The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  ~ ~ ~

  Sara holds up her hand to stop me from walking into the room. “Wait!” she yells from the bed.

  “What is it?”

  “Just wait there,” she says.

  I stand here holding the box of pizza as I watch her get out of bed by herself. By herself. Without any help from me or Donovan or a nurse. It takes her a minute to steady herself on her feet, but then she walks slowly over to me, her left leg dragging behind her right. She’s still weak on her left side.

  She makes it all the way to me, takes the pizza box out of my hands, and then walks back across the room, putting the box on her table before sitting down in her chair.

  She smiles proudly across the room at me. “Don’t tell Donovan I did that. He’s afraid I’ll fall. He still makes me wear this stupid belt. Says it’s required.”

  I make a lock-and-key motion across my lips. “I won’t say a word. That was fantastic, Sara. You’ve made so much progress.”

  She shrugs. “I won’t be running marathons anytime soon, but it’s an improvement.”

  “I’m really proud of you,” I say, pulling a chair up next to hers. “I meant to tell you that yesterday when you got in the cab like you didn’t have a care in the world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After my parents’ accident, I was terrified of cars. I only got in them when absolutely necessary. For an entire year, I rode my bike to work. And that’s not easy to do in Kansas City, Missouri. You made me feel like a wimp when, not four weeks after your accident, you got into a car like it was no big deal.”

  She shakes her head. “Why would I be scared, Denver? I don’t even remember the accident. One minute I was road-tripping with Lydia and the next, I was looking up at you, barely able to move or speak.”

  I motion around her room. “Yeah, but you see what it did to you. It took years from your life. It made you forget the person who was most important to you. Doesn’t that make you angry? Aren’t you pissed at the world? At God?”

  “I’ll admit it sucks having to learn to walk again.” She touches the right side of her head. “And I have a six-inch scar as a permanent reminder. And who knows if I’ll ever be able to paint again the way I once did. But the fact is, since I don’t remember those years, there’s nothing to be upset about.”

  She nods to a bag in the corner of her room. I recognize it as the bag Oliver packed some of her things in yesterday. “That stuff—Prada bags, gold-rimmed wine glasses from Sheiks—that’s not me. I can’t believe it was ever me. I mean, I know I was a bit self-centered growing up, and maybe I was over-confident. But sending back a blanket two times because it ‘wasn’t soft enough for my sensitive skin?’ Who does that? And maybe I don’t want to be that person anymore. So, no, I’m not pissed at God. Maybe this is God’s way of making me the person I was meant to be before I got sidetracked.”

  I grab some napkins and serve us each a slice of pizza.

  “Well, I’m glad you forgot how much you liked tofu,” I say. “No way would I have put that on a pizza.”

  She laughs. “Me, either.”

  “How did it feel seeing your apartment yesterday?” I ask.

  She glances back at the bag of stuff she didn’t unpack. “The only thing that really felt like home was my studio. Nothing else seemed right. That wasn’t my furniture. Those weren’t my clothes. It felt like I was in a stranger’s apartment.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope it will get easier for you. I think it will.”

  She nods. “Maybe. The good news is that something seemed to change with Oliver yesterday.”

  “Change?”

  “When he came for dinner last night, he let me feed myself. And he brought cheeseburgers.”

  My eyes go wide. “He did?”

  “And he brought me some more clothes. Clothes that fit. Go check them out.”

  I walk to her closet and open it. I look at the shirts hanging on the rack. I pull one out and hold it up with raised brows. It’s a t-shirt with the flag of Great Britain on it. “Wow,” I say.

  “That’s not even the worst one,” she says.

  “Oh, Lord, there’s more?”

  I pull out another one. “Viva las London?” I say, laughing as I read the front of the shirt.

  Sara laughs with me. “Apparently Oliver has no fashion sense, but he’s trying. And he no longer makes me eat tofu or black beans, so that’s huge.”

  I make a face. “Nobody should have to eat those.”

  We finish our lunch and then Donovan comes to get Sara for her afternoon therapy. He has her trying to do squats and jumping jacks and other things that are very hard for her to do with her weak left side. On the surface, she seems almost back to normal. But when it comes right down to it, I realize she still has months of therapy. Maybe more. And she may never walk perfectly again. She may never run marathons. She may never paint.

  It’s the last thought that worries me the most.

  ~ ~ ~

  Back in Sara’s room, she settles into her bed, worn out from physical therapy.

  “Something is wrong,” she says. “You’ve been acting differently all day. Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  I could lie to her on the phone, but somehow, I find it difficult to lie to her face.

  “This has something to do with Oliver, doesn’t it? When he pulled you aside at the cab yesterday, he said something. Or you did. But both of you changed after that.”

  I contemplate telling her that he asked me to back off. But what good would that do anyone? The objective here is to acclimate her back into her life. Getting her mad at Oliver would not accomplish that. And besides, he’s just looking out for her. He loves her. He brought her cheeseburgers.

  “I just told him I had more responsibilities I needed to deal with, and I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with you.”

  Huh. Turns out I can lie to her face.

  “Oh.” She looks sadly at the deck of cards.

