Zain appears through it.
For one stunned second, all I can do is stare.
He is in turnout gear, with a heavy coat, helmet, gloves, an air tank strapped to his back, and a breathing mask sealed over his face. There is no crew behind him and no hose cutting through the smoke.
Only Zain.
His eyes find me on the floor.
The look in them steals what little breath I have left.
“Kaia.”
My name comes through the mask rough and muffled.
He crosses the room and drops beside me.
I snatch my phone from the floor.
“Tessa,” I gasp.
“I’m here.”
“Chief Carson is here.”
Zain’s gloved hand closes around my shoulder while his eyes move over me with frantic precision, checking my face, my arms, the way I am breathing.
A distant siren cuts through the night.
Zain slides one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.
Then he lifts me.
The movement pulls a startled breath from me. One second I am on the floor, shaking and coughing, and the next I am pressed against the hard bulk of his chest. His turnout coat is rough beneath my cheek, his arms impossibly solid around me, and even through all those layers of protective gear I feel the strength in the way he holds me.
Close.
So close that some foolish, traitorous part of me recognizes this before the rest of me can.
I have imagined Zain touching me.
I have imagined his hands on my waist, his mouth on mine, what it might feel like to be pulled against the broad body I have sketched far too many times.
I never imagined smoke burning my lungs while he carried me out of a fire.
My fingers twist into the front of his coat anyway, needing something solid. Needing him.
His hold tightens instantly, drawing me closer against his chest as if even an inch between us is too much.
My throat closes for an entirely different reason.
“You came for me.”
Chapter 2
Zain
Kaiafitsintomyarms too damn well.
