Hot to Touch (Kimani Romance) (4 page)

E
mma 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.

“I
’m training the rookies this morning. Meet me in the classroom in fifteen minutes.”

Emma spun around upon hearing Shane’s voice behind her, trying not to allow her surprise to show. She assumed that after their exchange two days ago she’d be left to her own devices, and this idea had proven correct over the last couple of days. She hadn’t been idle during that period, had instead used the time to interview and photograph the jumpers as they trained, pleasantly surprised when the majority seemed eager to speak in their down time.

She’d only caught occasional glimpses of Shane, usually by accident. And nine times out of ten, Shane was out the door within minutes whenever she showed up. Maybe Roebuck had spoken with him, or maybe he’d
had a sudden change of heart regarding her. Whatever the reason, Emma wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. With a nod, she quickly made her way to her room and grabbed her gear, just in case. She was back in the classroom before the allotted fifteen minutes was up.

When she showed up to find she was the only one there, none of the rookies around, she felt a keen sense of disappointment. The disappointment led to outrage when one of the squad leaders strode into the room and informed her that she’d be watching a series of films about the history and lives of smoke jumpers, followed by a training film on the various ways a parachute could kill a person. “You have
got
to be kidding me,” she murmured, her mouth thinning into a long, angry line as he set up the film.

“Oh, and uh, Shane said to leave you with this.” He handed her a small, hot bag full of popcorn.

When he caught the look in her eyes, he quickly turned and left, but not before Emma saw the smirk lurking in the squad leader’s eyes. Tempted to throw the bag of popcorn at his retreating back, she instead plopped down in a nearby chair.

“The least he could have done was leave me some extra butter to go with it,” she mumbled moodily.

“Fighting fires of any type is a tough, dirty job. Only the brave need apply…”

As the narrator of the black-and-white film spoke, she sighed, settling back in the chair and reaching into the bag of popcorn.

In the ready room, after the marathon of dusty old archived films she’d been forced to sit through, Emma finally had enough and left, seeking out one of the squad leaders…and avoiding Shane.

She hadn’t known what in the world the man would throw at her next. Still, for every roadblock he threw in her path, Emma had maneuvered around it, pleased with the progress she’d begun to make on her article.

Initially she’d been relieved for the reprieve, but as the days grew, her irritation grew as well. She needed his input as second in command. She was supposed to be trailing him, after all. She didn’t need his approval, and his insights were what she needed to make her article shine.

And although she’d managed to do her job without his interference over the last two days, she decided then that it was time to flip the script.

After her afternoon interview with Roebuck, again left to her own devices, she’d gone into the gym, only to see Shane along with his team, working out. She turned to beat a hasty retreat when he caught sight of her and
invited
her to go against one of the senior jumpers in scaling down the wall.

“Ms. Rawlings.” He stopped her before she could take more than a few steps.

Reluctantly, Emma turned back around to face him.

“You seem to know your way around a wall,” he began, and several of the men chuckled. Emma
lifted her chin, raised a brow and waited for him to continue.

“Rick here is one of the best. Care to match your…skills…against his?”

The man he nodded his head toward was built like a truck. Although equal to Shane in height, this man looked as though he belonged on a football field battering through an angry defensive line, instead of jumping out of planes.

“You beat him, you have free rein of the station.” He threw out the challenge. “Nothing is off limits.”

“No
one
as well?” She saw the hesitation in his eyes and waited.

Finally, he nodded. “Nothing.” He paused. “And no one. But if you lose, you lose your article as well.”

The stakes were high, but without Shane Emma realized she didn’t have a complete article anyway. She dropped her pad and took her place at the top of the wall and then glanced over at her competitor and bit her lower lip.

There was no way she could she beat this man, she thought, inwardly groaning, but she put on a confident smile nonetheless.

She grabbed the rope, and seconds before Shane blew the whistle she slid a glance his way. She hid her surprise when he gave her a very deliberate wink and side grin before quickly turning away.

