Chapter Seven
Peyton
"A little to the left," I called, directing the volunteer on the ladder. "Perfect! Now secure it there."
The last gossamer panel of blue-green fabric billowed gently before being fastened into place, completing the forest canopy effect across the community center's ceiling. I stepped back, surveying the transformation with a critical designer's eye. What had been a plain, boxy room with fluorescent lighting and institutional beige walls just days ago was now an enchanted woodland scene.
Strands of fairy lights twinkled like stars through the fabric canopy, casting a soft glow over the elegantly arranged tables. Each centerpiece featured a terrarium of local ferns and wildflowers, nestled in beds of moss and surrounded by pillar candles in varying heights. The stage backdrop gradient I'd designed—cool blues flowing into fiery oranges and reds—made a dramatic statement against the surrounding greenery.
"My God, Peyton," Hank breathed, coming to stand beside me. "It's... it's magical."
I smiled, chest swelling with quiet pride. "The Forest Awakening."
"You've transformed our little community center into something out of a dream." He shook his head in wonder. "The Conservation Fund board is going to be blown away. I can't thank you enough."
"It was my pleasure," I told him sincerely. "Sometimes spaces just need someone to see their potential."
Hank checked his watch. "Three hours until guests arrive. Everything's on schedule?"
"The caterers arrive in forty-five minutes, bartenders right after. Sound system is already tested, and the florist just delivered the last arrangements." I ticked off items on my mental checklist. "I'd say we're in excellent shape."
"Then go get ready," Hank insisted, giving me a gentle push toward the door. "You've done more than enough. I can handle the final details."
"Are you sure?" I hesitated, scanning the room for any overlooked elements.
"Positive. Besides," he added with a knowing smile, "I hear you have a date with our keynote speaker. Can't keep the man waiting."
Heat flooded my cheeks. News traveled fast in Ashwood, apparently. "Well, when you put it that way..."
Back at Rachel's cottage, I stood before the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing my appearance with unusual intensity. My hair was freshly washed and styled in loose waves that framed my face. My makeup was carefully applied—subtle enough to appear natural but polished enough for a formal event.
The dress hung on the back of the door, still wrapped in the protective cover from the boutique. After I’d accepted Grant’s invitation to be his date for the gala, Rachel had insisted on taking me to Lily's Closet, Ashwood's only dress shop, convinced I needed "something special" for the event. I'd protested that I had plenty of cocktail dresses in my suitcase, but Rachel had been adamant.
"Trust me, dear," she'd said with twinkling eyes. "This is a special occasion."
The moment I'd tried on this particular dress, I'd known she was right. It was a deep emerald-green silk that made my eyes pop and complemented my fair skin. The sleeveless design featured a modest V-neckline in front, but the back dipped low, exposing my shoulder blades in an elegant line. The skirt flowed to just below my knees, allowing movement without being overly revealing.
I slipped it on now, the cool fabric sliding against my skin. As I fastened the hidden side zipper, I wondered what Grant would think. Would he find me attractive in formal wear? Did he even care about such things?
A memory flashed—Grant's eyes darkening when I'd nearly fallen at the picnic, his strong hands steadying me, the moment when I'd thought he might kiss me. My heart quickened at the recollection. There was definitely attraction there, even if he kept it carefully controlled.
The sound of tires on gravel pulled me from my thoughts. I peered through the window to see Grant's truck pulling up precisely at six. My pulse skittered as I watched him step out, dressed in his formal uniform. The dark navy fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, brass buttons gleaming in the early evening sunlight.
I slipped on my heels, took one last glance in the mirror, and grabbed my small clutch purse. A deep breath to steady my nerves, and I opened the cottage door.
Grant stood on the small porch, his hand raised as if about to knock. For a moment, he simply stared, those storm-gray eyes widening slightly as they took in my appearance. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"You look..." he paused, seemingly searching for an adequate word. "Beautiful."
The simple compliment, delivered in his deep voice, sent warmth cascading through me. "Thank you," I replied softly. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
A hint of color touched his cheekbones. Then, surprising me, he brought his hand from behind his back, revealing a small bouquet of wildflowers tied with a simple ribbon.
"These are for you," he said, suddenly looking uncertain. "Picked them myself. Hope that's okay."
My heart melted at the unexpected gesture. "They're perfect," I breathed, accepting them with genuine delight. "Let me just put them in water."
Inside, I quickly found a small vase and arranged the flowers—delicate purple lupines, white mountain daisies, and sprigs of evergreen. Their fresh scent filled the small space, and I found myself unexpectedly touched by the thoughtfulness. It wasn't the expensive roses a city date might bring, but these wildflowers from Fire Mountain meant so much more.
