Mountain Fire Page 6

  The affection in his voice had June laughing back. “How long have you known her?”

  “I met her about two years ago, shortly after I moved up here. We’d captured an injured cougar in a rural residential area. It had torn its leg open trying to get through a barb wire fence. We sedated it and had a vet stitch it up, but the doctor didn’t have the facilities to keep it, and we didn’t want to release it until we made sure there was no infection. She suggested Cindy. She was exactly the same then—had no use for you unless you had four legs or feathers.”

  They neared the city limits. The sky trumpeted orange and pink and rose and salmon as the sun set behind the hills west of town.

  “Are you hungry?” June asked. It had been hours since the granola bar she’d scarfed down during the helicopter ride back from the camp, and she was starving. “If you want, I could probably manage to throw something together at my house. And by I, I mean we.”

  Alex gave her a sideways smile. “Sounds good. I, I mean, we, could probably handle that.”

  The street in front of her house was full of vehicles, as it often was in the evening, so June directed Alex to the alley running along the rear of the houses and he pulled into the gravel space behind her home. A greying wooden fence separated the parking area from the lawn of the backyard. They went through the creaking gate and up the narrow path, slippery with the decaying remains of apple blossoms. She unlocked the back door and led him into the kitchen.

  She went to throw her pack in her bedroom, and noticed on her way through the living room the red light flashing on her land line. She set a large pot of water on the stove and rummaged through the fridge. “How does pasta and salad grab you?”

  “Right by my taste buds,” Alex answered. “What can I do?”

  “Why don’t you pour us some wine? Glasses are in the cupboard next to the sink.” She put a head of romaine on the counter. “Then you can rip this up and give it a wash. I do a mean Caesar dressing from scratch, but it needs to sit overnight, so this time you’ll have to live with store bought.” She set a bottle on the counter. “And while you’re doing that, if you don’t mind, I’m going to check my messages.”

  She punched in the code, and Richard Fleetham’s baritone voice asked her to call him on his cell. She erased the message and dialled.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Richard,” she said, “June returning your call.” Alex came from the kitchen and handed her a glass.

  He stood hip-shot against the door jamb and sipped his wine. His uniform was rumpled and creased from the tussle with the bear cub and his dark hair fell messily over his forehead. He looked so good she lost her train of thought and didn’t hear Richard’s reply. She scrambled to catch up. “I, uh, got your message.”

  “Yes, I called for a couple of reasons. One was to see how you were doing after all the excitement recently. Seen any more of your conservation officer?”

  Her gaze travelled up and down Alex’s length and his eyes narrowed at her scrutiny. “Yes, I have seen more of him. In fact, we spent the day together at another kill site.” She told Richard of the day’s developments.

  After a pause Richard said sorrowfully, “June, June. I asked you to stay safe.”

  She swallowed irritation. “Helping Alex isn’t dangerous, Richard. And besides, I really enjoy it. I’m thinking of asking him for a full-time job.” Alex saluted her with his wineglass, and she winked back.

  She waited through another short silence. “I can’t keep you from doing what you want,” Richard said, “but I have another project you might like to take on. Not quite as exciting, of course.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “RiverForce has received a small government grant to hire a part-time administration assistant over the summer, to get our files in order and do some organizing, nothing strenuous. I thought of you right away.”

  “Me?”

  “Why not you? You’re bright, interested and a university student who, I assume, needs the experience and the money. If you don’t want it, however...”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. Of course I’ll take it. When do you want me to start?”

  “I know it’s short notice, but how’s tomorrow? I’ll be at the university and can set you up with everything you need. Meet me at my office...say ten a.m.?”

  “That will work.” Aware she didn’t sound particularly excited, she injected her voice with more enthusiasm. “Thanks again, Richard, for thinking of me. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem, no problem at all,” he replied, and broke the connection.

  She gave Alex a quick rundown while she thawed shrimp under cool water. “I suppose I should be more grateful,” she said with a shrug, “but it seems very odd he would offer it to me. There’s a fellow called Thomas in the group that would do it all for free...probably is doing it already for free. Getting paid would make him think he’s died and gone to heaven.” She pulled out a cutting board and knife. “But I’m not one to turn down easy money. Thomas will have to suffer.”

  She minced onion and garlic, then sautéed it with olive oil and added the shrimp. While it simmered she added fettuccine to the water. Alex finished the salad, and she told him where to find plates and silverware and he set the kitchen table. When the pasta was tender and the shrimp deliciously pink, she tossed it all with a hefty sprinkle of freshly grated Parmesan cheese and served it up in a brightly coloured pottery dish.

  They slurped the fettuccine noisily and peeled the shrimp with their fingers. She was tinglingly aware of her knees grazing his under the table.

  June put away leftovers as Alex ran hot water, then they stood side by side and did the dishes together, shoulders bumping occasionally. After she dried the last pot, Alex took the towel from her hands. She leaned against the counter. His deep brown eyes, keen and glowing, met hers, and an answering heat lit deep within her. He draped the towel over her head, around her neck and pulled her forward until their bodies were almost touching. June’s pulse beat heavily and her eyes dropped to his mouth. He rested his forehead against hers. His breath feathered her cheek, scented with the wine they’d shared.

