Page 14 of Burning for the Mountain Man

"I wrote this because the district needs a permanent coordinator. The data supports it. Your own assessment supports it. The fact that I'm in love with the current coordinator is a separate issue."

The breath she takes is audible. Shaky. The folder lowers to her side. Those amber eyes are on mine, searching, terrified, wanting.

"You love me."

"Loved you since you showed up late with opinions about my protocols. Loved you when you picked up a Pulaski on the fire line before I could ask." Stepping closer, I take the folder from her hand. Set it on the counter. Her fingers are cold. Mine cover them. "Loved you when you told me about your house burning and didn't cry, because you've spent nineteen years turning that pain into purpose."

"I cried." She laughs, wet. "Thursday night. After you left. Ruined your shirt."

"Good. That's my shirt."

"Nash." She puts her hands on my chest. Palms flat over my heartbeat, the same way she touched me the first time in the tent. "My dad gave everything to the job. My mom left. Owen stayed with her. I stayed with him, and then he retired to an empty apartment in Sacramento, and I swore I would never let a place matter enough to break me when I had to leave."

"You don't have to leave."

"I'm scared that I want that more than I've ever wanted anything."

"Good." My hands come up to her face. Thumbs on her cheekbones, fingers in her hair. "Be scared. Stay anyway."

She kisses me.

Nothing soft about it. Her mouth is open, tongue finding mine. Both hands fist in my shirt, pulling me against her. I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed, then she's pulling me down on top of her, legs wrapping around my waist.

"I love you," she says against my mouth. "I've been terrified of it since the fire line."

My shirt comes off. Then hers. No bra underneath because she was wearing my department shirt to bed, which sends a bolt of heat through me so fast my hands shake when they find her breasts. Nipples already hard under my palms. Her back arches when I roll them between my fingers.

Mouth on her throat. Her collarbone. Tracing freckles with my tongue, mapping the ones I missed on the ridge. She strips my jeans while I work her underwear down her legs, and then we're skin to skin on the narrow bed where she's slept alone for three weeks because I was too proud to climb these stairs sooner.

Flipping her over, I pull her hips up. She braces on her forearms, looking over her shoulder at me with flushed cheeks and dark eyes. My hand slides down her spine to the curve of her ass.

"Nash." She pushes back against me. Impatient.

My fingers slide between her thighs. Already wet. Two fingers through her pussy, stroking forward, finding her clit with my thumb. Her head drops between her arms. A moan into the pillow.

Condom from my wallet on the nightstand. Rolling it on, I grip her hip with one hand. Guide myself in with the other. One slow thrust, deep.

"Fuck." Her fingers clench in the sheets. "God, yes."

Long strokes. Slow, deliberate. One hand on her hip, pulling her back into each thrust. The other reaches around, fingers finding her clit. Circles. Tight, firm, timed with the rhythm of my hips.

"Harder." She pushes up on her hands. Her ass pressed against me, taking every inch.

Picking up the pace, I grip her hip tighter. Drive deep. The headboard hits the wall, and neither of us cares about thin walls anymore. My fingers work her clit faster, pressing harder. She's clenching around me, getting close, breath coming in broken gasps.

"Come for me, Autumn." Driving in hard, I hold deep. Thumb pressing her clit. "Let me hear it."

She shatters. Crying out, back arching, her whole body shaking as she comes around my cock so hard my vision goes white at the edges. Two more strokes and I'm done, buried deep, both hands on her hips pulling her tight against me while my entire body empties.

We collapse. She rolls over, pulls me on top of her, wraps both arms around my neck. Her chest heaves against mine. Heartbeat hammering. My face finds the curve of her neck.

"Stay," I whisper against her pulse.

"Yeah." Her fingers trace the burn scar on my shoulder. No flinch. No hesitation. Same as the first time. Same as every time. "I'm staying."

My weight settles on top of her. Her legs tangle with mine. Through the thin wall, the station is quiet. No fires tonight. No emergencies. Just the engine bay sitting below us, solid as the bedrock this town was built on.

"The position might not get approved," she says.