Page 12 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

NINE

COLE

The nightmare hits like a backdraft, explosive and all-consuming.

I'm back in that moment, watching Rick fall through smoke-choked air, my screams lost to the roar of wind and flame.

The parachute never deploys. His body plummets like a stone.

I reach for him, muscles straining against the harness, but he's too far.

Always too far. The smoke thickens until I can't see him anymore, just the endless dark and the knowledge that I failed him.

Failed my best friend. Failed the one person who trusted me to have his back.

My eyes snap open to darkness and disorientation.

Can't breathe. I’m suffocating. Can't move. My chest is a vice, lungs working overtime but getting nothing. The forest’s dark canopy spins above me, pine needles digging into my palms as I try to ground myself in the present.

Sweat dampens my skin despite the cool night air.

My sleeping bag clings to my skin, suffocating.

"Cole." Jo's voice cuts through the static in my head as I hear the rustle of her sleeping bag. "Cole, look at me." Her voice is firm, an order.

I can't. If I look at her, she'll see everything - the fear, the failure, the crushing weight of surviving when Rick didn't. My throat closes up, vision tunneling as the panic claws higher. The edges of reality blur, past and present bleeding together until I'm not sure which is real anymore.

"Hey." Her hands frame my face, forcing me to meet her gaze.

Those amber eyes lock onto mine, steady and sure.

In the moonlight, they look almost golden, like the heart of a flame.

"Stay with me. We're going to try something, okay?

" Her voice is quiet but firm and I nod.

"Tell me five things you can see right now. "

The request is so unexpected it breaks through the spiral and I look around. I force myself to focus, to really look at my surroundings. Her face anchors me, giving me something solid to hold onto .

"The moon." My voice comes out ragged, barely recognizable as my own.

"Through the branches. Your face." I study her features, letting them ground me in reality.

The slight arch of her eyebrows, the scattered freckles across her nose that only show up this close.

"The glow of the embers from our fire. My pack against that log. Pine needles on the ground."

"Good." Her thumbs trace small circles on my temples, the gentle pressure drawing me further from the nightmare's grip. A strand of her hair has escaped its braid, brushing against my cheek. "Now four things you can hear."

I close my eyes, concentrating. The darkness behind my eyelids is different now, softer and less threatening. "Wind in the trees. An owl, somewhere to the west. Your breathing." My own breath hitches, but it's starting to even out. "My heartbeat, too damn fast."

One of her hands slides from my face to my chest, her hand against my bare chest over my heart. "It's slowing down though," she murmurs, and she's right. The frantic rhythm is steadying, matching itself to the cadence of her words. "You're doing great. Three things you can feel."

The panic is still there, but her voice gives me something to anchor to. Something real and present, not lost in the smoke of memory. "The ground, solid underneath me. Your hands." I swallow hard, aware of every point of contact between us. "The bruise on my shoulder from yesterday's jump."

"Two things you can smell."

"Pine sap." I inhale deeply, letting the familiar scent of the forest fill my lungs. Thankful I couldn’t smell smoke at the moment.

Then I catch something else, something that makes my pulse jump for entirely different reasons.

"And you. That vanilla lotion you always use.

" The one I've caught hints of during briefings, during jumps, during all the moments I've tried not to notice how close she is.

Her lips curve slightly, and I realize I've been staring at them. "You can’t possibly still smell that on me after all the sweat, smoke, and our whitewater excursion," she jokes.

I feel my lips twitch because somehow I can still smell it.

"One thing you can taste," she says softly.

The copper tang of fear still lingers, but something else overtakes it as I look at her. The way moonlight silvers her auburn hair, how her fingers haven't left my body. The air between us feels charged, electric with possibility. "Hope," I whisper .

The word hangs between us, raw and honest in a way I never let myself be. Jo's breath catches. Her hand slides from my temple to the nape of my neck, fingertips threading through my hair. The touch sends shivers down my spine, awakening nerve endings I thought had gone dormant years ago.

"Cole." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer, like something sacred and dangerous all at once.

I shouldn't. God knows I shouldn't kiss her again.