Her smile grew. Maybe she could do this after all.

After she beat the giant smoke jumper, her feet touching the floor moments before his, she spun
around, searching for Shane. She ignored the sting of disappointment when there was no sight of him, and she gave a half smile to one of the squad leaders who congratulated her on her win.

She then wandered outside, camera in hand and ready to catch the smoke jumpers in action as they trained, again impressed with the unit’s training ground.

Separated by open grassy areas stood a two-story army-type barracks where most of the men stayed, housing the jumpers, jumper pilots, as well as the recruits. Although most of them didn’t live at the station full-time, the base had facilities to house the one hundred personnel who lived and worked there.

The men were busy doing a variety of jobs—from sitting in a storage area wrapping water containers for freight to engaging in physical readiness training.

Yet no matter how mundane the job, Emma could feel the hint of expectancy in the air, as though they were ready, on alert. It was their prime season, the time when anywhere, at any time, a fire could rage and they’d be on the next plane headed out.

When lunchtime rolled around, Emma decided to forgo the commissary where most of the men ate and instead head to her room.

“You don’t seem like the type to be afraid of much. Kinda remind me of myself when I was your age. So, what’s the problem?”

Surprised to hear a deep yet feminine voice coming from directly behind her, Emma spun around. A woman sat there, casually eating a muffin, behind the glassed-in
partition area that separated the office from the waiting room.

A frown settled over Emma’s face as she stared through the glass at the older woman.

“Excuse me?” she asked, taking a hesitant step forward.

When the woman lifted a nearby mug of coffee to her mouth and took a healthy swallow, eyeing Emma over the large mug without speaking, Emma moved closer.

“Uh…do I know you?” she asked, watching as the woman lifted the muffin to her mouth again, took a hefty bite, nearly biting it in half and chewed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed at Emma.

The older woman delicately dusted the crumbs from the tips of her fingers.

“Name’s Isabelle. Friends call me Belle. I work the desk from time to time. Get’s me out of the house,” was Belle’s way of introduction, holding out her hand.

Emma racked her brain trying to remember if she’d met the woman and had forgotten. In the time since she’d met Shane her thoughts had been so occupied with trying to figure him out that it was possible she had obliterated memories of meeting the woman completely from her mind.

“I was the one you spoke with before you came to the station… I’m a friend of your editor.”

“Ohhhh,
yes,
Ms. Belle!” Emma smiled, walking forward to shake her hand, finally remembering. “Wonderful to finally meet you in person!”

Isabelle Stanford had been helpful when Emma and
Bill were coordinating the best time for Emma’s stay, and the two of them had several telephone conversations with the older woman. Belle had been a part of the Lander station from the moment it was built. Her husband was one of the first jumpers at the station and later served as the general manager.

When he passed away several years ago, Roebuck, who’d served as a senior jumper under his command, had asked her to come and help out at the station. Emma had heard the fondness in her voice when she shared the information with her.

The two women spoke for a while before Emma asked, “Ms. Belle…what did you mean about ‘my problem’?”

Isabelle shrugged her wide shoulders and adjusted her glasses, perched at the end of her nose, peering at Emma so long she grew uncomfortable beneath her penetrating gaze.

“Lead me, follow me, or get out of my way. That was one of my husband’s—God rest his soul—favorite sayings. It was a saying of General Patton.”

Emma frowned. “I don’t get the point.”

Isabelle gave Emma a look that made her cheeks flush in embarrassment. She didn’t know the older woman beyond the phone conversations they’d shared, yet the look she gave her wasn’t hard to read. Emma felt inexplicably foolish.

“Well, seems to me that you came here for a story. A damn good one, too. But that’s not gonna happen if you pussyfoot around, acting afraid of your own shadow. The young woman I spoke with on the phone didn’t give
me the impression that was the way she… How do the young folks put it?” She stopped, her brows coming together in a line of concentration. She snapped her fingers. “Roll! That’s it! Didn’t seem like that was how you rolled.”

