For a blessed moment he held her close to his hard, warm body, and she felt a surge of triumph. But then with a low groan, he shook his head, setting her away from him. “No.”

“Why? There’s not someone else.” Even the thought stopped her heart.

“You know damn well there isn’t anyone else.”

“Then-”

“Stop it.” He met her gaze. “You know why.”

“Suppose you tell me again.”

“You run and run and run, never slowing down, always working, always keeping busy.”

“So?”

“So then you’re so exhausted that you can barely move. But when your body finally forces you to take a moment, you look around and realize you’re alone. You hate alone. So you see who can fulfill you.”

“And you fit the bill. Perfectly.” She arched against him feeling the hard bulge beneath his zipper that assured her he felt the same way. “What’s the problem here, Dustin? Suddenly you don’t like sex?”

“I don’t like meaningless sex. Not with you.”

She managed another laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

He didn’t smile, and hers faded as she whirled away. But he pulled her back around. Their gazes met.

Locked.

Held.

She felt the jolt clear down to her toes, where it bounced and hit all her good spots. But now was not the time to melt. “So what now? You going to go find someone else?”

His fingers were tight on her arm. Not hurting her, never hurting her, but firm enough that she couldn’t have pulled away without hurting him. His eyes were fierce, his brow furrowed, his glasses slipping down his nose. Beneath the hands she’d set to his chest she could feel the heavy beat of his heart. And it did something to her, made her feel something…basic.

His eyes widened slightly, signaling that she wasn’t alone in this. Nope, the cool, laid-back, easygoing man was worked up, too.

Which was good, because she needed him. Him. No one else. No one else could make her sizzle like this-and she’d tried.

Fisting her fingers in his shirt, she tugged him close to kiss him, hard and deep. The rumble of his groan came up from his chest. The rasp of his five-o’clock shadow scraped her chin. The scent of him she couldn’t get enough of, filling her nostrils as all her bones liquefied as his fingers tightened on her.

Dustin. Dustin was finally in her arms again, kissing her like he’d been dying without her.

His mouth was warm and delicious, soft yet firm, pure unadulterated pleasure. God, he was such a good kisser. She hadn’t had time lately to dwell on that but she took the time now as his tongue stroked hers with the slow, sure precision of a master. He knew how to take his time, that was certain, and she fully appreciated his skill.

She couldn’t have stopped, but that was okay because he dove into the kiss with her, making her feel marginally better about the whole thing. She wasn’t alone in this. Not even close. He hauled her up against that chiseled, hard-earned body, his hands hot and rough, which matched the hot, rough, ragged groan torn from his throat.

Definitely not alone in this…

She strained against him as he rushed to touch as much of her as he could, making her body hum, and then…and then her nose bumped into his glasses and he pulled back so fast she staggered a step and nearly fell on her ass.

His glasses were fogged, and with a harsh, annoyed sound, he tugged them off and wiped them on his shirt before jamming them back on. “I told you. I’m not going to scratch your itch.” His chest was still rising and falling from the kiss, but his voice sounded disturbingly weary. Bending, he grabbed his shoes. She expected him to walk away from her.

Most did. After all, she saw to that, didn’t she?

But she should have known better. Dustin wasn’t like most people. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. Straightening, mouth still wet from hers but grim, he offered her a hand.

She stared at it.

“Shower and bed,” he said very quietly…in direct opposition to his breathing.

“Alone,” he specified.

Damn. And yet a small part of her knew she’d be lucky to manage a shower before crashing.

She’d summoned the last of her energy to get here, to spar with him, to kiss him, but now she felt as if she’d hit the wall. Nothing left in the tank.

Empty.

God, she wanted her bunk almost more than she wanted her next breath, and yet it seemed like such a chore. But Dustin would get her where she needed to go.

Somehow, someway, he always did.

3

WHEN THEIR SHIFT ended at eight o’clock that morning, Dustin stepped outside and watched in disbelief as Cristina dragged her sexy but tired ass to the side of the building and unlocked her bike.

They’d just had a rough night, as rough as it gets, where they’d had maybe an hour of sleep broken into fifteen-minute increments, and she was going to ride her bike home.

Hard-core Cristina.

She was tough, so tough that people often forgot that she had a good reason to be so. She didn’t talk about herself much, if ever. What information he had on her he’d pretty much pieced together from five years of knowing her. Her mother had had her when she was only sixteen, and while she’d done her best, her best had often meant hanging with men who weren’t the greatest influence and ruled with a heavy fist. Cristina no longer kept in contact with her mother, and she’d never learned who her father was. She had no siblings, and as far as Dustin could tell, she didn’t keep a lot of friends outside the station.

Inside the station, however, she loved them all fiercely, grumpily, and that love was returned, though not as grumpily. Any one of the guys would lay down his life for her, himself included, and she felt the same. Earlier in the year when her partner Blake had been wrongly accused of arson, she’d steadfastly and vocally objected, and had never wanted to believe the worst of him, even when all the evidence had been firmly stacked against him.

The people of station #34 were her family. He was her family. And she was afraid to mess with that. He got that, he really did, he just knew deep down inside that what they had could be so much deeper, if only she’d let it.

But, badass as she was, inside she was terrified. Terrified of letting go, terrified of allowing him too close, terrified of getting hurt.

What she didn’t understand was that he felt those fears, too. But he’d always felt that life was worth living, fears and all, that if he didn’t go for it, then why bother?

