It wasn’t until he turned that he heard a scream, a terrified wail of terror that sent chills down his spine. Turning back, realizing there actually was someone inside the building, he pushed his considerable bulk against the door.
Mara flung the burning blanket from her with a loud shriek of horror.
I’m alive, but the comforter is on fire. Everything is on fire. I need to get out.
Brushing frantic hands over her clothing from her position on the hardwood floor outside her bedroom, she quickly verified that none of the items on her body—her pajamas and underwear—were in flames. Stumbling to her feet, she tried to get her bearings in the thick, blinding, gray smoke. Coughing harshly, she felt for the bannister of the staircase just as she discovered she couldn’t put weight on her right leg. Mara crumpled to the floor again, whimpering at the pain in her ankle as she scooted toward her right and down the hallway, her hand out, searching frantically for the stairs.
The steps should be . . . right . . . here!
Her fingers connected and felt the edge of the first step just before she was bodily lifted into the arms of a very tall, very strong, and very male figure she couldn’t recognize through the darkened haze of fog caused by the fire.
“Generally when one’s house is on fire, one feels compelled to leave it,” a low, arrogant voice commented, as though he were addressing a person of questionable intelligence.
Mara trembled with shock as she let herself be carried down the steep flight of stairs to the main floor. The mystery man wasted no time getting her outside and didn’t lower her to the ground until he reached the tiny patch of grass in front of Shamrock’s Pub across the street.
“I was trying to get out,” she finally responded, her voice raspy from inhaling the smoke. She breathed rapidly, sucking the clean air in and out of her lungs frantically. Looking up at her rescuer from her position on her ass, she still didn’t recognize him. It was dark, and all she could make out was black hair and mammoth proportions. Squinting through her dirty glasses as she panted for breath, she could see he was actually wearing . . . a suit and tie. What the hell?
He knelt next to her and took her by the shoulders. “Obviously you weren’t trying very quickly or successfully,” he commented nonchalantly. “A fire usually requires a little faster response.”
Mara gaped as he came down beside her. She could see him now; the dim glow from the fire and the lights left on inside of Shamrock’s at night illuminated his face as he positioned himself beside her. His raven-dark hair was damp and slicked back from his face, and his startling blue eyes were roving meticulously over her body clinically, as though he was trying to assess whether or not she was injured.
“W-who are you?” She’d never seen him before, and if she had, she would have definitely remembered him.
“Evan Sinclair,” he snapped. “Are you hurt?”
“Evan? Jared’s brother?” As he scowled at her and shook her lightly, she answered his question. “My ankle. I couldn’t walk. I was trying to find the stairs so I could crawl down.”
She flinched as her home starting crackling, and a deafening crash sounded as the roof fell completely into the first story of the house. Fire trucks pulled up just as the upper level fell, and firemen, police officers, and an ambulance screeched up to the house, swarming the residence immediately.
Evan’s sharp eyes glanced at her feet, and he moved to palpate her ankles. “The right one is swollen. I’ll let the medics check you out. I’m not particularly versed in emergency medicine,” he said, as though it annoyed him that there was anything he didn’t know.
“Mara!” an agonized male voice rang out from the front of her house.
“Jared,” she said roughly, her throat still raw from inhaling smoke.
“Ah, yes,” Evan acknowledged as he stood. “I’d recognize the bellow of my younger brother anywhere. You two are acquainted, I take it.”
“Friends,” she answered shakily. “He’s worried.”
“Surprisingly, I think you’re absolutely correct. He does sound somewhat desperate,” Evan replied calmly as he strolled across the street to direct one of the medics to her. As he moved toward the house, his large figure disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Mara shook her head at Evan’s retreating figure until he vanished. Sweet Jesus . . . and she had thought Jared was cold and arrogant. Evan Sinclair made Jared look like a warmhearted angel. She mused that Evan was also probably one of the few men who could make the other Sinclair brothers look simply . . . large. The eldest Sinclair was built like a Mack truck covered in an expensive suit, and he hadn’t appeared to have one ounce of fat on his body. He was just . . . mammoth, his expansive shoulders appearing as broad as Atlas, the primordial Titan who could carry the celestial spheres.
Evan Sinclair had just broken into her residence, carried her out of a burning house where both of them could easily have perished when the roof gave way if he’d entered just a few moments later. All without batting an eye. Mara hadn’t seen one single emotion reflected on Evan’s face, his haughty demeanor staying fixed in place.
Mara’s entire body was shivering with horror as one of the EMTs ran over to check her out. She answered his questions shakily, watching with despair as her childhood home went up in flames. Tears streamed down her face as she watched every meager belonging she had destroyed. Firefighters were working furiously to put out the flames, and concerned residents slowly started to crowd the street, most of them with businesses close by.