  “Hey, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to visit,” I say. “I just can’t be here all the time. No biggie. You want to play cards?”

  She shrugs. “I’m kind of worn out. I was hoping you could read to me.”

  “But we finished the book a few days ago.”

  “I have a new one. In fact, I have a lot of them.” She nods to a cloth bag next to the bed that I didn’t notice before.

  I pull out some of the books and notice a familiar name. My eyes snap to hers. “Baylor came to see you?”

  “She did. And she brought me those. Your friend Ivy came with her. That’s where the daisies came from. They said you were all out to dinner the other night and my name came up. What a coincidence that I was doing a painting for her.”

  “I know. Small world, huh. And Sara, you are doing a painting for her, not were.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m never wrong. You wouldn’t know that about me yet, but I’m not.”

  “Oh, really? Now who’s being the self-centered one?” She laughs.

  I peruse the blurbs on the back covers of Baylor’s books. “You don’t really want me to read you one of these, do you?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “They’re romance novels, Sara.”

  “So?”

  I shake my head, laughing. “Okay.”

  Then I have a terrible thought. “Sara, could you read them yourself if you wanted to?”

  Her eyes fall to her lap. She shakes her head. “I … I have trouble with words sometimes.”

  I knew she was working with a speech and a cognitive therapist, but most of those sessions happen in another room when I’m not around. I wasn’t aware she was having so much trouble.

  “I mean, I can read,” she says. “I’m not stupid or anything. But sometimes my brain just doesn’t see the right words or something.”

  “Jesus, Sara. I would never think you’re stupid. We knew all these things would take time.” I pick one of Baylor’s books at random. “A
nd until then, I’m happy to read to you.”

  “Thank you,” she says, her head settling on the pillow. “Because you have a really great voice.”

  I smile as I open the front cover and start reading.

  Two chapters in, the main characters finally meet and you can sense the instant chemistry. I’m beginning to see why Baylor's books are so popular. From the first page, she draws you in. Who knew romance novels could be so intriguing? Baylor doesn’t hold back with her language, and every time I read the word fuck, Sara giggles.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you’d make a great audiobook narrator?” she asks.

  I look up from the novel. “That’s a thing?”

  “It is. Authors would probably kill to have you narrate their books. The way you read is just …”

  “What?” I ask.

  Her cheeks pink up. “It’s sexy.”

  I roll my eyes at her and get back to reading. After another chapter, it almost looks like Sara is falling asleep. I contemplate stopping, but I’m kind of getting into the book. The main characters are having a fight and there is so much sexual tension. Then he grabs her and throws her against the wall. They rip off each other’s clothes and do things to each other. A lot of things.

  I have to shift around on the chair. It’s fortunate I’m sitting down because, damn it, I’ve gotten an erection. But you can hardly blame me, it’s like watching porn. Except it’s in my head. And because it’s in my head, all I see when I picture the characters are Sara and me. Me throwing her against a wall. Her grabbing my dick. Us sinking to the floor and getting naked.

  I glance up at Sara and see she’s not asleep. Her eyes are closed, but she’s definitely not sleeping. In fact, she’s smiling. And she’s biting her lower lip.

  When she realizes I’m no longer reading, her eyes open. “Don’t stop now, it’s just getting good.”

  We stare at each other for a few long, drawn-out seconds before I have to avert my gaze because her chocolate eyes burning into mine do nothing to tamp down my rising problem.

  I try to get through the chapter, speaking softly in case anyone walks by Sara’s door. Damn, Baylor. She can write one hell of a sex scene. It goes on for pages.

  When the chapter comes to an end and the characters have been thoroughly bedded, I put down the book. “My throat is dry from all the reading,” I say, getting up to go into her bathroom.

  I’m glad I’m walking away from her and not towards her, because there would be no hiding my physical reaction to what I just read her.

  In the bathroom, I splash water on my face. Then I stare at myself in the mirror. “You can’t think of her like that, you idiot.”

  I take a minute to let my erection wane. When I emerge from the bathroom, Sara is getting out of bed. She goes to step with her left foot and falters. I race over and catch her before she hits the ground. Her arms go around my neck as I hold her up to steady her.

  She looks up at me, and that’s when I realize neither of us has let the other go. It’s the first time we’ve ever had this kind of close physical contact. And damn it, she feels so good in my arms. And her eyes. Those eyes I dream about at night. They’re even more magnificent being only inches from my own.

  For a moment, it’s almost like we’ve been transformed into the characters of the book I was reading. The intense feelings I’m having are magnified by the words I read just moments ago.

  My gaze falls to her lips. Her tongue darts out to wet them. And then, just like in the book, Sara’s hands grab me by the back of the neck, pulling my head down to hers. And just like in the book, I’m helpless to stop it.

  Our lips crash together like they’ve been searching for their perfect match. Then they stay together as if they think they’ve found it. Her lips are soft. Plump. Inviting. And they taste of pepperoni. I explore her mouth with my tongue as I feel my erection strain to make a second appearance.

  Kissing Sara is different from kissing any other woman I’ve kissed before. It’s better. It’s better in ways I can’t even explain except to say I’d rather be kissing her than sleeping with anyone else.

