Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(29)

“If you found out Rory was keeping a secret like that,” she said at last. “Would you hate him?”

“No!” The word jumped out of her mouth without conscious thought.

“There you go then.” Blaise shrugged. “And as for the rest of us…we all like you, Edith. There’s only one thing you could do to change that.”

Edith swallowed nervously. “Let the squad down?”

“No.” Blaise looked at her levelly. “Hurt Rory.”

“I would never--“ Edith cut herself off as she heard her own voice echo from the walls. She made herself speak more normally. “I mean, I would never want to hurt him. Not deliberately. ”

“Good.” Blaise’s mouth curled. “Because you do not want to be my enemy.”

Fenrir huffed as if agreeing.

Edith jumped as someone rapped on the front door. Neither Blaise nor Fenrir so much as twitched.

“Speak of the devil.” Blaise raised her voice. “It’s not locked!”

Rory himself came in. He’d swapped his turn out gear for dark jeans and a soft tee that could barely stretch over his biceps. Her bedroom seemed even smaller with his broad, burly form filling her doorway.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at her. “You settling in okay?”

He must have come straight from the shower. His blond hair had darkened to bronze, little beads of water glittering like gems amidst the tousled spikes. She was so mesmerized by the slightly damp, gleaming hollow of his throat, she didn’t realize he’d even spoken until Blaise slid off the bed.

“I’m gonna go…uh, take a walk,” Blaise announced, her gaze flicking from Edith to Rory and back again. “You coming, Fenrir?”

Rory stood aside to let the pair squeeze past. Edith noticed that Blaise caught his eye for a moment, some private message flickering in the air between the two old friends. A pang of envy shot through her at that easy, silent communication.

Rory looked after Blaise as she exited the cabin, his forehead creasing a little. When he turned back to her though, his warm smile was back again.

“We need to get you some gear,” he said, holding out a hand. “Buck wants the crew practicing with full kit tomorrow. Let’s go see what we can find for you in the storeroom.”

She didn’t need help getting off the bed, but it would be rude to just leave his proffered hand hanging in mid-air. She tried not to show the shiver that raced through her as his fingers folded over hers.

She hadn’t anticipated his strength. A flex of his arm, and she shot up like a rocket, stumbling into him. She caught herself just in time to avoid bumping her nose against his chest, but she did get an excellent close-up view of that delicious dip between his collarbones. She wondered if he would taste as good as he smelled…

What was she thinking? She stepped back so hastily that she tripped. Only the fact that Rory still had hold of her hand stopped her from toppling straight back onto the bed again.

“I’m not really this clumsy!” she blurted out, blushing furiously. “It’s just, just—“

“It’s a small room,” Rory finished for her, looking a little red himself.

She’d actually been about to say, just that you make me go weak at the knees. On retrospect, she was very glad that he’d interrupted.

“Sorry, that was my fault.” Rory let go of her hand at last. “I didn’t mean to yank you around like that. Come on. Let’s go get you kitted up.”

“Uh, yeah.” Edith swallowed hard, trying to get a grip on her surging libido. “Good idea.”

She couldn’t have a serious discussion with Rory while she was tongue-tied with helpless lust, after all. Surely it would be easier to maintain a cool, professional attitude once they were away from her bedroom.

There was nothing sexy about putting clothes on, after all.





Chapter 12





An hour later, and she was seriously wishing they were back in the bedroom.

Rory’s bowed head was level with her groin. Her fingers itched to feel the texture of his tousled hair. She stared straight ahead at the wall, and tried very hard not to breathe in his scent.

“It’s no good. This pair is too short too.” Giving up fiddling with the cuffs of the turn out pants she was trying on, he sat back on his heels. He ran his hand through his hair, making her own hand clench in longing. “You have really long legs.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a pain. I can never find pants that fit.” She knew she was talking too much, but she couldn’t help it. His proximity unhinged her tongue as well as her mind. “All the kids at school used to call me a stork.”

He frowned, his eyes darkening. “Teenagers are cruel.”

It had actually been back in preschool, when people had only seen her outward differences. Her nicknames later on had been much crueler.

“Well, I am a stork.” If she didn’t move soon, she was going to explode. In a moment of inspiration, she flapped her elbows, making a joke of it. “Awk, awk.”

“A sexy stork,” he said—and flushed. He cleared his throat, turning away to rummage through the shelves lining the walls.

He thought she was sexy?

“Maybe one of the smaller men’s sizes would be a better fit.” He tossed her another pair of pants. “Try these ones.”