Page 5 of The Smokejumper’s Lady (Praise Me Like Fire #1)

Clea

Oh my God.

What’s happening?

I’m smiling bravely on the outside, but I’m freaking out in my head.

Because I’m pretty sure I just let a complete stranger—a literal smoke jumper—finger-fuck me in a medical room. At a wildfire evac site.

And I didn’t stop him.

Worse? I already miss the way his mouth felt on mine, the way he looked at me like I was something precious and breakable, even while his fingers absolutely destroyed me. My thighs are still trembling, and my head’s floating somewhere far, far away from this dusty makeshift clinic.

I don’t even hear the door open again.

“Hey,” says a new male voice, deep and teasing. “Sorry to crash the afterglow. You decent?”

I jerk upright. My gaze snaps toward the newcomer—another smoke jumper. He’s got the same ash-stained gear Ryan had on earlier, the same confident stance. Messy blond hair, square jaw, cocky grin.

Definitely trouble.

Unlike Ryan’s brooding thunderstorm energy, this guy’s got sunshine-and-beer vibes. He’s handsome, for sure, and judging by the way Ryan instantly groans and mutters, “Matt, timing,” I’m guessing this must be one of his teammates.

Matt raises his brows at me. “You must be the reason this guy’s been all hot and bothered since we landed.”

I blink. “Uh—”

Ryan cuts in smoothly. “Clea, this is Matt. Matt, this is Clea.”

“Pleasure,” Matt says, shooting me a wink. “Literally, from the look of it.”

I’m going to die. Just keel over and die right here on this gurney.

Ryan must sense that my pleased embarrassment is tilting toward actual discomfort, because he pushes off the counter and glares at Matt. “Shut up. What’s the status?”

Matt shrugs. “Bird’s grounded till morning. Winds are acting up and the fire’s mostly contained, but the perimeter’s still hot. They want us to stay put.”

I try to focus on the words. Mostly contained. Grounded. Stay put. My brain is still lodged somewhere around the part where Ryan almost made me come with his fingers in a public medical room.

Ryan turns to me. “We’ll have to wait it out near camp. There’s a ranger cabin or two nearby we can crash in until they send the next ride out. Not far from here.”

I nod, or at least I think I do, because I suddenly feel like I’m watching all of this happen from outside my own body.

Matt grins like he’s just been handed the plot to a soap opera.

“You two will be in the north cabin.” He gestures in that general direction.

“The Reynolds get the evac tent, and I claimed the last room in the cabin with the medics. Sorry, sweetheart.” He says it to Ryan, not me, which makes the joke land harder.

“Guess it’s you and your girl all night. ”

Your girl.

My stomach drops. Every nerve in my body lights up like someone hit the panic switch.

All night…

With Ryan…

In a cabin…

Alone.

Oh God.

The room has gone painfully quiet. Matt shoots us both a pointed look, then slaps Ryan on the back. “Try not to break the bed, buddy.”

“Get lost,” Ryan growls.

“Already gone,” Matt says, tossing me a wink. “Nice meeting you, Clea. Try not to let this one boss you around too much. He likes to play alpha when he’s in tight quarters.”

Ryan flips him off without turning around. “Close the damn door behind you.”

Matt laughs all the way out.

Then it’s just us again. The energy in the room shifts, sharpening with the weight of attraction between us.

Ryan steps closer until I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

He’s so damn tall…

“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight,” he says in a low voice that makes my breath catch.

His words sound like a threat and a promise all rolled into one. My body reacts instantly, a warm ache rising in my core, shooting rapidly to the area between my thighs.

“I guess so,” I murmur, trying to sound unaffected but failing miserably.

Ryan smiles at that. A lazy, knowing smile that curls the edges of his mouth but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze is smoldering. His entire presence is electric. I feel like a delicate butterfly standing too close to a fire. Dangerous and stupid. And completely unable to resist.

He reaches down and threads his fingers through mine. “You ready to leave?”

No.

Yes.

God, I don’t even know anymore. I just nod, letting him lead me out the back of the cabin and into the dusky wilderness beyond.

The fire’s distant now, contained like Matt said, but I can still smell the smoke in the air. The sky is tinged orange as the sun sinks lower, and our footsteps crunch over pine needles and scorched brush as we walk.

But I barely register any of it.

Because Ryan doesn’t let go of my hand.

His palm is big, calloused, swallowing mine. We don’t talk. We don’t need to. The air between us says everything. Every sideways glance, every subtle brush of his arm against mine…it’s all electric.