  Then, suddenly, my conscience gets the better of me and I pull away. But I don’t let her go. I place my forehead on hers. “Sara,” I say, breathing heavily. “We can’t.”

  “I know,” she says, not pulling away either.

  I ease her back so she’s sitting on the bed. Then I retreat to the other side of the room.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, seeing my reaction. “That was all my fault.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “It’s not like I resisted or anything. There’s no blame here. But we can’t let that happen again. You have a fiancé. He loves you, Sara.”

  She nods. “I know. And he … he seems great. Especially now. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “There’s a term for it, you know. At FDNY we call it a ‘rescue crush.’ It’s not uncommon for victims to develop feelings for the people who save them.”

  She looks embarrassed. “So this will go away?”

  “Of course it will,” I say. “As soon as you get home and back to your life, you’ll be asking, ‘Denver who’?”

  She laughs. But it’s not genuine.

  And I realize I’ve lied to her for the second time. I’ve lied to her because I let her believe she’s the problem here when I’m the one who’s gone and fallen for her.

  Donovan comes walking through the door, giving me an opportunity to leave, and I find myself relieved. Relieved that I don’t have to stand here and look at Sara’s face any longer. Because it hurts to look at something you know you can’t have.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’ve stayed away.

  For days, I’ve done my best to distance myself from Sara. More emotionally than physically, because I’m not going to leave her high and dry. But I have been reducing the amount of time I spend with her. And she knows it. Things are strained when I’m there, like she knows I want to be there but at the same time she understands why I shouldn’t be.

  We still play cards. We listen to the Beach Boys. And I read books to her. Just not Baylor’s books. I’ve found Stephen King to be safer.

  Neither of us has mentioned the kiss. In fact, the only person I’ve mentioned it to is Marcus Feldworth.

  As soon as I left the rehab center three days ago, I tracked him down. He encouraged me to be supportive but not emotionally available. He said I should find distractions to keep my mind off her and that eventually my feelings would wane. Especially when Sara goes home, which will be soon.

  I’m standing next to one of those distractions now.

  “Wow,” Nora says, looking around at the suite we just walked into at Hawks Stadium. She turns to me. “You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t realize you were so wealthy, Denver.”

  I laugh at the thought. “I’m not. I’m a firefighter, Nora. I just have connections.”

  “I do like a resourceful man,” she says, looking up at me through her lashes.

  “Denver,” Ivy says, walking up to give me a hug. Then she turns to my date. “Nora, right? Nice to see you again.”

  “And you,” Nora says.

  Bass comes over to greet us. I shake his hand. “Thanks for making these arrangements,” I say.

  “Of course,” he says. “Caden and Brady set the whole thing up. Their wives said they’d come up and watch the game with us.”

  Nora looks all giddy. “I still can’t believe you know actual MLB players,” she says.

  “They are just regular people,” I tell her. “You should know that after meeting Sawyer last week.”

  “Oh, my God!” she squeals. “I still can’t believe I met him.”

  A waitress comes up to us. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I don’t answer her. I can’t answer her. I’m too focused on what just walked into the room. Or, more specifically, who.

  Sara makes her way into the suite. She’s flanked on either side by Oliver and Donovan
. But it’s not them I’m paying attention to. It’s the woman wearing the Hawks shirt I bought her. The shirt she’s starting to fill out due to all the pizzas and burgers we’ve shared. The woman who is wearing makeup that accentuates her chocolate-brown eyes and her amazing cheekbones. The woman whose eyes are as laser-focused on me as mine are on her.

  The waitress clears her throat. “Sir?” she asks.

  “Sorry,” I say, giving her my attention. “Just a beer. An IPA if you’ve got one.”

  Nora looks at Sara and then back at me. Then she laces her arm around my elbow.

  As Sara approaches, she stares at our entwined arms. Then her eyes meet mine again and she smiles.

  I’ve never seen Sara wear makeup before. She doesn’t need it. She’s beautiful without it. But, wow, how it brings out her eyes.

  Oliver puts a possessive arm around her before he reaches out to shake my hand. “How are you, mate? Thanks for hooking us up here.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” I say. I nod at his Nighthawks shirt. “I’m glad you finally got on board.”

  “Anything for my girl,” he says, planting a kiss on her temple.

  Sara looks at me like she feels guilty that Oliver kissed her in front of me.

  I realize this may be a very long night.

  The waitress brings our drinks and I take a long swig of my beer.

  “What can I get you?” she asks the three who just joined us.

  “Just water for the two of us,” Oliver says. “No drinking until Monday.”

  “Coke for me,” Donovan says.

  “What’s Monday?” Nora asks.

  Oliver smiles proudly. “It’s the day Sara gets to come home. And Donovan has been holding on to a very expensive bottle of champagne that we’ve been saving for the occasion.”

  I knew it was happening soon, but I hadn’t realized they set a date. Maybe because I haven’t been to see Sara since yesterday morning. This should be good news. It is good news. But then why, when everyone else is celebrating, are Sara and I staring at each other with drawn faces?

  I force a smile. “Monday? That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”