The sky turns pink and orange, but I can’t pull myself from looking at Ember. “It’s magical having you here,” I say.
Her eyes sparkle in the fading light as she turns to me. “Magical, huh? And here I thought firefighters were supposed to be all tough and practical.” She pokes my chest playfully. “But I think you’re a romantic at heart, Captain McCallister.”
I can’t help but laugh. The way she sees through my professional exterior, calling me out with a teasing smile—it’s refreshing. Natural.
The last rays of sun paint her hair in shades of gold and copper. My hand finds its way to her cheek, my thumb brushing across her soft, freckled skin. Her breath catches, and I lean in, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, completely willing to burn for her.
We connect as the sunset settles in, her lips sweet with traces of cabernet and an unspoken promise. She responds with a gentle urgency, melting into me while her fingers tease my hair at the nape of my neck, drawing me nearer as we lose ourselves in each other.
When we break apart, she blinks those gorgeous hazel eyes at me. “Well, would you look at that—we completely missed the sunset.” Her lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Guess we’ll have to try this again tomorrow. You know, for proper sunset appreciation purposes.”
My heart soars at her words.
Tomorrow.
She’s thinking about tomorrow, about being here, about staying. I’ve only known her a short while, but the thought of her leaving Peachwood Grove makes my chest ache.
“I think it could be arranged,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I happen to have an excellent track record of sunset viewings from this very spot.”
“Oh really?” She raises an eyebrow. “And how many other women have you brought up here to verify this claim?”
“None.” I reply, and it gets the best smile that’s almost shy behind her bravado.
When the mosquitoes start buzzing, I take our plates, and we go inside.
Ember’s eyes glimmer in the soft glow of the living room, and as she saunters toward the kitchen island, every step she takes is a testament to her allure. It’s as if my thoughts have been scrambled, and when she asks, “Ready for dessert?” my ability to form a coherent response falters as my cock twitches under my pants—fucking animal he is.
Quick, think about peaceful or random things—not Ember’s glowing skin, her sparkling eyes. Her full breasts under that fitted shirt showing off her perfect cleavage. Or the fact that I want to pull her shirt over her head while kissing her skin up and down.
Fuck.
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. Her confidence as she strides toward me, the way she moves through my space, because she belongs here—it’s intoxicating.
She opens the bag, pulling out cheesecake, strawberries, and chocolate sauce. “I hope you love cheesecake.”
I lean against the counter, hyperaware of how close she is. “I like cheesecake.”
“Only like?” She dips a strawberry in chocolate, then looks at me with those hazel eyes that see right through every defenseI’ve built. “Well, what about chocolate-covered strawberries? Open up...”
I open my mouth, and she feeds me the strawberry, her fingers lingering at my lips longer than they should. Her smile doesn’t disappear so much as change into something else. Something we’ve both been circling tonight.
My hands find her hips, pulling her closer. “Ember—” My voice is rough. “I’d rather devour you.”
She inhales, and then I’m kissing her, and she’s kissing me back as if she’s been waiting for this. Her hands fist in my hair, pulling me closer, and I realize with startling clarity, I’ve never craved anyone the way I do with her.
Not only physically—though God knows I do. But all of her. The woman who spirals into random facts when she’s nervous. Who handled a fire scene as if she was born for it. Who looks at me like I’m more than the captain, the McCallister legacy, the role I’ve played for so long I forgot there was anything else.
“Ryan—I, I...” She pulls back, breathless, then kisses me again as if she can’t help herself.
“Ember,” I breathe against her lips, letting her feel how much I’m into her. “Do you want this?”
Her answer is to unbutton my shirt, her hands trembling slightly—and a small sign of nerves, of her being as affected as I am, undoes me completely.
I pull her shirt over her head, revealing black lace that makes my mouth go dry. But it’s not the lingerie stopping my heart—it’s the way she’s looking at me. Open. Trusting. Wanting me as much as I want her.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, meaning it in ways that have nothing to do with what she’s wearing.
I ease her jeans down, pressing kisses to her stomach, her hips, and when I drop to my knees in front of her, I look up tofind her watching me with those hazel eyes that make me want to be better, braver, more than I thought I could be.
