"I swear, I wasn't. Just a scratch, that's all," she said, showing him her arm, wanting him to know it wasn't his fault.
She wasn't prepared for his fingers to move to her elbow, for him to gently stroke her bruised skin.
"Where else does it hurt?"
She found herself saying, "My knee," even though it was barely throbbing, simply because she wanted him to tend to her again. And when he did, when he gently caressed her leg, she couldn't repress a low moan of pleasure.
His hand stilled on her knee. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Her arms and legs were fine. It was every other part of her that ached. For more of him.
She said, "Yes, I'm okay," and then the next thing she knew he was hauling her to her feet and moving away. The wind rushed between them as he said, "What were you doing out here so late?"
Thrown by his abrupt question, and by the loss of his heat and rock-hard strength against her limbs, her mind went blank for a moment.
"Sometimes I'm wound up after working the dinner shift." Especially tonight after going several rounds with him across the counter. "And I love the lake on nights like this when a storm is rolling in."
It hit her, how had he been there to save her at all? "Why were you outside? How did you see me?"
"I was in the kayak, paddling back to shore when I saw you walk out on the beach and stop under the tree. That was when I heard the limb shift."
"You were kayaking at night? Why?"
He took another step away from her. "I haven't been back here in twelve years. I wanted to get out on the water."
"You couldn't wait until morning?" was her first question and when he didn't answer she asked another, "Twelve years is a long time to stay away. Did you come to the lake a lot before then? As a kid?"
"Every summer."
It didn't add up. "It's so beautiful here. How could you have stayed away for so long?"
"Fighting fire was more important."
A puzzle piece clicked into place. "That's how you got burned, isn't it?"
He didn't answer, then, just backed completely out of the moonlight so that his face went into shadows.
"Good night, Ginger."
Great. She'd done it again. Let curiosity get the best of her, about his scars. He probably thought they were the only thing she'd noticed about him.
She walked back into the cabin and went upstairs, took a shower to clean the smell of grease from her hair and skin, brushed her teeth and slid into bed. But all the while, she could still feel the heavy beat of his heart against her chest, the way he'd run his fingers so gently over her face and her limbs when he thought she'd been hurt.
After ten years as a hotshot, Connor knew his limits. He'd pushed himself hard today, harder than he usually did and his muscles were screaming for rest, for a few hours to rebuild what he'd broken down.
But it was hell trying to sleep one wall away from Ginger. Especially now that he knew how it felt to hold her.
He couldn't stop replaying the scene in his head. Watching Ginger stop under the trees. Hearing the shifting and cracking of the limb, knowing it was going to crush her. Jumping out of his kayak and running through the water praying he'd get to her in time.
Sweating again at the thought of how close it had been, he kicked off the thin blanket covering his naked body. Finally, as the wind blew rain hard on the roof, Connor slept.
Ginger was wrapped deep in a dark and swirling dream where she was running through a forest full of falling widow makers when a cross between a scream and a roar woke her. Sitting up in bed, her hand on her heart, it took only a second to realize it was coming from Connor's room.
Her stomach clenched with fear as she threw on a flimsy robe and shot out of her room. My God, what could possibly be happening to him? She shoved his door open.
From the dim light in the hall she could see that he wasn't on the bed, but on his feet now, swinging at the air like a tortured beast, his eyes closed, his beautiful face taken over by rage. And deep, deep pain. His fists were closed so tightly the scars on his knuckles stood in out sharp relief and her heart broke into a million pieces as she watched this big, strong man fighting like hell against some demon in his head.
A voice in the back of her mind told her to leave him. That she should let him fight his battles alone. That he would probably break her in two if she got involved and he didn't wake up.
But she couldn't do that.
Not after he'd rushed in to save her from the falling limb tonight. Not after he'd taken the full force of the hit on his own back.
Not after he'd been so gentle, so protective of her out on the beach just hours before.
She ran over to Connor, any thoughts of fear gone. She put her hand on his arm and as soon as he felt her touch, he grabbed her forearm in a vice grip and pulled her against him, her robe opening and falling off her shoulders.
Oh God, he was squeezing her so tight, she cried out with whatever breath she could find.
"Connor! It's me. Ginger. You're having a bad dream. It's just a dream. Please wake up."
His eyes opened but she could tell he didn't see her, that he was still trapped in his own personal hell. And then, in a flash, his eyes cleared and he came back to her, to his bedroom, to Poplar Cove.
His chest was rising and falling hard against hers and as their bare skin rubbed together, in the back of her mind it registered that he was naked and she nearly was. But it didn't matter. Not when she'd just seen him go through something so horrible, not when she was so worried about him.
"What are you doing in here?" His words were as gruff and hard as he'd been when she'd first met him on the porch.
"I had to come, when I heard the--" She cut herself off as she realized just how much he was going to hate her having seen him like this. "I had to help you."
His hands that had been so tightly gripping her shoulders moved, slightly at first, down over her shoulder blades, then farther down her spine, to her hips. His next words were so low she almost couldn't make them out.
"And you thought this was how you could help me?"
