks for letting me stay. I’m sorry if it caused you any inconvenience."