Page 8 of The Firefighter's Angel
He reaches over and brushes his fingers lightly against mine where they rest on my lap. “Anytime, darlin.’ I mean that.”
And just like that, something in me unknots. Like he’s not just rescuing my body from danger, but my heart too. One layer at a time.
Chapter Four
Daniel
I’m not in a hurry. Not even a little.
Every mile I drag out between Cindy and that bastard feels like a win. Like a tether pulling tighter between me and the little redhead sitting beside me.
I glance over. She’s curled up against the door, fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes on her thigh. Her lips are soft, pink, parted just slightly like she’s thinking…or dreaming.
She’s perfect.
I’ve never met anyone like her. Hell, I’ve never felt like this in my goddamn life. This pull, this ache. Like I’ve known her forever. Like she was meant just for me.
And maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s insane…but I don’t give a damn.
I slow the truck as we crest a rise, gravel popping under the tires. There’s one last spot I should check, an old burn scar near the river that tends to flare up with dry wind. At least that’s the excuse I tell myself. Truth is, I’m not ready to take her to town yet. Not ready to let anyone else lay eyes on her.
“Won’t be but a minute,” I tell her, throwing the truck into park.
She nods, giving me that sweet little smile like she trusts me with her whole soul.
God help me.
I step out and do a quick scan of the tree line. No smoke. No hot spots. Just a patch of blackened earth slowly reclaiming itself. Satisfied, I turn back around, only to have the breath knocked out of me.
Her side of the truck’s open. She’s sitting sideways on the seat, legs dangling out, feet swinging lazily. Her little sneakers knock against the metal step. Her hair glows like fire in the sunlight, and her face is tipped up toward the trees, lips parted, eyes thoughtful.
She looks…small. Sweet. Adorable.
For the first time, a flicker of doubt hits me.
Damn, how young is she?
I watch her. I can’t help it. Can’t tear my eyes away. Something about her—the purity, the softness—makes my chest squeeze tight and my cock go rock-hard at the same time.
As if she feels the heat of my stare, her head turns. Our eyes lock. Her cheeks flame a deep, gorgeous red.
Goddamn. She blushes so easy.
I start moving toward her, slow and steady. I keep my eyes on hers, unable to look away. I’ve never been so mesmerized by any woman in my life. She’s bewitching, and she has no idea how much power she holds over me.
“W-why are you looking at me like that?” she asks in a soft, breathless whisper.
My throat works around a growl. I stop in front of her, close enough that my thighs brush her knees. My fingers trail up, catching under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back and look at me.
“I’m wondering how old you are,” I admit, my voice low. Rough.
She swallows hard, her pulse fluttering under her skin. “Why?”
“Because the thoughts I’m having about you, darlin’…” My thumb grazes her lip. “I’m trying to figure out if they’re even remotely appropriate.”
“N-nineteen,” she stutters, ducking her head.
Relief. Hunger. Something feral stirs so deep I nearly shake.
