Alphas & Millionaires Starter Set (23 page)

READ THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF DRAKE & MOLLY’S STORY:

GRAB
KITCHEN SCANDALS
ON AMAZON NOW

From
USA Today
Bestselling Author
comes an emotional beginning to a firefighter romance series…

When your past controls your future, how do you move forward?

Velaney Wills knows about that all too well.

Weak, powerless, and fearing the one person who has hurt her the most…can she overcome the barriers to move forward?

Being saved by a muscled Godsend was never on her agenda, but when firefighter, Eric Reilley comes into her life unexpectedly, everything changes.

Velaney has never felt loved or cared for, and her past prevents her from letting anyone in. Eric manages to break down her walls – despite the repercussions that come for them afterwards.

They have an undeniable spark – something she has never felt before, but will it be enough? Can love overcome all obstacles? Can they save each other to protect their love or will her past shatter everything she never knew she needed…?

**Spark is for mature audiences only—strong language, explicit sexual content, and sexual abuse are apparent.**

you know when you feel it…

undeniable chemistry…

the need to be around the other person

—to ignite.

I jolt from my sleep, smelling a smoldering aroma throughout my room. I feel disoriented, heavy and even dizzy.
What the hell is going on?
A ear-piercing sound is coming from the hallway; I can only assume is a smoke detector.
Oh crap, what did Carissa burn this time?

Carissa Wright, my roommate and best friend. I love the woman, but she can’t cook to save her life. I ignore the horrific noise and fall back asleep. She could burn water if it were possible.

I begin to gasp for air as my cough is out of control. My lungs heave as I try to inhale but only smoke enters.

My eyes get heavier and I start to slip away.

My head is lifted, but it feels so heavy I can’t even move it. My body is airborne and I feel as if I’m floating.
I’m not.
Someone lifts me up, takes me from the comforts of my warm bed and carries me out of my room.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” A muffled voice that I hear in one ear asks me. I nod lazily. At least I think I nod. My arms and legs feel so heavy I can’t even believe this person can lift me. “What’s your name?” he asks again, carrying me through the living room. I inhale the smoke, coughing uncontrollably as it hits my lungs.

“Velaney,” I whisper, hoping it’s loud enough for him to hear. My hair falls loosely behind my head, and my brown locks wrap around a hard bicep. He’s in a t-shirt—I notice because my neck is resting on his bare arm. It’s rock hard and chiseled.

“Velaney, I’m Eric,” I hear him say, as his tongue wraps around my name so sweetly that if I weren’t already lying in his arms, I’d pass out from the very sound of it. His southern accent is ridiculously charming. “I’m going to put this oxygen mask over you.” I nod, and he places it over my face. I inhale in as deeply as I can.

The smoke thickens and I squeeze my eyes shut, holding on to him as tight as I can. My grip is so strong I wonder if I’m hurting him, but his muscles are so hard and defined that I highly doubt it. I let him carry me out of my apartment door, and as we reach the hallway, I notice the smell getting stronger. Small flakes—ashes—are falling on my bare skin and in my hair. The smell is revolting, heavy and almost makes me choke. I wonder how he can stand the smell and if he’s done this before.

I lower the mask just long enough to ask, “Do you know where my roommate is?” I barely get the words out as I cough my way through them. My lungs do not approve of this. I’ve never smoked a day in my life, and now they’re getting their little butts kicked.

“She’s outside already. Don’t worry, Velaney. I have you.” His voice is so calm and soothing, but that’s not enough to stop me panicking at the fact that my apartment complex is on fire. I’m suddenly aware that I’m not in my typical nightwear as I brush my fingers along my stomach and feel lace
. Oh, God.
Tuesday is laundry night, usually, but I had skipped a few weeks while working extra shifts at the bar. I was out of my usual yoga stretch pants, and all that was left was a lacy nighty I had received as a gift from my ex-boyfriend. I had stashed it in the bottom of my drawer after we broke up, so of course tonight of all nights is when I wear it.

Go figure.

I wonder if he notices.
Of course he does.
The damn thing barely brushes my butt cheeks and his arms are wrapped around my smooth legs.

