This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BILLIONAIRE ON FIRE
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Copyright ©2015 by Lora Knightly
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Billionaire on Fire
Note to Readers
Billionaire on Fire
Sweat trailed down Erica’s back and made her shirt stick to her skin. She had been running for a good thirty minutes now, her limbs aching and her chest on fire, and she debated whether or not to do another lap in the park.
It was a beautiful New York morning in June. There was a cool breeze sending wafts of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers into her young face as she ran. The air was just heating up as the sun hit the top of the trees, but the park was mostly empty. She passed the occasional tourist or old woman dressed for church, but otherwise it was like she had Central Park to herself.
Plus it felt good to run. All those months of being cooped up in freshman classes for the year made her eager to get out and use her body. Not that she had been lazy previously. She spent half her time freshman year at the university gym, working tirelessly to lose the weight she had carried all through high school, and now her lean figure was showing the benefit of every kick, curl, and crunch she had suffered through. Her arms were toned, her hips and butt nicely rounded, and her stomach and abs free of fat. Running today, she felt confident in her body like never before. She didn’t even feel embarrassed in her revealing running shorts. Hell, her tank top was practically see-through at this point, it was so thin that she might as well have been wearing only her sports bra, but still she felt good.
It didn’t hurt seeing men and women checking her out as she ran, either, even if she was always surprised that people still liked her even when she was hot and sweaty. She didn’t even bother with her hair this morning, since it would only get mussed with her sweat as she ran. She undid her ponytail to let the air reach her hot scalp, then tied it up again and decided to do another lap.
As she ran, the park grew more crowded. Someone behind her rang the bell of a bike, making her jump. She gave the rider a dirty look as she got over to the side of the path. Losing her focus though threw off her breathing, and she was getting a cramp in her upper stomach because of it. Having to weave between oblivious park-goers was getting on her nerves. She considered turning back, but she still had plenty of open patches in the path to herself and didn’t lose too much speed. She gritted her teeth, her running shoes thumping along the pavement, and continued on.
She was just getting back into the zone when a little kid, around five-years-old and dressed like a sailor, ran into the center of the path from out of nowhere. The child was no more than five feet in front of Erica and stopped in the middle of the path, staring right at her.
“Argh!” Erica yelled, unable to slow down in time and barely swerving around the child. She stumbled, still running, and turned to see the kid’s mother run out and pick him up, kissing him on the face like he had won an award. Erica shook her head, and turned back forward at the same moment she felt her foot knock against what felt like a curb in the middle of the pathway.
She couldn’t dodge this one. Her toe stubbed against it, and she fell forward hard, her ankle twisting. She threw out her hands to break her fall and hit the ground with her elbows. A sharp pain shot up her leg, and her head rang with an instant headache.
“Ow,” she mumbled to herself, trying to push up with her hands and feeling the dirt and sand of the pathway digging into the scrapes on her elbows. She rolled over into a sitting position and felt another stab of pain in her ankle. Reflexively, she brought a leg up to her body to try to feel where it had been twisted. “Ow,” she said again at the touch, and then carefully set her foot on the ground, letting out a sigh as she did.
She saw what made her trip: a tree root had cracked and raised part of the pathway, looking like an arm under a blanket. If she had been paying attention, Erica could have easily stepped over it. But that little kid had distracted her. She looked back in anger, but the child was gone.
“Little bastard,” she cursed, and then tried to stand up—only to realize that she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Any pressure on her ankle sent a bolt of pain through her entire body, and she realized she might be here for a while.
Her elbows stung, and she needed some water. It was bad enough being hurt, but she was seriously dehydrated after her run. She looked up at the sun through the trees, and the air felt hotter already. She felt so vulnerable here. What if there was a mugger? She was defenseless. And it’s not like she could hail a cab in the middle of the park.
She tried to get up again. First she shuffled herself to the side of the path, and then she used a tree to climb off the ground. She lifted her injured leg and tried to hop forward on her good leg—and ended up losing her balance and falling over again. She didn’t fall hard this time, but it yanked her bad ankle out of place, and Erica yelped with pain.
“Hey!” cried a voice from behind her. It was a man’s voice, and Erica heard footsteps running up toward her.
She turned to see a mountain of a man coming her way, dressed in full fireman regalia: black boots, heavy pants with reflector stripes, even a red fire helmet. Erica’s eyes widened. This guy was huge. He had to be at least six-foot-five, but, as Erica noticed, this man was very well proportioned. His muscular chest bulged under his tight navy blue t-shirt and suspenders, and his massive thighs were noticeable within his pants.
Erica blinked, looking up to the man’s face and trying to hide the fact that she was gawking.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, looking down at Erica with concern in his eyes.
He had nice eyes. Erica wasn’t out of it enough not to notice that. “Uh, yeah. I twisted my ankle.”
“Ouch,” the guy said commiseratingly. “Is it bad?”
