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“Like what?” she asked, annoyed now. She never did anything stupid.

  Except kiss Griffin. That had been really stupid. Wonderful, hot…but really, really stupid.

  Sam dove into the water ahead of her, and then resurfaced, tossing back his hair as he turned to face her. “Like actually let yourself feel for someone.”

  She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it, because what could she say? He’d nailed it on the head.

  She rarely let herself feel for anyone.

  She never let herself feel for anyone. Things were better that way; cleaner, easier. Safer.

  Sam splashed her. “Am I right?”

  She offered him her middle finger, then dove in the next wave and came up near him. “And just so you know, I feel for plenty of people.”

  “Really? Name two.”

  “You.”

  “Two.”

  “Okay, you and…”

  “Yeah? Me and…who?”

  “And everyone in San Puebla.” Pleased, she ticked them off on her fingers. “Tom, Nina, Rosa…”

  “Oooh. Four whole people.”

  With a frown, she dove into another wave, and when she came up, Sam was bodysurfing next to her. “You know, I changed my mind, it’s only three people,” she informed his cocky grin. “Tom, Nina, and Rosa.”

  Sam laughed and shook his head at her, spraying saltwater in her face before he went for the next swell, his long sleek body taking the water like he’d been born for it.

  She went for it, too, and prided herself on the fact she rode the wave better than he did. She liked to be the best, it made her world right for that one moment, and she came up with a smile.

  “That’s such a classic Lyndie move,” he said.

  “What is? Looking better than you out here?”

  “Pretending you don’t give a shit when you know you do.”

  “I give a shit. The waves are perfect.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about people.”

  “Oh.” She patted his cheek with her wet fingers. “Don’t worry. I give a shit about you, too. A little, anyway.”

  “You know what, baby?” He floated on his back, arms spread wide. “Someday you’ll admit you want me. You know you do.”

  She laughed good and hard over that one, then splashed him. “I’m not getting in line for a piece of you. I don’t compete for a man. Ever.”

  “Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.” He dove under again, but when he came up, Lyndie was waiting.

  “I care about people,” she said, unable to let it go. “I just don’t always feel like wearing my heart on my sleeve, that’s all.”

  “Hey, we all have our little quirks. Some are more stupid than others.”

  With a sigh, she dove back into the water. She sure wouldn’t be wearing her heart on her sleeve in a few days’ time, when she picked up Griffin. Even if she had wondered how he’d fared after his first fire in a year; wondered if he’d had any trouble thinking about it.

  Wondered if he thought of her, or even cared.

  16

  Two days later, Lyndie readied for takeoff. Sunset had always been her favorite time of day, but this evening she didn’t take the time to enjoy it as she moved around her plane.

  The fire in San Puebla had jumped the lines again. This afternoon it had taken out another ranch. Two ranchers had suffered serious smoke inhalation and were on a train to the closest hospital.

  She flipped through the preflight papers on her clipboard, not really seeing any of it. What she saw, out of the corner of her eye, was Griffin striding toward her, wearing soft, faded jeans and a white T-shirt she knew would have a firefighter logo over his left pec. It offset his tan, telling her that whatever he’d been doing all week, it’d involved the sun.

  There were other people milling around as well, but only Griffin stepped close, blocking her view of anything or anyone but him. Slowly she lifted her gaze from his long, tough body to his face.

  He pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “So we’re doing this again.”

  “Define this.”

  A hint of a smile touched his mouth, though in his eyes she saw the tension. “I didn’t know it would be you.”

  So he probably also didn’t know what had happened in San Puebla today, about the fire jumping the lines, the loss of both another ranch and his hard-earned containment. He wouldn’t take it easily. “Would you like a different pilot?” she asked.

  He looked startled at that. “No. God.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Listen. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for the way I acted Sunday night.”

  She began to walk past him. “Forget it, I wasn’t any peach either.”

  He stopped her with a hand to hers. “I can’t forget it. I didn’t even thank you—”

  “There was nothing to thank me for.”

  “Are you kidding? You were there for me every time I began to fall apart.”

  “I said forget it.” She pulled her hand free. “People fall apart on me all the time. It’s because of where I take them, which is usually a world beyond what they know, and the things we see and do—”

  He took her hand again, looked into her eyes. “So you kiss all your passengers?”

  Uh…“No.” She squeezed her eyes shut to the memories reflected in his. “Griffin, I don’t want to do this now. I can’t do this now. Let’s just…start over, okay?”

  “Lyndie—”

  “Please.”

  He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but finally nodded. With one last long look that might have melted her if she’d been a melting sort of woman, he moved past her and got on board. She watched him go, then rolled her eyes at herself for watching, and followed him, only to run smack into him when he stopped short. Pulling her hands back quickly from where they’d landed on his back, she opened her mouth to ask him to use brake lights next time.

  Then she saw what he was looking at.

  The kitten sat curled up on one of the seats, fast asleep, looking deceivingly adorable, for something that had destroyed her house in a matter of a short week.

  Within the close confines of the plane, Griffin turned, shooting her a knowing look that also had quite a bit of heat in it. “You kept him.”

  They were close enough to kiss, not that she was noticing. “No one else wanted him.”

  “So you’re not attached at all. It’s just another humanitarian gesture on your part.”

  “Except he’s not human,” she quipped. “I guess that makes it an animaltarian gesture.”

  But he refused to let her joke her way out of this. “You’re looking me in the eyes and telling me you’re not attached,” he pressed.

  Nope, not attached. And not even under the threat of death would she admit that she liked how Lucifer’s little kitty bowls looked on her bare kitchen floor, or that she didn’t mind sharing her bathroom with his litter box.

  In fact, the thing had slept on her feet the past two nights, pouncing her well before dawn, attacking her if she so much as twitched in her sleep…reminding her with his every move that she wasn’t entirely alone. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Liar,” he chided softly, and tugged on her hand until she stepped so close their toes touched. “Why can’t you just admit you’re attached to something?”

  “Look, the thing eats more than he’s worth.”

  “The thing? You haven’t even named it?”

  “Sure. I call him Lucifer. Especially when he’s hanging off my curtains, swinging back and forth and hissing at me.”

  Griffin scooped the little guy up against his chest and stroked him beneath his chin.

  Lucifer mewled softly as he woke up and began to purr.

  Purr!

  Lyndie bit back her growl but couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of Griffin nuzzling the kitten, completely oblivious to the fact that he was coming off like a marshmallow. “Put the devil down and get ready for takeoff.”

  Still cradling the