They lay together in silence for several minutes as sunlight streamed in through his window. To say that Ginger had rocked his world wasn't even cutting into the surface. Still, a warning light went off behind his breastbone, one he wanted to ignore but couldn't.
He'd promised himself that he'd keep his distance. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Instead, not only had he been all over her last night, but they'd been in such a hurry all three times, they hadn't used a condom. Hadn't done a single thing to prevent diseases. Or pregnancy.
“Ginger, we need to talk.”
She scooted away from him slightly, pulled the sheet up to cover her gorgeous curves. “I knew you were going to say that.”
That was when he saw the faint scar on her shoulder. “Right there,” he said, running two fingers over the slightly discolored skin, from her collarbone all the way to the underside of her left breast. “That's where you were burned.”
She nodded and he leaned closer to run kisses down her skin. “I'm sorry you had to feel that.”
Her fingers threaded into his hair. “I'm okay now,” she said. “Perfectly okay.”
The taste of her still on his tongue, somehow he managed, “We didn't use anything. I haven't been with a woman in a while. But the last time the fire station tested us, I was clean.”
“Me too.”
“What about-”
Jesus, he was breaking out in a sweat just thinking about the odds of becoming a father like this. All because he couldn't keep his hands off her.
“Is this the right time of the month for-”
But she was already shaking her head and saying, “No. I don't think I'm ovulating.”
She hadn't blushed when she'd been taking him into her mouth, but now that they were talking about the repercussions of the mind-blowing sex they'd just had, both of them were uncomfortable.
“My cycle is pretty wonky, but I seriously doubt we're in danger of anything like that.”
Relief shot through him and he finally let himself smile. “Good.”
“Yeah,” she said, even though she wasn't smiling back. “It's great.”
“We'll have to be more careful next time.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Next time?”
“I told myself I was going to stay the hell away from you, but it was a lie, Ginger. Every last thing about you blows my mind. I don't think I could keep my hands off you if I tried.”
She shivered, reached for him. “I don't want you to.”
God, he hated the need to lay it all out like this. But there was no other way. Because if they were going to go forward, he had to make absolutely sure they were on the same page.
“You know I'm going back to Lake Tahoe after the summer to rejoin my crew, right?”
“Of course you will. They're going to be lucky to have you back.”
She was so damn sweet, it seemed that she almost wanted his career as a hotshot back for him as much as he did.
The warning light behind his breastbone shifted as it was shoved to the side by something else entirely.
Something he couldn't possibly acknowledge.
He knew he shouldn't reach for her until they were done talking, but he couldn't help himself and slid her onto his lap anyway.
“Could we enjoy each other for the summer and agree to stay friends when we both go our separate ways?”
She didn't say anything for several moments, confirming that he was asking for too much. Ginger should be saving herself for a good man, for someone who could give her a future.
Not wasting time on a dead end.
But then, when she smiled at him and said, “It sounds perfect,” he was so glad that he lifted her up and carried her into the bathroom to seal the deal, barely remembering at the last minute to reach into his dresser to grab a condom.
Turning on the shower with his free hand, he ran his hands over her hips, her waist, her br**sts.
She reached over his shoulder. “How about I soap you up?”
She moved around behind him and started running the soap between his shoulder blades, down his back, along his arms. Sure, they'd made love repeatedly. She'd held his hands, stroked them, but to take the time to run a bar of soap over the parts of him that were so damaged, well, he wouldn't ask that of anyone. Especially not when he knew damn well how sickened other women had been doing far less.
“You don't have to do that.”
Her hands stilled. “Why wouldn't I want to, Connor?”
His throat tightened, making it hard to say, “I know what my skin looks like. How bad it is.”
She moved back around the front of him. “How bad do you think it is?”
“It's a mess,” he rasped out. “You don't have to prove anything to me. What we've done is already enough.”
It had to be.
But she didn't seem to be listening, because she had already dropped the soap to the floor and was lifting both of his hands to her lips. She kissed his knuckles and then the silvery gray skin where they'd stitched it together, the raised and bumpy patches where it had simply pulled away with his melted gloves.
And then she was putting his scarred hands against her chest, pressing his palms flat so that he could feel her heart beat beneath her breastbone.
“Don't you dare try to tell me what I shouldn't do, Connor. I'm a big girl. And I'm not scared of you. Not one single thing about you. Even if you think I should be.”
He kissed her then, and as he took her one more time, he couldn't help but wonder where a woman this incredible could have come from.
And just what the hell he was going to do about her when it came time to head back to California. Without her.
Ginger couldn't remember ever feeling this exhausted. Or this exhilarated.
Connor was her fantasy lover come to life. Big and strong, almost ruthless in his passion. She'd come violently every single time, and even when she hadn't thought it could get better, it had.
He was wrapping a towel around her, his mouth on her neck, sending thrill bumps running across the surface of her body, when she realized the phone was ringing. Whoever it was, she'd just ignore it. Whatever they wanted, she'd deal with it later.
But instead of stopping, the phone kept ringing and ringing. Over and over until Connor finally lifted his head from that spot right between her br**sts where he could run his tongue over both at once.