WILD PLEASURE {short erotic stories} Chapter 80: Fired Up (6)

Holy. Shit.

The man lounging on her steps was one hell of a welcoming committee. As her brain pinwheeled frantically, trying to process his presence, her libido registered his body—his large, well-muscled, hard body. He had to be well over six feet tall, and she drank in every inch, starting with the T- shirt pulled tight over his chest and then moving down over his Nomex-clad thighs. Given the way he was sprawled, there was no missing his package. He sure had one hell of a welcome for her.

Handsome, laughing eyes examined her from an even better-looking face, his skin sun-bronzed from hours outdoors. Dark hair brushed against his jaw in thick waves, but stubble roughed his jaw from at least a day on the trail. His watchful attitude screamed former soldier, but that hair was pure bad boy. No standard military issue there. He flashed her a wicked hint of a dimple as he winked, confirming her rule-breaker impression, and he’d have laugh lines before he was forty from the smile lighting up his face.

“Wow.” She watched her stuff hit the ground in slo-mo and hoped like hell her jaw hadn’t followed. She hadn’t expected company, with the next supply drop not scheduled for another two weeks, so this man was an unexpected bonus. Hopefully, the bottle-green Nomex he was sporting meant he was Forest Service and not some random hiker who’d found his way to her watchtower. She’d relax more if she could pretend someone, somewhere, had checked into this man’s background and bona fides before unleashing him on the world.

“Truer words.” He grinned at her, a slow, sexy tug of his lips, and leaned forward, snagging the satin cups of her bra. She wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that she’d passed on the practical white cotton or that she had the underwear taste of a high-class hooker.

He extended the bra to her, like she didn’t have a shotgun trained on him. “Yours.”

“Thanks.” She was fairly certain her face was on fire, but not dropping the towel was paramount. Yet, the longer she looked at him, the more she wanted to peel that Nomex right off of him and kiss her way south. Three words and his Cajun accent melted her.

His Cajun accent.

Oh. My. God.

“Surprise,” he said dryly, watching her carefully as she lowered the gun. Nothing could have prepared her for meeting this man. Exchanging sexy

chitchat wasn’t like her. And doing it over the airwaves? God. Her face flamed. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was never supposed to be more than a voice.

And he definitely wasn’t supposed to have a body that was even better than his voice. She’d mentally given him a hundred different faces, depending on her mood. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality. Tall, clocking in at well over six feet, with dark eyes and harsh cheekbones in a rough-hewn, hard face, Cole Henry was the kind of man any woman would look at. Twice.

“Cole Henry.” He stuck a hand out. Since her dignified choices were few and far between at the moment, she took his hand with her free one. Calloused masculine fingers closed around hers.

“Why are you here?” Instantly, her blush got worse—God, what had she said to him? Surely, he knew those conversations were fantasies and not some kind of sexual rain check he could cash in?

 There was no way she was going to do any of those things.

No matter how tempting he looked.

Right now, though, he was eying her incredulously. “Your radio went out

during last night’s thunderstorm and I couldn’t raise you afterward.”

He’d come all the way to check on her? Warmth flooded her.

“Damned straight I was comin’ out here,” he continued. “I’m your

delivery boy.”

“Excuse me?”

He liked the way her eyes widened. “Your radio is busted.” He jerked a

thumb toward his pack. “I brought you a replacement, sha.”

Was that a flash of disappointment he saw on her face? Or was he

looking for something he wouldn’t find?

“Oh.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Well, thank you, Cole Henry. I’ve

always wondered . . . that’s not a Cajun name.” She looked him up and down like she wasn’t standing there all but buck-ass naked. If the small talk made her happier, though, he was game. Usually, talking about himself was right up there with lobotomies and trips to the dentist, but he’d make an exception for her. Although he still hoped she’d hurry up and get comfortable with him, because his ass was falling asleep on her steps.

“My maman was the Cajun. Not my daddy. He stuck while he could, but my mother raised me.”

His father had been a career soldier who’d eventually been killed in the line of duty. Before that, though, the man had always been shipping out, at least to hear his maman talk about it. The last time had occurred when Cole was five, leaving him only the briefest flickers of memory of a big man with gentle hands and hard eyes. That man had taken care of his family both before and after his death, but the checks that came couldn’t replace the man duty had taken from them, even if the money made his mother’s life easier.

Hell. He was a one-nighter and a ship-out man like his daddy. He wasn’t made to stick.

He didn’t think his Hannah was harboring long-term thoughts, but being clear never hurt.

“I’m stoppin’ for one night. Tomorrow I’ll be headin’ back down the trail.”

“So, how about you lettin’ me up? I’ll get your new radio set up.”

 Cole’s dark voice did unspeakable things to her libido. Hannah was fairly certain the simple question wasn’t meant to be so arousing. The plain truth, however, was that she found everything about Cole Henry sexy. Still, she considered the options in her head, not sure if he meant for her to take his words at face value or if there was subtext.

In.

Or out.