The explosion rocked his car.

Cursing frantically, he yanked the wheel, pulling over to the side of the road. Even as he threw himself out the door, her house burst into flames.

“Angelique!” It was as close as he’d ever come to a scream.

The door was locked, of course. The key she’d given him was still dangling from the ignition with his other keys. The adrenaline rush of sheer panic gave him strength to kick in the door. “Angelique!”

The house was already a mass of rubble, an inferno of heat and smoke. He plowed furiously into it, calling her name again and again, heading in the general direction of the bedroom. Coughing, sweating, praying incoherently, he tore into a pile of splintered boards that had been her living room wall. The piano he’d once strained to move six inches leaned crookedly in his way. He shoved it aside without even being conscious of doing so.

“Don’t let her be dead,” he whispered hoarsely, coughing between words as the acrid smoke surrounded him. “Oh, God, don’t let her be dead.” If she was, he wanted nothing more than to die with her.

He found her half-buried, her legs pinned. His heart stopped when he saw her, lying so still, her golden hair matted with blood. Unaware of the tears rolling down his face until he was forced to dash a hand across his eyes to clear them, he knelt beside her, unconcerned for his own safety. “Angelique. I’m here, baby. Wake up, sweetheart. Show me you’re all right. I love you, Angelique. Don’t let me lose you now.”

She stirred, moaning in shock and pain. He sobbed in relief that she was alive. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to get you out of here,” he told her, tearing into the rubble in frantic haste, knowing the shell of the house could collapse on them at any moment, choking on the smoke that would kill them if a falling beam didn’t.

The air grew hotter as the fire crept closer, snapping hungrily at everything in its path. Rhys was soaked with sweat and tears, but his only concern was getting Angie out of the house and into the closest hospital.

Lifting her carefully, he struggled to his feet, still murmuring reassurances mixed with broken prayers. He was vaguely aware of the terrified cat that dashed past his feet toward the front door, meowing loudly, but he didn’t stop. Something fell only inches behind him as he reached the yawning door. Sparks rained on the back of his neck, but he hardly noticed the tiny pinpoints of pain. His full concentration was on the nearly unconscious woman in his arms.

Hastily dressed neighbors gathered around him, steadying him as he stumbled off the porch, coughing, dragging air into burning lungs. Arms reached for Angelique, but he resisted them, lowering her to the ground a safe distance from the house. She moaned and his stomach tightened at the pain in the sound. He couldn’t bear it that she was hurting.

He took anxious inventory of her injuries. Her legs were bloody and torn, possibly broken, there was a jagged cut on her forehead and a great deal of bruising. Her breathing was harsh from the smoke she’d inhaled, but steady enough to reassure him. He’d gotten to her ahead of the fire, so she hadn’t been burned. She was obviously in shock, but something told him she’d suffered no internal injuries. She would live, he thought, sagging in nerveless relief.

Sirens grew closer, making themselves heard over the babble of voices and roar of flames. He welcomed the sounds, knowing they signaled help for Angelique. “Rhys?” she whispered, her head shifting restlessly on the ground.

“I’m here, baby,” he said quickly, clasping her hand tightly in his as someone covered her with a blanket. “I’m here.”

“Where’s Flower?” a sleepy young voice demanded from close by. “Did anyone see Flower?”

Rhys glanced up at the boy who, dressed in Batman pajamas, hovered barefoot behind the woman who’d brought the blanket. He’d seen him before. Angie’s little friend, Mickey, who’d given her the kitten.

He looked from Angelique to the burning house. She loved that damned cat. Slowly releasing her hand, he stood, his place beside her immediately taken by Mickey’s mother. An ambulance squealed around the corner, followed by two fire trucks. Cursing himself for a fool, Rhys took a deep breath and ran toward the house.

“Hey!” someone shouted. “What’s he doing? Stop him!”

Restraining hands gripped him, but Rhys shrugged them off. The cat had been just inside the door. He hoped it was too frightened to have moved. Ducking his head, his arm protecting his face, he dove inside.

&nbs

p; “That man’s gone back into the house, Mommy! Do you think he’s gone to get Flower?”

“Oh, my God, he’ll be killed!”

“Rhys?” Angie forced her burning eyes open, Kim’s frightened gasp rousing her from the haze of pain and disorientation. “He went back in?” She struggled to sit up, the movement causing her to cry out in pain. Something was terribly wrong with her legs.

Kim’s hands caught her shoulders, pressing her gently back to the ground. “No, Angie, lie still. I’m… I’m sure he’ll be all right. Here’s the ambulance. You’ll be okay now.”

“Rhys!” The name came out as a ragged croak, and then she was seized by a spell of deep coughs. Each one sent pain ricocheting through her body.

“Shh, take it easy, lady. Here, let me put this over your mouth. It’ll help you breathe easier.” A white-uniformed paramedic knelt beside her, slipping a clear mask over her face.

She could feel unconsciousness tugging at her, pulling her away from the pain and confusion. She fought it, fought the mask, clinging to the pain in an effort to stay alert. She had to know if Rhys was safe. She tried to call his name again, but the mask muffled her cry. And then a sharp pain in her arm made her sob in protest. Her grasp on consciousness loosened. Another wave of agony from her legs pushed her over the edge, Rhys’s name trembling on her lips.

SHED ALWAYS REMEMBER the following hours only in snatches of half-conscious agony—spasms of pain, strange voices and bright lights, gentle hands that touched her and made her cry out in protest. Each time she tried to ask about Rhys, something was done to send her back into oblivion. At times she thought she heard his voice telling her over and over how much he loved her, but he was never there when she managed to open her eyes. All she saw were blurred, unfamiliar faces set in identical expressions of grave sympathy.

She needed him. She’d needed him when the house had crashed down around her, and he’d been there. Where was he now?

“That man’s gone back into the house, Mommy!”

Tags: Gina Wilkins Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net