Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) by Tracy Solheim Page A

one end kept the space from feeling closed in. Pendant lamps mixed with canned lights gave the place a welcoming glow even on the stormy night.
    At the loft’s entrance there was a white galley kitchen with a center island constructed from an antique wood cabinet. The other end of the island was held up by giant milk pails that were painted a vivid blue. A quick glance to his left revealed a sliding door constructed of weathered wood. The door partially concealed a bedroom large enough for a queen-sized iron bed and two craftsman dressers. Lightning flashed in the window high above the bed, momentarily giving the room a mystical glow.
    Sam’s boots were loud on the floor as he walked over to a table in the center of the loft. It was stacked with open books and a laptop. Obviously she’d been too absorbed in her studies to hear his truck on the gravel a half hour ago.
    Oreo yipped from his perch on the leather sofa next to the table. The dog nearly toppled off when he stood on the cushioned arm to bark at Sam. As he had the other day, Sam grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck and stared into Oreo’s eyes. No commands were necessary this time. The dog swallowed a gulp before subduing. Sam gently laid him on a round dog bed in a corner by another sliding door—this one painted red like a barn.
    He gestured at the door, assuming her son was asleep behind it. “Tyson?”
    Laurel leaned her hips against the island in the kitchen and shook her head. “With his dad.”
    Her mouth took on a wistful expression and Sam wondered whether she missed the boy. Or the boy’s father . Something stirred inside of him—lust, most likely—and he prowled over to the kitchen. It didn’t matter who she was missing. Laurel was his tonight. He had every intention of making her forget whatever was making her sad.
    Sam carefully put the empty beer bottle on the island before placing his hands on the wood, one on either side of her. Laurel sucked in a sharp breath when his hips came within an inch of hers.
    “Can I, um, can I get you something else to drink? Coffee maybe?”
    He closed the gap between their bodies and her pulse began its telltale wild beat at her neck. “I didn’t come up here for coffee, Laurel.” Sam sealed his mouth over the soft flesh at her throat. She tasted like lemon and smelled like summer, and when she sighed at the contact, the zipper on his jeans became damn near unbearable. “Last chance, Laurel,” he said against her skin. “I need you to be sure you want me here tonight. All night .”
    “You’d really leave now?” She sounded so incredulous, he had to pull back to look at her face. A sexy pink flush had formed on her skin and her nipples were hard beneath her flimsy top.
    Not without a team of horses dragging me out, he wanted to shout. “If that’s what you really want,” the soldier deep inside of him said instead.
    She gnawed on her lip as she fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. The rain pelted the roof even harder, the beat of it synchronizing with the blood pounding in Sam’s groin.
    “It’s just sex, right?” she whispered, as though she were trying to convince herself. “We’re both grownups. No one needs to know.”
    That last part stuck in his craw a bit. Not that he went around boasting of his sexual conquests, but it sounded like she was ashamed of who or what he was. Damn it, why did women always have to make sex so complicated?
    He hadn’t realized she’d undone the buttons until she’d spread the sides of his shirt wide and her lips were blazing a path over his pectoral muscles. He felt her smile against his skin when his cock jumped at the contact. “You can stay all night,” she murmured. “And if you’re really a good boy, Captain Cowboy, I might even throw in breakfast.”
    That was pretty much all the encouragement he needed. Sam let her have her fun, tangling her fingers in his chest hair a moment longer, but when her hands headed south toward his zipper, he