She yelps when he manhandles her right off her feet — or knees, in this case — and throws an arm around his neck to keep them both from tumbling right over. Her other hand fists in his shirt; she's so out of breath, she's not sure she can hold on.

"Y'think that's gonna stop me, Fireman?"

She's got that devil-may-cry look she gets when she's been out in the desert, riding hellbent for leather. She's never more alive.

She grabs the hem of his shirt and quickly yanks it up over his head. It'll catch under his chin, what with the way he's holding onto her, assuming she gets that far before he tries to move.