He continues carrying me down five floors of stairs. He doesn’t appear out of breath, or even act as if I’m too heavy.

“Laney!” I hear Carissa scream as we walk outside. The cold air hits me hard as the streets of our Boston neighborhood are crowding with loud sirens and huge fire trucks. The streetlights are still on and I notice the full moon directly above us.

Eric places me on my feet. I whip the mask off and run barefoot to where Carissa and the rest of my neighbors are standing.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her neck. She’s in tears. I do a once-over, making sure she’s all right. I notice she’s in booty shorts and a tank top. I wrap my arms around my body, trying to cover the fact that eighty percent of my skin is bare.

“Ms. Oakley left a candle burning in her kitchen next to a goddamned towel!” she yells over the mass chaos. “The fucking thing goes up in flames! By the time I went to find help, a man—
a hot man
, I may add—was already on our floor looking to help, so I ran down the stairs as fast as I could.” She looks down at her feet and I realize neither of us are wearing shoes.

A man comes up behind the both of us and wraps each of us in a heated cloth blanket.

“Thank you,” I mumble, not even glancing in his direction. I’m so distraught and upset that I can’t even remember the man’s name that saved me.

“Is he a firefighter?” I ask as I turn in closer to her.

“Who?” She looks up.

“The guy you said rescued me. He wasn’t wearing a uniform.”

“That one over there?” She nods her head toward a tall, well-built man with an oxygen tank and mask in his hand. “He’s wearing a Boston Fire Department shirt.”

“I don’t remember his name. He told me, though.”

“Go ask him,” she says, smiling.

“Oh, right. I’ll just walk my half-naked butt right on over there and say ‘Hey, thanks for saving me. What’s your name again?’ Because that won’t sound pathetic or anything,” I say sarcastically, getting an eye roll from Carissa.

“Well, you should at least thank him, Lane. I mean, seriously. Look at that fucking body!” Carissa tilts her head at him, enjoying the view. She has absolutely no regard for language—or class, for that matter. We are complete polar opposites, and if our moms didn’t meet giving birth in the hospital, we’d probably never be friends.

“I will. Just not right now.” I want to, but the moment just doesn’t seem right. He isn’t in uniform, but he’s speaking to someone on his radio.

“Ladies,” an older gentleman approaches us. “We have secured a nearby shelter for you all. They have food, clothes, blankets, and anything else you’ll need.” He’s sweet. He reminds me of my grandfather, with his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Thank you!” We follow him to the shuttle and wait until everyone is seated. Our floor was the only one affected, so most of the residents are hoping to go back in since the fire is out now.

We arrive at the shelter by sunrise. The air warms up slightly and I’m no longer shivering. The goose bumps up and down my arms and legs are still present, but that’s mostly due to my full-blown anxiety.

“Sleep with me.” Carissa crawls into the twin bed with me, knowing that I need her. She’s the strong-willed one, the one who always speaks up and has the loudest mouth in Boston.

As I fall asleep, I think about running.

I run.

I mean, I run a lot. I miss my Nikes right now. Lacy nighty or not, I’d run right now if I could. The Boston air at five in the morning is possibly the best air in the world. It’s right when night meets day, and their paths cross for a moment where the moon and sun are both in the sky. Half the sky is still blue and the other half filled with oranges and reds. The more I run, the freer I am. The faster I run, the further my past is behind me. Way, way behind.

* * *

“Lane, wake up.” She shakes me until my eyes peek open. She’s called me Lane, or Laney, since she could talk. In fact, that’s the only reason she does call me that. When we were only two years old, that’s how she said Velaney, and over the years, it just stuck. Everyone else calls me Velaney though, or Vel, because Lane is just for her.

My parents couldn’t agree on my name. Mom was nine months pregnant and they were
still
arguing about it. My father wanted Delaney so I would grow up to be a tomboy, and my mother wanted Veronica after her grandmother. After the nurses asked them my name, they compromised and formed Velaney.

“What’s wrong?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. Smoke and ash still cover my body and eyes. The smell is definitely still apparent. I need a shower.