Erica was embarrassed. Who was this guy? But Erica wasn’t one to turn down a hot guy showing interest in her, even if that interest was only that of a Good Samaritan.
“Can you walk?”
“Not really.”
The fireman looked at Erica for a moment, then bit his lip. He seemed to be considering something, weighing the options. They were strangers. It was almost a taboo to talk to strangers in New York. Even when they were bleeding and helpless, and you were dressed like a fire fighter. But the guy dropped his shoulders, giving in to his desire to help.
“Look,” he said, “I’m off duty. I was only in the park for a charity event, but my place is right around the corner. If it’s not too weird, we could get you some bandages. You could clean your wounds. I wouldn’t normally offer this to a stranger, especially in this city, but you’re obviously hurt. I can’t leave you here.”
Erica looked at him with about as much distrust as possible. Honestly, after a year in the city, Erica wouldn’t trust cash from a stranger. There were always strings. And who was this guy? He could be some sort of lunatic.
“I—” she stam
mered, not wanting to be rude, “I’ll be okay.” She tried to get up again, and this time her ankle really twisted, and she screamed out. To avoid falling, she had to reach out and regain her balance on the stranger. She felt the man’s warm bulging pectorals under his shirt, and Erica instantly regretted saying no to this guy.
“Look,” the guy said, gently helping Erica back to the ground, “you’re hurt. I can help. I’m not a psycho; I’m a fire fighter. Helping people is what I do.”
Erica looked up at him sideways. “How do I know you’re not some creep dressed up in a suit?”
“I can prove it,” he said. “Here.” He reached into his pocket—Erica couldn’t help but let her eyes graze over the stranger’s trim waist, his belt, the way his pants hung on his flat stomach—and the man pulled out his wallet. He slid out an ID card and held it out to Erica.
Erica took it, recognizing that this man must trust her somewhat in return to hand over his ID to a stranger. She looked at it. There was the man’s photo—an incredibly hot NYFD ID photo, when this guy had somewhat buzzed hair, and a deep tan. The muscles of his neck were apparent even in this stamp-sized photo.
“See,” the man said, “Name and address. I live right around the corner.”
Erica glanced at the other info, regrettably pulling her eyes away from the photo. “Duke?” she asked, reading the man’s name. “I didn’t know people were still named ‘Duke.’”
Duke took back his ID. “We’re a dying breed.”
“Well, right now,” Erica said, “I think I’m the one who’s dying.” She held out her hand for Duke to help her up.
Instead of helping Erica to her feet, a wide grin spread across Duke’s face. He ignored Erica’s hand and bent down to scoop her up like a child.
“Hey!” Erica cried, feeling the ground disappear beneath her. There was something frightening about being carried in general, but being carried by a stranger was especially alarming, even if he was a fireman. She was about to start screaming and fighting, already picturing a real rescue worker finding her murdered corpse the next day.
“Relax,” Duke said with a chuckle. He held Erica tight against him, and she felt the man’s warmth. “I’m a trained professional. I won’t drop you.”
And Erica believed that. This man’s arms were huge. He wasn’t about to drop Erica unless he wanted to. Her heart was beating like crazy, but for whatever reason she didn’t yell for help. She—trusted him? She knew it was crazy, but her intuition told her that he was being honest. That he was a good guy.
Suddenly they were moving. Duke was strong enough not only to carry Erica in his arms, but also to run at a trot at the same time. Erica guessed that the only reason he wasn’t running at full pace was to avoid the same kind of accident that Erica had encountered.
Gradually, as they rushed through the trees of the park, Erica’s fear turned into embarrassment as they started to pass people by. She must look like a helpless frilly damsel. She could only hope that no one she knew would see her like this. But at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling grateful to have run into this man. There was no way she would be able to make it through the park like this on her own. If Duke hadn’t come along, she would be sitting there for hours.
They came to the edge of the park in what felt like no time. The noise of the street became louder, and Erica felt it was easier to look up as she was being carried, and found herself easily distracted by the strong muscles of Duke’s neck, his intense expression under the shadow of the helmet, and the faint stubble on the underside of his chin. Erica had gotten some sun the past few weeks from running, but she was still fairly pale compared to Duke’s deep tan. And his arms—even his forearms were thick and outlined with muscle, and his biceps were about as big as Erica’s thigh. She noticed as they ran that Duke had a few swirling tattoos on his upper arms that disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt, and Erica had to stop herself from reaching out and lifting the fabric to see where those lines went to.
Duke’s boots pounded against the sidewalk, making Erica bounce. Her elbows were still stinging, but without having to walk, at least her ankle wasn’t bothering her. She sort of liked being held anyway, even if it was by a stranger. She figured, this is probably a part of the guy’s job training: rescuing people, and all that. This is probably everyday for him.