She could hardly breathe, certainly couldn't move, not when he was still holding her so tightly. Not when leaving his arms was the very last thing her body wanted. And then one of his hands curled into her hair and her head was tilting back and he was kissing her. Every part of her that was woman wanted to take this moment and give in to it. Give in to him.
Connor needed healing more than anyone she'd ever met, and imprisoned in his arms, with his mouth ravaging hers, while his hands cupped her ass as if he owned her, she wanted to be the woman to heal him.
All the while knowing that it wasn't just giving, it was taking, that she was seeking her own pleasure too.
And then his hands were moving up from her hips to cup her breasts and she didn't recognize herself anymore, this woman who was moaning as his fingertips brushed against her nipples. His skin felt deliciously rough and jagged against her, and her sound of pleasure came straight from the center of her.
Oh yes, please, more. She hadn't been this close to coming apart in a man's arms in years and she wanted it so badly that when he abruptly cursed and pushed away from her, it came as a total shock.
She sat down hard on his bed. What had just happened? One minute his hands were everywhere, the next he didn't want to touch her.
It was so tempting to go to the place where her feelings were hurt, where she could tell herself that he didn't like big girls like her. Every last one of her instincts tried to take her there, but she fought hard against them all.
It just didn't make sense. He'd wanted her, she knew he did. What had been about to happen was elemental. Completely out of control for both of them.
He couldn't have just up and changed his mind. Not without a damn good reason. So, for once, instead of running off with her tail between her legs, she wrapped her robe around her and stayed where she was.
"What h
appened? What's wrong?"
It was like looking at a rock, he was so devoid of emotion as he stood against the window. Almost as if he refused to let himself feel anything at all.
"I told myself I wasn't going to touch you. Jesus, I was completely out of control. I could have hurt you."
It was scary, but she had to say it, had to tell him the truth. "I wanted it just as much as you did." She'd been just as out of control as he had.
Giving in to her desire for Connor was the most reckless and impulsive thing she'd ever done. She knew she should be relieved that he'd stopped her, that they hadn't made any bigger of a mistake than this.
But she wasn't. She wasn't relieved at all.
He still wasn't looking at her. He continued staring at the wall behind her head as he said, "I couldn't feel you."
He couldn't feel her?
"Of course you could. It was--" The word incredible was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything more, his eyes locked onto hers.
"My hands. They went numb."
There was so much darkness in his blue depths it took her breath away.
"I couldn't feel you."
CHAPTER SIX
CONNOR COULDN'T believe he'd just told her that. No one knew about his hands going numb except for the doctors he'd secretly visited. He'd gotten so good at faking it these past couple of years, made sure not to grab anything if he wasn't absolutely certain he'd hang on to it, but just now, when he couldn't resist touching her bare skin, he'd lost all sensation.
Fuck.
He wanted to be left alone. To get the hell out of here. To find some alternate reality where this shit would stop happening. Where he'd be normal--hell, where he'd be sane--again.
"What were you dreaming about? When I came in?"
Shit. How could he have forgotten? That's why she was in his room in the first place. Because he'd been stuck in a flashback.
His pride pricked at his insides, made his words rough and mean. "You don't know me. I don't know you."
He let his eyes move across her thighs peeking out from her robe, made damn sure she could see that he was still completely naked--and that his body still wanted her despite everything.
"Don't confuse wanting sex with something more."
Okay. Any moment now she'd get off his bed and run back to her room. But as the seconds ticked down she stayed right where she was. Frustration ate away at him, even as sensation came back into his hands, the worst case of pins and needles he'd had yet.
"You need to leave. Now."
But she didn't so much as flinch. Instead, her gaze was steady.
"If you're done with your whole big bad wolf thing, I really think you'll feel better if we talk about what just happened."
She licked her lips. Her beautiful, full lips that had tasted like heaven.
"No one knows about your nightmares, do they?"
He didn't answer, but that was only because he knew he didn't need to. This woman sitting on his bed saw too much, her big green eyes taking in everything he didn't want her to. Everything other people didn't.
"You were dreaming about the fire, weren't you? The fire that did that to your hands."
The next thing he knew, she was getting off the bed and coming over to him. She picked up one of his hands, turning it over in her own small hands.
"Are they still numb?" she asked softly. "Or can you feel this now?"
She ran her finger lightly down the worst of the scars, the one that cut his palm in two.
"I can feel that."
Her smile was big. Beautiful. Like a ray of sunshine was shooting in through the roof.
She said, "Good. I'm glad," and then, "What happened? Not tonight, but two years ago. When you got burned."
There was no reason to tell her about the fire. For two years he'd kept the story tightly locked inside. Had told himself that talking about it wouldn't help a damn thing.
But no one else had ever witnessed one of his nightmares. Only Ginger. She'd seen him at his worst.
Fine. He'd give her the answers she was looking for. And he wouldn't bother to spare her the gory details. When he was done, she'd regret that she ever asked.
"Firefighters get burned all the time. Fire is a finicky bitch," he said, not bothering to watch his mouth. If she didn't like it, she could leave.
