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  It’s supposed to be a quick wedding hook-up. She’s lonely. He’s available. After seeing Rio Donovan and Gia Jackson down the aisle, the sizzling sexual chemistry between Mimi Hart and Mack Johnson has this pair burning up the sheets in a night of no-holds fantasies. One night. No regrets. And no promises. As the resident bad girl and bartender of Strong, California, Mimi has earned every inch of her reputation. Tattoos, motorcycles and dancing on the bar—Mimi’s all in. She’s fun and she’s tough, a hot sex-on-the-pool-table woman—not a sunset-and-kisses sweetheart. Until her wedding hook-up turns her smoke jumper into a man on a sensual mission… and her heart into freefall even as her own past threatens to catch up with her.

  Series List

  Contemporary Romance – Smoke Jumpers

  BURNING UP (Smoke Jumpers, Book 1)

  SLOW BURN (Smoke Jumpers, Book 2)

  BURNS SO BAD (Smoke Jumpers, Book 3)

  SMOKING HOT (Smoke Jumpers, Book 4)

  SWEET BURN (Smoke Jumpers, Book 5)

  Contemporary Romance – The Hotshots

  REBURN (The Hotshots, 1)

  HOT ZONE (The Hotshots, 2)

  FIRED UP (The Hotshots, 3, in HOT SHOTS)

  Contemporary Romance – Men of Discovery Island

  WICKED SEXY (Men of Discovery Island, 1)

  WICKED NIGHTS (Men of Discovery Island, 2)

  WICKED SECRETS (Men of Discovery Island, 3 -- Winter 2015)

  Paranormal Romance – Blue Moon Brides

  TEMPTED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 1)

  PLEASURED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 2)

  CLAIMED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 3)

  Paranormal Romance – The Fallen

  BOND WITH ME (Fallen, Book 1)

  HIS DARK BOND (Fallen, Book 2)

  SAVAGE BOND (Fallen, Book 3)

  Non-Series Books

  ONE HOT COWBOY

  THE HUNT

  VIKING’S ORDERS

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  Sweet Burn

  ANNE MARSH

  Copyright © 2014 Anne Marsh

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, with the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Sinning had never smelled so good. Hair tickled his nose and, when he inhaled, the scent of coconut and freesia teased his senses. Woman and… yeah… tequila. Mack Johnson wished the tequila had been the reason for his downfall. A man could swear off alcohol easy enough. The woman he was wrapped around? Not so much. Mimi Hart was pure trouble.

  His years in the military had taught him to wake up fast and, even before he opened his eyes, he was analyzing the situation: he was naked. She was also. So far, so good. Early morning sun painted his hotel room a hazy gold. He’d bet the winery outside his window was a pretty sight too—it had looked damned fine yesterday when Evan Donovan had exchanged his I dos with Faye Duncan in front of his fellow smoke jumpers. The entire team had come out to support Evan and to celebrate with him. Evan had found himself a hell of a good woman in Faye and he’d had been smart enough to hold onto her. He was a lucky dog.

  Mack had witnessed the ceremony, raised a glass of celebratory champagne and been prepared for an early night and a quick retreat because parties weren’t his scene anymore. Mimi had had other ideas. The memories of last night flooded right back. She’d approached him at the bar. They’d danced, her ass rubbing naughty circles against his front. And then she’d propositioned him. He should have said no.

  Instead, he’d kissed her and that was all the yes she’d needed.

  The adrenaline rush of sharing a bed with Mimi just might be more addictive than any he’d experienced, either fighting for Uncle Sam overseas or jumping out of the DC-3 and into the heart of a forest fire. Clear a room of insurgents. Clear a runway of burning debris. Clear a fireline and halt the flames’ advance. He excelled at taking charge and had never shied from a challenge.

  Mimi had him rethinking that stance because, damn, she was a challenge like none he’d ever seen.

