Page 1 of Let it Ignite (Playing with Fire #2)

Byron

The call comes in just after midnight. Three-story apartment complex on the east edge of Silvertown Hollow. Flames reported through the second floor. Possible occupants still inside.

I’m already halfway into my gear before Levi finishes reading the dispatch.

“This building’s old as hell,” he mutters as we roll out. “Wiring’s probably a rat’s nest.”

I grunt in response, jaw tight. I know the place. Cheap. Run-down. Mostly filled with folks trying to start over or hang on. No one deserves this.

By the time we arrive, smoke is pumping out the windows in thick gray waves. The air smells like burning plastic and drywall and something worse—something deeper, darker. Panic.

Levi’s voice crackles through my radio as I step off the rig. “Byron, take McCoy and go. Work in tandem. We need a full sweep of the second and third floors.”

I catch Zeke’s eye. He nods, already tightening the straps on his mask. We don’t waste words. He knows the drill as well as I do.

We push through the entrance, the heat hitting us like a wall. Smoke clings to my gear, thick and choking. Visibility drops to near zero, my flashlight beam swallowed up by the haze.

“Left side,” I shout over the roar of the fire, pointing to the split hallway. “I’ll take the north units. You sweep the south.”

Zeke’s eyes flash with understanding, his gloved hand slapping my shoulder before he disappears into the darkness.

The second-floor landing creaks under my boots, the wood scorched and brittle. Every step feels like a gamble, but there’s no turning back. Not while someone might still be up here.

I move quickly, kicking open doors, shouting over the crackle of burning walls. Empty rooms. Smoke-filled halls. Just when I’m about to turn back, I hear it—a muffled, desperate cough.

“Fire department!” I bellow, shining my light into the next apartment.

Nothing.

Then another cough, sharper this time.

I push into the room, stepping over fallen debris, my pulse hammering. The air is hotter here, the smoke thicker, swirling around me like a living thing.

And then I see her.

She’s huddled against the far wall, one arm shielding her face, the other clutching a stack of papers to her chest.

I cross the room in three strides, kneeling beside her.

Her outfit catches my eye—a tight, red leather mini dress, fishnets torn at the knee, and heels that make my ankles hurt just looking at them. She’s shaking, eyes wide and glassy, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

“Hey, you’re okay. I’m here to help get you out.” My voice comes out rough, harsher than I intend, but the urgency leaves no room for softness.

“Oh, thank God.” She says.

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and glassy, lips parting like she wants to speak but can’t find the air.

Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow gasps, the tight, red leather of her dress pulling against the curve of her breasts, revealing a deep, tantalizing line of milky white cleavage that makes my pulse trip over itself.

I have to drag my eyes back up to her face, my jaw clenching against the sudden, unwelcome rush of heat that flares low in my gut.

It’s probably burning hotter than this fire.

“Come on,” I say, sliding my arm around her waist, feeling the heat of her bare skin through the thin, sweat-slick leather. “We’ve got to move and get you out of here.”

She clings to me, her nails digging into the thick fabric of my jacket, her body pressing against mine as I haul her to her feet. She’s lighter than I expect, all soft curves and trembling limbs, her head falling against my shoulder as she lets out a ragged, broken sob.

I scoop her up, one arm under her legs, the other wrapped around her waist, and she instinctively curls into me, her chest pressing against mine, the frantic flutter of her pulse brushing against my throat.

I catch a whiff of something sweet and out of place—roses, cutting through the smoke and sweat, mingling with the heady, almost intoxicating heat radiating off her body.

The fire crackles around us, beams splintering, walls groaning as the structure gives way, but all I can focus on is the feel of her against me—the way her bare thighs tremble against my forearm, the way her breath hitches when I shift my grip, the soft, sweat-slick curve of her breast brushing against my chest as I adjust my hold.

Damn it. Not the time. Not the place. How fucking unprofessional, Byron Summers.

I grit my teeth, my jaw clenching as I force my attention back to the chaos around us, ignoring the way my body is reacting, the way my blood pounds in my ears, the way my pulse roars like the fire around us.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” I growl, tightening my grip on her as I kick through a pile of smoldering debris, my muscles straining as I push us through the crumbling doorway. “I’ve got you.”

She whimpers, her face turning into my neck, her breath hot against my skin, and I feel a shiver run through her body, her bare thighs squeezing against my side as I duck under a falling beam, my grip tightening instinctively.

My heart is a wild, reckless drumbeat in my chest, every nerve ending sparking with adrenaline and something darker, something hotter, something I shouldn’t be feeling right now.

But God help me, I feel it. I feel every curve, every tremble, every hitch of her breath, and it’s driving me out of my mind.

We hit the stairwell, and I catch a glimpse of Zeke’s flashlight cutting through the smoke below, his boots thundering against the cracked, splintering steps as he clears the lower floors.

“Got one!” I shout down to him, my voice rough and strained, my arms trembling under the combined weight of her body and my gear, the muscles in my forearms burning as I clutch her tighter, my pulse roaring in my ears.

By the time we burst out into the cool night air, my lungs heaving, my body drenched in sweat, my arms shaking with the effort of carrying her, I’m half-crazed with the need to put her down and take a breath.

