Hot to Touch (Kimani Romance) (3 page)

S
hane 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.

A
s 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.