"I wouldn't think that makes it hurt any less, though."
A vision of the fire in Desolation rammed into him like an out of control train. Fire rolling over the mountain like a wave. Thick, dark smoke rising up into the sky, taking over the blue so completely that he could hardly see the narrow trail beneath his feet.
"We were out in Desolation Wilderness, where my crew is based. I've hiked that trail a hundred times. My brother and squad boss were out clearing brush. The fire was nothing. We wanted a real fire, something to really sink our axes into."
But there hadn't been another fire. Not for him, anyway. Whereas Sam had gotten right back out there. Connor would have done the same thing if it had been Sam lying there on a stretcher. He would have headed straight back in to get his revenge. To strangle the fire with his bare hands for taking down his own blood.
"What happened? How did the fire change into something worse?"
It was the question he'd asked himself a thousand times. "The wind must have shifted. Dropped a spark. Logan saw it first, realized we were on top of the fire. First thing you teach a rookie, fire goes up. Ninety-nine percent of the time it'll outrun you. Logan should have saved himself. Instead he hiked down the hill to get me and Sam. Told us to drop everything and start running."
Jesus, he still remembered that moment so well. He was running his chain saw through a huge clump of dry brush, his entire focus on blade cutting through wood. From the corner of his eyes he thought he saw Sam waving his arms and cut his engine. Sam put his chain saw down and said two words. "A blowup?" Logan nodded and without saying anything more, the three of them started running straight up a near-vertical slope.
"We were swallowing dirt and sparks, running through piles of white ash. I started coughing and they slowed to make sure we stayed together, but even then we still thought we were going to sit around with the guys and laugh about it at the bar that night."
His breath came fast. Sweat started to drip between his pecs.
Ginger was squeezing his hand, now, and the feel of her soft skin against his helped to calm him, to bring him back into the cabin, into the bedroom where he'd almost lost control with her.
She'd been so silent he'd forgotten she was there. But now that he remembered, he knew that if he pulled her against him and kissed her again he could stop talking, could make her forget all about his story, could maybe even forget for a few minutes himself.
He took in her soft skin, her luscious curves, her curls falling around her shoulders, and was tempted, so incredibly tempted to taste her again. Sex would be easier than talking, so much more direct and to the point, so much less dangerous than this spark of deeper connection.
But the part of his mind that could still think straight--the part that wasn't completely hypnotized by her scent, by the feel of her hand on his--knew it would only be a temporary respite.
Because as soon as they were done, as soon as they'd had their fill, she'd come at him with her questions again.
"The wind whipped up and it was like looking straight into a wall of fire."
"I can't imagine," she whispered.
"No. You couldn't. And then the flames reached out and grabbed me, pulled me down."
His name came out of Ginger's lips in a rush of emotion, her hand tightened on his.
"Sam and Logan were way out in front. They heard me fall. They came back for me." He still couldn't believe they'd done it. "They came back for me."
"Of course they did."
"No." The word was practically a roar. "They almost died. They should have gone on. Left me." Instead they'd picked him
up between them and run like hell. "Logan spotted a rock face just big enough for us to get over. In the end, the fire hit the rock and turned back on itself."
He didn't remember much after that, knew he'd passed out, but he'd heard the nurses talking about him in the hospital as he went in and out of consciousness that first day.
"My turnouts had melted into my arms. The doctors ended up taking off most of it in sheets." From his elbows down, his skin had been stripped away. He pointed to the tops of his thighs. "They took most of the new skin from my legs, just peeled it off like an apple."
She looked down at the scars on his thighs. "I--" She stopped, swallowed hard enough that he could hear it. "I hadn't noticed those scars."
His mouth twisted. "Everything they say about skin grafts is true. Hurts like a bitch."
His arms and hands hurt less, probably due to the nerve damage. But his thighs where they'd harvested the new skin--that had been a bad couple of months. Anytime he moved or fabric brushed against his limbs he'd wanted to cry like a baby from the pain. The doctors had tried to get him to take the drugs, the painkillers, but he hated feeling foggy, like everything was in slow motion.
That was when the nightmares had started.
"Most people don't have the courage to consider being a firefighter in the first place," Ginger said softly, "let alone go back to it after something like that."
Used to be, he'd eaten up people's admiration. Especially from beautiful women. He wasn't that guy anymore.
He shook her hand off. "You can save your praise. I haven't been out there in two years. The Forest Service has made sure of that."
She took a step back in surprise. "But I thought you said--"
"I'm on my last appeal."
Oh fuck, he hadn't believed it himself. Not until he'd just said the words aloud. This was his final chance to do the job he was born to do. And if they took it away from him, then what?
"They're afraid I'm going to freeze out there. Possibly kill myself, or worse, take out a civilian too."
"But surely they can see how committed you are? How much you want it?"
It was the same thing he'd been telling himself, the reason he got up every morning at five and ran ten miles every goddamned day.
"Do they know about your nightmares? About your hands?"
He reached into his bag on the dresser, pulled on a pair of shorts. "What do you think?"