SCORCHED: A Firefighter Stepbrother Romance Thriller Read Free Page B

other shoulder bearing the weight of my torso. He drew my
arm across his throat and held my hand by the wrist, but for a second, just a
little one, our fingers touched through his glove. And I remember thinking,
very clearly, how thankful I was for that. I wasn’t alone.

 
    Even if
I died now, at least it would be with someone beside me. With
him.

 
    He
turned, steps hard and heavy, to the broken window. “No,” I tried to tell him,
but the word wouldn’t form. My lips were numb. My eyelids were leaden. I was
passing in and out of consciousness, and the rest of what happened was a blur.

 
    One
moment, I was over his shoulders.

 
    Then on
the table, sprawled, gasping. Fish out of water.

 
    Then
noises like . . . screeching. Banging. Metal on metal.

 
    My
gorge rising as the fireman picked me up again so effortlessly, positioning my
body across his broad shoulders again, carrying my weight like . . . like
I was nothing. And yet somehow, everything. At the same time.

 
    He was
saving me. Taking me into the light. Was I dying? I was dying. Surely.

 
    So
bright. So cool. So . . . heavenly.

 
    And
then . . . air.

 
    I
coughed and gagged. Gagged so hard I almost threw up. I choked on my bile, on
the oxygen flooding my nose and mouth. Blinding—the light was white-hot,
burning like the flames but . . . distant.

 
    Too
bright. Too much.

 
    My
lungs bloomed with agony. I tried to swat at my face, but whatever was clamped
over it wasn’t budging. Something was holding me still. Someone.

 
    I let
my eyes flutter just a little more open, even though it hurt. Even though I
wanted to scream, though I couldn’t. My throat was too full of needles. Too swollen and raw.

 
    Every
breath was a labor. I could hear screaming again. No, not screaming.
Screeching. Like sirens. Firetrucks .

 
    The
world came into focus around me, which only made the pain worse. I shut my eyes
again and writhed and heard a muffled voice say, “Breathe. Just breathe . . . ”

 
    It was
so soothing. Those low, dulcet tones made my rigid muscles relax a little and I
let go of the hand on top of my face. Awareness seeped in slowly—that
hand was clamping an oxygen mask over me, bestowing
the gift of sweet, sweet air I’d been denied in my burning apartment building.
It was the firefighter. He’d saved me. And now he held me in his arms, bringing
me back to life.

 
    “Others,”
I whispered and wished I hadn’t. Fuck,
Tanya. For once, look after yourself.

 
    “Just breathe,”
he replied. Then louder, and not to me, “Will somebody get EMS the fuck over
here, please?”

 
    Something
about him, even through the haze of pain and possible brain damage, seemed so
familiar to me. Maybe I was making bonds where there were none. After all, he’d
pulled me out of the fire I should’ve died in, and people got attached to
heroes all the time.

 
    But the
feeling that I knew him, that we’d met before, just
wouldn’t leave me. When I heard him strip off his face gear, I opened my eyes.

 
    He was
slow to come into focus. My mind was still a mess, twisting light and shadow
and color into some dark dreamscape where nothing made sense. But with each
breath I took, my vision became sharper, and soon I knew exactly who I was staring at.

 
    That
dark, silky hair. That hard, furrowed brow. Those gleaming green
eyes narrowed into slits, yet still reflecting genuine concern. Lips pulled
taut beneath a few days’ worth of stubble that made him look more like a man
than I remembered him seeming the last time I’d lain eyes on him.

 
    “Fuck,”
I wheezed. “Gunner?”

 
    He
looked me over. “Do I know you?”

 
    Finally,
I laughed. It was weak and I sounded like a frog, but after those four
ridiculous words, I could let my hysteria out.

 
    He
didn’t wait for my answer. A new face came into view as Gunner pulled away, his
mask leaving me just long