When I returned, Grant offered his arm with formal politeness that seemed at odds with his usual rugged demeanor. Yet somehow, it suited him—a gentleman beneath the gruff exterior.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, slipping my hand through his arm. "Ready."
The drive to the community center was brief, filled with comfortable small talk about the weather and the expected turnout. As we pulled into the parking lot, I felt a flutter of nervous anticipation—not just about the event's success, but about being seen publicly as Grant's date. It felt significant, like crossing a threshold in more ways than one.
The community center glowed from within, light spilling from the windows and illuminating the walkway where early arrivals were already gathering. Grant came around to open my door, offering his hand as I stepped out. As we walked toward the entrance, his palm came to rest at the small of my back, warm and steady.
"Nervous?" I asked, noticing the slight tension in his jaw.
"About the speech?" He gave a small shrug. "Less than I expected. Having you there helps."
We stepped through the doors, and I held my breath, seeing the space through fresh eyes. The transformation was complete—the delicate strands of light twinkled overhead, casting a magical glow over the assembled guests. The gradient backdrop shimmered, and candles flickered on every table, creating an atmosphere both elegant and otherworldly.
"Wow," Grant murmured beside me, his hand tightening slightly at my waist. "You did all this?"
Pride bloomed in my chest as I nodded. "With a lot of help, yes."
His eyes met mine, genuine admiration in their depths. "You're good at what you do, Peyton. Not just good—truly talented."
The compliment, so sincere and straightforward, meant more than any gushing praise. "Thank you," I said softly.
We made our way deeper into the room, where Hank spotted us and bustled over, resplendent in a slightly too-tight tuxedo.
"McAllister! You're here!" he exclaimed, pumping Grant's hand. "And Miss Chambers—you look stunning, my dear. The place is filling up fast. We're at capacity! Every ticket sold!"
"That's wonderful, Hank," I replied, genuinely pleased for him.
Grant's attention shifted suddenly to a couple across the room. "There's someone I want you to meet," he said, guiding me through the crowd.
We approached a tall, bearded, handsome man with windswept hair who stood with his arm around a petite woman with a tumble of dark curls.
"Ryder," Grant greeted the man with a nod. "Didn't expect to see you here. Thanks for coming.”
"Wouldn't miss it," the man replied with an easy grin. Plus, any excuse to get her dressed up." He squeezed the woman's shoulder affectionately, and she blushed prettily in response.
"Peyton, this is Ryder Hawke. He runs wilderness adventures out of Hope Peak, the next town over. And this is Tessa Voss, his girlfriend. She owns The Velvet Book."
"A bookstore?" I asked, shaking Tessa's hand.
She nodded, her smile warm. "Best little bookshop in Montana, if I do say so myself. You should stop by sometime."
"And this," Grant continued, his voice taking on a different tone that made my heart skip, "is Peyton Chambers. She designed everything you see tonight."
The pride in his voice as he introduced me sent a flutter through my stomach.
"Amazing work," Tessa said, looking around appreciatively. "I've been to events here before, and I barely recognized the place."
"It's clear how much the community supports the fire crew and their natural resources," I observed, noting the packed room. "It's heartwarming to see."
"Small towns," Ryder said with a shrug. "When it matters, people show up."
Our conversation was interrupted by Hank tapping a microphone at the front of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please take your seats. Dinner will be served shortly, followed by our program."
Grant and I made our way to our assigned table near the front. Throughout the meal—a delicious selection of locally sourced fare—I found myself increasingly aware of Grant beside me. The brush of his arm against mine as he reached for his water glass. The way his knee occasionally touched mine under the table. The subtle scent of his aftershave mingling with the starched crispness of his uniform.
After dessert was served, Hank returned to the microphone to introduce the evening's speakers. First, Captain Dawson gave a brief overview of the department's work and needs. Then, with a proud smile, he introduced Grant.
As Grant rose from his seat, he gave my hand a quick squeeze—so brief I might have imagined it. But the gesture bolstered my confidence in him as he strode to the podium.
For a moment, he simply stood there, surveying the crowd. His gaze found mine, and I offered an encouraging smile. He took a deep breath and began.
"Three years ago, I lost my best friend and fellow smokejumper, Travis Beck, in a wildfire that should never have happened." His voice, deep and clear, carried throughout the hushed room. "A carelessly discarded cigarette during drought conditions sparked a blaze that ultimately claimed his life and destroyed thousands of acres of forest."
