“He’s coming. Now hurry up.” Cade picked up the pace and she couldn’t turn back to check. Dazed, her body convulsing with shivers, she fought to keep up.
Seconds later, the water fell to her knees. Then suddenly, it was gone. Her teeth clacking hard now, she staggered across the dry rocks. Water squished through her shoes. The wind whipped her wet hair across her face, lashing her frozen skin.
The dog trotted beside her, then paused to shake. Relief swept through her. He’d survived.
She stopped, but Cade nudged her forward. “Keep moving. Over to those trees.” He bumped her again, and she stumbled up the grassy bank to a cluster of pines.
“Stop,” he said. “Now start taking off those wet clothes.”
“The d-d-dog…”
“I’ll get him.” He dropped the bags to the ground, pulled out his radio and turned away.
Too numb to move, she watched him stride toward the river. A huge swell of emotion overcame her, cramping her chest. His shoulder had to ache unbearably. And he was wet, too; he had to feel terribly cold.
And yet, he’d carried their bags. He’d helped her to shore. And he still continued to work.
Not for her sake, at least not anymore. No, not because of her. In spite of her.
Because he was that kind of man.
The lump in her throat grew thicker, and feelings she couldn’t name wadded her chest. “C-C-Cade,” she stammered. He paused and looked back. “Thank you.”
His gaze stayed on hers for an endless moment. The night stilled, and even her heart seemed to cease beating. Then he nodded and turned away.
Chapter 5
The cool wind tunneled through the narrow valley as Cade tramped back toward the stand of pines, the wet dog at his heels. He’d radioed dispatch to give them his position and get an update on the fire. Unfortunately, their news hadn’t reassured him. The wind had increased and could switch directions at any time.
The wind gusted just then, creaking the pines overhead, and unease spread through his gut. Crossing the river had bought them some time, but they couldn’t afford to linger. If the fire spread their way, sparks could blow across the river and torch the dry trees.
The dog stopped and shook, then trotted ahead of him to the cluster of pines. Jordan huddled in the windbreak, shivering in her wet clothes. Her dripping hair clung to her pale cheeks, and her lips trembled with cold.
He scowled. “Why didn’t you change out of those clothes?”
She moved her mouth, then shook her head. Hell. She was colder than he’d thought. And no wonder. His gut still tensed at the thought of her diving into that river to get the knife.
Still swearing, he picked up their bags and dropped them at her feet. Unless he warmed her up, she’d never outrun that fire. But to do that, he had to get her into dry clothes.
Resigned to the delay, he dropped to one knee beside her bag. Using his good hand, he unzipped it, then pulled out a blanket and towel. Then he rummaged back through it again, this time netting a pair of socks, a T- shirt and jeans. And underwear. His hand clenched the strips of white lace, and he felt the blow to his gut.
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.