  Her long blonde hair covered her face, his pillow, his arm. The stuff got everywhere and when he flexed his left hand working out the morning stiffness that was a souvenir from one of his last firefights with his Crash, Fire and Rescue unit, the silky strands ran through his fingers like liquid gold. Mimi was a damned beautiful woman and he wondered again what she was doing in Strong. He had no idea how old she was—that was just one of the many secrets she kept—but he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had ten years on her. She might be young in years, but she was an old soul.

  “Mimi.” He crooned her name. She’d tried insisting he call her Ms. Hart the first time he’d dropped in at the bar she owned and ran in Strong, and he’d stared her down, silently demanding she rescind her order. Mimi liked playing power games; he’d seen her do it to more than one member of his jump team and he already knew those were hoops he had no intention of jumping through. Eventually, she’d laughed and asked him what he wanted to drink and she’d been his Mimi ever since.

  “Sleeping,” she mumbled. Her voice was husky and low, a lushly feminine sound. He’d made her recite the bar’s entire drinks offering just to keep her talking that first night in the bar. She probably could have made a fortune doing voice-overs.

  He didn’t believe she was sleeping however.

  “Sweet little liar.” He ran a hand down her back, twitching the sheet away until the cotton fell to her waist. Her tattoo started there, at the small of her back, a rainbow-colored, swirling tree that traced the straight line of her spine and then branched to wrap around her ribs and the bottom of her left breast. Last night he’d explored her tattoo with his mouth and his hands. She’d encouraged him, too, all More, Mack and Now, damn it, Mack.

  She didn’t move when he touched her, her breathing steady and even. Playing possum. He’d make her say his name, he decided, because when he flattened his hand on her ass the betraying twitch gave away her game. She was good. His mouth curled in a grin. But not perfect. Nope. There was nothing perfect about his Mimi at all. It was damned hard to have regrets when the cause of his backsliding was the one woman he’d lusted after for months.

  The room slowly lightened, the dark less intense and details clearer. Mimi’s panties lay on the floor by the bed near a pair of ridiculously high four-inch heels. Even with those heels, she was no match for his six feet. The first time he’d taken her, the shoes hadn’t come off.

  He pressed his mouth against base of her spine, rubbing his stubble-roughened cheek against her soft skin. He’d discovered last night that Mimi loved a small bite of pain with her pleasure. Her soft shudder of acceptance gave him the same feeling of anticipation he got when he was braced in the door of the DC-3 and waiting for the spotter’s slap on his shoulder, his signal to jump.

  He kissed her again now, catching her skin gently between his teeth and nipping. The mood ring she always wore on her ring finger glowed a soft, happy pink. She didn’t mind his attentions at all.

  Jump thousand.

  He fell into familiar mental rhythm of the smoke jumper. He ran the chant through his head each and every time he jumped from the DC-3 and got ready to pull the cord on his chute, the familiar words centering him and reminding him of the steps he needed to take because fire was too dangerous to not play it safe on the way to the ground. A man jumped, and then he waited
a handful of seconds, took stock, and pulled the cord before guiding himself down to the landing zone. Mimi was the same way. He’d jumped headlong into her arms and now he ran the risk of getting burned.

  “You’re awake,” he whispered roughly. Two words weren’t much of a wake-up call. He should have told her how great last night had been. Should have asked if he could see her again. But this was Mimi. She’d danced with him, kissed him, and then threaded her fingers through his and dragged him off for a “walk” in the vineyard before the happy couple had even cut the cake. She’d made it clear that she wanted one thing only from him: a single night of hot, blistering sex.

  When he touched her now, however, his morning-after reward was an almost inaudible catch of her breath. She’d make him work for it and that was fine by him. He’d never been afraid of work.

  Look thousand.

  He surveyed and she was a damned sight prettier than any open chute in the sky. He hadn’t seen much of her after they’d come back, because she’d told him to leave the light off. She hadn’t given him reasons or excuses—just made her straightforward demand—and that had bothered him. Not enough to change his mind, but he’d wanted her to know he was the one loving on her—and so instead of gazing into her eyes, he’d left his mark on her body. Her mouth was kiss-swollen and her pretty thighs reddened by the faint red marks of his whiskers. She might not have wanted to see his face last night, but she’d think of him all day today and probably tomorrow as well. He’d made sure of that.

