On A Night Like This (Callaways #1)

lowered his head. His mouth sought hers with the same desperate urgency he'd shown a moment earlier. His lips were demanding, hot, and needy. She started out wanting to give him comfort but that turned quickly to passion, because this was Aiden. And he knew exactly how to set her senses on fire. She matched him kiss for kiss until they ran out of breath.
    And then Aiden jerked back, his jaw tightening, his hands clenching into fists, so that he wouldn't reach for her again. "I've got to get out of here."
    "I'll go with you," she said.
    "No," he said forcefully. "You. Me. Not a good idea." He grabbed his keys and headed out the door, letting it slam behind him.
    Shaken, she blew out a breath and then sat down on the couch. What the hell had just happened?
    One minute they were talking and then they were kissing like there was no tomorrow. She'd never experienced so much intensity, so many emotions. She'd been on edge all day and when Aiden had snapped, she'd gone right along with him, wanting to forget everything and just be in the moment.
    But the moment was over, and Aiden was still in a lot of pain.
    Her heart went out to him.
    But he didn't want her heart, she reminded herself. Like the last time, he'd pushed her away.

    * * *
    After leaving his apartment, Aiden walked through the park, his lips burning with the taste of Sara's mouth, his heart in turmoil, his mind full of condemnation for taking advantage of a woman who was far too generous for her own good. Her beautiful, compassionate brown eyes, her soft lips and tender smile had been his undoing. She'd opened her arms to him, and he'd wanted to lose himself in her. But he couldn't use her to ease his pain.
    So he walked and he walked, his emotional pain turning physical as his injured leg protested the exercise. But he didn't slow down. He welcomed the physical ache. It was much easier to handle. He eventually left the city to take a trail into the woods. He'd walked and run this trail many times. It was used often in training runs, and there were memories along every step of the rocky path.
    As the memories threatened to breach his control, he started to run. His muscles screamed in protest. He really shouldn't be jogging, but he pushed himself to do it anyway. He needed to burn some energy and maybe, just maybe, he could outrun the past.
    It didn't work. With the setting sun in his face, he came to a halt, breathless and exhausted with sweat running down his face, back and shoulders.
    Flopping down on the ground, he took in gulps of air, feeling like he'd just finished one of the grueling runs that were required to be a smokejumper. When he'd gone through rookie training with Kyle, he'd been shocked at the amount of physical strength and endurance required to do the job. He'd thought he was in good shape before he got there, but he wasn't even close. He and Kyle had never worked so hard in their lives. The training had tested their stamina, endurance, courage and mostly their will.
    They'd never considered quitting. They'd been more worried about not making it. Kyle had been particularly stressed out before their final test.
    "Don't let me quit, Aiden," he'd said. "Whatever I say, no matter how tired I am, don’t let me give up. I want to do this. I want to be proud of myself. I want to do this more than I've ever wanted to do anything."
    "Right back at you," he'd told him. "You run, I run. We don't stop. Ever."
    The pact had carried them through that run and through many more runs. In fact, it had carried them through all the challenges they'd faced together – except for the last one.
    "Sorry, I let you down, buddy," he muttered, staring up at the sky.
    The dusky twilight turned to a blazing orange red. Instead of sky, he saw the forest on fire, the flames splitting the trees, the smoke thick and black, and Kyle walking away from him.
    Where the hell was he going?
    But now, like before, there was no answer.
    Sitting up, he took several more breaths, then stood up. It was getting dark and he was miles from home. Sara was probably worried. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and realized he'd left it on his coffee table. There was nothing to do but head home. The pain in his leg was bad now that he wasn't so distracted by grief, and he had to go slow. By the time he made it back to the apartment it was eight o'clock at night. He'd been gone for hours.
    He had no idea of the response he'd get when he finally opened his apartment door. He had