Susan Andersen - Burning Up

She took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor and strode down the hall to the Closet, where she rapped on the door.

“Who is it?” Tyler’s muffled voice demanded.

“Emissary from your commanding officer, Seaman Purcell. Open up.”

The door whipped open. “I’m not a seaman, Aunt Macy—I’m captain of the sub!”

“My mistake, Cap’n. So, you all ready for tomorrow’s game? You have your uniform in tiptop shape?”

“Yep. Grandma washed it up for me and it’s in my closet. On a hanger and everything.”

“Excellent. How ’bout your shoes, mitt, all that sorta thing? They ready, too?”

“Uh-huh.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Can me and Charlie get back to our game now?”

Over his shoulder she saw Charlie twist around to stare at her and hooked her elbow around Tyler’s neck to haul him in for a noogie. “Yes, you may,” she said, turning him loose. “As you were—”

He shut the door in her face.

“—men.” A huff of laughter escaped her. “Am I racking up the points with the under-twenty crowd tonight, or what?”

She was smiling when she turned around, but yelped in surprise as she smacked into someone. Reaching out a hand to steady herself, she jerked it back when it touched the abdomen of whatshisname, one of the guys studying at the Experimental.

“Steady there.” His hands grasped her upper arms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” She stepped back, breathing easier when the man’s hands dropped away. Jeez, girl, get a grip. This was a shy young man, not Jack the Ripper. “Um, Brian, right?”

“Yeah. Hey, at dinner, I didn’t get a chance to say how much I enjoy your videos. That Aussie Kiss one, Burn, Baby, Burn? Man, you smoked in that!”

A corner of her mouth ticked up. “Mr. Dawson, are you punning me?”

“Huh?” Then he chuckled. “Oh. I guess I did make a pun. Not on purpose, though. I just can’t believe I’m meeting you and want you to know how hot I thought you were in that video.”

Because he didn’t leer at her as he said it, she swallowed a sigh. But, God, she was tired of being told how hot she was and so glad to know that her career had recently shifted from being on-camera to working behind the scenes. All the same, because the guy was perfectly sincere and he hadn’t leered, she slapped on some sass and ramped up the appreciation factor. “Aren’t you a doll? I’m so gratified you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, man, I really did. I liked all of them, but especially that—” he cut himself off as the bathroom door opened behind her and shampoo-scented steam rolled out into the hallway. “Oh. Hey, Gabe.”

Damn.

“I was just telling Macy here how much I enjoyed her in Burn, Baby, Burn.”

“Isn’t he just the sweetest?” Bracing herself, she turned around—and nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw Gabe clad in nothing but two towels, one wrapped low around his hips and the other slung around his strong neck. Skin warming, she forced herself to give him a cool once-over from the top of his damp hair, to the large hands grasping the ends of the neck towel, to his long bare feet. “Well, aren’t you the picture of big and strong. Do you always walk around half naked, Fire Chief Call-me-Gabe?”

“Difficult to shower with your clothes on.”

“And yet so easy to dry off and dress in the bathroom.”

“I think we all got used to it being the Boy’s Club up here,” Brian said edging away. “Well, uh, hey. I better get going. Nice talking to you, Macy.”

“You, too, cupcake.” She swiveled back to face him. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other regularly.” Watching as he backed down the hall, she gave him a friendly finger wiggle when he stopped in front of the Green Room.

Ducking his head, he smiled shyly, then entered the room. She drew a deep breath and turned back to Gabe.

Only to find that he’d taken a giant silent step forward while her back was turned and her nose was practically touching the hard curve of his lightly furred chest.

“Hel-lo!” Surrounded by his soap-and-shaving-cream scent, she took a nonchalant step back and looked up at him, taking in the gleam of the freshly shaven skin on his cheeks and jaw. “Sneaky son of a gun, aren’t you.” Against her will, her gaze was drawn back to the fine cloud of black hair covering his pectorals.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

A bead of water slid down his tan neck and rolled over his clavicle, heading for the fan of hair. I will not lick it, I will not lick it. She forced her gaze back to his face. “Excuse me?” Her mind replayed his question and she straightened. “Can’t help myself from what?”

“Flirting. It’s like breathing to you, isn’t it? Wet-behind-the-ears boys, old duffers with one foot in the grave—is there no one you won’t flirt up?”

“I don’t recall flirting with you. Is that what’s got your boxers in a twist, sugar—you don’t like being left out?” She had a pretty strong hunch this wasn’t a man to mess with and felt her heart gallop. But she’d learned young never to back down, and knew she was going to mess with him anyway.

Reversing the backward step she’d taken, she touched her fingertip to the drop of water now clinging to his chest hair.

She wasn’t prepared for the shock such simple contact sent skittering along her nerve endings. Praying its impact didn’t show, she raised the now damp finger to her lips.

His hand shot out and captured her wrist before she could lick the smear of water from it. Bringing it to his own lips, he slid her finger into his mouth. Slick, moist heat promptly pulled forth a like condition in every tissue in her body capable of producing it. He wrapped his lips around her finger and sucked hard as he slowly pulled the digit free, and that secret entrance deep between her thighs clenched like the mouth of a drawstring purse.

In the next heartbeat he’d set her loose. “I’m neither a boy nor an old man,” he said in a low, even voice. “And you might want to rethink making me any offers, implicit or otherwise, if you’re not prepared to follow through on them.” He stepped past her, spreading warmth along her entire left side when the bare skin of his arm brushed her.

Her heart threatened to hammer its way out of her chest as she turned to watch him, all wide shoulders, long back and longer legs, stalking down the hallway. Yes, she thought hazily, clasping her damp finger with her other hand. I probably oughtta do that. Because, holy shit.

Holy, holy shit. It had been a simple little suck on one lousy finger, for pity’s sake. He hadn’t dropped his towel, pressed her up against the nearest wall and had his wicked way with her.

Yet here she stood, rattled so hard that for perhaps the first time in her life not a single comeback popped to mind.

Because she had a bad feeling she would’ve really liked it if he had.

GABE GENTLY CLOSED his room door behind him, then ripped the towel from around his neck and flung it at the nearest wall.

It fell far short, drifting harmlessly to the old hard-wood floor.

“Hell.” Covering the distance to the crumpled terry in a single long stride, he bent and swept it up.

Only to have the towel around his waist come untucked and slide down his legs to take its place. “Son of a fucking bitch!”

He swept that one up, as well. Breathing heavily, he stood clutching both linens in white-knuckled fists as he stared blindly at the wall.

Then he gave a sharp shake of his head and got a grip. He sucked in deep, measured inhalations and slowly exhaled them until his breathing was regulated again. Jesus. What was this? He never had to struggle for control, because he never lost it in the first place.