Torch (Take It Off #1)(3)
Author: Cambria Hebert

The door swung slowly shut behind him and his footsteps paused when he saw I was staring at him. As if I could look away. Once again, I felt the familiar feeling of my lungs seizing from lack of oxygen. It was like he was some extreme human vacuum that had the ability to suck every ounce of air out of the room.

“You’re awake.” His voice was oxygen to my breathless body. The minute the calm yet strong words passed his lips, my body automatically inhaled. It’s almost like my body knew him—like it recognized him even though my brain screamed it would never forget a single thing about his incredible face. And his words… Did that mean he hadn’t accidentally stumbled into the wrong room on the way to visit his sick and frail grandmother?

Who was I kidding? He didn’t look like the type that would have a sick and frail anything.

He was tall, obscenely taller than I was… He probably stood over six feet (that put him an whole foot taller than me) with very wide shoulders that gave way to lean hips and legs that seemed to go on for miles, only to end with feet the size of Florida. How he found boots to contain those things I would never understand.

Along with his scuffed-up tan boots, he was wearing jeans, a worn gray T-shirt (untucked), and an army-green jacket with about a million pockets on the front. He was dressed like any ordinary guy you would see on the sidewalk or at the mall.

Except he was anything but ordinary.

He was ruggedly casual. He had the kind of look that women of any age would follow with their eyes until he was completely out of sight. It was almost as if he put not a single thought into the way he stepped out of the house.

His dark hair was short but still appeared rumpled. His very strong jaw was covered in stubble, creating a shadow over the bottom part of his face. Above the stubble was a strong nose, heavy dark brows, and eyes… light-blue eyes that seemed out of place with such dark hair and olive-toned skin.

Yet, they weren’t out of place. They were a beacon. Somewhere to focus. Somewhere for my suddenly tilted world to be grounded.

“Are you thirsty?” he said, noticing I was turned and reaching toward the pitcher. He cleared his throat and came quickly across the room, snatching up the pitcher and frowning. “It’s empty.”

I watched, still unable to say a word, as he disappeared into the bathroom where I heard the faucet begin to run. I finally dropped my arm back onto the bed, wincing a little at the pain but feeling more awake than I had since opening my eyes.

The faucet shut off and he strode back into the room, my eyes once again fastening on his face, on his fluid, strong movements. I had no idea who he was, but I certainly enjoyed looking at him. Something began to uncoil in my middle—something warm and pleasant. A feeling that eclipsed the pain and fear of waking up in a hospital room alone and unclear.

“Here,” he prompted softly, placing a straw in the small yellow cup and holding it close to me. His scent wafted close, completely taking over my senses and making me forget my throat was as dry as a desert. It was deep and clean. Very manly. Very powerful without being overwhelming. He cleared his throat, using his thick fingers to bend the straw toward my mouth as he held it still.

My lips parted and the straw found its way between my lips, but my eyes, my stare was held captive by his icy-blue irises. Icy eyes that were far from cold. My body seemed to remember how dry it felt because without me realizing, I drew some water through the straw. It was almost painful going down, and I felt it travel all the way through my throat and spread into my stomach.

I coughed a little, the lukewarm liquid a little startling to my system, and the cup disappeared and the incredibly handsome stranger moved closer, sliding his arm around my shoulder and staring down at me with concern-laced eyes.

“Does anyone know you’re awake?”

“Wh-who are you?” I said. My voice was unusually throaty and low.

The door to my room opened once more. Geez, couldn’t a girl get any privacy with some hottie stranger? It was a fun thought… until I remembered that someone tried to kill me. A stranger.

I jerked away from his touch, biting back a cry of pain.

He straightened and moved away as the doctor moved to the end of the bed, first glancing up at the monitor, which was once again beeping wildly, and then back at me with a polite expression on his face. The nurse was right behind him, coming around to silence the machine once more.

“Miss Parks, it’s good to see you awake. Are you in any pain?”

“Not too much,” I replied, noticing again at the deep tone of my voice. My hand automatically went to my throat.

“The change to your voice is only temporary. You inhaled quite a bit of smoke. You will likely have a sore throat for a while.”

“My hands,” I said, looking up at him.

“How much do you remember?” the doctor asked.

I felt the stranger’s attention sharpen as he stared at me, waiting for my answer. I glanced at him, unsure if I should be talking to my doctor about anything in front of him.

“I’ll just wait outside, in the hall,” he said, clearly noticing my discomfort.

The doctor nodded, but I had to know. “Should I know you?”

He stopped and pivoted. “No, I…” His words trailed away like he wasn’t sure how to explain the fact that he was here.

“He’s the fireman who pulled you out of the house,” the nurse said, excitement lacing her tone like this was some huge scene in one of the soap operas she likely watched.

The doctor cleared his throat and gave her a look full of reproach, and she glanced at the floor guiltily.

Images of the raging fire flashed before me. I felt the heat, the claws of death reaching for me… but then I saw the man—the one I thought had been nothing but a hallucination. He stepped through the flames. He literally walked through a wall of fire to pick me up and carry me to safety.

He was the one who threw me into the pool. While I was tied to a chair.

“You’re him,” I said, not asking because the nurse just said so. She was only too thrilled to spill the beans, so I knew it had to be true.

He nodded.

“Stay,” I heard myself saying. Wait, what?

He didn’t move back into the room. Instead, he leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. I mean, seriously, he looked like he could be in a magazine. Advertising some sexy cologne or perfume. Something by the name of Rogue.

Oh my God, the fire must have melted half my brain cells. I was daydreaming about perfume after waking up from attempted murder.