Flash Storm
Jill Shalvis
A sexy firefighter gets a second chance with his first love in New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis’s fan-favorite novella.
Sam Reed—firefighter and volunteer for Search And Rescue—is the definition of fit: sculpted muscles, hard abs and the ability to stride into any blaze. But he’s about to walk into a fire that even he might not be able to put out. And its name is Sara. Sara, his ex-girlfriend. The Sara he’d proposed to one day only to find out the next that she’d bailed and moved to Paris. Without a word.
Now she’s back. And on their mountain. Heading for their spot. But without a guide and in the middle of a wicked storm, she’s headed for disaster. Unless he can rescue her. Rescue them both.
Let the sparks fly….
Originally published in 2008.
Dear Reader,
Thank you SO MUCH for buying a Shalvis classic romance! These books might predate the digital age, but they’re still fun and sexy! We hope you enjoy this peek at my earlier work!
Best wishes and happy reading!
Jill Shalvis
www.jillshalvis.com
Flash Storm
Jill Shalvis
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
CHAPTER 1
Naked and still exhausted, Sam Reed laid on his back in his bed staring at the ceiling and considered the irony that as a firefighter, his life was on the line—daily—and yet he’d nearly been taken out by a cold.
Freaking pathetic.
Thank God today he was feeling much better. He tested himself by raising his head, which didn’t fall off. Progress. He’d been off work for four straight days, and the sleep medication had helped. His fever was gone. Better yet, when he sat up then staggered to his feet, he didn’t want to die from the movement.
Nice.
He took a shower, dressed and drove himself to the nearest drive-thru for his first real meal in days. He parked at the beach to eat his breakfast of champions while watching the rough winds and gathering storm churn up perfect five foot California surf that he wished he was out in. Halfway through his bag of cholesterol, he got a text from Search and Rescue where he put in extra hours every month—they had a female hiker reported lost up in Big Falls Canyon.
And a bad storm brewing, too. Shit.
Big Falls was the mountain range just outside of Santa Rey, and though the trailhead was only several miles from civilization, once someone stepped on the trail and started hiking and surrounding themselves in the centuries old, several hundred feet high thick conifers and pines, it was incredibly easy to get lost in the wilderness. It happened all the time—which was why Search And Rescue kept so busy. But during a storm, getting lost could mean getting dead.
He set aside the rest of the food, slurped in half of the orange juice for the sugar rush, and headed to S&R headquarters—the ranger station at the base of Big Falls.
But the station was locked—as it often was early on a weekday morning during the off-season. Huh. He eyed the envelope sticking out the corner of the door. It had his name on it, as did the note inside. The small, neat, female writing was oddly familiar, and once he started reading, the words snagged him by the throat and squeezed.
Dear Sam,
Yes, I’m back. I’m sorry to bring you up here on false pretenses, but I knew it was the only way you’d agree to talk to me.
Besides, it’s not really entirely false pretenses. I’m up the trail waiting for you, heading toward the spot where we used to go. I’m probably already lost looking for it.
Please don’t leave me up here by myself. It’s been five years and believe me, I’ll need you.
Yours,
Sara
Sara.
Just her name brought it all back. Being young and wild and stupid in love with her in high school. Being young and wild and stupid in love with her while he’d gone through the fire academy, and she to design school. Being young and wild and stupid in love with her until the day she’d left him for Paris and the fashion world.
Without a word.
But that had been five years ago and he’d gotten over her. So over her.
So why was his gut twisted up like a pretzel?
Lifting his head, he took in the increasingly darkening sky, then the trailhead—which disappeared up the mountain in a series of twists and turns. She’d asked if he remembered their spot.
He remembered.
And if she was heading toward it, she’d have an unwelcome surprise. There was no longer a trail all the way to that old abandoned ranger station, and she could indeed get lost—quite easily.
He considered turning around. But he’d never turned his back on a stranger, so he couldn’t very well do it to someone who wasn’t a stranger at all, much as he wanted to. Instead, he swore to himself and began heading up the damn trail.
CHAPTER 2
Was she doing the right thing? Sara wished she knew, but the truth was, she’d lost her trust in her instincts long ago. Or maybe she’d just lost her trust in her own decisions, specifically the one she’d made to leave California for Paris.
When she thought about what she’d given up in order to go off and find herself, her heart physically hurt. It had hurt the whole five years she’d been gone. She’d played at design, flitted around, all under the guise of growing up, but the truth had been far less flattering.
She’d been running.
And when she’d realized that painful truth, she had to face the rest. That the running had to stop. That she had to learn to deal with and face her emotions, no matter how scary.
So she’d come back to California with some definite goals—starting with finding happiness. To do that, she had to makes amends, right all her wrongs.
Her biggest wrong? Walking away from Sam and the best relationship she’d ever had.
