White Heat Read online

  Griffin took in the classic Spanish style dwelling that to Lyndie’s critical eye could use some work. Still, the comfortably cozy inn with its low flower-lined windows, the cream walls built of all natural materials including lots of Mexican stone, had stolen her heart. She knew there were spots that needed patching, that the yard needed help as well as the courtyard the inn had been built around, but the Old World charm drew her, soothed her like few other places had, and inside she’d found her own personal haven.

  Griffin parked near two other trucks and two unidentifiable cars. Dust rose up, choking them. He looked at the hanging sign that read RIO VISTA INN. “Not quite the Hilton,” he noted with a smile.

  Inexplicably, she felt her defenses rise. “Look, it’s real life, all right? Maybe the rooms are small, and maybe half of them don’t even lock. You might even see the occasional large and unwelcome roach. But the food is spectacular and the ambience genuine. The owner is saving up her cash to remodel. You just go on inside and let them take care of you.”

  He blinked, clearly surprised at her passion. “I was just kidding, Lyndie.”

  She sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Who’s the owner?”

  Oh, no. He didn’t want to share himself with her, and neither did she. “Ownership is a rather odd issue,” she finally said. “But it’s open to any weary traveler, which you certainly are.”

  They both looked at the inn, at the stucco that needed patching again, at the brick in the arches that were the color of dirt, thanks to the latest dust storm. Due to the drought, the plants out front, the ones that got direct sunlight all day long, had long ago begun to wilt.

  But there were lights on inside, and she could already smell dinner—real food, not fast food—that would fill their empty bellies. Far better than any fancy hotel.

  Griffin got out of the Jeep and grabbed his gear. “Hey, as long as there’s running water…” he said with a teasing grin she ignored because he had a way of wearing her down, of turning her defenses into something else entirely. “Running hot water,” he added. “I’d do just about anything for a shower.”

  “A bath is closer to what you’ll be getting.” She eyed him beneath the lights coming from the inn. He’d do “anything” for a shower? He really shouldn’t have told her that. “What do you hear?”

  He cocked his head and listened. “Water.”

  “You’re quick, Ace.”

  She moved toward the sound, which led them to the side of the inn. There was a small creek running there, around back, disappearing into the vast, dark wilderness beyond. Above them the moon struggled to light their way through the smoke, as around them, oblivious to the wildfire raging not too far from this very spot, insects hummed and a coyote howled off in the distance.

  The banks of the creek were mossy and thick, the trees hanging over the water creating a private little haven. “Don’t tell me,” Griffin said, looking dejected. “This is my bath?”

  “Okay I won’t tell you.” Oh yes, she definitely had replaced her defensiveness with something else. Mischievousness. “I also won’t tell you that the soap is hanging from the vee of those two branches to your right.”

  He eyed the hanging soap, then looked down at his filthy body. “I suppose I need to clean up before going in.”

  She lifted a negligent shoulder. “I suppose.”

  Dropping his bag, he looked her over. “Do you bathe in here, too?”

  “When it suits me.” She didn’t mention that she’d only done so once, in the thick heat of summer, and she’d been giving Rosa’s dog a bath with Nina. They’d gotten a nice tan that day, too.

  But for a good, hot shower, nope, she’d go inside and use the communal bathroom.

  Which had perfectly fine running hot water.

  Griffin was still looking at the water. She imagined that creek—snow melt—was still pretty darned chilly for this time of year.

  He lifted his head. “I don’t suppose it suits you to bathe in here now…”

  At the look of unexpected heat in his eyes, the one that sped up her heart rate for no good reason except that he looked like wicked fun standing there with a challenging gleam in his eyes, she bit her lip and slowly shook her head.

  “Yeah. Thought not.” He kicked off his shoes. Lifted his hands and began to unbutton his shirt. “How is it I got more dirty than you did?”

  Oh, she was plenty dirty, and she’d have her shower.

  Hot.

  Private.

  And inside.

  But at the moment it was her thoughts that were the dirtiest. Leaning back against a nice, comfy tree, she crossed her arms, confident she’d come out on top of this situation, that she’d gotten the best of him, because surely he wouldn’t really strip down, not right in front of her—

  He shrugged out of his Nomex shirt.

  Shucked off the T-shirt beneath, and tossed both aside.

  Oh boy. “Um—”

  His hands went to his pants.

  8

  As Griffin tossed off his clothes, he was unsure which he needed most—to be clear of the dirt and grime that clung to him, or a nice bed to crash in.

  Make that food. Lots of it. Someone had once figured a firefighter needed seven thousand calories a day, and he’d always thought that a huge exaggeration. But he decided he could consume twice that now. Burgers and fries. A steak. An entire chicken…His mouth watered with the fantasy, knowing the reality was going to be far, far different.

  Then he looked up and caught Lyndie’s expression as she watched him strip, which immediately put a different spin on his mood.

  Her gaze was caught on his chest, his stomach…everywhere, as if she couldn’t help herself, but his body had been just a shell for so long it felt like a shock to have someone be interested in it.

  He adjusted quickly, and his hunger for sustenance turned in a distinctly different direction, only, just as with everything else he’d faced earlier in the day, he didn’t know what to do with it all. Yes, he’d kissed her, and yes, all that aloneness in the wilderness had combined into one ball of heat in his gut and also lower, but he didn’t plan to act on it.

  Not while facing all he had to face here, because the sorry truth was, he had nothing, nothing left at all to offer a woman.

  Not even sex.

  So he turned his back on her and shucked off his pants, leaving him in just his shorts. That was the best show she was going to get.

  The night was so full of noises—the wind, crickets, the cry of something mysterious—that he hesitated, wondering if there were mountain cats or bears he should be worried about. It was hard to believe that just on the other side of the timbered hill raged an out of control wildfire.

  But he had the cold, hard memory of the day to prove it, and the grime that went along with it. With a deep breath, he stepped into the creek. Holy sh—

  “Cold?” Lyndie asked sweetly.

  Only freezing. “Just right.” He reached for the soap, scrubbing away at both the dirt and memories. The water went up only to mid-thigh at its deepest point, but modesty had gone out the window years ago in his crowded apartment in college, and even more so out in the wildlands for weeks at a time with a coed crew. The night remained unseasonably warm despite the wind rushing over his body like long fingers, reminding him of what Lyndie had said earlier.

  He was alive. So very alive.

  Dipping in the water to rinse off, he straightened, and faced Lyndie, who stood smug and contrarily beautiful at the edge of the creek. In the meager light from the inn behind her, her eyes…danced? Hmm. The night suddenly took a different spin. “What are you up to, Lyndie Anderson?”

  Five feet three inches of pure trouble, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Right. Nothing. She made him want to run like hell, she made him want to laugh.

  Scary combination.

  “Better?” Again she used that sweet voice, and he had no doubt. In some way he’d just been had. Ah, but he should have warned her no