When we finally reach the cabin, I’m almost breathless. Not from the walk, but from the unbearable anticipation that’s been building with every step.

The cabin is small. One room. A table, a kitchenette tucked in the corner, a couch. A window that barely lets in any light, and a door that looks like it leads to a tiny bathroom. And a bed.

One bed.

Ryan ushers me in, and the second I step inside, he pushes the door shut behind me, caging me against it with his body. His mouth crashes onto mine before I can even speak.

Hot. Hungry. Desperate.

I melt into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as his hands roam my waist, possessive and sure. He kisses me like he’s starving for me, like he’s been holding back all day and finally can’t anymore. And maybe he has been. I have too.

His thigh slots between mine, his tongue sweeping deep into my mouth. I moan, arching into him, already aching.

Suddenly, my stomach lets out the most humiliating growl known to man. Ryan stills. Pulls back slowly. One brow raised, lips kiss-swollen and eyes gleaming with amusement.

“When was the last time you ate?” he teases, voice husky.

I blink. “I…I don’t remember. Breakfast?”

“That was over twelve hours ago.” He shakes his head like I’ve offended him. “You’re out here running tours through wildfires and not even fueling yourself properly?”

“I was kind of busy not dying.”

He grunts, clearly not satisfied with that answer. Then he grabs my hand again, guiding me toward the little table near the kitchenette.

“Sit,” he says. “Now.”

I sink into the chair with a breathless laugh. “Are you seriously about to scold me into eating?”

“I’m seriously about to feed you. Don’t move.”

He rummages through a supply bin tucked under the counter. Cans, a small bag of rice, some protein bars, a bottle of olive oil. Somehow, he starts pulling it all together like it’s a five-star kitchen.

He even slips on a small apron hanging on a hook.

My mouth falls open. “No way.”

He glances over his shoulder. “What?”

“You’re wearing an apron.”

He shrugs. “Gotta protect the goods.”

I bite back a grin. “Shouldn’t I be the one cooking? You literally saved a family from a wildfire today.”

“I like feeding people,” he says without looking at me. “Always have.”

Something about that—the simple truth of it—makes my chest ache.

I watch him move around the space like he owns it.

Confident. Unbothered. His broad back shifts beneath his shirt every time he reaches for something, muscles flexing.

His hair’s a mess, still damp from sweat and ash.

His jaw is shadowed in stubble, and a bruise is blooming on his forearm where he must’ve taken a hit during the rescue.

He looks like a man forged in fire.

But right now, in this tiny cabin, with an apron tied over his smoke jumper uniform, Ryan Lewis looks like a man I could fall for.

Hard.

The pasta turns out surprisingly good, considering the limited supplies…something with beans, garlic, a bit of canned tomato, and enough seasoning to trick my stomach into believing it’s gourmet. But maybe it’s just the man behind the meal.

Ryan slides a bowl in front of me and sits across the table with his own, watching me with that quiet intensity as I take the first bite.

My moan is definitely not subtle. “Okay, I hate how good this is.”

He smirks. “Hate it all you want. You’re eating every bite.”

“I would lick the bowl if it wouldn’t ruin the whole ‘dignity’ thing I’ve got going.”

That earns a low chuckle. “You think you’ve got dignity left after earlier?”

I flush, heat rising to my face. “Fair point.”

We eat in companionable silence, exchanging the occasional glance, a smirk, the soft clink of cutlery against our bowls. I feel…soft. Warm in a way that has nothing to do with the food.

At some point someone from the medic team drops by with a cooler of ice and some extra emergency supplies, and when we’re left alone again, the silence is sharper. More potent.

We take turns washing up at the tiny bathroom sink, using a shared bottle of soap and a couple towels that have clearly seen better days.

As I remove the soot and ash from my skin as best I can, my mind drifts to the way Ryan made me feel with his fingers on that medical gurney.

I find myself excited for whatever happens next.

After taking care to clean myself… everywhere , so I’ll be ready for anything, I put on a pair of flannel pants and an oversize T-shirt from the emergency supply packs.

As Ryan freshens up in the bathroom, I hang my smoky clothes over the back of a chair to air out and then tug a blanket around my shoulders as I settle onto the couch, legs tucked under me. My hair is damp, but I don’t think that’s what’s making me shiver. It’s anticipation.

Ryan comes out of the bathroom a moment later, shirtless now, a pair of sweatpants sitting low on his hips. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

Holy cow.

I’ve seen him, touched him…but now that there’s no adrenaline, no chaos, no urgent threat to occupy my brain, it hits differently.