Billionaire on Fire (Firefighter Billionaire Stand-Alone Romance) by Lora Knightly Page A

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