The raw honesty in his opening caught the audience's attention immediately. He continued, weaving personal experience with practical prevention information, his voice growing more confident with each sentence. When he spoke of the need for additional resources and education, heads nodded throughout the room.
"Wildfires are a natural part of our ecosystem," he concluded, "but human-caused fires—the result of carelessness or ignorance—are preventable tragedies. Your support tonight helps ensure that firefighters have the tools they need, that our community has the knowledge to stay safe, and that Fire Mountain remains the beautiful landmark we all treasure." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room once more. "Thank you."
The applause was immediate and enthusiastic. Pride swelled in my chest as Grant returned to our table, accepting handshakes and backslaps along the way. When he finally slid back into his seat beside me, I couldn't resist leaning close.
"That was perfect," I whispered. "Travis would be proud."
Something flickered in his eyes—grief mingled with gratitude—before he nodded once, his hand finding mine under the table.
Hank returned to the microphone, practically bouncing with excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm thrilled to announce that tonight's fundraiser has already broken all previous records! Your generosity will fund new equipment, expanded education programs, and critical forest maintenance." He beamed at Grant. "And I think we all owe a special thanks to Firefighter McAllister for his powerful words tonight."
Another round of applause filled the room as the lights dimmed slightly and music began to play. Couples rose, moving toward the dance floor that had been set up at one end of the room.
"Dance with me?" I asked Grant, half-expecting him to refuse.
To my surprise, he stood, offering his hand. "One dance," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Since you helped with the speech."
The dance floor was crowded, forcing us close together. Grant's hand settled at my waist, the other clasping mine as we began to sway to the music. Despite his earlier reluctance, he moved with unexpected grace.
"You're a good dancer," I observed, looking up at him.
"Basic training," he replied dryly. "Military precision, not artistic talent."
I laughed, relaxing into his arms. "Well, it's working for you."
As the music continued, the space between us gradually disappeared until I was pressed against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against my cheek, his hand warm through the silk of my dress.
"Thank you," he murmured into my hair.
"For what?"
"The speech help. This." His hand tightened slightly at my waist. "All of it."
I tilted my head back to look at him, finding his eyes dark with emotion.
"You're welcome," I whispered.
The music changed to something faster, breaking the intimate moment. Grant stepped back slightly, though his hand remained at my waist. "Want to get some air?"
The night air was cool against my heated skin as we stepped onto the small patio behind the community center. Stars blanketed the clear sky, and the silhouette of Fire Mountain loomed dark against the horizon.
"Beautiful night," I observed, wrapping my arms around myself.
Grant shrugged out of his uniform jacket, draping it over my shoulders. The weight of it, still warm from his body, enveloped me in his scent.
"Thank you."
He nodded, moving to stand beside me at the railing. For a moment, we simply existed in comfortable silence, gazing at the starlit landscape.
"I'm glad you asked me to be your date tonight," I said finally.
Grant turned to face me, his expression serious in the dim light. "So am I."
Something in his tone made my pulse quicken. He leaned closer, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. My breath caught as his thumb traced a gentle path along my jawline.
"Peyton," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.
I swayed toward him, drawn by the heat in his gaze. "Yes?"
"I want to kiss you." The blunt admission, delivered in that deep voice, sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
"Then do it," I whispered.
His lips met mine with gentle pressure that quickly deepened as I responded. The kiss was everything I'd imagined and more—tender yet passionate, controlled yet hungry. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer as mine found their way to his shoulders.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, his forehead rested against mine. "We should go back inside," he said, though his tone suggested it was the last thing he wanted.
"Or," I ventured, heart racing, "we could leave altogether."
His gaze locked with mine. "Your place?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The drive back to Rachel's cottage passed in charged silence, his hand occasionally brushing mine across the center console. By the time we reached the gravel driveway, the tension between us was almost unbearable.
Inside, I barely had time to set down my purse before Grant's arms encircled me from behind, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. I leaned into him with a soft sigh, tilting my head to give him better access.
"You've been driving me crazy all night in this dress," he murmured against my skin, his hands sliding up my sides.
I turned in his arms, reaching up to frame his face. "Then help me out of it."
His eyes flashed with heat as he found the zipper at my side, slowly drawing it down while his other hand traced the newly exposed skin. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in just my lace thong and heels.
"Stunning," he breathed, taking in the sight of me.
I reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one until I could push the fabric from his shoulders. His chest was magnificent—broad and muscled, dusted with dark hair that narrowed to a tantalizing trail disappearing beneath his waistband.
"Your turn," I said, my voice huskier than usual.
