Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Ellie Masters

  “Only you would go in to a fire and come out with a woman on your back.” The pilot flashes a wide smile. The flight helmet covers most of his face, but I can tell he’s arrestingly handsome as well. It makes me wonder what they have in the water around these parts. Are all the men insanely gorgeous?

  “Watch it, Grayson,” Asher says, a low warning tone in his voice, but it’s not real. I sense these men are friends.

  The pilot shifts his attention to me. “Name’s Grayson Malone and I’ll be your ride from here on out, although my helicopter may not be as exciting as getting strapped to Ace’s back here.”

  “I’m warning you.” Asher finally releases me and quickly turns around to lift me to my good foot.

  Malone’s team is on me, touching me, pulling me away from Asher. He seems unwilling to let me go, but Malone’s team takes over.

  They bombard me with questions, shine lights in my eyes, and do a quick pat down of my body. One of them puts something on my index finger. It glows red.

  All I want is to push them away and return to Asher, but I understand they have a job to do.

  When one of them lifts my arm to sling around his shoulder, Asher gives a sharp shake of his head. The world tilts again, but this time, I’m cradled in his arms.

  “Just a little further, my little backpack, and don’t mind Grayson. He thinks he’s a hotshot because he flies a helicopter. Just ignore him.” Asher makes a point of bumping Grayson’s shoulder as he walks past.

  “Damn it, Ace, possessive much?” Grayson flashes Asher a megawatt smile and gives me a wink.

  “Hands off.” That sounds like a warning. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

  “I see.” Grayson gives me a long hard look. “Seems like you’re doing a damn good job of it too.”

  Asher deposits me on the waiting gurney while Grayson’s team tell me to lay back. One of them straps me in while another wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm. He glances at a display and his lips twist. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like what he sees.

  They ask questions about my injuries and I tell them what I can in between breaths. I mention the man who hit me with the rock, how I was unconscious for some time before waking up to the flames. One of them purses his lips and asks for an oxygen mask. While he puts it over my face, I watch Asher with his friend and can’t help but hope they’re talking about me.

  Next I know, I’m being loaded inside the helicopter. Asher and Grayson thump each other on the back. That’s when I realize Asher is going to leave without saying goodbye and for some reason that hurts more than it should.

  I try to wipe away a tear, but it’s hard with the way I’m strapped down. It seems I was nothing other than a backpack to him, a burden to be delivered and discarded.

  I hate being helpless, and I hate that Prescott is right. It’s not safe out here for a woman. I think that, more than anything else, is what makes the tears fall.

  Something rough presses against my cheek.

  “Don’t cry, Ev-e-lyn.”

  I open my eyes and blink to clear the tears. Asher looks down on me, concern and something else, scrawled on his face.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Somehow, with his promise, I believe I just might be.

  “Thank you…for…rescuing me.” It’s challenging to speak, but I huff out the words.

  He gives a cheeky grin. “Definitely, the best part of my day. Grayson is going to take real good care of you, and I’ll come check in on you later, right now…”

  “You have a job to do.” I lift my hand and wrap my fingers around his powerful bicep. “I hope you find the asshole who started it.”

  “We will.” Asher’s brows pinch together and he wipes another tear from my cheek.

  Those are the last words I hear before he jumps out of the helicopter and moves a safe distance away. The whine of the rotors spin up and the helicopter cants forward as it slowly rises out of the clearing. Asher stands below us and waves as the helicopter spins around and heads down into the valley.

  When we bank into a turn, I gasp as the full enormity of the fire becomes apparent.

  A living thing, it spills down the hills, pushed by the wind, eagerly consuming the dry brush. It’s headed straight to the valley floor where the twinkling lights of hundreds of homes stave off the darkness.

  Hundreds of homes which are now at risk.

  8

  Evelyn

  There’s a soft knock on the door of my hospital room.

  “Yes?” My words are soft, cautious, maybe a little hopeful. The doctors and nurses don’t knock.

  Nobody in this town knows me, except for one person; a man I can’t stop thinking about.

  Thoughts of Asher La Rouge invade my dreams, fill nearly every waking thought, and storm around my body stirring up sensations I have no right to feel.

  I don’t know the man, yet I ache desperately for him.

  It’s unsettling, because I shouldn’t be aching for anyone. Granted, it’s been well over a year, yet I still feel like I should be mourning Justin’s death.

  Ah, but Asher?

  He makes me want to stop running and soak in the feelings I thought I’d have again.

  That knock is probably Prescott. He has the resources to discover what’s going on, and he wouldn’t think twice about flying across the continent to be with me where he can smother me and assume the role my father left vacant, or the role he would have assumed if life didn’t have other plans.

  My stomach twists as grief rips apart wounds which never seem to heal.

  “Ev-e-lyn?”

  The low, throaty way my name is enunciated sends shivers down my spine. The fine hairs of my arms lift.

  “May I come in?” That voice belongs to a man I never thought I’d see again, but hoped I would.

  “Asher?”

  My boring hospital room seems to shrink as he steps inside. There’s simply too much of him to take in.