But she knew he would never have talked to her if she’d just called him up and asked. Which meant she had to concoct this crazy scheme to get him up here.
After at least a half a mile of walking straight up the narrow trail, she came to a fork where she could go straight, or veer off on another trail to the left, neither of which looked familiar. “Damn.”
It was far colder up here than she remembered, and her lightweight blouse and cargos—while perfectly designed and sewn by hers truly—were no protection from the wind. It whipped up around her, tossing her hair, stinging her cheeks, making her wonder if she was doing the right thing by forcing a reunion with the man who in all likelihood hated her.
But she had to try. She’d have no inner peace until she did. “So the question is,” she asked herself, “left or straight?”
“Right.”
Oh, God. At the low, sexy, unbearably familiar voice, everything within her quivered, and as she turned, she put a hand to her heart because it felt like the organ was going to burst right out of her chest.
There he was—Sam Reed, just over six feet of tall, lean, rugged, sexy man. He had short dark hair and dark eyes to match, the gorgeous coloring he’d gotten from his Latin mother. He wore baggy Levi’s low on his hips and a dark blue T-shirt with the words Search And Rescue—Santa Rey Division on a pec. He wasn’t smiling, but she happened to know that when he did smile, it came off a little sweet, some charming, and had a whole lot of wicked naught
iness to go with it.
Not that he’d smile at her, not now, maybe not ever again. Everything within her wanted to run and throw herself at him—just hold on tight and never let go.
But he clearly wasn’t feeling any such need, and she tampered the urge, reminding herself that she’d put that look of anger on his face. “Hey,” she said softly. “So we go right, then, to get to the spot?”
“We?" He slid his hands into his front pockets. “There’s no we, Sara. Not anymore.”
CHAPTER 3
She looked different, Sam thought, his heart going off like a jackhammer. She was still hauntingly beautiful, but no longer coltish and unsure. No, the petite blonde in front of him had a new confidence. It was in her clothes that spoke of an easy elegance, in the way she wore flawless makeup, and in her blond hair—once long and wavy, now short to her chin and artfully tousled—adding to the overall air of sophistication.
And as he looked at her—and looked—he told himself he felt nothing. A big fat lie.
A sudden lightning strobe pierced the gloomy sky. Sara jumped even before the rumble of thunder followed, her eyes wide, and her mouth opening in a little oh! of shock.
In his pockets, Sam’s hands fisted. She was afraid of thunder and lightning, always had been. There’d been a time when he’d wished for a violent storm so that she’d leap right into his arms and he could comfort her.
But those days were long over.
She got a hold of herself and looked back at him. “I was hoping we could talk,” she said.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Talk.”
“Not here. I wanted to go to our spot.”
Once, she’d been able to ask anything of him, and he’d have done it for her. Anything. But now…
“Please?" Her eyes were pewter gray and as mesmerizing as ever, and as the thunder rumbled across the mountain and through the trees, her lips, so carefully glossed, trembled.
Ah, hell. “What’s wrong with right here?" he stalled.
“You won’t hear me here.” And with that, she walked off the path, heading to the right.
He watched her go, enjoying how sweet her ass still looked in spite of himself. “You’re going to mess up those fancy sandals.”
Either she didn’t hear him over the next crack of lightning, or she didn’t care—though she did cringe when the thunder followed, booming louder and far closer now.
Then she tripped over a manzanita bush and hissed out a breath, bending to look at her shin. Then she kept going.
“Sara.”
“The station, Sam.”
Technically, they were already closer to the abandoned building than to the trailhead, but still. The less time he spent with her the better. “Why can’t you tell me whatever it is you have to tell me here? Before we get all the way up there?”
She didn’t answer.
She used to be fond of talking. Very fond. Her silence now was both welcome and disturbing. Walk away, he told himself. While he entertained doing just that, she stopped, clearly unsure of the direction.
Hell. If he walked away and left her, she’d get lost. “Come on, Sara, let’s just turn around.”
“I’m going to the ranger station,” she said without looking at him, her voice soft but steely. “I want you to come. I need you to come. But if you can’t, or won’t, well I understand that, too.”
And then she kept walking, much more tentatively now, heading into the thick dark woods. Just watching her, it was all coming back to him, how well he’d known that body, how well he’d known her, and she’d known him, how much he’d cared about her, their connection—and then how she’d broken it. “Sara, Goddammit. Why? Why now after all this time?”
She went still, then turned. Slowly, she came back up to him. “Because of this.” With that, she fisted her hands in his T-shirt and gently pushed him back against the closest tree, holding him there while she went up on tip-toe and covered his mouth with hers.
CHAPTER 4
Sara opened her mouth on Sam’s, shocked and relieved when he did the same. Oh, God, kissing him. There’d never been anything like kissing Sam Reed.
