“My God,” the woman said in shock ten minutes later when the flames were out. “I can’t believe we’re all still alive. It’s a miracle.”

“Actually, it’s good firefighting.”

They turned to the petite but toned firefighter who’d come up behind them. Except Dustin. He didn’t have to look. He knew the sound of her voice, knew the sensation that hit him every time she was within a few feet.

“You okay?” Cristina asked the woman, pulling off her helmet.

“Yes, thanks to you. You got there just in time, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s my job. I’m glad to help.”

Dustin knew she meant that utterly sincerely. Much as he’d like it to be otherwise, Cristina was the job. She lived and breathed for it, and little else.

As he’d learned the hard way.

She had a streak of dirt over one jaw, another across her forehead. She had her silky, long blond hair tied back as usual, hanging down inside the stiff collar of her protective jacket, though several strands were stuck to her damp, dirty forehead. She was a mess, and still drop-dead gorgeous.

Firefighter Barbie, her partner Blake had once dared joke.

Once.

Cristina had been so furious she’d tongue-lashed him for a week. Poor Blake-Eeyore to those who knew and loved him-had never made that mistake again.

To Dustin, Cristina was much more kick-ass warrior princess than Barbie, but he valued his life enough to keep that particular fantasy to himself.

“You really should take a ride to the hospital,” he said to the woman they’d rescued. “Just to make sure.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ve called my fiancé, he’s on his way.” She whipped around as a man came running up to the rig, shouting her name hoarsely, in stark relief. The two of them hugged tightly. Dustin watched, trying to remain impartial, but he was a sorry sap, and these sorts of reunions got to him every single time.