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“I can imagine.”
“What about you?” She slipped her legs into a cross-legged position, thankful for Riley’s jeans so she could stretch out. Her body still ached from the jarring accident.
“What about me?”
“Anyone special in your life?”Please say no.Seriously, what was up with her? Why was she praying his answer was no? She’d just met the man. Usually it took her time to build interest in someone, but there was something contagious about Christian O’Brady. Crazy as that was.
He shifted sideways to face her. “Nope. No one,” he finally said.
“For how long?” The question slipped out before it’d even registered in her brain. She wanted to know, but she wouldn’t have asked such a personal question if her brain had remained logical rather than her emotions driving her questions and fueling her feelings.
“It’s been a long time since anyone grabbed my attention ... until now.”
She blinked. Had he just said...?
“I ...” His gaze flashed to the door.
“You ...” she pushed, dying to hear what he was about to say.
“Hang on.” He stilled.
Hang on? Following his gaze to the door, she spotted smoke floating in underneath it.
The sooty smell of something burning carried in with the thickening smoke. She looked at Christian, her eyes wide.
“Fire,” they said in unison.
TWENTY
CHRISTIAN STRODEto the closed office door and dabbed his hand against it with a quick swipe. He yanked it back as fast as he’d touched it and shook his fingers out. “Hot.”
She scoured the room for another way out. Not finding any, panic bubbled up her throat.
“We need to get out of here.”
Her chest squeezed the breath from her lungs.
“Here,” he said, handing her his cell. “Call Harold. His number is in the contacts under his first name,” he said, while searching through cabinets.
“Hello,” Harold answered.
“This is Andi Forester. There’s a fire at Tad Gaiman’s Taos gallery. Christian O’Brady and I are inside.”
“I’m on my way. Will get paramedics and the fire team en route.”
“Thank you.” She looked up to see Christian holding a fire extinguisher.Oh, thank you, Lord.
“This might buy us enough space to make it to the back, emergency door.”
“Might?”
Christian gave a curt nod.
She swallowed, smoke burning her throat.
“Drape your wet shirt over you like this.” He laid his over his head.
She did so.
