Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
J uniper
The smell of smoke still lingers in the air the following morning, faint but unmistakable, even though the wildfire’s glow has finally faded from the horizon. I stand on the edge of Devil’s Peak, my camera trained on the scene below, the soreness between my thighs a reminder of everywhere he’s been. Flint’s crew is a blur of motion—hoses coiling, trucks rumbling, and men shouting to each other. It’s organized chaos, and yet, in the middle of it all, Flint stands like a pillar of control.
He barks orders with that gravelly voice of his, his presence commanding in a way that seems effortless. The other firefighters respond immediately, as if his confidence alone could put out the flames. My camera lens lingers on him longer than it should, tracking the way his broad shoulders shift as he moves, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to muscles that, annoyingly, shouldn’t be this distracting.
“Still filming me, city girl?” His voice cuts through the air like a whip, and I flinch, almost dropping the camera.
Busted.
I lower the lens and glare at him, even though my pulse jumps at the way his gaze pins me in place.
“Not everything’s about you, Grizzly Adams,” I shoot back.
He smirks, wiping soot from his jaw with the back of his hand. “Sure looks like it from here.”
My retort dies on my tongue as he strides toward me, the heat of his presence somehow more intense than the remnants of the wildfire. He stops just short of my space, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his stormy eyes.
“Do you ever stop scowling?” I ask, tilting my head and forcing myself to sound unaffected.
“Do you ever stop talking?” he counters, his voice low and rough, the kind of sound that makes my skin tingle.
I open my mouth to respond, but he steps even closer, his shadow falling over me. The tension crackles between us, heavier than the smoke hanging in the air.
“Got that look in your eye like you want me to take you right here, right now. My girl is insatiable, huh?”
His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smile, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he steps back, giving me space to breathe again.
“Come on, city girl,” he says gruffly, nodding toward the crew. “We’re heading back to the station.”
I hesitate, caught between wanting to follow him and needing to keep my distance. But then he looks over his shoulder, a challenge in his eyes. “Unless you’re too tired to keep up after last night, princess.”
The jab sparks something in me, and I sling my camera over my shoulder. “Try me.”
The drive back to the station is quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio. I sit in the passenger seat of Flint’s truck, the weight of exhaustion settling over me. My body feels heavy, my muscles aching from hours of hiking and filming, but my mind is a storm of thoughts.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Flint says, breaking the silence.
“I’m just tired,” I hum softly.
He glances at me, his expression softening in a way that catches me off guard. “Guess a few orgasms wipe a girl out.”
I giggle, thankful for his lighthearted banter.
The corners of his mouth lift in a small, almost imperceptible smile. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make butterflies batter behind my ribs.
When we finally reach the station, the crew gathers around a makeshift table, laughter and banter filling the air as they recount the day’s events. Flint hangs back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching his team with a faint smile.
I can’t help but watch him, my camera forgotten in my lap. There’s something magnetic about the way he carries himself—quiet, steady, and unshakable.
“You’ve got it bad,” Hudson says, sliding into the seat next to me with a knowing grin.
I blink, startled. “What are you talking about?”
He nods toward Flint, his grin widening. “That.”
“I don’t?—”
“Relax,” he interrupts, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“There’s no secret,” I insist, my cheeks heating.
“Sure there isn’t,” he says, standing and clapping a hand on my shoulder. “But just so you know, he’s a good guy. Stubborn as hell, but good.”
I watch him walk away, his words settling in my chest.
A while later, as the station quiets and the crew drifts off to their bunks, I find myself standing outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat of the day.
“Can’t sleep?” Flint’s voice rumbles behind me, and I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Too much on my mind,” I admit, my gaze shifting to the stars.
He steps closer, his presence a warm, grounding force. “Like what?”
“Everything,” I say with a sigh. “The fire, the film, you.”
The last word slips out before I can stop it, and I clamp my mouth shut, my heart racing.
Flint’s eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of interest in them. “Me, huh?”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “You’re a lot to process.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “I could say the same about you.”
We stand in silence for a moment, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he speaks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says, his gaze fixed on me.
“Neither are you,” I admit, meeting his eyes.
He takes a step closer, his hand brushing mine. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
I don’t pull away. Instead, I let his words settle, the truth of them sinking deep.
Maybe it’s not a bad thing at all.