Page 5 of The Firefighter's Angel
“What’s your name?”
She hesitates, biting her lips in a way that sends blood rushing to my cock. “Cindy.”
Focus, Foster. Keep a straight head.
“Okay, Cindy,” I say, running a quick glance over her. I take in the swelling at her ankle, the dirt on her palms, the torn sleeve, my blood boiling with rage all over again at the bastard who did this to her. “Can you walk?”
She tries, winces, and wobbles a little. The ankle’s not broken, but it’s probably still better for her to rest it for a bit. Or maybe I just want an excuse to get closer to her.
I approach her slowly, like I would a wounded animal. She’s already been scared by men enough for one day.
“I’m gonna give you a lift to my truck,” I say, allowing her a moment to stop me.
She doesn’t, so I scoop her up before she can change her mind.
She gasps, grabbing my shoulders, and damn if that doesn’t do something wicked to my insides.
“You’re okay,” I say again, quieter now as I carry her toward the road. “You’re with me now. No one’s ever touching you like that again.”
Not while I’m breathing.
Chapter Three
Cindy
I’m hanging on to this stranger like my life depends on it.
And maybe it does.
I don’t know where he’s taking me, and I don’t care. His arms are solid around me, one tucked under my knees, the other cradling my back like I’m made of glass. But the strength in them is undeniable, like he could tear through the entire forest if he had to.
I’ve never felt so…safe.
His scent wraps around me. Smoke. Pine. Leather. And something warm and masculine I can’t even name. It settles into my lungs like peace. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that again.
Not after what just happened. Not after my dad’s death.
I bunch his shirt in my hand, holding on to him as tightly as I can. I close my eyes and just let myself exist in this moment. I needed help, and this rugged mountain man showed up like a storm out of nowhere. Rough and wild and perfect.
He’s my guardian angel.
I sneak a peek at him, lifting my face just a little. And…holy hell. He’s gorgeous. Impossibly so. His chest is broad, and thickbiceps flex beneath his rolled-up sleeves. His skin is sun-kissed, stretched over hard, corded muscle. He’s got dark, tousled hair that curls just slightly around his ears, a jawline sharp enough to cut granite, and a permanent five o’clock shadow that makes my stomach tighten with a delicious sensation. My eyes fall to the tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his left arm and for a moment, I wonder what it’d be like to run my hands over the dark, intricate ink lines.
I lift my gaze to his face again, my heart skipping a beat. His features look carved from stone, rugged and a little weathered like some ancient Roman god. And his eyes…oh God. His eyes are a deep brown. Not soft. Not gentle. Intense. Like the earth cracked open and put fire behind them.
Lyle looked like he was going to piss himself the second this man stepped out of the trees. And honestly? I get it. If I hadn’t been so terrified, I probably would’ve felt the same.
At that moment, he glances down and our eyes lock. My breath ceases and his mouth quirks into a hint of a smirk. Heat spreads across my skin and I imagine I look something like a tomato.
I let out an embarrassed squeak, burying my face into his chest again. I’m mortified, but unable to help the stupid grin tugging at my lips. His chest rumbles under my cheek, a low laugh that vibrates through me like thunder.
God help me, I love the sound of it.
He carries me a few more steps before carefully easing me down onto the passenger seat of his truck like I’m something fragile and precious. The cabin’s high off the ground, but he handles me like I weigh nothing.
Then he positions himself between my legs and raises his hand to my face, gently brushing his thumb over a scratch on my jaw. I flinch, more from surprise than pain. His touch is warm. Careful. But his eyes have darkened, his expression stormy.
It almost looks like he’s mad, but not at me. I wonder if he’s mad at Lyle for hurting me. I might be wrong, but I can’t help but think that if Lyle had done anything worse, this man would’ve done something about it—something permanent.
