Billionaire on Fire (Firefighter Billionaire Stand-Alone Romance)

 
 
 
 

Table of Contents
 

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 stammered, 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.