Page 10 of My Masked Savior
My EMT looks a million times scarier than any of Danielle’s volunteers, yet my heart isn’t racing out of terror anymore, and my lungs are working hard for a different reason now. I feel like a schoolgirl running into her crush at the library, the event of her week.
“Coming, babe?” Basia asks distractedly. I glance back to see she’s already scrolling on her phone, her head no longer in this gym with me.
“You go on ahead,” I tell her. My voice sounds breathless even to my own ears, but Basia doesn’t even look up. “I see someone I want to say hi to.”
I don’t know why I don’t tell her it’s the EMT from the party. Maybe I just don’t want him talking to my gorgeous coworker. She’s tall and blonde like him and, unlike me, in the same league. I’m smaller, curvier, darker. I’ve always been proud of my mixed heritage, and I never let anyone bully me about it until Marco started gaslighting me. Now there’s this doubt, this need to be perfect in this stranger’s eyes—as perfect as I find him. I bet Damien would never make a girl feel uncomfortable in any way.
When Basia says bye, I straighten my back as much as I can and lift my trembling chin. I’m playing with the straps of my bag to try and steady my hands, and just as I walk up to his side, they slip out of my hands. The bag hits the ground with a loud clang, the water bottle inside crashingagainst my phone, inhaler, lip gloss, and keys with a painful sound. I cringe and drop down to pick it up. Maybe he didn’t hear anything? He’s probably listening to loud metal or something. Right?
Just as my fingers wrap around the straps again, his large, warm hand covers mine. My breath catches in my throat, and I slowly lift my eyes up to meet his piercing blue orbs.
“H—hi,” I stutter, the corners of my lips twitching up into a nervous smile that I just know looks super awkward. I’m blushing already, and he hasn’t even said a word.
“Hi,” he replies quietly. The altitude training mask makes his voice come out somewhat deeper and a bit muffled, his breathing sounding like sandpaper over glass.
“I don’t know if you remember me,” I begin, but he cuts me off before I can continue.
“I remember you, princess.”
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.I think my heart is about to make an escape through my ribcage and straight into his ridiculously defined arms.
“Oh, I…” I giggle nervously. “I wanted to say thank you. Again. For saving my life.”
Damien’s head tilts, and he rises out from the crouch, smoothly taking my bag out of my hands. For a moment, I blink up at him from my kneeling position, the subtext of it—at least in my head—making my ovaries tingle. When he offers a hand to help me stand, I avert my eyes, feeling vulnerable in a way I’ve never experienced before. And I thought I was an expert on the sensation.
“Just doing my job, Morgan,” he finally says, smoothly pulling me up.
When I realize what he means, my cheeks light up with flames from hell.Of course, he’s just doinghis job, you ho. He’s not thinking of you every waking moment. He’s not that pathetic.
“Oh, well, thanks anyway,” I mumble, reaching blindly for my gym bag. I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself more than I already did. Just on cue, I lose my balance from standing up too fast and tip forward. His hand grabs my elbow to steady me, and the touch sends sparks radiating out from the point of contact, straight to each pleasure center in my body. I’m such a fool.
“Careful there, princess,” he says, the mask making even the endearment sound somewhat sinister. “Don’t want to end up at the ER again.”
I try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin and shaky. My heart hasn’t slowed since the second I spotted him across the room.
Damien helps me put my gym bag on my shoulder, his fingers grazing my collarbone in the process. The touch is fleeting, practical, but my skin buzzes like he branded me. His other hand lingers just a moment too long at my elbow.
“You’re flushed,” he observes, tilting his head. His blue eyes scan me like he can read my vitals without equipment. “How’s your breathing?”
I swallow hard, wishing my lungs weren’t so tight for entirely different reasons now. “I’m fine. Just… Classes are intense.”
Something flickers in his gaze, like he knows exactly what kind of “intense” I mean.
I clutch the strap of my bag with both hands, grounding myself. “I probably shouldn’t be pushing it anyway. Stress isn’t exactly my friend.”
His brows lift slightly, the mask muffling his exhale into a low rasp that makes goosebumps rise on my arms. “Stress never is. You got something coming up?”
The question is simple, but it hits a little too close to the truth. Before I can stop myself, words slip out: “I, uh… have to go home for Christmas. To Madison.”
Damien stills, just for a beat. How odd.
I rush to cover, shaking my head. “It’s nothing. Just… family stuff. I’m not… I’m not thrilled about it.” My laugh is brittle. “Guess I’m better at numbers and policies than dealing with people.”
His eyes stay locked on me, unblinking, too intense for a casual gym chat. The mask muffles his next inhale, before he finally says, “People can be unpredictable. Dangerous.” His voice is lower now, more like a warning. “But you? You’ll handle it, princess.”
My stomach flips, half with nerves, half with the shameful thrill that coils through me every time he calls me that.
Before I can think of a reply, his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, glances at the screen, then levels me with a serious look.
