Free Out of Control by Stephanie Feagan Page B

into tiny bits, but it didn’t
     scare me. The fire we’d been dancing around all week was like a window to Hell, capable
     of burning me to cinders in seconds if I stood in the wrong place and the wind blew
     just right. But that didn’t scare me, either. Standing less than three feet away was
     a man I’d known only two months, who was everything I’d never liked. He was a conceited
     ex-jock who knew way too much about firearms. He came from an old, southern family
     that was undoubtedly as snooty about their ancestry as mine was. He was so alpha he
     could be the poster boy for testosterone. And yet, I wanted him with a bone deep sexual
     need that terrified me, it was that strong. Maybe that’s what scared me most. I’d
     never felt like that before, like I could shuck everything important in my life for
     an hour in bed with a man I should dislike.
    Jesus. Maybe I really had inhaled too many petroleum fumes.
    “Say the word and I’ll back off.”
    Raising my eyes, I looked right at him and barely managed to say, “Word.”
    He lifted his hardhat, ran his hand through his dark hair, then settled the hat back
     and sighed. “You’ll change your mind.”
    “You said you’d back off.”
    “I didn’t expect you to wimp out.” He reached for the nitro and continued working
     the load. “Come on, Blair, let’s get this done so we can go home.”
    I’ll admit, a part of me was glad he wasn’t giving up.
    Thirty minutes later, we set the charge and blew the well. We got it right, thank
     God, and the explosion killed the fire, leaving a colossal fountain of oil spewing
     into the sky, raining across the location. Being the weakest of our team, I handled
     the controls of the Athey wagon and settled the capping assembly over the flange we’d
     set earlier that day. Cash and Harley and Robichaud bolted the exposed flange to the
     capping assembly, then disconnected the yoke of the Athey so I could pull back. They
     closed the blind rams in the blowout preventer and shut in the well, stopping the
     flow of oil.
    I backed the Athey wagon up several more feet, then killed the engine. Robichaud shut
     down the water pump. Other than the low hum of the air conditioner in the trailer
     house, all was quiet. It was strange, after days and days of the roaring fire.
    When I stepped out of the shed, I saw Conaway, who looked ready to jump up and down
     and squeal, she was so excited. But she managed to videotape everything without an
     excess of physical enthusiasm. All the same, she kept repeating, “That was so fucking cool!”
    I assumed she could edit that out later. Something told me that her professor at UCLA
     might mark down for yelling F-bombs in the middle of a documentary.
    Although the crew and I were covered in oil, it was primarily on our fire suits and
     hard hats. The men climbed out of their suits and left them in a heap close to the
     truck while they broke out the whiskey and made congratulatory toasts, looking pretty
     funny dressed in only their boxers and steel toed boots.
    Except Robichaud. He didn’t look funny. He looked excellent, even with the boots and
     his face smudged with oil.
    We usually wear clothing beneath the suits, but it was way too hot for that. I couldn’t
     take mine off in front of everyone, so after one toast and a shot of whiskey, I went
     behind the trailer house and climbed out, thankful for the cool desert night air against
     my sweaty skin.
    I was about to slip a T-shirt over my head when I heard Robichaud’s deep drawl from
     behind me. “Turn around, sugar.”
    Yes, it was a stupid move, but I turned around. Of course I did. And dropped the T-shirt.
    It was darker than it had been for a week, day or night, but the light from inside
     the trailer shined through the window illuminating his face. His gaze met mine for
     several heartbeats before it dropped, slowly, to my breasts. His lips curved into
     a smile I’m certain men have given women since Adam chased Eve