Page 4 of The Smokejumper’s Lady (Praise Me Like Fire #1)

Ryan

I’ve been in burning buildings, jumped out of aircraft into flame-choked forests, and stood so close to wildfires I could feel my gear melting. But nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever scrambled my brain the way that damn tour guide has.

And I don’t even know her name yet.

The second we touch down and the rotors cut out, I’m hauling gear and trying to reset my head, but it’s not working. My body’s moving on autopilot.

Drop pack, check in, debrief…

But my mind is still stuck on her. I can’t stop thinking about the way her voice dipped when she cracked a joke…the way her eyes cut through me like glass on smoke…

The way she looked at me like she wasn’t afraid of the fire…but maybe she was afraid of me.

And yeah, sure. She’s beautiful. That’s obvious. But I’ve met beautiful women before. Flirted with them. Slept with a few. None of them ever left an impression that lasted more than our brief encounter. None of them intrigued me like she does.

There’s something about her. A pull. One I don’t necessarily like.

Because I like control. I live for control. When you’re a smoke jumper, lives depend on your ability to stay in charge, to make clear judgment. Your ability to cut off emotion and run straight into hell with clear eyes.

But now? My eyes aren’t clear. They’re full of her.

“Yo,” Matt says, jogging up beside me as I unclip the last of my harness. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I toss my gear in the drop pile. “Just…hot run.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hot run, or hot rescuee?”

I shoot him a look. “Drop it.”

He grins, the smug bastard. “Knew it. You had that ‘oh no, she’s hot’ look.”

“I did not have a look.”

“Oh, you had a look. And you still have it. That faraway, brain-melting, she-smells-like-coconut-sweat kind of look.”

“She smells like ash and adrenaline,” I mutter, heading toward the evac area.

“Dude.” Matt laughs. “You’re already halfway gone.”

I shrug him off, but he’s not wrong. I am gone. Or going. Hell, I don’t even know.

Officially, I’m on standby now, waiting for new orders or a rotation. Unofficially? I’ve got time to kill and I know what I want to do with it.

“I’m gonna check on the civilians,” I tell Matt, trying to sound casual.

He raises both brows, giving me a cheeky grin. “Check on the civilians, huh?”

I walk away before he can say anything else.

The Reynolds family is being helped by the medics, and I scan the area, expecting to find her walking beside them. But she’s not there. My chest tightens with an irrational feeling of…anxiety?

What if she left?

The thought of not seeing her again leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Just as I start to think of ways to “coincidentally” drop by her workplace, I see her…

She’s leaning against an old green Subaru, hands braced on the roof. Her hair is wind-tangled, soot smudged across her cheek, but she’s standing tall, her jaw set like she’s already planning her next move.

Relief hits me like a sucker punch. I force myself to walk instead of run.

“Hey,” I call out, catching her before she climbs in. “You heading out already?”

She glances over, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thinking about it. But apparently my car’s throwing a tantrum. Battery light’s on.”

“Looks like the universe wants you to stay put for a bit.”

“Or maybe it just hates me.”

I cross my arms. “Or maybe it knew I wanted to talk to you.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I pause, then offer a hand. “Ryan Lewis. In case you missed it during the whole ‘world-on-fire’ thing.”

She chuckles as she takes my hand. Her grip is strong and warm. “Clea McMahon.”

Clea.

The name suits her. Strong, sharp, just a little lyrical. Like the sound of a river sliding over rock.

“Well, Clea McMahon,” I say, “I think you should get a checkup. You took some smoke back there. And a tumble.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t know you’re fine.”

She eyes me. “Let me guess. You’re one of those men who thinks women always need checking on?”

“I’m one of those men who saw you go through a literal forest fire and thinks maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see a medic.”

She huffs out a reluctant laugh. “Fine. But only because I’m a little dizzy. From the altitude. Not the fire. Or you.”

Oh, she’s a funny one. Damn.

“Definitely not me,” I say, unable to help a grin. “After you, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes but follows me toward the triage area, walking close enough that our arms almost touch. I can’t help myself—I start to imagine what her skin would feel like under my fingers. But I keep my thoughts and my hands to myself…for now.

At the cabin that’s been set up for use by the medical team, a nurse directs us into one of the two rooms while the Reynolds’s occupy the other. I let Clea in first, gently closing the door behind us as I step in after her.

And suddenly, we’re alone, shut off from the rest of the world. For a moment, we’re just standing there. Just us. Two chairs. A gurney. Medical gear scattered like confetti on the counter.

“You ever get tired of people checking your vitals?” she asks, hopping up on the gurney.

I lean against the wall, slowly crossing my arms without taking my eyes off her. “Only when they get handsy.”

She snorts. “Please. You’d love it.”

She’s not wrong.

The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward.

It’s charged. I watch her swing her legs slightly, the tension in her shoulders slowly bleeding out as she relaxes in the stillness.

And then it hits me—I don’t want to leave this room.

I don’t want to go back to base. I don’t want to be anywhere that isn’t here. With her.

It’s insane.

But it’s real.

I try to stay cool. Professional. Try not to imagine dragging her close and pressing her back against that metal table. Or ravaging her lips while running my hands over her curves…

“Mind if I ask what the hell you were doing up on that ridge today?”

My voice is sharper than I intended. Must be the irrational tightness in my chest.

Her expression shifts slightly. “I was working. Like you.”

“Except I’m trained for that kind of heat,” I say curtly. “That ridge was flagged as unstable two days ago. No tour group should’ve been up there.”

She stiffens. “It was a short route. Nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve hiked it dozens of times without issue.”

“It’s not about routine. Wildfire doesn’t care about your schedule, Clea.”

She squares her shoulders, her jaw tightening. My words clearly hit her hard, but she’s trying to stay in control of her emotions.

