“I’m perfectly capable of carrying you, but you’re correct.” He must have done this type of activity hundreds of times. “I need you to pivot on your left foot toward me and line up against me.”
He obeyed without question. The position placed him face-to-face with her, chest to chest and leg to leg. “Now I want you to put your arms around my neck,” she instructed him.
“You want me to . . .”
“Yes,” she interrupted, explaining. “We’re dancing now. We’re dancing because this way, we can walk together.”
His hands came up around her neck as requested. This was the first time they had made a mutual decision to touch each other. Her body nestled easily against his taller one, almost thrumming with contentment. She had to ignore her body’s shouts of‘At last, where I belong. Get naked!’
Hush!
Gritting her teeth, she placed her hands on either side of his hips to help guide them. “Now imagine I’m the guy, and you’re the girl. Follow my lead.”
Certain men would have found that insulting. Not Baker. Like they’d discussed at the North Star, he was secure in his masculinity. She had seen the outline of his… manhood before, so he didn’t have anything to worry about on that front.
“On the count of three, step to your right.” They both stepped at different times, and she ended up crashing her head into his chin. “Let’s try that again.”
It was worse the second time.
“Sorry,” he apologized.
“You’re moving too slowly, Chief. Pretend you’re at a club. You know—move with me.”
He chuckled, his hands tightening around her shoulders. “I’m turning forty; I don’t go to clubs.”
“You could think of it as sex with your clothes on, upright.” Crap, she’d said that out loud. “I mean, except we both aren’t thinking of that because it would be unprofessional. Which we already covered.”
His mouth twitched, making the wise decision not to comment.
She huffed. “We need to be able to move as one. Ideas?”
“A song then,” he suggested. “I know you hum.”
“No idea what you’re talking about?” Erin said, ignoring how good her hands felt on his lean hips.
“That’s how you keep kicking everybody’s ass at air management in the fish tank. You aren’t doing skip breathing or box breathing.” He named the two most commonly taught breathing techniques for firefighters. “You hum.”
“Guilty,” she admitted. He was the first person who’d noticed. Humming wasn’t a secret, merely hard to master. “So, I don’t have superhuman skills; it’s all technique.”
“It’s both. You’re smart not to make a big deal out of it. Or you’re just hiding it from the probie.” Before she could protest, he cut her off, “That’s how probies get trained. Lots of trial and error with a dash of hazing. Every probie goes to through it.”
“Glad I’m not in trouble. We can’t all be robots.”
“I’m no robot. Flesh and blood like everyone else.” The Chief’s voice was low and, she’d have sworn, husky, reverberating through his chest and then hers.
She was in trouble. He’d confirmed he had identified her ‘anonymous’ paper. Worse, his voice was the most seductive, the most mesmerizing timbre she’d ever heard. She would obey any command her gave—follow him into a fire, kiss him senseless. His messy bed must have had a giant bedpost full of notches that she was more than willing to be added to.
“We should focus on the objective,” she said. “We need a song both of us know. Needs to have a good beat to move together.” They were already molded together with such perfection. No, perfection would be his mouth down a few inches.
“Pour Some Sugar on Me,” he suggested.
She was even more convinced the Chief had mind powers because all she could think about was pouring sugar on him.
And then licking it off.
Could he read her mind and be willing to act out all her fantasies?
Oh, wait. He meant the song.