  “Mimi.” He repeated her name and again got no visible reaction from her. Bringing her back to his room had been a mistake. He didn’t do one-night stands and he’d given up casual sex a decade ago. While his decisions made him more of a monk than he liked, he also liked being able to live with himself in the morning. Looking at Mimi, her body slowly coming into focus in the watery light, he had an urge to hold onto her and the moment even though she’d made it clear he was supposed to let go. She’d decided he got one shot at having her and that shot ended in the morning—and he’d agreed. Mistake.

  Wait thousand.

  Fortunately for both of them, he was a patient man.

  Pull thousand.

  He slid his hands up her back, thumbs pressing into her muscles, working out the tension. She exhaled softly, but didn’t stop playing possum. He swept his thumbs along the sweet bottom curve of her breasts, reacquainting himself with her skin and her body’s soft, sexy give. The wide-awake woman would have thrown up no trespassing signs, but since she was pretending to be asleep…

  “Stubborn,” he whispered, his voice loud in the room. It was early still. He’d bet most of the wedding party was still asleep.

  Check your canopy. And… he was out of condoms. That was a reality check all right. On the one hand, he hadn’t had a lover in a year and he’d always been careful. A high school scare had taught him that. On the other hand, he wouldn’t put Mimi in a position of having to trust him, nor would he take her at her word even though she had whispered to him last night that she was on the Pill and safe.

  There was nothing safe about Mimi at all, and the two of them together were downright combustible. Mimi liked living dangerously. She also liked punishing herself with the risks she took and he wouldn’t be any part of that, even if he had wanted her since he’d come to Strong. She’d been with Rio then, and he hadn’t been about to sleep with his friend’s girl. Look but don’t touch. That had been his rule, and that rule had worked just fine right up until last night when she’d made it clear that things were over between her and Rio and that he had an invitation to make a move.

  There were plenty of things he could do for her, to her, even without a condom or getting inside her, but the decision felt right. For a million crazy, mixed-up reasons, he wanted more than the one night with Mimi. Wanted this to be a beginning and not an ending for the two of them. He’d learned to trust his instincts fighting for Uncle Sam and everything in him now urged him to fight for Mimi.

  He’d been a wild child himself in his younger years. He was thirty-two now and felt older than the damned dinosaurs some mornings. He’d decided ten years ago that he needed to be able to look the man in the mirror in the eye in the morning, and that had meant he had to stop fucking up.

  He recognized that lost fuck you look on Mimi’s face. She drank too much, danced too freely, and generally did whatever the hell she wanted. But the I need someone look… that was what he hadn’t been able to resist. He understood not wanting to be alone—and wanting to punish yourself. She was gruff and prickly and, yeah, he’d pretty much kill to get underneath her skin, to coax her into sharing the pieces of herself she hid so carefully. Except she represented everything he’d put behind him. A wild child tempted you to fall and the falling was great. The best. Hot and raw and damned unforgettable, like the sex last night.

  Nope, it wasn’t the falling that was the problem. It was the landing. He had no idea what she was running from, but going along for the ride was a bad idea.

  All of which meant that Mimi’s original plan was actually the safest and best. They’d have a one-night stand and it would be over. He knew how it would work: one of them would get up and shower and the other one would sneak out. Since it was his room, she’d do the leaving. And yet… he wasn’t completely on board with the unspoken plan. Instead, he got out of bed and snagged a cold Coke from the minibar and a packet of Advil. He could practically feel her awareness against his skin, the silent laughter shaking her body and his bed. He had no idea what she found so funny, but Mimi loved to laugh.

  He wasn’t having sex with her this morning.

  He grabbed a pair of sweats and pulled them on, then round-tripped it to the bed, set his peace offerings on the table. She shifted slightly, giving him a better look at the tattoo covering the left side of her body. Her ink was gorgeous. His view from this side was some kind of fantastical bird and a whole lot of greenery and pink flowers. He’d bet that tattoo had hurt like hell, but then again Mimi never took the easy way out.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” he said gruffly. He stroked a thumb along her jaw. “You can escape now.”