I set her down on the edge of the ambulance, my arms still half around her as she sways, her knees threatening to give out. She’s shaking, her wide, terrified eyes darting around like a cornered animal. Her breaths come in short, frantic gasps, each one tearing at her throat.

I can feel the heat still radiating off her, her skin flushed beneath the soot and streaked mascara. Her hair clings to her damp cheeks, wild and tangled, and the faint, unexpected scent of roses clings to her like a ghost, cutting through the sharp tang of smoke and burnt plastic.

She looks up at me, and for a second, our eyes lock. Something primal stirs in my chest, a protective, possessive urge I have no right to feel. I shove it down, forcing myself to focus.

“I need to check you over,” I say, my voice rough, still tinged with the adrenaline pounding through my veins. “Make sure you’re not hurt.”

She flinches, her eyes skittering away. “I’m fine,” she whispers, but her shaking hands tell a different story.

I gently cup her jaw, turning her face back to me. “Hey, breathe,” I murmur, my thumb brushing over her soot-streaked cheek, the soft, flushed skin warm beneath my calloused fingers. “You’re safe now.”

Her eyes snap back to mine, a flicker of something other than fear sparking in their depths, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. She’s beautiful. Even now, drenched in sweat, eyes wild and panicked, she’s got that kind of raw, untamed beauty that makes a man forget he should keep his distance.

I drop my hand, my pulse still racing. “I’m a medic. Let me check you over. Sometimes people don’t realize they’re hurt until it’s too late. The adrenaline blocks the pain. It’ll just take a minute.”

She hesitates, her throat working as she swallows back another sob. Finally, she gives a shaky nod, her breath catching as I reach for her wrist, my fingers sliding over her delicate pulse point. Her skin is soft, her pulse a frantic staccato beneath my touch.

I run my hands down her arms, checking for burns or cuts, my fingers skimming over her soft, trembling flesh.

Her breath hitches as I press gently against her ribs, my hand splaying against her side, feeling the frantic rise and fall of her chest. My eyes can’t help but drop to the deep, heaving line of her cleavage, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each desperate breath, the thin leather of her dress doing little to hide the curves pressing against my hand.

Damn it. Not now.

I grit my teeth, dragging my eyes back up to her flushed, tear-streaked face, my jaw clenching as I force my hands to move lower, skimming over her hips, my fingers brushing against the smooth, exposed skin of her bare thigh.

I feel the shiver that races through her body, the way her breath catches, the way her pulse flutters wildly beneath my touch, and I have to fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to pull her closer, to press my mouth to the soft, trembling line of her throat, to feel her body arch against mine.

“Nothing broken,” I manage to grit out, my voice rough, my throat tight. “You’re going to be okay.”

She lets out a shaky, broken breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a second before she looks back up at me, her lips parting, her chest still heaving, her breath coming in quick, desperate gasps.

“Do you have someone I can call for you?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend. “Family? Friends?”

Her eyes shimmer with fresh tears, her lips parting as if the words themselves might break her. “No,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t have anyone.”

Her gaze drifts to the burning building behind them, the flames swallowing what little she had left, the twisted metal and shattered glass a cruel reflection of her shattered life. She draws a trembling breath, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the loss.

“And there goes my whole life.”

That hits me harder than it should. I clench my jaw, the possessive, protective urge flaring hot and insistent. She’s alone. Alone in a city that’s just tried to swallow her whole. Alone with nothing but the clothes on her back and the fear in her eyes.

And a crazy idea hits me.

“Alright,” I say, my grip on her wrist tightening. “Then come home with me. Just for tonight.”

She flinches, her eyes widening, a flicker of fear sparking behind the tears. “What? No, I—I can’t just go with a stranger. I don’t even know you.”

I feel a dark, unwanted satisfaction at the defiance in her voice. That tiny spark of fight, even now, even after everything.

“You’re coming with me.”

She shakes her head, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “No, I can’t… I shouldn’t…” Her gaze darts around, searching for an escape, but my grip is anchoring her to the spot.

“Look at me,” I growl, tilting her chin up so her wide, fearful eyes lock with mine. “I just dragged you out of a burning building. I’m not about to let you wander off alone in the middle of the night in shock and covered in ash.”

She swallows hard, her pulse a frantic flutter beneath my fingers, her eyes flicking over my face like she’s trying to decide if I’m the lesser of two evils.

“I don’t even know your name,” she whispers, her breath warm against my jaw as she stares up at me, wide-eyed and trembling.

“Byron Summers,” I grit out, my thumb still brushing against the inside of her wrist, feeling the rapid, panicked beat of her pulse. “There. You know my name and you know I work for the Silvertown Fire Department. I think that’s sufficient information.”

Her lips part and her chest heaves with short, shallow breaths. For a second, I see the fear flicker into something else—something raw and uncertain, a spark of trust she can’t quite hide.

Then, slowly, she nods, her lashes fluttering as she looks away, her chin dipping to her chest in silent surrender.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice so soft I almost miss it over the wail of distant sirens. “Cassie. Cassandra Royal. I’m an actress.”

I take a breath, my grip on her wrist tightening just a fraction, the possessive, protective instinct surging again. “Nice to meet you, Cassie.”

I don’t let go of her wrist, even as I reach for my radio to let Levi know I’m out of commission for the night.