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been like that in bed, too, God help her.
    His grip tightened on her right wrist, and her gun threatened to slip out of suddenly numb fingers.
    “Safety’s off,” she said breathlessly, avoiding his question. “This is not a good idea, Sam.”
    He leaned up effortlessly on his elbows, as if she weighed nothing. In one practiced move, he relieved her of her weapon, easing her finger off the trigger before returning the gun to her. She’d almost shot him. And yet her body was busy cataloging the feel of him beneath her, the way those powerful thighs flexed as he sat up fully, cradling her on his lap. This close, she smelled smoke and pine, Old Spice, and something unforgettably, indefinably Sam. God, Sam .
    He’d starred front and center in her college fantasies until she’d convinced herself her education and her career had to come first. She was enrolled at a top-notch Eastern university; Sam would never leave the forests he loved. She’d worked hard for her chance, and she couldn’t let it pass her by for a summer romance. They were from two different worlds, pursuing very different goals.
    Sam Clayton looked her up and down. “Olivia Albert.”
    Just like that, the years fell away and that scared her even more than the fires.
    “This park is closed, honey.” He stared at her, like they’d run into each other in the parking lot of a Starbucks and she wanted to know if the place was still open. His yellow Nomex sleeve brushed against her windbreaker. They’d both changed—and it was more than a costume change. She remembered that the last time she’d seen Sam, she’d been sporting a white bikini.
    “Really?” she drawled. “Now there’s a news flash.”
    “Uh-huh.” He didn’t make any move to slide her off his lap, though. “So you run along home now.”
    The anger was familiar. Anger was better . She’d spent years building her career. No matter how fantastic his body—or the memories—were, Sam didn’t get to talk to her like that. She was a special agent with the FBI. She’d made it through the National Academy. She’d led successful manhunts across two continents. And she knew precisely how to handle Sam.
    As he leaned towards her, she moved, wrapping her thighs around his waist and pulling him over.
    Sam laughed and rolled. His hands wrapped around her wrists and, for a long moment, she forgot about the fire and the manhunt. Instead, she was intensely aware of the strong male body pinned between her thighs and the powerful pull of his muscles as he wrestled with her. She moved her hands so they shackled his wrists, pinning him in place. Just as suddenly, his body relaxed beneath hers. He didn’t seem worried about the gun, either, but that was Sam Clayton for you.
    She felt his deep chuckle in places she’d forgotten about. “That’ll teach me to rile you up, honey,” he said. This time, his hands stayed down.
    Honey. He was the only man who had ever called her that. She hated that endearment. There was nothing sweet about how she felt. His words got her blood boiling, not that that was hard to do. It was damned hot in this forest. Sweat dripped off her face, soaking her tank top beneath her windbreaker.
    He looked up at her and his eyes crinkled at the edges, like he was about to laugh again.
    She’d kill him.
    She looked down at him and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
    “Looking for you,” he growled, suddenly serious. “Like I said, this park is closed. We’ve got one hell of a fire coming over that ridge far too soon.”
    “I’m aware of the fire,” she snapped, rolling off him. For a long moment, she lay there on her back and told herself she was breathing fast because of the quick wrestle. Overhead, smoke clouded out the daylight. Only three o’clock, but it was dark enough already to be twilight. Before long, the smoke would make it impossible to see anything.
    He got smoothly to his feet. For a big man, he was silent. Lethally graceful. “Good. Then we’re in