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)
“Briar Tate,” I murmur, pulling her into me, “say yes.”
She chokes out a laugh through her sobs. “Of course yes. Yes, Saxon. God—yes.”
Relief slams into me like a gust of heat. I wrap my arms around her, lifting her off her feet as she cries against my shoulder. My throat burns. I crush her close. Not gentle. Not careful. Not afraid anymore.
Somewhere behind us, the crew—who absolutely did not actually leave—erupt in cheers. I hear a whistle, a shout, a “Get it, Cap!”
But Briar doesn’t hear them. She’s pressed into me, shaking, laughing through tears, whispering my name like it’s something she’s afraid to lose. When I set her down, she cups my face with both hands.
“You’re sure?” she whispers.
I take her wrists, bring her palms to my mouth, and kiss them both.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
She breaks. Again. Soft, beautiful, undone.
I kiss her—slowly at first, then deeper, claiming her all over again, tasting the tears and the joy and the promise between us. Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging, pulling me closer. Someone behind us hoots.
I pull back just enough to growl, “Get out.”
Boots shuffle. Doors slam. Quiet at last.
Briar laughs, cheeks flushed. “You scared them.”
“No. I motivated them.”
She snorts. God, I love her.
A month later the wedding is chaos. Small-town, over-the-top, embarrassingly public chaos. The whole damn mountain shows up—even people I swear I’ve never met.
Rowan and my mom cry. Margie Warner, the owner of Devil’s Peak Lodge, threatens to kidnap me if I ever hurt Briar. Junie throws flower petals like she’s fighting in a war. And when Briar walks toward me in that simple white dress, hair down, eyes locked on mine—I forget how to breathe. We exchange vows. Kiss while the entire crowd screams. And the second the reception starts, I’m half-feral with the need to get her alone.
She’s radiant. Glowing. Laughing with her teacher friends and spinning Junie around on the dance floor. She catches me staring and blushes. Shy. Beautiful. Mine.
I don’t last ten more minutes.
I walk across the room, grab her hand, and pull her down the hallway toward the quieter part of the building.
“Saxon!” she laughs breathlessly. “People will—”
“No one’s looking.”
“I think they are, actually—”
I push her gently against the wall and she gasps. My hand presses beside her head. My body cages hers. Her chest rises fast, eyes going wide in the low hallway light.
“Saxon…” she whispers, voice shaking.
I lean in until my mouth grazes her ear.
“You played with fire, sweetheart…” My lips drag down to her neck. “…and now you’re mine.”
Her breath breaks in a soft, helpless sound that hits me straight in the gut. I kiss the curve of her throat—slow, then deeper—my hands sliding down her waist, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against me. She trembles, fingers grabbing my shirt like she needs something to survive the moment.
“Saxon—people—” she stammers.
“They can wait.”
I kiss her neck again, lingering, tasting her skin, feeling her pulse jump under my mouth. She gasps when my hand slides down the side of her thigh, fingers curling around it, guiding her leg up just enough for her dress to hitch. Her breath catches. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.
Her body arches into mine, soft and hot and unbearably ready. My voice is low, gravel rough.
“You have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?”
She shakes her head, dazed. “Tell me.”
I press my forehead to hers. “I’d need a damn dictionary to explain it.”
She laughs—a soft, breathless, ruined sound—and her hand slides up under the hem of my shirt, fingers skimming my stomach.
My breath shudders.
“Briar,” I warn in a low growl.
“Yes?” she whispers, eyes heavy.
“Careful.”
“Why?” She bites her lip.
I grab her hip, tightening my grip until she gasps. “Because I won’t stop.”
Her pulse jumps.
“Maybe I don’t want you to,” she whispers.
That’s it.
I lift her thigh higher, guiding her leg around my hip, her dress sliding just enough for warm skin to meet my hand. She moans—quiet, choked, desperate. I kiss her—hard, hungry, reckless—my hand sliding along her thigh, my body pinning her to the wall. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me back with everything she has—every mile of fear, every moment of longing, every promise of forever we just made. Her mouth is soft, frantic, perfect.
Her breath mingles with mine, hot and sweet. Her body moves with mine like we’re already one thing. Her other leg shifts like she’s about to wrap it around me too—I break the kiss with a groan that borders on pain.
“Sweetheart,” I breathe against her mouth, “if you do that…I won’t be able to walk out of here.”
She laughs, soft and shattered, brushing her lips along my jaw. “Who says we have to leave?”
I lower my head to her neck, kissing her again, slower now, deeper, reverent even as my hands stay greedy.