Page 88 of Stolen By the Billionaire
The blond man with the rifle had swung it around and was staring down the long telescopic sight directly at her. The redhead and the other blond man clutched their handguns with extended arms, scowling at where she lay.
Aaron Savoie skidded around the corner, waving his pistol as he sought a target.
Blaze yelled again as he curled around her more tightly, “Stand down, you idiots! She just dropped a bowl.”
All four of the others snapped their weapons skyward so that the barrels pointed at the ceiling, and the clicks of safeties snapped through the air.
Aaron Savoie grumbled, “I thought someone had broken in through one of these damned glass windows of yours.”
Sarah peered with one eye out of a small gap between Blaze’s side and his arm holding her head.
“Is everyone at ready arms?” Blaze barked.
The three guys stared around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact, and mumbled in the affirmative.
“Okay, then.” Blaze began to uncurl his body from where he had bundled Sarah’s arms and legs into a ball.
She didn’t know how he’d smushed her into such a compact package. It was almost like he had a lot of experience positioning someone’s arms and legs to be exactly how he—
Ding.
One beat of movement, and the mercenaries took aim at Sarah again.
Blaze again scooped her whole body underneath him before she knew what had happened while yelling, “I said goddamn stand down! It’s the oven timer, you assholes!”
The oven chimed again.
More muttered apologies and clacks of guns being returned to safety once again.
This time, Blaze sprang to his feet, his back to Sarah with her crumpled at his feet, and glared at the other guys. “Get yourselves together! You are not in the goddamn field. She made you breakfast!”
After more apologies, Blaze offered his hand to help Sarah to her feet, and she held onto him because her legs were wobbly.
That was like all the active shooter drills at school her whole life, except there’d been no closet to hide in and Blaze had thrown his body across hers.
Ding.
Blaze poked the oven’s timer button and turned back to her. “You okay?”
The kitchen floor was rocking under her feet like she was on a ship in a storm. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, of course.” She flapped her hand at the oven door. “We have to take the oatmeal out.”
Her body sucked the last few fumes of her strength.
Blaze was peering at her, even crouching to look into her eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” Her own voice sounded far away.
Her knees folded.
And then she was sitting on the floor with Blaze’s arm around her back. His other hand was holding her forehead against his shoulder. His faint male scent filled her nose where her face was pressed against his soft tee shirt. He said, “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
The room spun in both directions, converging in the middle and sliding over itself, so she closed her eyes. “The oatmeal—” she whispered.
“It’ll be fine for an extra minute. Erick, get the first aid box.”
Feet and bodies scuffled around Sarah. She tried opening her eyes, but the world expanded in her face and then ran far away. Nope.
Something hugged her arm—really tightly. “Ow.”