Above them, lightning flashed, and despite her childhood fear, she didn’t flinch. The impending storm seemed very far away with Sam’s mouth on hers. With him, she was safe. She always had been. And now to feel him pressed up against her, to have him kissing her, his tongue stroking hers… She nearly drowned in the sensation. Then suddenly his hands came up to grip her arms.
He was going to push her away. Unable to face that, she pressed into him—pinning his big, hard, hot bod against the tree.
She didn’t have a chance in hell of really holding him against his will, of course, but she needed to reach him. Needed him to feel what they’d shared, what they still shared. His hands tightened on her, but instead of pushing her away, he hauled her up against him. It was a purely physical response, as was the low, rough, helpless sound that rumbled from deep in his chest. She thrilled to it, rocking against him, diving into the deep, hot, wet kiss. God, it felt amazing to be back in the arms of the only man who’d ever made her happy, even if being with him reminded her of all she’d lost.
Most importantly—him. It’d been her own doing, too, which didn’t help much. She could tell the both of them that it was her upbringing, her lack of any positive experiences with loving, lasting relationships, but he already knew that.
And she was done with excuses.
She’d spent five years away and had discovered a lot about herself, things she wanted to tell him so that he would understand. And then maybe he would want to see her again.
But then his hands slid up her arms to cup her face. He changed the angle of the kiss, deepening it, and she was lost. Lost in the feel of him against her, in the taste of him, in the memories… Lost in everything about him.
They fit against each other so perfectly, his broad chest and shoulders blocking out the darkening sky, his chiseled belly to her soft one, his thighs against hers.
And in between… God, in between. He was hard, gloriously hard, and she reveled in feeling it against her liquefied bones. How could she have ever walked away from this? How could she even try to make him understand when even she herself knew it had been wrong?
He felt so good. She couldn’t stop touching him, his shoulders, his chest, his arms… And his hands were just as busy, stroking the small of her back, gliding down to cup her bottom, squeezing, a rough groan tumbling from his throat. The sound had her smoking and smoldering from the inside out, and she slipped her hands beneath his shirt. He did the same, and for a brief second they broke off the kiss to stare at each other. Time stopped and seemed to rewind, and then they were lunging at each other.
Somehow her hands were on his jeans, fumbling to get them open. His were fighting her bra, which he tugged aside.
She got his Levi’s open.
He had his mouth latched onto her throat and was touching her bare breasts, his thumbs skimming back and forth over the hardened tips, making her knees wobble. “Sam,” she gasped.
At the sound of his name on her lips, he went still, then lifted his head and stared into her eyes, his own hot and smoldering and sleepy. And then those beautiful dark eyes cleared. “Jesus.” He pulled his hands from beneath her shirt and set her away from him. “Jesus,” he breathed again and turned away.
“Sam—”
“Don’t,” he said shakily, shoving his fingers into his hair. “Don’t.” And then he walked away from her.
Just as she’d once done to him.
CHAPTER 5
Sam walked blindly. A drop of rain fell and practically sizzled on his overheated skin. The temperature had fallen drastically in the past few minutes, not that he’d noticed. Another raindrop hit him on the nose. He kept walking, needing a bloody minute. The ground was rough going. No one had traveled this way in some time. For all he knew, he and Sara had been the last ones to come this way.
Another drop, and then another, faster now. A
nd colder.
He could hear her behind him, following him. Dammit. Sam couldn’t deal with her now. He needed to work off some steam before facing her and getting her to go back to the trailhead.
“Sam.”
And then there was his boner. He might need a little more than a minute to get rid of that.
“Sam.”
Especially if she kept talking.
“Listen,” she said breathlessly, trying to keep up. “I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to remind you of what we had, and—”
“What we had. Past tense.” It’d been five years and he’d gotten over it. Over her. He had a healthy dating life. He had a great family—two parents who ran an art gallery in town, and two sisters. He had a great job—two of them, firefighting and the S&R, and he was happy.
Fulfilled.
Or he had been until about a half hour ago.
“That kiss didn’t feel so past tense,” she said.
No. No, it hadn’t. But he refused to think that meant anything. “Old habit.”
“Come on, Sam.” She was gasping for breath, but he didn’t slow down.
He needed to keep moving. And he needed her to stop talking. But he realized that the longer he walked, the closer to the abandoned ranger station they got.
Maybe, deep down, that’s what he wanted in spite of himself. Five years ago she’d denied him closure, and here she was giving him that chance. But did he want it? He really had no idea.
They went a little while with no words.
“That kiss was more than habit,” she finally said softly, about a half a mile later. “That was an instant reconnect proving that we still have something.”
He said nothing.
“You’re still angry at me.”
Hell—if he said yes, it implied that he still cared enough to be angry. And if he said no, it’d be a lie.
“Please, Sam. I just want to talk—" She broke off with a soft cry, followed by a thud.
Sam whipped around in time to see her sprawled on the ground. Ah, crap. He ran back and crouched at her side.
