“Do you want a doc to look you over?” Little Bear asked him.

“No. I’ve had worse falling out of bed.”

Little Bear watched the van as Gull did. “He’ll be all right. It takes more than three ass**les to down a smoke jumper.” He gave Gull a last shoulder slap, then turned back toward the bar when the van pulled out of the lot.

Gull stayed where he was, trying to reach for his calm again. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but at the moment, elusive.

“Is this yours?”

He turned to see Rowan holding his cigar.

“Yeah. I guess I dropped it.”

“Butterfingers.” She took a few puffs until the tip glowed true again, then helped herself to one long, deep drag. “Prime cigar, too,” she added, then offered it back. “Shame to waste it.”

Gull took it, studied it. “That’s it,” he decided.

He flung it down again and, grabbing her, yanked her against him. “That’s it,” he repeated before his mouth crushed down on hers.

A man could only take so much stimulation before demanding release.

She slapped both hands on his chest, shoved. “Hey.”

For a moment he figured he’d experience her excellent uppercut up close and personal. Then she mirrored his initial move and yanked him back.

Her mouth was as he’d imagined. Hot and soft and avid. It met his with equal fervor, as if a switch had been flipped in each of them from stop to go. She pressed that killer body to his without hesitation, without restraint, a gift and a challenge, until the chilly air under the sizzling stars seemed to smoke.

He tasted the sharp tang of tequila on her tongue, a fascinating contrast to the scent of ripe peaches that clung to her skin; felt the hard, steady gallop of her heart that matched the pace of his own.

Then she drew back, looked in his eyes, held there a moment before drawing away.

“You’ve got skills,” she stated.

“Ditto.”

She blew out a breath—a long one. “You’re a temptation, Gull, I can’t deny it. Stupid to deny it, and I’m not stupid.”

“Far from it.”

She rubbed her lips together as if revisiting his taste. “The thing is, once you mix sex into it, even smart people can get stupid. So... better not.”

“No’s your choice. Mine’s to keep trying.”

“I can’t hold that against you.” She smiled at him now, not her usual smirk but something warmer. “You fight like a maniac.”

“I tend to get carried away, so I try to avoid it when I can.”

“That’s a good policy. What do you say we postpone the tequila and get some ice on that jaw of yours.”

“That’s fine.”

As they started back, she glanced over at him. “What was that technique you were using on those bastards?”

“An ancient form called kicking ass.”

She laughed, gave him a friendly hip bump. “Impressive.”

He returned the hip bump. “Sleep with me and I’ll give you lessons.”

She laughed again. “You can try harder than that.”

“I’m just getting warmed up,” he told her, then opened the door to the overheated bar and lousy music.

Rowan zipped her warm-up jacket as she stepped outside. She’d put in some time in the gym, and checked the jump list on the board in Operations. She was first load, fourth man. Now she wanted a solid run on the track, maybe some chow. She’d already checked and rechecked her gear. If the siren sounded, she’d be ready.

Otherwise...

Otherwise, she thought as she shot a wave to one of the mechanics, there was always work, always training. But the fact was she was ready, more than ready, to jump her first fire of the season. She cast a look up at the sky as she walked toward the track. Clear, wide and as pretty a spring blue as anyone could want.

Below it, the base chugged along in early-season morning mode. Jumpers and support staff stayed busy, washing vehicles or tuning them up—or tuning themselves with calisthenics on the training field. After the night’s revelry plenty were getting a slow start, but she wanted air and effort.

And saw as she looked toward the track, she wasn’t the only one.

She recognized Gull not only by the body, but the speed. Fast feet, she thought again. Obviously tequila shots and a bar fight hadn’t slowed him down.

She had to admire that.

As she jogged closer she noted that despite the cool air he’d worked up a good sweat, one that ran a dark vee down the faded gray tee he wore.

She had to admire that, too. She liked a man who pushed himself, who tested his limits even when he was in his own world.

Though she’d already loosened up, she paused to stretch before peeling off her jacket. And timed her entrance to the track to veer on beside him.

“What’re you up to?”

He held up two fingers, saving his breath.

“Going for three?” When he nodded, she wondered if he could keep up that killing pace for another mile. “Me too. Go ahead, Flash, I can’t keep up with you.”

She fell off his pace, found her own rhythm.

She loved to run, loved it with a pure heart, but imagined if she’d had Gull’s speed, she’d have adored it. Then she forgot him, tuned into her own body, the air, the steady slap of her shoes on the track. She let her mind empty so it could fill again with scattered thoughts.

Personal supply list, juggling some time in for sewing some PG bags, Gull’s mouth, Dobie. She should give her father a buzz since she was on call and couldn’t get over to see him. Why did Janis paint her toenails when nobody saw them anyway? Gull’s teeth scraping over her bottom lip. Assholes who ganged up on a little guy.

Gull kicking ass in a dark parking lot.

Gull’s ass. Very nice.

Probably better to think of something else, she told herself as she hit the first mile. But hell, nothing else was as appealing. Besides, thinking wasn’t doing.

What she needed—what they all needed—was for the siren to blast. Then she’d be too busy to fantasize about, much less consider, getting tangled up with a man she worked with.

Too bad she hadn’t met him in the winter, though how she’d have run into him when he lived in California posed a problem. Still, say she’d taken a vacation, dropped into his arcade place. Would she have experienced that sizzle if she’d met him across the lane in the bowling alley, or over a hot game of Mortal Kombat?