  Damn, the man cleans up fine. If I had any doubts about his looks, they disappear the moment Asher La Rouge, decked out in a pair of denim jeans hugging him in all the right places, enters into my lonely hospital room.

  His poor tee-shirt is losing the struggle to contain his muscles. Scrawled across the front is a graphic of a grape leaf and a cask of wine which displays La Rouge Vineyards in flowing script. My mouth dries up when he spreads his arms wide, like he’s happy to see me.

  “How’s my little backpack doing?”

  “Getting better every day.” I speak the truth. “I passed out in the helicopter. They said I had smoke inhalation. I guess it did a number on my lungs.”

  “Smoke can do that.” He gives a solemn nod. “I’m glad you’re doing better. You had a rough go the first couple of days.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you were in intensive care.” He lowers his voice. “I tried to visit, but they wouldn’t let me see you.”

  “You visited me?”

  “Tried too. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Wow, that’s really sweet.” But did he try to visit me because he wanted to see me, or was he simply checking up on his little rescue? I hate to think I’m a charity case.

  “You were kind of in and out of it, and a combative little freak. You gave your nurses a run for their money.”

  He leans against the wall and his gaze sweeps me from head to toe. Something simmers in his eyes, but I’m not sure I want to assign any importance to it. I don’t think I’m brave enough to hope it means what I want it to mean.

  There’s heat burning in that gaze, a hunger ravenous to be fed. I’ve never had a man look at me like that before. It makes me wriggle a little in the bed.

  Asher is a man who challenges me. That excites me more than it scares me. The challenge lies in those eyes and the message they’re sending. It’s in the casual way he occupies my room as if he belongs there, as if I want him there.

  Which I do.

  Except, I’m not supposed to be interested in
getting close to anyone, or at least that’s the lie I hang on to. My grief runs too deep. It’s still raw, ugly, and a tragic mess, but hell if my animal brain doesn’t ignore all of that.

  The rational side of my brain tries to feed caution to the animalistic part and it’s not liking it one bit. In fact, it’s spitting all that caution back out at me, telling me to ignore all the reasons for turning Asher away, and simply accept the inevitable.

  The inevitable?

  What exactly do I think is going to happen here?

  I scoot up in bed and straighten the sheets after doing a quick check of my hospital gown. His lusty gaze sees right through the mess of my clothes, or lack thereof. I’m ashamed of my makeup-less face, but it’s like he doesn’t care. His simmering look promises to fulfill all the fantasies I’ve let run wild while trying not to go crazy in this hospital bed.

  I take stock of my attire. Everything’s covered by a hospital gown. The fabric is thin and my body is primed and reacting to his presence. My nipples practically poke through the see-through fabric.

  “My memory is a bit foggy.” I hate admitting it, but it’s the truth. He mentioned intensive care but I have no memory of that. “How bad was I?”

  “What do you remember?” He sounds concerned.

  “Not much actually. You rescued me, strapped me to your back like a backpack, carried me out. There was a helicopter, then nothing. I woke up with a mask covering my face.”

  “It’s called bi-pap.”

  “Bi-what?”

  “It’s a form of assisted breathing. Fortunately, you didn’t require intubation and a ventilator. I was concerned when I found you. You couldn’t finish sentences and were out of breath. Not to mention you were unconscious in your little hidey-hole. How much do you remember from that night?”

  More than I should, like how insanely hot my rescuer was.

  How my body responded to his touch like a feral house cat in heat and desperate for attention.

  How I wanted to climb his towering frame and rub myself up against him.

  Then there were his eyes and the way they stole my breath.

  Most importantly, and most damaging, was how I didn’t feel guilty about any of it.

  “I guess the smoke did a number on my lungs,” I say. “I didn’t realize I was in that much trouble.”

  “Smoke and other gases in a fire can be very dangerous, but I’m told you’ll make a full recovery.”

  I give a nervous laugh. “Thank goodness for adrenaline, right? It’s amazing what it does for a body.”

  I’m not really sure why I say this, except I’m dumbstruck by the man standing before me and I’ll spit anything out to keep from staring at him with my mouth open, drool spilling out, and looking like a damn fool.

  “And of course, I have you to thank for my rescue.”

  “Well, it’s a part of my job.” His deep tenor vibrates the air and does strange things to my body.

  I still can’t believe he’s here. Asher leans against the wall of my hospital room, arms casually crossed over the expanse of his chest, biceps bulging, and that charismatic smirk lifting the corners of his lips.

  He came to check on me.

  This makes me ridiculously happy.

  I feel like giving a little shout, or pump my fist in victory.

  When that helicopter took off, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, but here he is, all six-foot-sexy of his imposing self. I bet he makes girls stupid and their panties drop with one well-placed smile. He definitely has that effect on me.

  I’m a little uncomfortable in the thin hospital gown and very aware I’m naked underneath it. My clothes are shoved in a plastic bag and sit in the bottom of the tiny cupboard the staff gave me to store my things. As for the rest of my worldly possessions? They went up in smoke.

  I literally am down to only the burnt clothes on my back, or rather, shoved into a plastic bag.

