Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire #3)(16)
Author: Bella Andre

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.”