Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(16)
“The tower will get fixed,” she said. “It’ll be all right. Soon everything will be back to normal.”
Fenrir’s whole body stiffened, his head turning. He trotted over to the east window, nails clicking on the floor, and uttered a sharp bark.
“What is it?” She peered out the window herself. “Oh! They’re back.”
She could just about make out the hotshot crew’s yellow jackets through the darkening twilight. They’d regrouped at their transport, discarding helmets and backpacks in a pile by the rear doors. Even at distance, she could see the easy way the squad worked together, moving in practiced unison to load equipment back into the truck.
A stab of longing went through her. She pressed her hand against the glass, imagining for a moment that she was down there. Tired and laughing, aching in every muscle but filled with the glow of victory…
She shook herself free from the stupid daydream. “They must be finished. Well, it was nice having your company for one day at least, big guy. Looks like you’re heading back to your home base now.”
Fenrir yawned extravagantly, lay down, and put his head on his front paws.
“A whole day listening to me babble, and now you want to go to sleep? Come on, Fenrir. You don’t want them to go without you.” She crouched down to tug at his harness. She might as well have tried to drag the entire lookout tower. “I have to take you back to your boss. Much as I’d like to keep you myself.”
A deep chuckle floated from behind her. “Trying to steal my crew away from me?”
Edith jumped, whirling round so fast she nearly lost her balance. Rory leaned against the shattered remnants of the door, smiling at her.
At the sight of him, she did lose her balance. Her backside connected hard with the floor as jaw dropped.
He’d been impressive enough in bulky, shapeless turn outs. Now, out of the concealing shroud of the protective jacket, he was revealed as a downright masterpiece.
The doorway framed him like a work of art. A black crew tee with the Thunder Mountain Hotshots logo clung to every line of his broad torso, leaving nothing to the imagination. A light sheen of sweat highlighted the swelling curves of his folded arms. His warm golden tan perfectly complemented the tawny shade of his hair and the deeper amber of his eyes.
He’d left his safety pants on, but pulled the suspenders off his shoulders. The straps hung down around his thighs, pointing like arrows to the parts of him still tantalizingly hidden by the thick fire-resistant fabric. The top button of his pants winked at her, begging to be undone…
Fenrir made one of his deep, huffing laugh-barks. Rory jumped, straightening from his easy pose. He glared at the dog.
“I am not flexing,” he said.
Edith tore her eyes away guiltily. Had her lust been printed that obviously on her face?
“I-I wasn’t going to ask you to,” she stuttered. She managed to clamp her mouth shut before though if you wanted to, I wouldn’t mind slipped out.
“No, I wasn’t talking to—argh.” Rory scrubbed a hand over his face, leaving sooty smudges. “And here I meant to impress you with my dazzling competence and professionalism. Look, can I rewind and try again?”
She let out a breath of pained amusement, recognizing that feeling. “Sure, as long as I can.”
True to his word, he walked backward, disappearing out the door again. A beat, and then he strode confidently back into view.
“Hello again Edith,” he said, dropping his voice into exaggeratedly serious tones. “As a qualified, competent professional, I’ve come to report that the fire is under control now.”
His playfulness surprised a giggle out of her. “I would try to act like a competent, qualified professional too, but I’m still flat on my butt on the floor.”
“Ah. Fortunately, as a trained firefighter, I am fully qualified and competent in search and rescue operations.” He leaned over to offer her a hand up. “See? Already found you.”
He’d taken his gloves off along with his gear. She could touch him, skin to skin…brush her lips against that broad, callused palm, inhaling his scent…
She scuttled back, frightened by the intensity of her own impulses. She forced out a shaky laugh, trying to cover her own awkwardness.
“Well, even more fortunately, I can rescue myself,” she said as she scrambled to her feet unassisted. “Fire watchers have to be self-sufficient.”
His smile flickered, some other expression clouding his features. Had she insulted him somehow by not accepting his hand? Implied that he wasn’t strong enough to pull her to her feet? Surely his masculinity couldn’t be that fragile. The man looked like a Greek god and had just spent a day in hand-to-hand combat with a wildfire, after all.
“Not that I wouldn’t want to be rescued by you,” she babbled, grasping for a way to recover the situation. “Looking the way you do, people would pay good money to be slung over your shoulder. How do you even walk down the street without causing traffic accidents?”
She knew the instant that the words left her mouth that she shouldn’t have said them. The rules around what was and was not appropriate to mention when it came to people’s bodies were so dizzyingly complex that she’d long since given up trying to decipher them. It was safest not to comment at all
Fortunately, for once her attempt at a compliment seemed to have been taken as intended. His face broke into a wide, delighted grin that made answering warmth race through her veins.