Listening to her talk about how the old man in the nursing home cemented her desire to help others, I’m in awe of her genuine goodness. Her desire not only to teach students, but to help them reach their fullest potential is nothing short of moving. “Reading can change a person,” she continues her explanation. “And I’m not just saying in the very basic sense of making you a more educated person. But it makes you more aware of the beauty in the world. The creativity in your own heart. Reading is an escape from the world, but not all people see it that way. So if I can help my students find that escape, help them discover how words can change them forever . . .” She pauses, taking stock of my reaction. Satisfied with whatever she sees there, she continues, “I guess I just figured that was a pretty noble pursuit to dedicate my life to. It’s not running into burning buildings or anything like that–”

“Damned if you’d ever catch me in front of a room full of teenagers.” Laughing, I add, “That’s a damn brave thing if you ask me.”

Something passes between us. It’s unnamable, but it’s calm and peaceful. It’s understanding and respect rolled into one. It’s attraction and emotion all tangled together.

“All right,” Grace cuts through the threatening silence. “Time to get you to bed.”

“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep out–”

Holding her hand up as if it will literally stop my words, she says, “Nope. I won’t hear any of it. Get your ass into bed. I’m setting my alarm for two hours.” She pulls her phone out from her purse and waves it in my face as if I need anything more than her seriousness to believe her threats. “So you better get going.” Still as a statue, she stands there, pointing down the hall. I’d have to laugh at her if she didn’t look so beautiful.

“Yes, ma’am,” I mock. “You know, you could sleep in there with me. It’d save you the . . .” I pause, pretending to count off the number of steps to my room. Her hard eye roll stops me from saying the rest of my sentence, but it makes both of us laugh.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she assures. “Yet.” She winks, her lusty promise twisting in my gut. Despite what she’s just said, she doesn’t break character, still holding firm that I need to follow her instructions and get my ass in bed.

But when I bend down to kiss her cheek, whispering a sweet, “thank you” in her ear, her face softens, a smile pulling at her red lips.

In that moment, I know the last thing I’ll be able to do is sleep knowing Grace is here. With her on the couch, instead of next to me, somehow my bed suddenly feels too big, too cold, and too empty.

It’s only thoughts of eventually feeling her next to me that make sleep come somewhat quickly.

“Where the hell am I?” Calling out, I inhale a mouthful of soot and smoke. In between the coughing and choking, I manage to yell, “Help,” but there’s no one there to hear me.

Blinded by the blanket of darkness surrounding me, I reach out to grab for . . . for something. Anything to let me know where I am, to help guide me out of wherever the hell I am.

“Help!” I scream again, only to end up inhaling another mouthful of smoke. Fear takes over. My heart pounds in my chest and tears fill my eyes. Feeling along the wall at my side, I crawl toward what I hope is a door, or some kind of escape. Moving forward, the heat becomes unbearable. And when I turn back around, I’m met with raging flames. “Please! Someone help me!” Screaming until my throat is raw, I collapse against the wall at my back.

The flames move closer.

The wall behind me grows hotter.

The smoke billows around me.

The fear consumes me.

Paralysis sets in as the fire inches toward me. Like a creature of the night, it creeps to me, nearer and nearer until it’s just an inch away.

My feet slip on the ground as I try to push myself backward away from the red hot flames. Everything slows down. My head gets fuzzy, surely from the smoke. Wide-eyed, I watch as the fire licks against my legs.

“Up you go,” a distorted voice commands from next to me. A strong, glove-covered hand rests on my shoulder before cupping under my arm to help me up. The black room spins and whether it’s out of relief that I’m not alone or from inhaling so much smoke, my legs wobble. “No fainting on me.” Through the hiss of his oxygen mask, I catch a touch of humor in his words. In a flash, one hand is wrapped around my back while the other scoops behind my knees.

“I’ve got you, now. Nothing to worry about.” His voice is so calm and soothing. So familiar yet so far away. Exhausted, I rest my cheek on his chest, expecting to feel the rough surface of his turnout gear. But instead, a soft, cotton T-shirt brushes against my cheek.

“Hey, Gracie.” His voice is closer now as the fiery, smoke-filled room fades away. “Hey,” he whispers, his fingers gently combing through my hair. “You okay?” When I open my eyes, all I see is my fist, clenched and twisted in fear, wrapped around a T-shirt. The fingers that were in my hair seconds ago now graze along my cheek and jaw. The odd combination of soft, tender touches given by work-roughened, calloused fingers sends shivers along my skin.

“What?” I croak, my voice thick with sleep.

His hand wraps around mine, pulling it from the knotted mess of his shirt. Raising our joined hands to his lips, David presses a sweet kiss there. “You were having a nightmare. Screaming your head off,” he explains, stroking his thumb over my knuckles. “I tried waking you up, but you weren’t having any part of that.” His chest vibrates under my cheek with a soft chuckle.

Straightening up, it takes me a second to even remember where I am. David’s apartment. His couch.

His arms.

Resting against the back of the couch, the blanket, which had been draped over my legs, falls to the floor, leaving my legs completely bare. “Shit,” I curse, trying to recover the blanket.

David has the same idea. Beating me to the fabric, he lifts it back over my legs. “I took them off after waking you up that last time,” I blurt out, defending the fact that my jeans are on the floor.

“It’s okay, Grace.” He smiles, a lazy grin that makes me even more aware of the fact that I’m only half dressed. “They look good there.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can’t resist the urge to smile at him. “So I take it you’re feeling better this morning.”

Stretching his leg out, he says, “A lot, actually. I mean having to leap out of bed into a dead sprint because I heard you screaming probably wasn’t the best idea.” Arching a brow, he grins again.

Covering my face is the only way to avoid the embarrassment of my cheeks heating even more. “Sorry about that,” I mutter from behind my fingers.

Strong fingers peel my own back from my face. “I wouldn’t have had to run if you were in there with me,” he points out.

He’s peeking at me through my fingers like a little kid playing hide and seek. All innocent and sweet looking, yet his words are suggestively sinful. The contrast of sweet and sexy makes it impossible not to smile at him. “Yeah, you’re just fine,” I note, rolling my eyes at him.

“A little tired and sore, but yeah, I think I’m good. I could eat, though. Want some breakfast?” Before I can remind him he has no food, he’s up from the couch and making his way into the kitchen.

With his back to me, I stand from the couch and step into my jeans. Sliding a barstool up to his counter, I watch as he glides through the small space. His arms stretch the short sleeves of his T-shirt as he scoops out the coffee and fills the pot with water. When he opens the fridge and squats in front of it, scanning it for something to make, the curve of his ass fills out his mesh shorts perfectly.