Then he kissed her, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth possessively. She ran her hands through his hair. How could she want him again, so much, so soon?
His scent washed over her, spiking her pulse. He smelled like ocean wind, fall leaves, the musky scent of sex, and the heat of a winter fire...
Is that smoke? Ellie untangled herself from his grasp. “Do you smell that?”
“I smell you.” He buried his face against her neck, kissing downward to the tops of her breasts.
She shoved at him. “Carter, I’m serious. It smells like smoke. Like something’s burning.”
Looking past her shoulder, his eyes went wide. “Yep, that’s smoke.”
Ellie whipped around, following his gaze to the billows of smoke pluming from the kitchen windows. “Oh, no.”
Without thinking, she took off across the meadow, racing toward the inferno.
“Ellie, wait!”
Blood pounding in her ears, she barely heard him.
The hotel was on fire.
Carter ran after her, advancing on her stride.
Only a fool would run toward a burning building. But there was no stopping her. Billows of black smoke engulfed her until she disappeared from sight.
He heard screams, doors slamming, glass breaking.
Ellie’s voice cried out.
Carter hissed an expletive and darted into the hotel after her. “Ellie!”
Kitchen staff holding aprons over their mouths raced past him, knocking him back out the emergency exit. Carter plunged forward again.
The smoke roiled like an erupting volcano. He found a damp dishrag and held it over his nose and mouth.
Silverware was strewn over the floor. Pots and pans and colanders were scattered everywhere. Water overflowed from a sink. Disaster central .
“Ellie,” he called.
Determined to find her and haul her out of there, Carter waved smoke from his path, ducked down to avoid the worst of the fumes, and pursued the source of the calamity.
“What do we do?” a panicked voice shrieked a few feet away.
“Ellie.”
“Carter?” She pushed him toward the exit, but the effort incited a coughing fit. “Get out of here before you’re hurt,” she wheezed.
“My thought exactly.” He scooped her up with one arm and retraced his steps.
“Let go,” she seethed. Despite his hard grip, she wriggled free when he lost his footing, skidding across the wet floor. “I need to put out the fire!”
“And I need you safe.” He grabbed her shirt, prepared to haul her out by the scruff of her neck if he had to.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Not tonight’s dinner!”
She switched on the overhead ventilation shaft. The heavy smoke lifted, and the air became breathable.
That’s when he saw the extent of the damage.
The fire had started on the gas stove—judging by the black soot smeared up the wall behind it—and had spread to the surrounding surfaces. Every spot touched by oil ignited like flame-red dominos, scattering across the galley sinks, chopping blocks, countertops, finally reaching the banquet platters.
The starched tablecloths were slower to catch flame. That gave Carter an opening. “Ellie, we need baking soda. Tons of it.”
“In here.” She rushed to towering shelves of supplies, returning with three-pound boxes balanced in her arms. “How many do you need?”
“Keep ‘em coming.”
They were running out of time. With gas fires, explosions were inevitable. At any moment the entire place could blow up and everything would be toast—including them.
Edging toward the flame-engulfed stove, he tore open the packages. He emptied box after box of baking soda, tossing the contents on the flames. White particles flew through the air, landing in ashen heaps, suppressing the fire. The after-effects reminded him of a nuclear winter.
“Ellie,” he commanded, “use the dishwasher’s sprayer. Aim it at the tables.”
Hurrying to the industrial-grade dishwashing cubical, she grabbed the dangling hose. She pushed the lever, releasing a powerful jet stream that drenched everything in sight. It blasted off the tops serving dishes, spattered delicacies against the back wall, overflowed soup kettles, and made one giant mess.
But it worked.
In under a minute, they’d sidestepped catastrophe. In less than two minutes, their efforts wiped out the fire completely.
Ellie released the sprayer and stumbled back.
Carter was there to catch her.
She exhaled. “We did it.”
“Barely.”
She turned in his arms. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded hoarse from smoke inhalation. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“Fried yourself to a crisp. Don’t do that. Ever. Again.” He pushed wet hair back from her face, tipping her chin up and touching his lips to hers.