But the other part demolished each argument. Larkin was our mate, and nothing else mattered except my crew, career, and the competition I'd been training for since January. And everyone at Station 9 would feel betrayed if they found out I was sneaking off to meet Station 12's lieutenant.
But things that also mattered were the scent of woodsmoke and how my chest had ached since the barbecue.
I drove twenty minutes to the trailhead with the windows down, letting the mountain air clear my head. Trenton sat in a valley, and the road between our two towns wound through forest that thickened as you climbed. The trailhead Larkin had chosen was halfway between Danvers and Trenton, and when I pulled into the gravel lot, his truck was already there.
Of course he was early.
I parked two spaces away, which was silly considering we were the only cars in the lot, but I needed a buffer. Through the windshield, I spotted him leaning against his tailgate with his arms crossed. He was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up and jeans that outlined his hips and other parts of him. And as for his forearms, oh they were lickable.
But I wasn’t here to lick anyone, so I got out before I ripped off my clothes and said, “You’re mine. Take me.”
The connection between us spiked when I was ten feet from him. It yanked at my chest, and it was as though someone had tied a rope around my ribs and was gently reeling me in. Larkin's scent drifted on the breeze, wafting around me, enticing and taunting me.
He straightened as I approached and uncrossed his arms. Up close, without sixty people and a barbecue between us, I noticed things I'd missed before. He was clenching his teeth, and therewas a small scar above his left eyebrow. His eyes followed my path before darting away.
“I wasn’t sure you’d turn up.”
That irritated me. “Don't sound so surprised. I said I would.”
“You also said you didn't know what I was talking about.”
That was fair enough. I scuffed my boot on the gravel and leaned against his truck, mirroring his earlier posture.
“So, I’m here. Talk.”
Larkin rubbed the back of his neck. For someone who’d radiated authority at the barbecue, he appeared distinctly uncomfortable, and I took some satisfaction in that. At least I wasn't the only one floundering.
“You felt it too.” He wasn’t asking but telling, and I was more irritated with him.
“Huh? What? The cheap beer, the sunburn, or Station 12's inflated sense of superiority?”
He smirked. “Percy.”
Shoot, now he’d gone and done it. My name on his lips and me… not swooning. Firefighters in the twenty-first century didn’t swoon, but it was something close to it.
I gulped, wanting to fan myself, but I tucked my arms behind me.
“Fine. I did. I felt the thing.” Admitting it loosened the pressure in my chest. “But feeling it and doing something about it are two different things.”
“I’m with you there, but I didn’t sleep last night.”
He pushed off his tailgate and took a step closer. I shivered because his scent was overwhelming, and my knees were swaying, plus my pulse was so fast, I worried I’d faint.
“That makes two of us.” I'd been up until three, lying on my back with my dragon reciting all the things he wanted to do when he met Larkin's dragon, like flying, hunting, and burning shit.
“Here's what I think.”
This voice was different, maybe this was his lieutenant voice. I liked it and imagined him talking like that when we were naked.
“The cup runs for six weeks, and both our crews are counting on us. We can’t let this get out now.”
“It'd be pandemonium.” I pictured Briggs's face, Hallie’s shock, and my captain pulling me into his office. There’d be whispers and jokes that weren’t really jokes. They’d assume I’d been compromised. “My crew would think I’d sold them out.”
“And mine would question every decision I've made since the barbecue.” His eyes met mine. “I’m suggesting we keep this between us until the competition is over in six weeks. We figure out what this is, privately, without blowing up everything we've built at our stations.”
Six weeks? My dragon was throwing a tantrum.What? He’s standing right there. Why do you have to wait six weeks?
The rational part of my brain knew Larkin was right. Six weeks of secrecy in exchange for keeping our crews intact and the competition fair. It made sense. It was the smart move. It was the advice I'd expect from a lieutenant.
