My dick hurts like hell. It’s trapped in the crotch of my Nomex, unable to properly stand up at the attention Lila’s fantasy deserves. She startled the hell out of me when she started this, but now I’m into it. She’s taking my mind off the damn invisible road, but I don’t want her to stop.

The radio crackles. Shit. I work it out of the holster at my hip and key it.

“Newton.”

“Newton, where are you?” the chief’s voice is harsh and i know he’s concerned.

Fuck, I’ve been way too offhand here but Lila was such a distraction. I look at her with my eyebrows raised. She supplies the address and I repeat it.

“God damn it, man! You were supposed to be out of there forty-five minutes ago!”

I glance at Lila. “Sorry, chief, there were complications. What’s the word?”

“Secondary fire, no more than a quarter mile from your location. And burning uphill fast. Wind’s come up.”

For the first time, I recognize I’ve been fighting the headwind. An electric thrill of fear shoots through me. We’re headed right into the fire!

“Visibility has been bad for the last half hour, sir. I think we’re trapped,” I rap out.

“Can you take shelter?”

“Negative.”

Lila is trying to say something, but I gesture for her to be quiet.

“Deploy your emergency shelter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do it now! We’ll come for you as soon as we can.”

I drop the radio. Seconds count.

“Out of the truck,” I bark. “The oxygen will blow. I’ll get the shelters.”

Lila jumps from the truck and meets me in the back, but when I hand her the little pack, she balks. Fear drapes across her lovely features and her eyes are wide as she shakes her head.

“What is it, Baby?”

“Jon used one of these,” she whimpers. I can see she’s making a huge effort not to start crying again and I’m proud of her.

“It’s risky,” I start.

“And he died,” she blurts. She’s starting to shake uncontrollably although again, she’s making a huge effort.

“Baby, no one is dying when I’m still breathing and certainly not you. I promise you. Plus it’s the only choice we have.”

“No, there’s another,” she says. “I have a root cellar. It’s deep. Can’t we shelter there?”

Relief washes over me. “Hell, yes! Why didn’t you say so? Back in the truck!”

The truck can move faster than we can run, and there’s no time to waste. She doesn’t argue for once, just jumps in on her side while I’m doing the same. I slam the gear into reverse and back up as fast and straight as I can. In a fraction of the time it’s taken us to get down the driveway, I careen back up it, sensing the land I’ve just traversed. In moments I’m stopping just in time to avoid running into the cabin.

“Where’s the cellar entrance?” I demand.

“Around behind the studio.”

“Come on, Baby. Time to get cosy.”

We both tumble out of the truck and she runs around it straight to me. I’m ridiculously glad at how she needs to be in contact. I take her hand and lead her, running full tilt in the direction of the studio. We still can’t see jack shit, but she knows the way.

In a few steps we’re at the front, and she leads me around the side and behind. Opposite where the front door of the studio is on the other side, there’s a slanted metal door covering a concrete rectangle jutting out of the ground. I throw the door open and she leads the way down a set of stairs. She’s right, it’s deep.

The dank space opens out to a good-sized room outfitted with shelves. An old piece of carpet covers the dirt floor in the middle. The dim light from the open door shows us a kerosene lantern with a box of matches beside it. She lights it, then places it on a hook to hold it away from the wooden shelves.

“Shawn, I’m scared,” she whimpers, her stubborn side all gone now.

I am, too, but I’m reasonably certain that the air down here will hold out if the fire passes quickly. I wish I’d had the time to get the oxygen tanks out of the truck, but this room is large enough for two people to survive in for at least an hour, even with the fire eating the oxygen, too. Her cabin has a fire break cleared around it. Jon’s work, I assume, same as this bunker.

I go to her and put my arms around her, pulling her into my chest where she rests until her breathing calms.

“We’ll be okay,” I assure her.

There’s no need to give her all the exceptions that could happen. If they do, they do. We’re safer here than under the portable fire shelters like the one her Jon died in.

She leans into me, and in the cool, relatively smoke-free air of the root cellar, I catch her scent. Under the soot is the aroma of woman rising to tempt me. She must have been enjoying our sex talk as much as I was. not merely to distract her fears, I start to wonder if I can revive the mood. Waiting for the roar of the fire overhead is making me twitchy.

She tilts her head, her eyes now emerald green, and her lips swollen red with desire. I lower mine to hers and kiss her like it could be our last.

She lifts her hand and runs her fingers through my hair behind my skull. I cup her firm breast, then run my hand up under her tank top, seeking her nipple. When I find the raised pellet she sighs into my mouth.

This is nothing like the fantasy we were playing in the truck. There’s no bed for me to spread out on, for one thing. Just the carpet. I can deal with that and with her on top of me, fucking herself on my already engorged dick, she won’t hurt her skin at all. Besides, we’re both clawing at each other, sucking the life out of the other’s mouth like it’s the last chance at oxygen.

I start to lower her onto the ground, when a haunting sound reaches our ears, coming from close by. Lila shoves me off and shoots up to a standing position so fast her head cracks my jaw.

“Is that…?” she asks.

“I think so,” I snap to despite the agony raging in my dick. “I’ll get him, Baby.”

Her little beagle is outside somewhere close, baying in his puppy voice. Lila’s eyes are terrified. The pup sounds the way she looks.

I scramble up the steps and push on the door. It’s hotter than it was a few minutes ago. The fire is close. Way too close. In my right mind I’d forget it and tell her it’s too dangerous. But who said I was in my right mind? Not since the moment I spotted this woman.

Woooooooo-ooo.

“Oh, my God, Shawn! I can’t listen to him die, but you can’t go out there!”

I ignore her. I can’t listen to him die, either. I’m going, and I’m not wasting my breath, or any time, arguing with her on this one. I stride up the last few steps before she can stop me and take the time to close the door tightly. It may mean the critical few seconds that will save my life, but if I leave it open she could be overrun by the fire before she can get to the door.

“Mr. Pete! Here, boy. Where are you?” I call.

Before I can draw breath to call again, a bundle of energy hits my calves and almost takes me down. I bend to feel for him in the gloom, and get my hands around the little body.

“Mr. Pete! Where have you been?” I scold. I pick him up and stand with him cradled to my chest, twisting and turning my head to avoid the frantic tongue. “You’re okay. Settle down.”

I’m only a few steps away from the door to the root cellar, but I’ve lost track of the direction. The crazy pup has knocked off my equilibrium. The irony strikes me as I turn in a circle. I’m steps from shelter, and I’m going to die here with the dog in my arms. She’ll come out and find me, along with her beloved pet, roasted like a hot dog. No pun intended.

I can’t let that happen. Not to her, not again. Just imagine how weird those paintings could get. I stop to pull it together, then take three steps forward. Nothing there. I carefully turn back, take three steps forward, make a quarter turn around my body’s axis and take three steps forward. I repeat the process, and on the third time, find the door.

I tuck the wriggling dog under my right arm firmly and grab the metal handle of the door with my left. It’s so hot I nearly leap back and let go. I’m burning the shit out of my hand, an ugly smell of toasted skin hits my nostrils. I left my gloves off because I was so intent on feeling Lila’s soft skin. I can see the flames, now, lapping the edges of the building. I have to get the door open. I tug it awkwardly with the wrong hand, give it a shove, and yell, “Catch!”

I can’t wait for acknowledgement. Hoping she’s ready or the fall doesn’t hurt him too badly, I toss the dog down the steps, hear a yelp, and turn to back down them. Now my burned hand is on the right side of the door to close it. It’s all I can do to make myself grab it again, but I do, and the door slams shut behind me as I back down the stairs, nursing my screaming hand.