  She closed her eyes. “What do you want to do now?”

  He laughed deep in his chest. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

  “We could watch TV.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “We could.”

  “Or go for a walk.”

  His lips shifted to the corner of her mouth. “Sounds good.”

  “Then again,” she murmured, and let her head fall back, “we could do something else.”

  “I vote for that,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Blood raced through her veins, blooming in her belly, searing through her centre. His lips were warm, demanding, and he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. She tasted a hint of spice, and his own unique maleness.

  Releasing the ends of the towel, his hands drifted down, skimming the sides of her breasts. He pulled her forward, holding her hips firmly against his, his hardness pressing into her. She wound her arms around his neck, and her fingers threaded through his hair as she dove deeper into the kiss.

  His hand found her small, firm breast. Pinwheels whirled behind her eyes. His palm burned through the thin material of her T-shirt and bra, and her nipple stiffened. A whimper escaped her lips. When his thumb rubbed across the taut nub, she wrapped her arms even tighter around his neck, desperate for balance.

  In one movement, he hoisted her onto the counter, then swept his hands under her shirt over the flushed skin of her ribs. Lifting the material, he slipped down the white cotton of her bra and dipped his head.

  She was afraid she might melt away, so intense was the pull of his mouth. She felt it on her breast, and tugging throughout her body, deep into her core. Her hands grasped his head, holding him close.

  His fingers grappled with the button on her jeans. She stiffened as the backs of his fingers brushed low on her stomach.

  “No,” she panted. �
�Wait.”

  Her hands gripped his. He raised his head and stared at her with hooded eyes.

  She slid off the counter, pulling her T-shirt down. His arms encircled her, drawing her tight to his body. “Don’t let go,” she said, voice hoarse with desire. “I don’t think I can stand on my own yet.”

  She tucked her head under his chin, breathing in the subtle scent of his aftershave. His heart beat an uneven tattoo under her cheek, and she was glad he was as deeply affected as she. He loosened her hair from its untidy knot, and spread the strands over her shoulders, running his fingers through it, soothing them both.

  “I think we know where this could go,” she said, her breath whispering against his neck.

  “Straight to the bedroom,” he said decisively.

  She giggled softly, then sighed. “But not tonight.”

  The hand weaving through her hair stilled. He drew back and tugged gently, lifting her head to meet his gaze, where the desire and demand still burned.

  “Why not?”

  She sucked in a deep breath, and stepped away from him, standing on her own. “I am attracted to you.” She blew a gust of air out, fluttering the hair hanging about her face. “And how stupid does that sound, considering. But I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You want to. You can’t deny that.”

  “I do want to. More than you know. But I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. What I want to know is why you won’t.”

  She was surprised by the depth of annoyance in his voice. “Because I’m not looking for a short term fling...I’m looking for more. We only met a couple of weeks ago. We’ve only seen each other a few times. I’m not ready.”

  He closed off immediately, tense, cold, all emotions clamped tight. “What do you mean, more?”

  “More time. More chances to get to know you.” She twisted her fingers together. “More commitment.”

  “Commitment?” he choked. “You said it yourself, we barely know each other, and you want commitment?” She held tight to her composure, afraid she might crumple beneath the fiery anger in his words, the flare of antagonism in his eyes. “I want to take you, find out how you like to be touched, the noises you’ll make when I please you. But that’s all I’m offering. Pleasure, not promises.”

  Turning away, she opened a cupboard, took out a glass, and filled it with water from the tap. “I see.” She took a small sip, and another, trying to soothe the burning at the back of her throat where tears threatened.

  “For God’s sake, what do you want from me?” He paced the small kitchen. “I could have had you right here, but you asked me to stop. I did. And now you’re telling me...what? What exactly are you telling me, June?”

  “I’m sorry.” She clutched the counter behind her back so tightly the edge cut into her fingers. “I’m not trying to be a tease. I’m trying to be honest.”

  “Maybe I should leave.” He glared across the room. “Maybe I should go.”

  “I don’t want you to leave. But I’m not going to have sex with you tonight.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Slowly the fierceness in his expression faded. He breathed deeply through his nose, once, twice. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He approached her cautiously. “But if you’re being honest with me, the least I can do is be honest with you.”

  Keeping a safe space between them, he mirrored her position at the counter. “Your parents are still together, right?” She nodded, watching his profile. “Mine split when I was thirteen. My dad divorced wife number three last year, and is now with a woman younger than I am. My mother hasn’t re-married, but she continues to have a succession of men-friends.” His voice was sour, his face grim. “It took me a long time to realize they were having their flings on the side long before they divorced. Commitment? Not something I’m used to.”

  She wanted to reach out, comfort him in some way, erase the desolation of the boy inside the man. “You don’t believe a man and a woman can love each other, forever?”

  He lifted his shoulders in an irritable shrug. “Happily ever after? Really? What kind of fairy tale are you living in?”