She fumbled with the bike lock and swore again.

Walk away, he told himself. He’d made the decision that she was bad for him. Bad for his self-esteem, bad for his ego, bad for everything.

Except…ah, hell, here came the excuses…except there was something about her. Something about the way her brain worked that was such a turn-on. And then there was the way she made him laugh. He came from a lively family. They were all opinionated and they all were thinkers, and they all made him laugh.

But Cristina slayed him.

God, that was sexy. She was sexy. That thought made him want to smile because at the moment she wore baggy sweat bottoms and a snug long-sleeved thermal top, with her long blond hair down and still wet from her shower. Not an ounce of makeup. He could see the exhaustion in every line of her trim body. She’d laugh her ass off if he told her he found her sexy, just as she was.

But she had a way of drawing him in no matter what she looked like. He came up behind her in time to hear, “Goddamn mother f-”

“Trouble?” he asked.

She spun the lock and rubbed her undoubtedly bleary eyes. “No.” She attempted the lock again.

It was three miles to her apartment from here. Three miles in which she could run herself into a car or under a bus.

“Cristina.”

She yawned, wide. “Yeah.”

“Let me give you a ride.”

Another yawn. “Nah, I’m good.” But she rested her forehead on the lock and closed her eyes.

Setting his fingers over hers, he grabbed her hand and pulled her upright. She was so limp she actually let herself lean on him for a moment, which dammit, made his arms go around her and hold on tight.

Her wet hair stuck to the stubble on his jaw. It smelled good, like her, like warm, tired woman. God, he was such a sucker. “I’m driving you home.” And a glutton for punishment, let’s not forget that.

Surprising him, she allowed herself to be led to his truck, let him put her bike in the back for her. Once in the passenger seat, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m so tired, or I’d have to kick your ass for bossing me around.”

“Is that right?”

A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “No.” She was so drowsy her words were slurred. “Actually, when you get all gruff and demanding like this, it turns me on.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s true. When you go all rough and manly, it gives me the shivers.”

She had a wicked grin on her face now, with her eyes still closed, and he had to smile and shake his head. She was teasing him. “And here I thought women wanted sensitivity and sweetness. I’ve been going about it all wrong.”

“Seems like.”

He pulled into her apartment complex, got out of his truck and came around for her just as she was getting her feet beneath her. “I’ve got it from here, sailor.” She patted his cheek. “But thanks.”

“Uh-huh.” Instead of walking away, he took her arm and led her to her front door.

“This isn’t necessary.” She unlocked her door and blocked him from coming in. “See you in a few days.”

Putting his hands on her arms, he gently but firmly pushed her inside, then followed her in, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Look, I just want another shower with hot water this time, and my bed,” she said, sounding cranky now. “And I’d add sex to that list, but you’ve already shot me down on that score, so get the hell out.”

He’d been inside her place a few times. A nice couch, a small TV, shelves with a few books here and there, and a plant that was either coming back to life or halfway dead. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”

She didn’t answer him.

“You said you were having a thing. You turned down all the invites you got because you were having a thing.”

“I am having a thing.”

An alone thing. He got that now. She’d lied, which he hated.

As if too burned out even to move, she sank to her couch and covered her eyes.

The soft, exhausted sigh did him in.

“Get up.” He held out a hand. “Come on.”

She opened her eyes and stared at his fingers. “For what?”

“Shower. Bed.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled her up himself and took her down the hallway to her bathroom. In his experience, a woman’s bathroom was her holy sanctuary, filled with all the mysteries of feminine beauty: bottles, creams, tubes, brushes, lingerie hung to dry.

Not Cristina’s bathroom. As always, it was clean and unlike the woman herself, devoid of life. “I’ve always wondered. Where’s all your stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Your girl stuff.”

She pulled open a drawer, revealing a brush, a tube of mascara and a bottle of body lotion. “Here.”

“That’s it?”

“No.” She pulled open her other drawer, which held an unopened box of tampons and an opened box of condoms.

He stared at the condoms and thought down boy. Telling himself it didn’t matter how many condoms were missing, he cranked on the hot water and turned to her.

She was looking at him curiously. “You’re doing it again.”

“What, breathing?”

“Being assertive.”

“Yeah? How’s this for assertive. Strip.”

She stopped in midyawn and raised a brow.

“Strip,” he repeated. “Shower. And then if you’re a good little girl, I’ll tuck you in before I leave.”

Now those eyes narrowed. “So you’re being all sexy for what, just to tease me? Get out.”

“Sure. As soon as I take care of you, since you’re too stubborn to do it yourself.”

“Seriously, what the hell is your problem this morning?”

The box of condoms was open, that was his problem. “Take your damn shower.”

“Fine.” She pulled off her shirt.

She wasn’t wearing a bra. “Jesus, Cristina.”

“Hey, I’m just following directions.” She shoved down her sweats, revealing a miniscule black thong. Then that was gone, too, and with a smug look on her face, she stepped into the shower and shut the curtain in his face.

He let out a slow, long breath. “Good. I’ll just…” stand here as hard as a rock “…leave you to it.”

“Oh, no. You promised to tuck me in.” She stuck her head around the curtain and eyed him, her hair stuck to her head, framing her face, which was pale with dark circles beneath her eyes. Still, she batted them for all she was worth.