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7
The alert was enough to wake Ian instantly. But as soon as he realized it was the one he’d set to receive on his phone from the security system he’d installed at Sofia’s house, he froze. Shit. It was just after two in the morning and pitch-dark. What had happened? Was she in danger? The alarm just said there was a problem—it could mean a break-in, a fire, a carbon monoxide leak…the possibilities went on and on. It could also be a false alarm.
His first priority was clear: he needed to make sure she was all right. He pulled up her contact info and called her, but after ringing a few times, it went to voicemail.
He swung out of bed and pulled on the sweats he kept handy, pushing his feet into his shoes as he ran from his room. He was halfway to the front door before he remembered Gavin was living with him. Ian slowed and, his movements stealthy, pushed his son’s door open. Light from the small lamp high on a shelf, the lamp that Gavin liked to keep switched on all night, cast a soft beam across his bed and showed him sleeping.
“Gav?” Ian whispered, not wanting to alarm him. “Son? You awake there?”
The grunt Gavin gave in his sleep was very like the ones he gave in reply to questions when he was awake. He stirred, and Ian opened his mouth to explain, briefly, that he had to shoot off, but Gavin turned over and with a softer grunt, pulled the sheet up around his shoulders.
Fine. Ian wouldn’t wake him. Hopefully, he’d be back before Gavin even knew he’d been gone. He grabbed his car keys and gun and raced to his car.
Damn!Fear for Sofia riding him, he flooded the engine trying to start the SUV, and forced himself to take a deep breath. What had happened to the trained, experienced SEAL, solid as a rock in the face of danger?
“He hadn’t met Sofia,” Ian answered himself through gritted teeth. He tried again and started the engine successfully this time, flooring it as soon as he was out of the driveway, thankful the roads were clear enough to make speed limits feel like suggestions, rather than law. He kept an eye out for cops, but even an entire precinct on his tail, blue lights flashing and sirens wailing, wouldn’t have made him stop.
“Pick up the damn phone, Sofia!” he snapped when his calls kept going to voicemail. He really needed to know she was okay. Every minute he went without hearing her voice made the tension coil tighter in him. By the time he reached her street, he was white-knuckling the steering wheel.
He saw the smoke curling from her house as he pulled up to the curb and it had him leaping out, his heart thudding in his chest. As soon as his feet hit the sidewalk, he heard the scream of a fire truck a block or two away. Thank God. But Ian wasn’t leaving this up to anyone else. “Sofia!” he yelled, expecting—hoping—she’d call from wherever she was sheltering. At a neighbor’s, maybe?
But none of the neighboring houses had their doors open. Lights were only now starting to turn on in the nearest houses. Ian raced around Sofia’s house, still hoping to see her in the small, neat garden at the side. If not, he’d try another tactic. His mind turned over, selecting steps to take, keeping panic at bay.
The smoke was thicker here, and more acrid, making his eyes water and his nostrils sting. He finally spotted movement and ran toward it, his heart bumping in his throat. It thudded harder when his shoe crunched on glass.
“Sofia!”
Her bedroom window smashed open, her torso slumped forward into the night air. Her hands gripped the wood of the frame either side of her head, which was bowed, so her long, dark hair swung. It looked wet.
“Sofia!” Ian shouted again, right in her face this time, and she raised her head, her face pale.
“Can’t…breathe…” she whispered, holding up a hand to tell him to wait while she sucked in oxygen. Within seconds she’d gulped in enough. She ducked at the sound of crackling from beyond her bedroom door, and the crash of something falling in. “Couldn’t get out that way…”
Ian thanked each and every god listening that she hadn’t opened her bedroom door, hadn’t caused the flames to rush into her bedroom. But while the fire hadn’t reached her, smoke filled the room. “So you broke the window?”
“Had to. Couldn’t open it—it was painted shut. I was trying to climb out when I felt dizzy.” Sofia shoved at the thick lock of hair falling over her face, made heavier by water, and hooked it behind her ear.
Ian noticed a towel draped over the jagged glass at the bottom. That was his Sofia, practical, intelligent…wait. His Sofia?
There was no time to examine that thought. “Here…” Ian helped her place the towel more securely over the spikes of broken glass. The towel was wet, and he imagined her soaking it, wrapping it around her head and face while she weighed up her choices. He reached in and she took his hands. She got one foot onto the windowsill, then the other, and stood in a crouch.
“Hands on my shoulders,” Ian ordered, leaning in, and she complied. “Now jump, lifting your legs up in front of you as high as you can.”
She didn’t hesitate, but did as he commanded, propelling her slight body upward to slam into Ian’s chest, knees first. He didn’t falter an inch as he caught her around her waist. Sofia wrapped her legs around him, crossing them behind his back at the same time as she slid her arms around his neck.
She clung tightly to him, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Ian demanded. “Sofia, are—”
She cut off his words by kissing him. He’d barely registered that she’d pulled up her head to stare at him, her dark eyes burning into him, before her lips were on his. Adrenaline, Ian told himself. He could feel her racing heart where it beat against this chest. Relief at the rescue. He could feel that in the tremors rippling up and down her body.
He knew all the reasons why she might be kissing him and all the reasons he shouldn’t kiss her back, but still he couldn’t stop himself from returning the kiss. When she parted her sweet lips, he swept his tongue in, to meet hers. He didn’t know how long they stood there, but the siren blaring from the road had him reluctantly drawing back and sliding Sofia to the ground.
He kept hold of her as she stood panting. The same lock of hair fell over her face, and when she tucked it behind her ear again, her hand came away with a smear of black on it. Soot. If soot coated her hair, it very possibly lined the inside of her throat, too.
What about the baby?
“Let’s get to the front. To the ambulance,” Ian said, throwing an arm around her.
