smaller she became. Like she shrunk with each step he took. She’d looked taller on the ground.
But Christ, she was perfectly proportioned. Full curves where they were supposed to be. Enough swell to her tits to fill out the cups of her bra, enough swell to her hips and ass for a man to hold on to.
A perfectly proportioned pocket Venus.
His gaze zeroed in on her small but perky tits.
And there he went, ogling her every bit as much as those motherfucking asshats surrounding her. Guess that shoved him squarely in the asshole camp too. The sooner he got Tram’s shirt over her head, the less of a distraction she’d be and the sooner he could get on with his business.
He stopped in front of her and thrust out the t-shirt. “Put this on.”
Since he couldn’t trust his eyes around those finger-tingling tits of hers, he dropped his gaze to the ground. That’s when he noticed her sneakers. Although they didn’t look like any kind of sneaker he’d ever seen. They were gray and liberally sprinkled with multi-colored, gem-like crystals. He was so fascinated by their rainbow sparkles, he barely felt her take the t-shirt from his hand.
By the time he wrenched his gaze away, she’d already donned Tram’s shirt.
Jesus Christ, did I just gawk at the damn woman’s shoes?
Disorientated by his aberrant behavior, he started to turn away, but before he could make a break for it, he got a good look at her in Tram’s shirt and his brain stroked out. That was the only explanation, he was having a stroke. Otherwise why did the sight of her in Tram’s shirt—Tram, who was all but married and crazy about his Emma—hurl clouds of possessive rage up his ass.
Possessive jealousy, for Christ's sake, over a woman he didn’t know and had absolutely no claim to. He was motherfucking crazy—that’s what he was. Maybe a lungful of the smoke he was headed into would readjust his head.
A sudden sharp crack distracted him. He spun back around. The sound had come from behind the crowd. But it hadn’t sounded like a gunshot. More like a door slamming shut.
A murmur swept the crowd, quickly rising to an agitated buzz. Something was exciting the looky-loos. He frowned and stretched up, trying to get a better look. While he was taller than most of the people in front of him, all he could make out was the red and yellow helmet of a firefighter.
Voices swelled.
“Is that…is that blood?” He heard someone from the front ask.
“My God. She’s covered in blood.” A different voice, male this time.
Blood? Her?
Were they talking about Sarah?
He shoved his way to the front of the crowd, only to freeze in horror at the sight of the blood-soaked female stumbling his way. The firefighter had his arm locked around her waist, as though she might collapse without the support. From the looks of her, she just might.
Christ—she looked like a victim from a Hollywood slasher flick.
Beneath the blood-spattered hair, face, and clothing, he recognized the heart shaped face, green eyes, and red hair of Sarah Gillespie. The good news? Her legs were moving, which meant she was alive. The bad news? Hell, that blood had to have come from somewhere.
Jesus, what the hell had happened in there.
“Trammel. Over here,” he hollered as he fast forwarded it across the pavement.
“Sarah?” His voice rose in a question as he skidded to a stop in front of her. Although what the hell he was asking, he wasn’t sure.
“Are you all right?” Dev asked. Obviously not.
Shit—she was even gorier up close, her red hair more blood than pigment.
“She yours?” The firefighter didn’t wait for confirmation. “Found her on the stairs. I gave her some oxygen, but she’ll need more. Are the paramedics still here?”
“Yeah,” Devlin managed.
“If the EMTs here are too busy, take her around front. There’s another ambulance there. I need to get back inside. We still have floors to clear.” He unwound Sarah’s arm from around his shoulder and passed her to Dev, who anchored an arm around her waist to steady her. “She says she’s fine. But she needs to be checked out.”
No shit…
“Ah, hell.” Trammel materialized beside them, his voice tight. His face even tighter. “Let’s get you some help.”
They took up positions on either side of her. Anchoring her to their sides, they lifted her, carrying her forward. The murmuring of the crowd fell silent as people shifted, opening a corridor and allowing them passage.