Free Reburn by Anne Marsh

damned if he knew what she was saying. All he knew was that the words weren’t no and then she went up on tiptoe, pushing hard against his hand in silent demand.
    “Just like that, honey.” He whispered rough words of praise, telling her how pretty she was as she came against his fingers. How sweet. “I love feeling you like this.”
     
    After what had to be the world’s most satisfying orgasm, while she sagged against him in boneless aftermath, he scooped her up in his arms.
    What did you say to the man who’d just rocked your world? More, please came to mind. Instead, she looked up at him through her lashes as he carried her the short distance to their makeshift bed. “Please tell me you have a condom. And that it didn’t come from Holm Arthurs’s bunker.”
    His chuckle was rueful. Regretful. And neither adjective boded well for her night.
    “Yeah. I got condoms, honey. Number one choice of the U.S. Forest Service for transporting water from point A to point B. But now’s not the time, Livy.”
    “Yes. It is,” she countered fiercely.
    Sam had always been in control. Tonight, he’d let go of that control just a little. He’d shown her his wild side. All the rough, dark need he kept bottled up inside him. Apparently, they were both taking what they wanted tonight.
    And it seemed she wanted Sam Clayton.
    Back in her arms. Back in her life. She was realizing she’d made a terrible mistake ten years ago.
    He set her down on her feet, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. They could see the fire’s glow from their hideaway and he was all hotshot again. She could see the longing in his eyes to be out there, doing . Sam Clayton didn’t sit still, never had. Then he was turning away from the fire, turning towards her.
    “Let’s get you ready for the night.” He’d hollowed out the ground earlier, layering dry grass with plastic tarp, and now he unzipped a sleeping bag.
    “Boy scout?”
    “Marines.”
    “I didn’t know you served.”
    “One tour. Couple of hops to the Middle East. CFR—Crash, Fire, and Rescue. We rode out on the truck when there was a pilot who was more crash than land. Hosed down the pieces and got the guy out when we could. Some of the other men I served with went on to become smoke jumpers, but I came back here, because I knew fighting wildland fires and the U.S. Forest Service was where I wanted to be. I like having my feet on the ground, being right there on the frontlines. This is a different kind of fight.” He shrugged. “But our national parks are the frontlines for some really nasty stuff. You know that. You came in here hunting for a domestic terrorist.”
    Sam’s dad had been a park ranger, so he’d had parks in his blood. His one tour with the Marines had been practically an aberration, except that he’d chosen to go in for CFR. He’d enlisted because he’d been at loose ends and he’d wanted to get out and see the world some, and because he’d spent every year in one place. And, after Livy had left, suddenly that place hadn’t been enough.
    “Every day’s another chance to be a hero?”
    She grinned at him as she asked her question, and he couldn’t have stopped the answering grin from spreading across his face if he’d tried.
    “Not really. Most days, it’s all about the shovel. Why’d you do it?” He spread out the sleeping bag, fleece-side up. He’d have preferred getting her inside, all zipped up, but she might be particular about cozying up to a terrorist’s bag.
    “The FBI?” When he nodded, she continued. “Quantico was a challenge, but a good one. What I’d learned in the classroom at college was interesting, but it didn’t push me. Not the way the academy did. We were being asked to solve real problems, for real people. The missions were important. We kept people safe.”
    Her quick smile warmed him to his core. He got this. Got her. “Funny to think that maybe we’re not so different after all, huh?”
    “Yeah.” She smiled back.