  “Does it hurt?” His attention focuses on the bandages covering my forearms, reminding me of the burns. I didn’t make it out of the fire completely unscathed.

  “Nothing major.” Bandages cover my arms where the flames licked a little too close. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Second degree burns, but they should heal without scaring.” I point to my ankle. “Even my ankle is getting better.”

  I parrot back what my doctors told me. The wound care nurse who came around knows what she’s doing and I trust her knowledge. She said the same thing as the doctors. My injuries aren’t extensive enough to land me in a burn unit, which I’m thankful for. Things could be much worse.

  “That’s good to hear.” His attention shifts from my arms back to my face, but not before sweeping across the expanse of my chest. I give a little look down, then hunch my shoulders inward. My nipples stand loud and proud, practically announcing the dirty thoughts swirling in my head.

  “I’m hoping they’ll release me soon.” I focus on the mundane. Not that it matters. He knows.

  I see it in his eyes.

  “What then?” He glances out the window and squints like he doesn’t care about my answer, but the tension thrumming in his body says otherwise. He’s hanging on my every word.

  I give a little shrug. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re off the bi-pap, but still on the cannula. You sure they’ll be releasing you soon?” His brows pinch with concern.

  My hand lifts to the plastic tubing which wraps around my head and sits along my upper lip. Two tiny prongs fit inside my nostrils. I forgot it was there until he brought it up.

  Now, I feel incredibly self-conscious, and it’s not because my nipples are peaked and aroused.

  “I must look like such a mess.”

  It’s been days since I’ve showered and I’m not winning any beauty pageants in a threadbare hospital gown and bare face. We’re not even going to mention the rat’s nest of my hair.

  “A beautiful mess, little backpack.” He gives a shake of his head and kicks off the wall. Two steps bring him close and he sits on the side of the bed near my knees. “Women worry too much about how they look.”

  “Appearances matter.” I run my fingers through my hair, pulling the tangles free.

  “Looks don’t mean much to me.”

  “If your next words are to tell me I have a great personality, I’m going to punch you.”

  “Is that so?” His eyes twinkle, twin flashes of green which melt my heart. “Do you have a great personality?”

  He’s teasing and it relaxes me.

  I forget to be self-conscious about how I look.

  “You’re insufferable,” I say, but damn if I don’t love the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing worth looking at. I feel beautiful in his eyes, and that’s saying something considering I haven’t had a shower in nearly a week.

  “I aim to please, but let me set the record straight. Even in the most hideous patient gown, you are one of the most stunningly beautiful, heart-stoppingly gorgeous women I’ve ever had the pleasure of carrying on my back out of a forest fire. As for your personality? Jury’s still out on that.”

  I laugh. “That’s so much worse.”

  “How is that worse?”

  “How many women have you carried out of a fire before?”

  “You’re my first.”

  “So…I’m also the least beautiful woman you’ve carried out of a forest fire.”

  “You can twist that any way you want, but you’re far from ugly. If I said you were fine on the eye you’d probably be ripping me a new asshole for being focused only on your looks. If I tell you you’re sweet, or have a nice personality, you’ll say I called you ugly. It’s a no win situation for me.”

  “For the record, I’m not one of those.”

  “One of those, what?”

  “Militant feminists.”

  “Your words.” He held up his hands. “Not mine.”

  “Well, how about this? Thank you for the compliment. I appreciate it very much, even as I sit here in the world’s mo
st unappealing hospital gown and haven’t showered or washed my hair in days. I don’t mind compliments and, for what it’s worth, my brand of feminism is a bit old-fashioned.”

  “So, you admit you’re a feminist?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad word, but I am. I believe men should be gentlemen and women should be ladies. If you’ve got height and muscles, I expect you to lift the heavy things and get stuff off the tall shelves for me. I like when a man opens a door, holds out a chair, and scoots me close to the table. I even like the tiny, possessive hand to the small of my back, or the way a confident man will guide me through a room. I’m an old-fashioned feminist because I like men with manners who respect women and aren’t afraid to treat them like women.”

  “Good to know.”

  I give a sharp shake of my head, not really sure where that little speech came from.

  Why the hell did I tell him all of that?

  Because you want him to do all those things for you.

  “And Asher…”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for helping me. I really appreciate everything you did for me, and the risks you take to keep us regular people safe. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “Ah, you’re so sweet. Look at that personality shine.”

  “Ass! I’m trying to compliment you and say thanks.”

  He gives a little chuckle, then fixes me with an intense stare. “Honestly, it was my pleasure. I’m happy I was able to help.”

  “What happened with the fire? Is it out? Still burning?”

  “It burned for a few days, but we were able to get it under control. They’re investigating now.”

  “Investigating?”

  “Standard procedure. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried, but no one’s talked to me about the man who hit me upside the head. I took pictures of him, although my phone is probably an unsalvageable wreck. I lost everything in that fire.”

  He glances away and picks at the sheet over my knee. “I’m really glad you’re doing better, Evelyn. Do you prefer Evelyn or Evie?”

  “Either one. Evie is what I was called as a kid.”