So, she still wore that damn sexy underwear. Satin and lace, his biggest weakness. He dragged in an unsteady breath.
And forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand-getting her warmed up so they could escape the fire. Since she was too cold to move, he scooted over and lifted her foot to his lap. Still using one hand, he loosened the wet laces and pulled off her soaked shoe and sock. He did the same to the other.
He rose. “Now stand up so I can help take off those clothes.”
“I c-c-can d-d-do…”
“No, you can’t. Now stand up.” Trying not to think of this sexually, he pulled her to her feet. He kept his mind carefully blank as he grabbed the hem of her wet shirt and pulled up. She crossed her arms to stop him.
“I could use some help here,” he said.
“C-c-cold.”
“Come on. It’ll only be cold for a minute.”
“K-k-kay.” She straightened her arms, and he yanked the shirt over her head.
Despite his intentions, his gaze dropped to her full breasts straining against the wet bra. The moonlight shimmered on her delicate skin, darkening the valley between the soft swells.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice hard. She pulled her wet hair from her shoulder and turned. But now her smooth, bare back gleamed before him, and without warning, memories crowded in, of undressing before the woodstove. Of sliding kisses down that delicate neck. Of cupping her soft, full breasts in his hands and making her moan…
He flicked open the clasp on her bra. She shrugged it off and crossed her arms, but not before the sight of her breasts seared his brain-the smooth curves shadowed in moonlight, the nipples tight with cold. The water beading on the firm flesh then trickling to her flat belly.
His pulse drumming, he grabbed the towel and draped it over her head. “Wipe your hair. It’s dripping.”
The blood surged hard in his brain as he picked up her dry clothes and faced her again. She dropped the towel and he slung the T-shirt over her head, struggling to get her arms in the sleeves.
He tried not to look at her swaying breasts, to focus instead on the pain in his shoulder and the searing ache in his ribs. But hell, he was only human.
And she did have beautiful breasts. Full and lush, with creamy, pebbled nipples. Generous enough to fill his big hands.
And the memory of how those breasts felt in his palms came rushing back. Soft and slick. Arousing. Fighting the urge to touch her, he clenched his hand into a fist.
“We forgot the bra,” he croaked.
“L…l…later.” She pulled down her T-shirt, but the fabric clinging to her naked breasts did nothing to diminish his hunger. His mind banked down. His pulse ran ragged through his brain.
And he still had to take off her jeans.
Forcing air into his lungs, he moved closer and reached for the waistband. His hand shaking, he popped the snap and pulled down the zipper, and the electric sound tore through the night. Then he inched the wet pants down her legs.
He dropped to one knee, and she clutched his shoulder for balance. He welcomed the jolt of pain, especially since he was now eye-level with a scrap of soaked satin. Hardly breathing, he jerked the jeans off her legs.
He rose to his feet, her wet jeans balled in his hand. And God help him, but he couldn’t pull off that underwear. Because if he reached for her, he wouldn’t stop.
Knowing what she’d see if he met her gaze, he kept his eyes averted. “Can you manage?” he ground out.
“Yes.”
Still not daring to look at her, he turned around, but his ears stayed attuned to every movement. Every rustle brought visions to his mind, of memories he’d struggled to banish. His tension mounting, he picked up the dry lace and waited.
“Ok-kay.” She stopped moving, and he dragged himself around. He tried not to look; he really did. But his gaze still fell to the thatch of dark hair between her thighs, down her long, slender legs and back up.
And it was his bad luck that his nerves leaped at the sight, and his body grew instantly hard.
She reached for the underwear, her hand shaking. He handed it over and turned away. He forced himself to look at the dog nosing around the trees. The moon rising through the thrashing pines. The river winding low on its banks.
“I’m d-done.” He turned back, but the damn lace wasn’t much better. His face rigid, he knelt and held open her jeans, but getting her inside them took forever. She balanced herself by holding on to his good shoulder, practically pulling his face in her lap. A sweat broke out on his brow.
He stood, and together they pulled up the jeans. He tried not to think about how close she was standing, about how with one short tug, he could haul her into his arms.
He jerked up the zipper and reached for the snap. His knuckles brushed her soft stomach and she gasped. Her gaze locked on his.
The air stalled in his lungs. She stood just inches away, her dark, sultry eyes hot on his. He smelled the velvet of her skin, the dampness of her hair, and felt the old urgency rise between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, and memories roared through his brain of staggering heat and pleasure.
The sound of the snap closing exploded like a bomb in the silence. He sucked in his breath and stepped back. Almost blindly, he bent and pulled his sweatshirt from his bag, then yanked it over her head. It reached her thighs, covering her like a sack. It didn’t help.
He handed her the dry socks. “Can you put these on?” She nodded and lowered herself to the ground.
Struggling to control his libido, he again turned his back. So his desire for her hadn’t faded. It didn’t mean a damn thing, except that he was alive. Nothing had changed between them, or ever would. She couldn’t live with a smokejumper. And he wouldn’t change his identity for anyone, no matter how great their sex life had been.
His resolve hardening, he shoved the past where it belonged and turned his mind to what mattered-getting them out of the forest.
But the truth was that they couldn’t continue in this condition. She needed to warm up. And although he hated to admit it, his head ached like hell. His shoulder felt wrenched from its socket, and his ribs burned whenever he breathed.
He picked up the blanket and draped it awkwardly over her shoulders. She gave him a grateful smile.
Keeping a safe distance between them, he sat down beside her and pulled off his hard hat. He took his canteen from his bag and rummaged for his bottle of ibuprofen, hoping to take the edge off his pain. When he found it, he thumbed off the plastic lid, tapped a few into his mouth, and swallowed them down with water.
He glanced at Jordan. “Are you hungry?”
Snuggled deep in the blanket now, she shook her head. His stomach rumbled, but food could wait. He needed to change out of his wet pants before he got chilled. Jordan wasn’t in any condition to help him, and he doubted he could stand her soft hands on him if she were.
“We’ll rest here for a while,” he said. He began unlacing his boots.
“B-b-but the f-f-fire…”
“We’re safe enough for now. We’ve got the river behind us and the wind’s still pushing west. We can rest for an hour and then start hiking again.”
“Your arm…”
“Later, when you’ve warmed up. You can help lace my boots up, too.”
She looked at him for a long moment, as if she wanted to argue, then finally slanted her head. He tugged off his wet boots and socks.
He grabbed some dry clothes from his bag, then rose again. “I’m going to change.” He turned his back to her and stepped away.
Using one hand, he stripped off his wet pants and briefs, and tossed them aside. The movement jostled his shoulder, but he ignored the deepening pain.
Then he picked up his dry briefs and paused. How was he going to manage this?
“You n-n-need help?” Jordan asked.
He froze. No way in hell was he was letting her help, especially after seeing her naked. He’d barely controlled his reaction to her then. “I can do it.” Hoping she wasn’t watching, he awkwardly inched the briefs into place.