  ***

  Busted.

  Mimi bit back her laughter as Mack cracked a can of soda and retreated to the bathroom. Of course, he’d known for ages that she wasn’t asleep. She’d simply wondered how far he would take their game. Mack didn’t usually play. He was always so deadly serious. Gruff, almost. And then he’d flash a quick smile when something really struck his fancy, a dimple winking in and out of existence in his cheeks. His eyes, though… he almost always had a smile lurking there when he watched her. And Mack did a lot of watching. Maybe that should creep her out, but somehow it made her feel safe. Protected. Neither of which were states she needed or wanted.

  Or deserved, she reminded herself.

  But she didn’t roll over or open her eyes until the bathroom door shut and the water started. Okay. She peeked. Once. She was weak and Mack in a pair of low-slung sweats was pretty damned spectacular. She’d celebrated the Donovan wedding too hard—what else was new?—and now she had a hangover to go with her morning after regrets.

  Sitting up, she took stock. Mack’s gifts tempted her, but she ignored the Advil. She needed the cottony mouth, the pounding in her head. She deserved it. Sleeping with Mack had pretty much screwed the pooch. He was a paint-by-numbers kind of guy, while she was more of a … Salvador Dali gal. He was a Boy Scout, a keeper. He’d fought shoulder-with-shoulder with her to keep the flames away from the bar when the firefighter arsonist had tried to burn down the bar and half of Strong last summer. Mack was a nice guy. Fucking with him was not nice.

  Faye, on the other hand, was waking up this morning in Evan Donovan’s arms (if the man had let his new wife sleep at all), and no way the other woman was pulling Mimi’s secret agent routine and plotting her escape. Faye had made her promises to have and to hold and was all tied up in her happily ever after. Those kinds of strings weren’t her thing, but
Faye was a good woman and Mimi wished her the best. At least Mimi hadn’t slept with that Donovan brother. And… there it was. The familiar rush of self-loathing. Mission accomplished.

  She got up and stole Mack’s hotel bathrobe, shoving her wedding clothes into the laundry bag the hotel had thoughtfully stored in the closet. Then, four-inch heels dangling from her fingers, she stepped out into the hallway.

  Time to get my walk of shame on.

  ***

  The door to his hotel room opened and then closed. If Mack hadn’t been standing on the other side of the bathroom door, listening, he would have missed it. Mimi didn’t slam out of the room, didn’t finesse the door so it shut with a barely audible click. She just went and there was a clear message for him in her leaving.

  She didn’t want to hang around with him today and they weren’t going to be sharing breakfast or a morning after. She’d come to him for sex, he’d delivered, and that was that. Hell, half the single men at the wedding would have been ecstatic if she’d picked them and he certainly hadn’t done any complaining himself. Mimi had been fantastic in bed and he wasn’t looking for a relationship anyhow.

  Was he?

  Mimi had a reputation for loving and leaving. As far as Mack knew, her two months with Rio Donovan last summer had been the longest she’d stayed with any one particular guy. While she wasn’t indiscriminate in her hook-ups, she’d always made it plenty clear that she wasn’t in it for the long haul. Sex with no strings. For no particular reason, he’d believed he’d be different. The one to change all that and convince Mimi to come back for more.

  For him.

  And if that didn’t make him sound like a girl then he didn’t know what did. He hadn’t protested last night when Mimi had made her plans for his body clear, so he had no business feeling used this morning. He knew how Mimi operated. She’d never pretended to be anyone other than who she was and he admired her for that. A woman who enjoyed sex and who wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted in bed? Yeah, that pretty much topped the fantasy list. And yet he wondered how much she’d really enjoyed their night together. Not the sex—that had been great and he knew it—but the part that had come after. The part where he’d almost been able to feel her beating herself up, using their night together to… hell. He had no idea.