Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 33213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I turn to her—just once—letting her see what I’m barely hiding.
“We’re not done,” I say, voice low enough it scrapes the air.
She sucks in a breath.
Then I’m gone.
The adrenaline from the call lasts an hour. Maybe two. Flames. Smoke. Debris. Commands barked. Water pounding asphalt. A roof threatening to collapse. But even in the middle of chaos, I keep seeing her pressed against those lockers, pupils blown wide, waiting for me to kiss her like she already tasted it.
Rowan jogs beside me as we load equipment back onto the engine. “You good, Cap?”
“Fine.”
“You sure? Because you came out of the station like you sprinted through a wall.”
“Drop it.”
He smirks. “Locker room moment?”
Boone whistles from across the truck. “Damn. That explains it.”
I glare at them both. “This conversation ends now.”
Rowan lifts both hands. “I’m just saying—”
“Now,” I snap. He shuts up because they know better. Because what happened in that locker room wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for me. It was for her.
And the fact that she shook in my arms but didn’t run? That she said Tell me in that breathless, breaking voice? Yeah. The fire isn’t the only thing threatening to burn this whole damn place down.
When I get back to the station hours later, I’m bone-tired and still keyed up. She’s gone, obviously. But everywhere I walk, I see it. The way she tipped her chin up at me. The way she whispered. The way her pulse jumped when I crowded her space. The smell of sugar still lingers. One of the guys left the Tupperware open on the break room table. I pick up a cookie without thinking.
Her cookies.
Her.
Everything tastes like wanting her.
I toss the cookie, frustrated at myself for losing control. Because I did lose control. Or I came damn close. And next time? There won’t be an alarm to save me from myself.
Later that night I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every second in that locker room.
The way she looked at me—like I was heat and she was freezing and stepping closer wasn’t a choice but a necessity.
I shouldn’t want her this much. But want has nothing to do with it. It’s instinct. Pull. A gravitational force. She walks in and everything shifts. The world tilts. My pulse changes its rhythm like it’s syncing to hers.
And when she whispered Tell me?
No fire has ever burned hotter.
The next morning when she drops Junie off at school, I’m there—“routine safety check”—and she spots me before she expects to.
Her cheeks flush instantly. Good. She remembers.
We walk past each other in the hallway. Her shoulder brushes mine—accidental, maybe—but deliberate in the way she doesn’t pull away. I lean down, low enough my mouth almost grazes her ear.
“We’ll finish that conversation,” I murmur.
Her breath catches. “Saxon—”
“Soon.”
She closes her eyes like she’s trying to pull herself together.
“I shouldn’t have gone in there,” she whispers.
“You should’ve,” I counter. “You knew I’d follow.”
She swallows hard. “And that’s the problem.”
“No,” I say softly. “That’s the part you liked.”
She opens her eyes. Fire. Fear. Want.
All of it aimed at me.
She turns and walks into her classroom, leaving me there—wanting her all over again. And knowing damn well I’m going to get her. Not because of the fake engagement. Not because of the town. Not because of the circumstances. Because she wants me too.
And she can pretend all she wants—but I’ve seen it. Felt it. Heard it in her voice.
Tell me.
We’re past pretending. This fire is already burning and it’s only a matter of time before it consumes both of us.
Chapter Nine
Briar
Junie is vibrating in her booster seat like she’s powered by electricity instead of chicken nuggets and applesauce.
“Are we there yet?” she asks for the ninth time in twelve minutes.
“Almost,” I say, turning into the driveway of Devil’s Peak Fire and Rescue. “We have to give Captain Saxon his moose!”
“I know!” she squeals, clutching the lumpy, misshapen clay figurine like a priceless artifact. “I worked so hard on him. I made the antlers extra big because he’s strong.”
“Right.” I exhale, of course she did.
“And because Captain Saxon is very strong,” she adds matter-of-factly. “Like… the strongest EVER.”
I grip the wheel a little harder. Damn kid notices everything.
She keeps going. “He can carry me with one arm and he can stop bad guys and he can—”
“He’s a firefighter,” I remind her. “Not a superhero.”
“That’s the same thing,” she counters. I don’t answer because honestly? She may be right.
The truth is, Junie wouldn’t eat dinner. Wouldn’t take a bath. Wouldn’t do anything until I agreed to bring her here. And what was I supposed to do? Tell her no? Tell her she can’t give her little clay creation to the man she thinks is invincible? The man I can’t stop thinking about? Yeah. I caved. Obviously.
We park, and Junie rockets out of the car before I can unbuckle. I hurry after her, calling her name, praying she doesn’t knock over some expensive fire equipment or accidentally pull a lever that floods the entire station.