She blinks, looking down at her hands for a beat. “I didn’t know. If I had, I never would’ve taken them there.”

She tries to tilt her head so I can’t see, but I catch sight of a single tear leaving a track in the soot on her face. I realize she’s still shaking slightly from shock.

Damn it. Now I feel even worse for grilling her.

Hating myself for causing her any amount of pain, I exhale, stepping toward her slowly. “Hey. I’m not saying it to blame you. You kept your group calm, and kept that kid safe. Most people would’ve panicked. You did good.” I reach out and brush away another tear from her cheek. I can’t help it.

Fuck, her skin is just as soft as I imagined.

She glances up at me, something softer in her eyes now. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Her mouth quirks. “Too late.”

We hover there for a moment, the air between us becoming charged again, crackling like embers catching dry pine. I should sit. I should back off. But all I can think about is her mouth. Her legs. Her curves and the way she looked at me in that chopper—like she’d let me touch her if I wanted to.

God help me, I want to.

“You always this bossy?” she asks, lifting one brow at me.

I step in closer, crowding her knees. “Only when it counts.”

“You think chewing me out in a trauma room counts?”

“You were in danger. I didn’t like it.”

She studies me, and something in her gaze flickers. Her lips part slightly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Feels like I do,” I murmur, reaching out to brush a thumb along her cheekbone again, leaving my hand there this time, holding her face like it’s something precious.

What the hell are you doing, Lewis?

She doesn’t pull away. Her breath catches, lashes fluttering low. My hand slides into her hair, and I tilt her face toward mine.

She leans in.

Fuck.

That’s all I need.

I slowly lower my mouth to hers, giving her time to pull away, to jerk me out of this trance she has me in, but her mouth meets mine, her lips parting eagerly for me.

She sinks into me, making this sound in the back of her throat that shoots straight to my cock.

I grab her waist, pressing her body closer to mine as I deepen the kiss.

She fists the front of my shirt, pulling me between her legs, and I reach down and press my palms to her thighs, spreading her open, anchoring her to me.

This is madness, but I can’t pull back now.

“I need to check you,” I murmur against her lips.

Her brow creases. “Check me?”

“Yeah,” I say, lips dragging along her jaw. “Thorough inspection. Head to toe. Make sure you’re not hiding any smoke damage…or bruises…or sensitive spots.”

“Ryan…”

I like the way she says my name. Soft. Breathy.

“Still got a few minutes. The Reynolds family’s still in the other room. You want me to stop, tell me now.”

She clears her throat softly, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of red. “I’ve never…I mean, I haven’t…”

I freeze, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You’re a virgin?”

She nods, lips pressed together like she’s bracing for judgment.

Instead, something snaps in me. Possessive heat. Dark and hot and primitive.

Holy fuck.

Every instinct in my body flares to life, and I feel the sudden urge to claim her right here and now. I want to mark her. Ruin her for anyone else.

I’m kissing her again before she can second-guess herself, my tongue claiming her mouth thoroughly before I pull back. “You’re gonna tell me if I do something you don’t like, okay?”

She nods, swiping her tongue over her lips in a way that makes my cock rear in protest.

Oh, to have those lips wrapped around me…

But that’ll have to wait. This time is all about her.

“Wh—what’re you doing?” she asks breathily when I start to lower the zipper on her shorts.

“I’m going to make you feel good, Clea. So good you’re going to remember me every time you close your eyes.”

I hook my fingers under the edge of her shorts, watching her for any sign of hesitation. She lifts her hips. Permission.

Good.

I lower her waistband slowly, just enough for me to slide my hand down her front, between her shorts and her panties, which are already soaked through. She’s flushed, warm, and so wet for me. I run my other hand up her back, under her shirt, pressing us closer together.

“So gorgeous,” I murmur against her lips, trailing my mouth along her jaw, licking a path down her neck to her collarbone. “I should’ve done this in the damn chopper.”

She lets out a breathy laugh that cuts off in a moan when I stroke a finger against her clit through the fabric. She gasps, hands flying to my shoulders. I continue to play with her, slowly and deliberately. Testing what makes her squirm. What makes her moan.

When I think she’s warmed up enough, I pull the panties to the side and slide a single finger inside her wet heat.

“Ryan! God—”

Fuck. She’s so tight, and each of her sweet whimpers makes my cock harder. I start to gently fuck her with my finger, circling her clit with my thumb.

She’s grinding herself against my hand now, riding my finger like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. She moans, loud, and I return my mouth to hers to cut off the sound.

She’s shaking now, her walls squeezing me tighter. She’s close.

I’m about to add a second finger inside her when—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

We both freeze, and then I jump back fast, removing my hand from her shorts. She zips herself up quick, eyes wide with horror and a lustful haze.

A beat later, the door opens.

The medic walks in, completely unfazed. “Hey, sorry. Just finishing up with the other family. You two doing okay?”

Clea gives her a thumbs-up and a smile so forced it might crack her face. “Great! We’re great. Very…checked.”

“Vitals look good from here,” I say, coughing into my fist.

The medic glances between us. “Right. Well, if there’s no injuries you need me to check out…” She turns to Clea. “You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke. Are you having any trouble breathing?”

Clea assures the medic that she feels fine and after a quick vitals check, the medic says, “You both are good to go. Make sure to get checked out further if you develop any new symptoms.” She gives us a curt nod and leaves.

When the door shuts again, Clea slumps back, covering her face with both hands. “We are never talking about this.”

“Like hell we’re not,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “You owe me a second date. In a room with doors we can lock.”

She peeks at me through her fingers. “This was not a date.”

“Felt like one.”

Her cheeks flush red again.

And I’m already planning how to get her alone next.