Page 53 of A Hard Habit to Break

What was he thinking… battling with her best friend? Of all the foolhardy efforts to win the girl, that had to be his least cerebral. He’d done one thing right before the clock struck midnight. During extra hours on the scene, he helped his crew decontaminate their outer gear with the blue dishwashing stuff, appropriately named the light before sunrise. That stuff cut through soot, ash, and stubborn food stains. Many hands made for efficient returns home—to a girlfriend who clung to her cell phone all night, wives who worried by the glow of the television, and kids who were allowed to stay up past their bedtimes to see Daddy walk through the door.

Noah refused to focus on what he lacked.

Movement on his porch caught his eye.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness near his front door, materializing into the shape of a woman rising from the wooden steps. Long red hair caught the moonlight, a sketch pad or maybe a notebook under her arm.

Rachel.

She had waited for him. In the dark. At his cabin.

Noah’s heart stuttered against his ribs. He jolted out, his rounded shoulders protesting the deliberate straighteningof his spine, the very lift of his head. Soot and exhaustion made his thoughts sluggish, but seeing her there—heavens, seeing her there—sent electricity racing through his veins. Her sketch pad or maybe a notebook under her arm thudded to the ground seconds before she launched, all limbs and wild hair, at him. Her scent—mountain spring water and pineapple—hit him a second before her body did. Noah locked his arms around her waist, holding on to the person who could give him strength in this moment of weakness. Toned arms circled his neck. Her white tank top hugged her modest breasts, but the cut-off jeans showed her award-worthy derriere. Was this the rapture? ’Cause he never wanted to touch the ground.

“You’re alive,” she said, her voice carrying across the small clearing. Not a question. A statement of relief so profound it hit him like a physical blow. Not waiting on him to answer, she planted kisses on his cheek, his mouth, his nose.

“Last I checked,” he rasped, his vocal cords swollen and sore from smoke inhalation. He was more than alright. His world felt perfect. “Though I’m starting to wonder if I’m hallucinating from smoke inhalation.”

She laughed, a sound caught between humor and something that might have been tears. “No hallucination. Just me, being…” She gestured vaguely at the porch, at herself, at the late hour. “I don’t know what I’m being.”

“You’re being… mine,” he began, looking down at her. Even in the darkness, he could see the worry etched in the lines around her eyes, the way she held herself like she was afraid to move too quickly. “That’s more than I expected.”

“I watched from the roof for a while. Searched for your headlights.” She swept her forefinger over her cheek, tucking an invisible errant strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture he remembered from their teenage years. “Thoughtmaybe… I don’t know. That you might want to know someone was glad you made it home.”

The simple words undid something in his chest. Not someone. Rachel. After years of her keeping him at arm’s length, here she was, admitting she’d been watching for him. Waiting.

“I’m glad,” he said. This close, he breathed her in—sweet layered with heat that had nothing to do with smoke and everything to do with Rachel. “Though you didn’t have to wait up for me.”

“Yes, I did.” The certainty in her voice surprised them both. She looked away, toward the tree line. “I heard about the propane tank. The explosion.”

“Mr. Wanakee and his family were transferred to Whynot Medical for smoke inhalation, but we got them out in time. Lost about a dozen homes, though. Acres burned.” The homes lost saddened Noah, but the people mattered most. A few days of rest and Mr. Wanakee and his daughter would be back at the Main Street barbershop, talking to any and all passersby.

“Oh, thank God. I was afraid we’d lose the entire park. We should reconsider how to address housing with the updated redevelopment plan.”

“Yeah… yeah, good idea.” He nodded, wanting to change the subject to their kiss. He watched as she drank in his features. He’d showered, but the smell of smoke clung to him. She didn’t shy away.

Not his Six.

“So earlier, you kissed me.”

She nodded. “I did.”

Noah had a genuine appreciation for bold women. But, in Rachel’s case, he’d waited, what felt like a lifetime, to handle his business. That being pleasing her. Some thought he had more practice than most. He let them think what they would, ’cause at this very moment, holding the girl who’d challengedhim since his sixth birthday, a thread of uncertainty snaked a hot trail of perspiration up his spine.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to give you a proper kiss.” Rachel tilted her head, the motion slight. Had he moved too fast? Misinterpreted her kiss? But then she angled her face up, eyes daring, yet surrendering, in one powerful motion.

“Show me what you got, Noah Calvary.”

His breath hitched. The moment he’d dreamed of, holding her, had arrived. Noah lowered his head. “Got everything you need, Six,” he whispered.

The kiss. The first contact. The first sigh that slipped from her parted lips quenched a thirst that ran as deep as the river flowed. A flame fanned by passion built on years denied. He slid between her full lips, exploring, marking, melting ice with fire. The taste of her, sweet and plump, burst on his tongue. The candle burning in his chest guided him deeper until she released a moan that curled around him, enrapturing them in yearning and satisfaction. And he repeated what he’d done, stroking slow and sweet, giving more than he took. She was everything he remembered—demanding, generous, bold, and a perfect match for his passion.

When the kiss ended, he tightened his hold.

“You look tired.”

He chuckled. “Not what I expected to hear after a kiss like that.”

“I meant to say, don’t start anything we can’t finish.”