I've spent five years building walls, keeping everyone at arm's length.

Safer that way. Can't lose what you never let yourself have.

But the nightmare's grip is loosening, replaced by an entirely different kind of tension.

My hand comes up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. Her skin is soft, warm, alive .

"Jo." It comes out rougher than I intended, heavy with everything I can't say. "I'm not good at this."

"At what?" she challenges, leaning incrementally closer. The movement brings her fully into my space, her sleeping bag slipping off her upper body, until I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Letting someone help? Letting someone in?"

"Both." The admission costs me, but I force it out. My walls are crumbling, and I'm terrified of what that means. "I can't. I don't know how to. "

"Stop thinking so much, you frustrating man." Her fingers tighten in my hair, the slight sting grounding me in the moment. "Just feel."

When her lips meet mine, it's like jumping into a fire.

That same rush of adrenaline, that same sense of falling and flying.

Her mouth is soft but insistent, drawing me deeper.

I groan, pulling her closer until she's practically in my lap.

One of her hands fists in my hair while the other explores the planes of my chest, mapping territory I'd forgotten existed.

The walls I've built so carefully over the years crumble under the feel of her.

Every touch, every kiss chips away at my defenses until I'm raw and exposed.

It should terrify me, but instead, I feel free.

She tastes like woodsmoke and starlight, like vulnerability. My vulnerability. I push her away breathing heavily.

The usually headstrong, self-assured woman looks down at me with embarrassment in her gaze.

She backs up and scoots in her bag away from me.

Hell, she thought I pushed her away because I didn’t want her.

Shit. I would be damned if I ever put that look in her eyes again because right now, she is the only thing I want.

I sit up, unzip my bag and fling it open as she begins to apologize.

"I’m sorry, Cole…I…"

"Come here."

"What?" Her eyes go wide and she looks at my body on display. I’m only covered by my boxer briefs and what’s going on behind them makes it very clear that I didn’t push her away because I didn’t want her.

I grasp the zipper on her sleeping bag and look at her as I slowly drag it down, giving her a chance to stop me.

When she doesn’t, my hands span her waist as I pull her toward me.

She immediately crawls onto my lap, our chests nearly touching, her soft lips meeting mine even before she gets one silken leg on either side of my thighs.

Once situated, she explores my shoulders, my chest, and everywhere she can reach.

My breath catches at the sight of her in simple black cotton boyshorts and a sports bra, practical gear that somehow makes her even more irresistible.

The vulnerability in her eyes from moments ago has transformed into something darker, more determined.

The kiss turns hungry, desperate, our resolve on holding back crumbling in the face of this connection.

When she makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, something primal wakes up in my chest.

I trail kisses down her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin.

She arches into the touch, nails scraping lightly across my scalp.

The sensation sends electricity down my spine, making me growl against her throat.

I cup her ass in my hands, and each cheek fits so perfectly in my palms I can’t help but squeeze.

Practical boyshorts have never looked so sexy.

"Cole," she gasps, and hearing my name like that nearly undoes me. "Let me take care of you for once," Jo whispers, her fingers trailing along my jaw. "You're always shouldering your burdens and doing everything by the book. For right now, let them go, screw the book."

The request hits something deep in my chest, a knot of tension I've carried for so long I forgot it was there. "I don't know how," I admit, my voice rough.

"The same way we did before," she soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to my throat. "Focus on your senses. Stay present with me. Don’t think about anything but this moment. Trust me," Jo breathes, leaning in to brush her lips against my ear. "Focus on what you can sense."

Her fingers trail down my chest, and I close my eyes, concentrating on the physical sensations as she asked. "Tell me what you feel," she encourages.

"Your fingertips," I murmur, "they're slightly calloused but so gentle. The way you trace each scar." My breath hitches as she maps a particularly sensitive one. "It's like electricity under my skin. "

Jo hums approvingly, replacing her fingers with her lips on my neck. "What do you smell?"

"Your shampoo—green apples. And," I inhale deeply, "that vanilla lotion you always wear. It's making my mouth water."

Her teeth graze my pulse-point sending goosebumps skittering. "What do you hear?"