He made quick work of his remaining clothes, revealing a body honed by years of physical labor. I couldn't help but stare, drinking in the sight of him fully aroused and unashamed.
Grant stepped forward, lifting me effortlessly. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom, our lips never parting. He laid me gently on the bed, covering my body with his own.
"I've wanted this since the first time I saw you," he confessed, trailing kisses down my neck to my breasts. "Tried to resist but couldn't."
"Don't resist," I gasped as his mouth closed around one sensitive peak. "I want you, Grant. All of you."
His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, exploring, teasing, building a fire within me that threatened to consume us both.
Grant’s hands never slowed as he lavished attention on every inch of my skin, lips trailing from my collarbone to the sensitive curve beneath my breast. I arched my back in invitation, sliding my hands around his shoulders to anchor myself against the onslaught of sensation. His fingers teased over the lace of my thong, tracing the outline along my hips before tugging lightly at one side.
“Let me see you,” he rasped, voice rough with need.
I lifted my hips in silent agreement, heart hammering in anticipation. Slowly, he hooked his thumbs into the delicate straps and inched the lace down my legs, eyes dark with desire as he exposed me fully. A faint flush warmed my cheeks as he tossed the scrap of fabric aside, then knelt on the mattress. My pulse thundered when he gently pushed my thighs apart, settling between them. With a final, heated glance at my face—checking, wordlessly, that I was comfortable—he lowered his head. The first sweep of his tongue made me gasp, the pressure soft and exploratory at first. My grip on the sheets tightened as he delved deeper, pace growing more confident with each passing moment.
“God, Grant,” I breathed, toes curling in the sheets. Pleasure sparked and coiled low in my belly, a slow burn turning into an urgent ache. He swirled his tongue just right, sending electric pulses through every nerve. My hands flew to his hair, tangling in the thick strands, and I let out a broken moan that spurred him on.
His mouth was thorough and unhurried, finding every sensitive spot and lavishing it with attention. My pulse pounded in my ears as he built me higher and higher, each flick of his tongue tightening the coil inside me. The pleasure grew almost unbearable until, with a sudden rush, that tension snapped. I cried out, hips lifting against his mouth as waves of ecstasy rippled through me. My vision blurred at the edges, body quivering in Grant’s grip.
He kissed my inner thigh softly, riding out the final aftershocks as I shuddered against him. I caught my breath, heart thudding. A warm flush spread across my chest, and I managed a wry, breathless laugh. “You—wow. That was…” I trailed off, still dizzy.
Grant pressed one more lingering kiss to my thigh before sliding up my body. The heat of his skin, his muscled weight against me, made my head spin all over again. He cupped my cheek, and I gazed into his eyes, reading a mix of longing and satisfaction there.
“Wanted to do that for too long,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.
Still breathless, I reached between us, brushing my fingers against the rigid line of his arousal. His sharp inhale let me know exactly how close he was to losing control. “My turn,” I whispered.
I pushed him gently onto his back, enjoying the rare flicker of uncertainty in his expression. Positioning myself at his side, I bent over him, tracing my tongue down the plane of his chest. I kissed the dusting of hair at his sternum, feeling him tense beneath my lips. Each nip and press of my mouth drew ragged sounds from his throat, fueling my own hunger.
When I reached his lower abdomen, I paused, sliding my hand along his inner thigh. The twitch of his muscles beneath my touch sent a fresh wave of desire through me, and I couldn’t hold back a smile. I caught his gaze, letting him see the spark of mischief in my eyes, then lowered my head.
He groaned the moment I took him in, his hips jolting involuntarily. I let my mouth explore him, tongue tracing hot, slick paths while my hand teased the base. The sounds he made—low, rough, and near-desperate—were sweeter than I’d imagined. Gaining confidence, I established a slow, rhythmic pace, hollowing my cheeks and listening to the choked rasp of his breathing as I sucked and stroked his cock.
“Peyton,” he gasped, tangling a hand in my hair. His voice wavered between urgent and reverent, and it sent a fresh tremor of arousal through me. He murmured broken praise, thighs quivering under my palms. Just when I sensed he was on the edge, I pulled back gently, pressing a soft kiss to his navel and savoring the shudder that coursed through him.
His eyes flashed with raw need as I rose up, straddling him. “You—” He swallowed, voice tight. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”
I brushed my lips against his in a teasing kiss, my body still buzzing from earlier. “I want you,” I whispered against his mouth, rolling my hips so he could feel how ready I was. His responding groan set my blood aflame, and I reached behind me, guiding him against my slick core.
