Firestorm on E'Terra

As usual, she kept her heart rate normal, her anticipation subdued, and her smile buried beneath her rank—until she reached the hallway door. When her fingers touched the cool metal to open court six, her flesh heated, her mouth watered, and her heart pounded in her ears.

It was like a sickness.

Never in her life had she been so utterly out of control of her body. To her mortification, she couldn’t stop herself from the daily torture. Nor could she make herself act upon it. Had they been dirtside—and who was she kidding? She hadn’t been dirtside since she’d left home at eighteen, twenty years ago—or perhaps on a multi-use station, she might have had a fling with him as a civilian. But he wasn’t a civvie. Wilson Dex was an enlisted man. Under her command. Couldn’t be more off limits than that. Not to mention, he was too good-looking, too young, and too risky.

Master Sergeant Dex stood with his back to her on the court. She let out the breath and threw back her shoulders to thrust out her breasts. She caught herself and relaxed the rigid pose.

Deep down, she’d worried he wouldn’t come today, but even further down, deep enough she barely recognized it, she knew he felt the attraction as much as she did. With his back to her, she allowed herself to drink her fill of the dusky planes of his muscles, the skimpy, skin-tight shorts that cupped his ass like a glove, and the tight T-shirt that occasionally rode up to show peeks of his flat stomach. The sleeveless zap-ball shirt exposed his tattoos, a rarity in the military since most troopers kept a regimental mentality and look. Smokejumpers weren’t regimental. They were enlisted, not the aristocratic inherited positions of the officers.

On one shoulder, a cross encircled in a wheel, filled with Celtic knots like the ones she’d seen on the other firefighter’s uniforms. The other tattoo, a dragon circling his bicep, hugged his cut, wiry arm, and exuded pure strength.

With an abrupt turn, he faced her, the lines of his stomach flexing with the movement. The grin on his full but sharply defined lips brought her nipples to attention.

Thankfully, from long, torturous experience, she knew her sports bra kept most of her excitement contained, at least from visual proof.

“Captain.” The rich, chocolate-smooth voice sent shivers down her spine.

Breathless, as usual, she nodded and replied—way too huskily. “Master Sergeant.”