“That guy is here.” She’s smiling, which only means she’s talking about a hot guy.

“Who?” I look around, trying to figure out who she’s talking about.

“From the fire. The one who rescued you.” She says
rescued
as if it’s a treasured word and twirls it around her tongue.

“Crap, where?” I panic, unprepared to let him see me again. At least I changed and no longer look like a street corner hooker.

She nods her head to what looks like a kitchen area. He’s talking with a few other people. I get a better view of him now. A damned good view. Forget him being muscular. He wasn’t
just
muscular; he was chiseled so damn hard he could crack squirrel nuts between his biceps.

My eyes wandered up to his abs, triceps, and pecks. His shirt was so tight against him that it looked painted on. The V-neck is the perfect touch, giving a small view of hair and tattoos on his chest. His jeans are ripped—
of-freaking-course—
and his shoes, no,
cowboy boots
are sticking out the bottom. He stands so tall and manly, I squint to make sure he’s for real. He turns his head and his eyes meet mine. I quickly jerk my eyes away, hoping he didn’t just catch me gawking at him.

“Oh, shit. He’s coming this way, Lane.” She starts combing through the tangled knots in my hair. I toss her a look and she winks at me as if I’m supposed to know what to do with that.

“Velaney, right?” He approaches. Carissa is smiling like an idiot as she brings her hand out to shake his.

“Yes. And I’m Carissa. Her roommate.” She smiles wide again. He tosses her a smile back and looks back at me.

“I just wanted to come and make sure y’all were doing all right.” His perfectly-shaped white teeth do me in. I have a small fetish for teeth…okay, perhaps a big fetish. That’s what happens when your dad owns his own dental practice. I grew up staring at teeth. My dad showed me pictures of smokers, tobacco chewers, non-flossers, gum disease, the whole works.

“Hi,” I manage to say. “Sorry, I forgot your name.” I’m extremely embarrassed. My cheeks heat as I watch him closely.

“Eric Reilley. I’m on the BFD. It’s nice to officially meet y’all.” He shakes my hand and the pad of his thumb rubs over mine before he releases. He has large hands. Large, manly, firefighter hands. His thumb is callused, which strangely sends a tingle down my spine. I finally exhale the air I’ve been holding in since I saw him walking toward me.

“Thank you, Mr. Reilley, for what you did. Honestly, you saved me. I appreciate it.” I give him my best adult voice.

“Oh, please. Call me Eric. My father is Mr. Reilley.” He nods his chin over to where he was earlier. The older man he’s referring to is the salt-and-pepper haired man that helped me the night before. Hmmm…father and son firefighters. You don’t see that every day. “And the pleasure is all mine, Velaney. I’m just glad I found you in time. You would’ve burnt right up in that lace.” He grins, obviously remembering what I was wearing.

“Oh, crap.” I dig my head in my hands. “That is the last time I’m ever wearing that damned thing.” I look back up to his laughing eyes. “I’m glad my humiliation is amusing.” Carissa elbows me, signaling that I need to lighten up. I give her my best evil eye and throw my legs over the side of the bed we shared.

“You two are safe to go home now. The hallway has smoke damage, but your apartment is safe. However, I’d leave the windows open to get the smell out.” He nods back at his dad as I see the group walking out. “If you ladies are ready, I can take you back.” Carissa is leaping with joy; I’m dreading it.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” but with no way to get home, I don’t argue when he says he insists.

“We’re neighbors,” he blurts out as he escorts us to his car. I shoot him a look and he continues, “I live in the apartment below you.” Everything finally starts making sense as to how he got to my apartment so fast and why he wasn’t in uniform.

“You keep an oxygen tank in your apartment?” I ask.

“Yeah. You never know.” He winks, and opens his door for me.

Carissa scoots in next to me and lightly pinches my arm. I look at her and she is unnecessarily giddy. She is all into the whole cliché of true love. Girl meets boy. Boy saves girl. Girl and boy live happily ever after. Too bad that wasn’t my story, was never going to be my story and could never be my story.