He gripped my waist, lips parting as I sank down slowly. The sensation nearly stole my breath—he stretched and filled me, each inch intensifying the deep ache of desire. A hiss escaped my lips as we settled together, bodies locked in place. For a moment, we stayed perfectly still, reveling in the exquisite shock of closeness.
Then Grant exhaled shakily, hands sliding to cradle my hips. “Move,” he urged, voice thick with longing.
I complied, raising myself just enough before sinking back down. The friction set every nerve aflame, drawing a shared groan from both of us. I found a steady rhythm, rolling my hips as his hands guided me, and soon we were lost to the push and pull of each other’s bodies. He lifted his torso, wanting to be closer, pressing hot kisses to my throat and collarbone. My pulse hammered, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure up my spine.
His lips grazed my ear. “You feel so perfect—like I’ve been waiting forever,” he murmured, words ragged against my skin. I moaned in response, too overwhelmed for coherent speech.
Heat coiled tighter, the pace growing more frenzied. My breath caught, and I knew I was chasing another peak. He sensed it, too—one hand slid down to stroke me where we joined, amplifying the pressure. My vision blurred, body arching as bliss climbed to dizzying heights. I let out a broken gasp, holding onto his shoulders as everything inside me unraveled in a sharp, euphoric rush.
“Grant,” I cried, voice cracking. My climax crashed over me in rolling waves, hips grinding desperately against him. My inner muscles clenched, triggering his own release with a choked groan. His arms clutched me tight, and I felt him pulse within me, groaning my name in a low, shattered tone that sent aftershocks through my trembling limbs.
We stayed locked together, foreheads touching, breath mingling. My heart pounded so loudly I wondered if he could hear it. Eventually, I let out a trembling laugh, burying my face in his shoulder. He stroked my back tenderly, every motion a contrast to the fierce hunger that had propelled us moments ago.
“God, Peyton,” he whispered after a long silence. “That was…”
I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes shone with gratitude and awe, and I felt a tender ache bloom in my chest. “Everything,” I finished softly.
A gentle smile curved his lips. “Everything,” he agreed, tugging me down for a lazy, post-bliss kiss. My body hummed with the fading remnants of pleasure, contentment weaving between us like a warm cocoon.
We eventually shifted onto our sides, limbs still tangled, his fingers gently sifting through my hair. Outside, the faint rustle of leaves or distant hum of traffic seeped in, but it felt far removed from this quiet, intimate universe we’d created in the bedroom.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he confessed, voice low and still a bit uneven. “Tried to do the right thing, keep my distance… but I couldn’t.”
I pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I didn’t want distance,” I admitted, heart thudding with honesty. “I wanted you from the moment you appeared on that mountain.”
His arms enveloped me, warm and protective. “Glad we’re here now,” he murmured. “No more holding back.”
I smiled, eyes drifting shut. The day’s tension had ebbed, replaced by a sweet, satisfying exhaustion. “No more holding back,” I echoed, settling against his chest. In that quiet stillness, with our bodies still intertwined and our breathing gradually calming, it felt as though the entire world had shifted. We drifted to sleep still entwined, the world beyond the cottage temporarily forgotten.
???
Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, warming my bare skin. I stirred, becoming aware of Grant's solid presence beside me, his arm still draped possessively across my waist. For a moment, I simply watched him sleep, his features relaxed in a way I'd never seen before.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes flickered open, focusing immediately on my face. A slow smile spread across his lips.
"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," I replied, returning his smile.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I melted against him, my body already responding to his touch. His hand had just begun a tantalizing path down my side when a sharp electronic buzz interrupted the moment.
Grant tensed, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His expression shifted instantly as he read the screen.
"What is it?" I asked, already knowing it wasn't good news.
"Wildfire," he said grimly, sitting up and reaching for his clothes. "Western slope of Fire Mountain. They're calling in everyone."
Fear clutched at my heart as I watched him dress quickly. "How bad?"
"Bad enough for an evacuation order," he replied, buckling his belt. "Governor's declared a state of emergency. They're setting up the community center as a shelter for evacuees."
I swallowed hard, pushing back the tears that threatened. This was his job—the dangerous reality I'd have to accept if I wanted him in my life. "Be careful," I managed, hating how inadequate the words sounded.
Grant paused in his preparations, turning back to me. His expression softened as he cupped my face in his hands, pressing a fierce kiss to my lips.
"I'll be back," he promised, his forehead resting against mine for a brief moment.
Then he was gone, the sound of his truck fading as he raced toward the danger while I remained behind, heart in my throat, praying it wouldn't be the last time I'd see him.