Spark
SPARK
Copyright © 2013
Brooke Cumberland
SPARK
Cover Picture ©
K Keeton Designs
Cover designer
©
Steph's Cover Design
Literary Editor
Rogena Mitchell-Jones
All rights reserved. No parts of the book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author
, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to another person except when loaned out per Amazon’s lending program. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then it was pirated illegally. Please purchase a copy of your own and respect the hard work of this author.
To the 19 Firefighters that lost their lives in
the Arizona wildfire 6/30/13.
They were all true heroes and deserve all the credit in the world for sacrificing their lives to protect ours.
And to ALL firefighters and police officers who risk their lives saving ours. Thank you.
There are SO many people that have helped me get to this point. The first two books in the Riverside Trilogy were my first babies, and I can’t believe the response they’ve received. Thank you for staying true to me, for interacting with me on Facebook and Twitter
—
for messaging me how much you enjoy my books and for taking the time to review my books. I do this for my readers
—
100%. I love giving you my stories.
Bloggers are a Godsend & if I could, I’d hug you all through my screen. Thank you all for taking a chance on an unknown author and believing in me.
I must acknowledge my AMAZING
street team
!! The 20 of us have a blast and they have truly become like family to me. BFF’s. Book loving lovers. You guys are the frigging best. I wouldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for reading my raw material—making me laugh as you send messages while you read
—
and for giving me input. I hope to someday meet and drink wine together as we discuss our book boyfriends.
Sparkaholics for life.
Steph’s Cover Design
will always be the place I go to for my book covers! She never lets down and is an amazing artist. Thank you
K Keeton Designs
for taking a beautiful photo.
Rogena
, my editor, is a wonderful and smart woman! They have all helped make the final touches of all my books! Thank you ladies!
To the author & bloggers community
—
thank you for letting me in with open arms. It’s a fun and amazing ride, and I love each and every second. I will never take my readers for granted and will always do my best to communicate, message back, do giveaways, and respond to all your questions. I love that you love my books & interact with me!
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!
Thank you to everyone who read an ARC of Spark and gave me wonderful feedback & reviews. Thank you for wanting to read my work, and for taking the time to write fabulous reviews. I heart each of you.
I must acknowledge
God
above all. My
husband
& wonderful
family
for supporting my dreams at sharing my work. My wonderful
beta
readers. The
Goodreads
community. The
Facebook
community. You all rock my socks! Thank you for posting about my books & sharing my page! I will never be able to show my gratitude for all that you do.
All my love,
I jolt from my sleep, smelling a smoldering aroma throughout my apartment. I feel distraught, heavy, and even dizzy.
Where the hell am I?
A loud, ear-piercing sound comes from the hallway, which I can only assume is a smoke detector.
Oh crap, now what did Carissa burn?
Carissa Wright, my r
oommate 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.
My eyes get heavier, and I start to slip away.
I begin to gasp for air, as my breathing is no longer controlled. I heave as I try to inhale, but only smoke enters.
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 it up 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 rock bicep. He’s in a t-shirt, and I notice because my neck is resting on his bare arm. It’s rock hard and chiseled solid.
“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 place this oxygen mask over you.” I nod, and he places it over my face. I inhale in as deep 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 fine and curved that I highly doubt it. I let him carry me out 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 for a split second and 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 the
y were getting their little butts kicked.
“She’s outside already, don’t worry, Velaney. I have you.”
His voice is so calm and soothing, yet I’m 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 to feel lace
. Oh god.
Tuesday is laundry night, usually. I skipped a few weeks 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 got as a gift from my ex-boyfriend. I stashed it in the bottom of my drawer after we broke up, but tonight of all nights is when I wear it.
Face palm.
I wonder if he notices.
Of course, he does.
The damn thing barely brushes my butt cheeks, and my smooth legs are wrapped up in his arms.
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. At five foot six inches, I
weigh a mere one hundred thirty pounds, but most of it is toned muscle from my religious workouts.
“Laney!” I hear Carissa’s voice scream as we walk outside. The cold air hits me hard on the face as the streets of
Boston 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 god damned 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 all ready 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 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 the uniform.”
“That one over there?
” She nods her head toward a tall, well-built man who resembles a firefighter. I see 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 wasn’t in uniform, but he was 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 and deep Boston accent.
“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 going back in since the fire is out.
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 anxiety that is in full-blown mode.
“Sleep wit
h me.” Carissa crawls in the twin bed with me, knowing that I need her. She’s the strong-willed one, the one that 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 Nike’s 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 still blue, and the other half filled with oranges and reds. The more I run, the more I’m free. The faster I run, the more 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
. Nine months pregnant and 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 looked painted on, it was so tight against him. The V-neck was a perfect touch, giving a small view of hair and tattoos on his chest. His jeans are ripped,
of-freaking-course
, and his shoes—no boots,
cowboy boots
are sticking out the bottom. He stands so tall and manly—I squint to make sure he is for real. He turns his head and his eyes meet mine. I quickly flinch away hoping he didn’t just catch me gawking at him.
“Oh
, shit. He’s coming this way, Lane.” She starts combing through my 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 rubs the pad of his thumb 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. He releases, and 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 him laughing. “I’m glad my embarrassment is amusing.” Carissa elbows my arm 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 gro
up walking out. “Well, if ya 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 love stories. 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.