"Your breathing," I answer, my own growing ragged. "The wind in the trees. The distant hum of the fire raging. My heartbeat pounding in my ears." My voice breaks on the last word as her hands slide across my stomach making my abdominal muscles tense.

"What do you see?" she asks, pulling back to meet my gaze.

I take in her face, drinking in every detail. "The way your pupils are dilated, just a thin ring of amber around black. Your lips." I trail off as she removes her sports bra, her perfect breasts on display right in front of me. The soft swells begging for my mouth. "God, Jo."

"And taste?" she whispers, leaning in to capture my mouth.

The kiss is slow, deep, explorative. I groan as her tongue meets mine, the slow glide of our lips and tongues together, the taste of her overwhelming my senses. "Like decadence," I breathe when we part.

She pushes me gently onto my back, straddling my hips.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?

" she asks, punctuating each word with a kiss or gentle bite.

"Watching you during training, seeing the power in your body, the control you maintain so carefully.

" Her tongue traces the hollow of my throat, making me groan.

"I've wanted to make you lose that control. To see you come undone."

My cock strains against my boxer briefs at her words, and she shifts her hips, creating delicious friction. "Jo," I growl softly and thrust up against her.

"That's it," she encourages, rolling her hips again. "Let me hear you." "Stay with me, stay present."

I lose myself in the sensory experience, letting Jo guide me through a symphony of sensation. Every touch, every taste, every sound becomes magnified. My work-honed body responds to her instinctively, but there’s no submission in my surrender—only trust.

My hands tremble as they explore her body, each touch revealing new wonders.

The strong curves of her thighs flex under my palms as she rocks against me, and I marvel at how something so powerful can feel so silk-soft beneath my fingers.

When I reach the swell of her breasts, my breath catches in my throat.

"Your skin," I whisper, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. "God, Jo, you're like living silk." My thumbs brush over her nipples, and I'm transfixed by the way they pebble and tighten. I circle them again, fascinated by how they seem to reach for my touch. I give them a slight pinch.

Jo arches into my hands, a breathy moan escaping her. "Keep going," she encourages, rolling her hips in a way that makes my vision blur. "Show me what else you feel."

The invitation sends heat coursing through me. "Feel how your muscles quiver." I trace the soft feminine swell of her belly, feeling her belly tighten beneath my touch. "Your body's like a live wire under my hands, every touch making you dance."

She laughs, the sound turning into a gasp as my fingers dip lower. "Speaking of dancing." She grinds against me more deliberately, the wet heat of her core burning through the thin fabric between us.

"Christ, Jo." My voice is strangled as I cup her through her underwear. The material is soaked, and the realization that it's because of me, because of what we're doing, makes my head spin. "You're so wet. "

She practically purrs, pressing into my palm. "What are you going to do about it?"

The playful challenge in her voice makes me grin even as desire threatens to overwhelm me.

I slip my fingers beneath the fabric, groaning at the slick heat and soft folds that greet me.

"I'm going to map every inch of you," I promise, circling her clit with careful pressure.

"Learn every spot that makes you gasp." I demonstrate, and she rewards me with exactly that sound. "Every touch that makes you shiver."

"Fast learner," she manages, voice hitching, goosebumps trailing over her flesh as I continue my exploration.

"I have excellent motivation." I dip one finger inside her, then another, marveling at how she clenches around them. "God, you feel like liquid fire. So hot, so tight." I curl my fingers, searching for that spot that'll make her see stars.

She rocks against my hand, taking my fingers deeper.

"Never felt anything like this before. The way you respond to my touch, the sounds you make," I press deeper, harder, drinking in her moans. Tthe way you look right now, slowly coming apart in my hands."

"Only because you're finally letting go," she gasps, reaching down to wrap her fingers around my wrist, not guiding, just holding on.

The truth of her words hits me hard. I am here, completely present in this moment, lost in the feel of her, the sight of her, the scent of her arousal mixing with the hint of vanilla that is uniquely Jo.

No ghosts haunting my thoughts, no weight of responsibility crushing my chest. Just us, just this. I don’t want the spell to break.