Emma didn’t know whether to laugh or be embarrassed at the woman’s assessment. But she understood what she meant, and she couldn’t argue with it. That wasn’t how she rolled, and she was going to have to do something to change it. After a few more minutes of chatting, Emma left with a promise to catch up with Belle later.

After lunch, Emma sought out Jake, the jumper training the rookies that day, and followed him out to the training ground, still thinking of the older woman’s words.

She swiftly jotted down notes, trying to capture the flavor and essence of the intensity of the training, soon lost in the writing and excitement of the story that was unfolding on her notepad.

Feeling as though she was being watched, Emma turned to see that Shane, along with one of the squad leaders, was addressing a group of rookies who were not training. As the other man spoke to the young jumpers, Shane’s attention was on Emma the entire time.

The intensity of his gaze was so sharp that it was as though his fingers were skimming over her face, down the line of her throat, instead of his eyes.

Her nipples hardened, stabbing against her bra when his gaze brushed across her breasts. Her breath caught
on a soundless gasp, and her heart thudded against her chest. He finally broke eye contact when the squad leader spoke to him.

Emma released a breath she’d been unconsciously holding in a silent
whoosh
of air. Closing her eyes briefly, she opened them and gave a fleeting look around, in dread, knowing that every man on the field had to have just witnessed their silent exchange. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks when she realized they were all busy with their individual training, no one giving her or Shane any attention.

“Getting some more good stuff for your article, Emma?”

Startled, she spun around, grasping the railing in support when Roebuck spoke beside her. She had not heard his approach, her entire awareness only focused on Shane.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized and grasped her elbow to help steady her.

“No, no, it wasn’t you. I was just watching the men. I must have gotten so caught up in writing I was lost in my own zone,” she replied with a shaky laugh.

His eyes darted to the ground near her. Bending down, he casually picked up her pen, lying near her feet where she dropped it during her “deer caught in the headlights” moment with Shane. Emma felt her cheeks flame as she accepted the pen with a meager “Thanks.”

She cleared her throat, wondering how long he’d been standing there watching her without her knowing.

“You mentioned you used to do some long-distance running?” he asked.

“Yes, back in high school I ran long distance. Got a scholarship for college as well.”

“Good. I thought you might be interested in coming over to watch a potential new class while they run. That and a few other physical tests are part of the elimination process to see if they qualify for the next rookie class. Interested?”

She hesitated. She was growing tired of simply watching from the sidelines, something she seemed to be doing a lot of lately.

“With forty-pound sacks in hand. Thought maybe you’d be interested in participating with the others,” he said.

“With a forty-pound sack?” She grinned.

“For a mile. Timed. Wanna give it a go?”

From her peripheral vision she saw Shane, not far away, watching them. Noting the scowl cross his handsome face, she grinned up at Roebuck. “Try and stop me!”

Emma was laying faceup on the ground, staring at the sky, wondering what possessed her to take Roebuck up on his challenge. Again that irritating little voice inside her head reminded her why: Shane Westwood.

She waved a limp hand in front of her face as though to swat away the nagging voice, before weakly resting her hands back down on the soft grass. After a moment, she pushed herself back into a sitting position, preparing to stand, when a large shadow stood directly in front of
her. She brought a hand to her face to shield her eyes, peering up.

She barely prevented her eyes from rolling as she stared up at Shane, waiting to hear what he had to say about her less-than-stellar performance running with the sack. When his hand reached down, she hesitated briefly before placing hers in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Go ahead and say it,” she said, dusting her hands down the sides of her legs, not looking up at him. “I was terrible.”

When she heard what sounded like a laugh from him, she looked up to see a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I wouldn’t say terrible. Certainly not good, but not terrible.”

Emma felt her own lips twitch in response to his unexpected humor.