They walked about a block beyond the park and turned north rather than crossing another street. The smell of exhaust was in the air, and the warmth made the city feel sweaty. Erica was glad when Duke stopped outside a redbrick townhouse.
“Hold tight around my neck while I get out my keys,” Duke said, his rumbling chest reverberating into Erica.
Erica did as she was told. She wrapped her arms around the man’s thick neck, and felt one arm disappear from under her. She held on as Duke took out his keys and unlocked the door. As soon as the door was open a crack, Duke’s arm was back around Erica, and he opened the door the rest of the way with his toe. They stepped inside and Duke shut the door behind them.
Erica noticed the quiet at once. They had been around the noise of the city since they had met—the sound of birds and tourists in the park, cars and businessmen on the street. Now they were alone, and Erica worried again if she had made a mistake in judgment. Was she being stupid? No one even knew she was here.
But they were already going up a narrow set of stairs to the second floor. The first floor had been little more than an entryway, and as they rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, they came out onto a large long room with hardwood floors. Part of the space was taken up by a white, immaculate kitchen. Clean white light filtered in across the marble countertops, and silver pots and pans hung from above an island. The other half of the floor was a living room that looked like a page from a Pottery Barn catalog, with a rustic couch draped with a blanket, a coffee table made from reclaimed wood, and an open fireplace in the corner of the room.
All of Erica’s fear was shut off for one quick moment by this guy’s set-up. New York wasn’t cheap, and this kind of space—especially so close to the park—was impressive. Plus it looked so homey and inviting. How could a fireman afford this? This place had to be millions. And she didn’t hear any neighbors or roommates.
Duke set Erica down on the dark leather couch, lowering her carefully and letting her body ease into the cushions.
“I’ll be right back,” Duke said. He set his helmet on the coffee table, revealing his short-cropped brown hair, and gave a small reassuring smile before running up a flight of stairs that went to a third level. And then, unless her ears were deceiving her, a fourth.
A fourth level? Erica observed with some admiration. Who had that? Erica herself shared a dorm with a roommate, the space so small they could barely squeeze in bunk beds. She hadn’t met anyone with living quarters much nicer since she arrived in the city. But then, she had only really hung out with other broke college students.
Before she could look around, Duke’s feet were thudding on the stairs as he came back down. He had a small plastic box full of bandages and first aid supplies. He knelt before Erica.
“Let me take a look at you,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Erica held out her arm, showing where she had been scraped. “Just there, and then my ankle.”
“What about your knees?” Duke asked, eyeing them. “They look muddy. Did you hit them?”
“Yeah, I guess, but mostly when I was trying to get up. They don’t hurt.”
Duke frowned, and then got up and went over to his kitchen. He pulled a few things out of his cabinets, and then ran some water. In a moment he was bent before Erica again, and cleaning her elbows with a warm, wet cloth.
“This is really nice of you,” Erica said.
Duke didn’t look up from his work. He opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and dabbed a little into a cotton swab. “Just doing my duty,” he said.
Erica was silent after that. She couldn’t figure this guy out. Was this what rich firemen did? Save peopl
e on the side of the street, take them back to their fantastic homes, clean them up and then send them on their way? Or was Erica special? Did she get invited here when others wouldn’t be?
Her elbow stung suddenly and she sucked in air between her teeth.
“Sorry,” Duke said. He waved his hand over Erica’s elbow to dry the wound, and then he ripped open a bandage and aligned it carefully over Erica’s elbow before pressing it down. As he rubbed in the adhesive sides of the bandage, his strong thumb pressed against Erica’s arm, and she could feel herself starting to wake up between her legs. She began to wish she wasn’t wearing such a skimpy top, as soon enough her nipples were getting hard at the stimulation.
She managed to control herself as Duke cleaned and bandaged her other elbow.
“I’m going to have to take a look at that ankle.”
And then Erica’s loss of control was back. “Okay,” she said quietly.
“Just lie back. I don’t want you putting any pressure on it.”
Erica leaned back against a throw pillow and watched Duke’s muscular arms as the man leaned over her foot. “I’m going to take these off,” he said, referring to Erica’s shoes. Erica nodded, and Duke dexterously untied her laces, slid off the shoe of her injured foot, and pulled off her sock. Duke held Erica’s bare foot in his hands, pressing slightly and turning it gently.
After a minute of this, Duke nodded and set down the foot. “Well, it doesn’t look broken. I think it’s just sprained. It might be swollen for a day or so, and you should probably stay off of it.”
Erica let out a groan. “Great.”
Duke looked at her with pity. “You’ve got a track meet or something you have to miss?”
“Nah,” Erica said. “I’m not on any teams.”
“You could have fooled me,” Duke said. “You’re in great shape.”
Erica’s face went red. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “But I think between us, you’re the one in shape.”
Billionaire on Fire (Firefighter Billionaire Stand-Alone Romance) Page 1