  She refused to be hurt. Instead, she said lightly, “See, this is exactly my point.”

  “What?”

  “These are the things I want to know about you, need to know about you. Before we take this any further.”

  “You certainly seem to know what you want.” He took his jacket down from the hook by the back door. “Now I have to decide what I want.”

  The snick of the latch as he closed the door behind him was the loneliest sound she’d ever heard.

  Chapter Seven

  “And this,” Thomas said sulkily as he pulled open another meticulously organized cabinet drawer, “is where you’ll find all the agendas and minutes of our meetings.”

  She’d never seen file folders so precisely aligned, with colour coded labels and finicky printing that would have made a kindergarten teacher envious. That was, she’d never seen file folders like that except in all the other painstakingly ordered drawers Thomas had shown her during the last half hour.

  The original plan had been for June to meet Richard at his office, but when she’d arrived, promptly at ten o’clock, his secretary had sent her on to the RiverForce office, saying Thomas was waiting for her and Richard would join them as soon as he finished a meeting that “he just couldn’t put off.”

  The thirty minutes she’d spent with Tubby Tom, as Tabitha maliciously dubbed him, was twenty-five minutes too long. He appeared to covet the job Richard had given her beyond all reason, and it was getting on her nerves. To do him justice, she couldn’t help but wonder what Richard was thinking as well. She’d never seen a better organized office, and she had no idea how he expected her to fill even the measly ten hours a week she was scheduled to work.

  “I don’t understand,” Thomas muttered morosely for what seemed like the twentieth time. “I don’t understand why Richard needed to hire someone to do this.”

  “Neither do I,” June said, exasperated enough to be brutally truthful. “But thanks for showing me around.” She sat behind the desk. “I’m sure you’ve got all sorts of other things you’d rather be doing. I think I’m all set.” She smiled encouragingly and repeated, “Thanks,” resisting the urge to make shooing motions.

  “I thought I’d stick around until Richard got here,” Thomas replied. “See if he needs anything.”

  She was beginning to doubt the man’s sanity. Why was he so desperate to stick around when he had to know he wasn’t needed? A small wedge of sympathy edged past the aggravation. “I’m going to get typing the agenda for the next meeting. Stay if you want to.” She wiggled the computer mouse and opened the blank agenda file. Working off an email Richard had sent previously, she began filling in the details, resolutely ignoring the heavy sighs coming from Thomas.

  They were still in their own little bubbles when Richard burst in a few minutes later.

  “Ah, I’m glad to see you both still here. Thomas, thanks so much for showing June the ropes.” He patted the younger man on the shoulder, but the gesture was shrugged off.

  “Richard,” Thomas said stiffly, “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

  “Of course, of course,” Richard said in his hearty manner. “What can I do for you?”

  “Not here,” Thomas said. “I’d like to speak with you in private.”

  “Certainly. Let’s go to my office, shall we? It’ll give us a chance to discuss the major project I want you to take on.”

  Thomas’ gloom evaporated. “You’ve got a project for me?” His eyes lit up and his entire manner changed from pouting to pompous.

  “Of course I do,” Richard boomed. “Why else did I hire June? So you would have time for your new duties.” He clapped Thomas on the back, and this time the younger man blushed at the attention. “June, we’ll go over more details after I’ve talked with Thomas. Any questi
ons right now?”

  She wasn’t about to ask how the heck she was going to keep occupied with Thomas right there, so she shook her head and turned to the computer. In no time at all, she was done with the agenda. She emailed a copy to Richard for his approval, then called up the minutes from the last meeting, which Thomas had already typed, emailed them to everyone in the group, and printed one copy, which she posted on the bulletin board.

  And was done.

  She surveyed the tiny room. From where she stood, with her back against the wall immediately opposite the door, the desk was to her right, facing into the room, with a window behind it overlooking a shipping and loading dock. On the left was a row of three filing cabinets, Thomas’s pride and joy. Various posters tried limply to enliven the institutional beige paint.

  Idly she opened a filing drawer, vaguely hoping to find something to do. Inside were folders with labels such as “Itinerary — Fleetham, Richard”, “Trade Fairs” and “School Visits”. She pulled out the itinerary folder and found various sheets tucked together tidily with silver paper clips. The one on top was dated the beginning of May, before June had met Alex on top of Longworth Mountain, and gave a list of transportation details, hotel accommodations, and conference seminars in regards to a trip Richard had made to Vancouver.

  She slipped the folder back in its slot, slid the drawer shut and was thinking about checking Facebook to kill time when her cell phone buzzed.

  ****

  Alex would have suffered untold tortures before admitting to anyone how many times he’d changed his mind about calling June.

  He had been upset and aroused, disappointed and disturbed when he’d left her house last night. Kissing her, touching her, had set off a firestorm inside him. He still had her scent in his nostrils—soap and fresh air and something even more basic, more primal, he couldn’t define. When she’d asked him to stop, to wait, he’d struggled for the control she’d wanted from him, but had been willing to slow things down. The need for her had pumped through his system as he’d waited impatiently for her to invite him to her bed.