Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,45

my eye. It’s the Daily Gazette. The headline screams: ‘Arsonist Implicated in Local Fires.’ My picture is plastered all over the front page, and it’s not pretty. Who the hell took that, and when?

Maybe I didn’t imagine all that hostility and anger. If my face is on the front page, everyone out there knows who I am. Which means I’m not some forgettable nobody. I’m front-fucking page news. My hand flies to cover my belly, where a troupe of butterflies takes flight. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Fucking shit.

This isn’t good.

I’m ready to find a rock and hide under it until this all blows over.

But will it?

There’s the matter of proving my innocence, but how?

I suck in a breath and brace myself to face the people in the bar. It’s pretty clear those scowls and pinched expressions aren’t the result of an overly active imagination.

Shit!

What about Asher? If he associates with me, he’s going to take the brunt of that fury, which means I need to place as much distance between us as possible. My stomach twists at the thought of leaving him.

But what else can I do?

My head is down as I turn the corner to head back to the bar.

I run right into a man.

“Whoa there. You okay?” He grips my arms to steady me. His voice sounds familiar, but one glance at his face and I know I’ve never met him before. He’s clean-shaven with a rugged jawline. Tall with a stocky build. Sandy blond hair, cropped military short, his warm copper-colored eyes peer deep into mine. He’s handsome, in the-guy-next-door kind of way, but nothing compared to Asher.

It feels as if he’s looking for something out of me, a reaction, but I’m too out of sorts for idle chit-chat.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” I dip my head and mumble, hoping that’s sufficient enough to end this engagement.

“Ah, it was my fault but, darling, you can run into me any day.” His voice is warm and sociable, looking to draw me into conversation. I glance up, ready to make my excuses and get the hell out of here.

The way he looks at me, eyes boring, pupils dilating, makes me uncomfortable. His expression is expectant, searching, but I’m not sure what he’s hoping for. I’m not interested in getting picked up.

I’m with Asher.

The man’s hands remain on my arms. Isn’t there a rule about how long casual contact should last? If so, we’re far beyond that.

After seeing that headline, I’m skittish and afraid to lift my face to the room. I’m not sure if him holding me is the gesture of a kind individual, a horny looking-for-a-good-time kind of guy, or what comes right before a lynching.

Everyone’s eyes are on me.

I’m ready to leave. Flee is more like it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” He continues to try to pull me into a conversation.

“No. Just passing through.”

His sharp gaze never leaves me. He’s easy on the eye and I bet the man is a ladykiller, but I’m not interested.

He’s still holding my arms. His fingers wrap around my elbows and he doesn’t let go when I give a little tug. Instead, he pulls me closer.

“You look familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met?”

“I don’t think so.” I’d remember a man as handsome as him. He smells nice, almost too good. His cologne floods my senses with woodsy warmth and cinnamon spice, but I find it a little off-putting rather than sexy.

“Let me buy you a drink.” The man is persistent, I give him a gold star for effort.

“Thank you, but—”

“She’s with me, Felix.” Asher’s tone brooks no nonsense. He’s staking his claim, and that claim happens to be me. Felix releases me as if bitten by a snake.

“You sure about that?” he snaps at Asher, full of male bravado, the kind when men mark their turf. I sense true hostility between the two men; a simmering hatred.

“Pretty damn sure.” The way Asher speaks implies a whole lot of something. I’m not sure if the growl in his voice is because Felix had his hands on me or if there’s something else between these men. One thing is certain. Asher staked his claim.

I’m his.

It’s enough to make me sway on my feet. I’m used to men desiring me, but I’ve never been in a situation where they fought over me. As exciting as it sounds, in practice it’s terrifying. I’m afraid they’ll come to blows. This whole situation needs to be diffused.

But all I can