Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
The image keeps repeating: the roof beam snapping overhead like a gunshot. Axel turning—toward me, not the fire. Not the falling debris. Not the crew. Toward my voice. Like he’d dive headfirst into hell if it meant getting one inch closer.
Even now, the memory claws through my chest.
I bury my face in my hands and breathe. One, two, three—my pulse won’t slow. The room feels too small, too bright, too heavy with the echo of what almost happened. I can’t lose him. I can’t even think about it.
“Savannah.”
His voice cuts through the quiet, low and rough, like he walked straight out of the smoke and into my bloodstream.
I sit upright instantly.
Axel stands in the doorway, turnout jacket half-open, soot smudging the side of his jaw. His hair is damp, like he shoved his head under the sink but didn’t bother drying it. He looks wrecked. Strong. Alive.
And his eyes—God—his eyes are already on me, like he felt my fear before he heard it.
I force a breath. “I’m fine.”
“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.”
He closes the door behind him with a soft click. The room shrinks even more. Suddenly it’s just us, two ghosts still shaking from the same fire.
He steps closer.
One step.
Then another.
By the time he’s standing in front of me, I’m shaking so hard my teeth almost chatter. He takes in the way my hands tremble, the way I’m squeezing the fabric of my pants. His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps near his temple.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
I don’t move.
Maybe I can’t.
Maybe I’m afraid that if I take one more step toward him, I won’t stop.
He sees it. Reads it. Then he kneels—kneels—in front of me, big hands braced on either side of my thighs, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
“Look at me.”
I drag my eyes up. It feels like lifting a boulder.
And the second our gazes meet, everything I’ve been holding in—the panic, the terror, the what-ifs—breaks loose like a dam bursting.
“Axel, I thought—” My voice cracks. “When that roof dropped, I thought—”
He moves. Not fast. Not slow. Just inevitable.
One hand rises and cups the side of my face, his thumb brushing beneath my eye like he’s wiping a tear I haven’t realized slipped.
“I’m here,” he says, voice raw. “I’m right here.”
That’s all it takes.
I surge forward, fingers gripping the front of his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. My forehead presses to his. His breath hits mine. The scent of smoke and sweat and something I’ve wanted for ten years fills the air between us.
His other hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me like I’m fragile and fierce all at once.
“Savannah…” It’s barely a whisper.
“I was so scared,” I breathe.
“You think I wasn’t?” His thumb strokes my jaw. “I heard you scream my name. I didn’t care about protocol. I didn’t care about the fire. I just—”
He breaks off, breath shaking.
I’ve never seen him like this. Never seen Axel Ramirez undone. It unravels something inside me too.
“Say it,” I whisper.
His eyes close for a moment. When they open, they burn.
“I ran toward you.”
My throat tightens. “You’re not supposed to.”
“I don’t give a damn what I’m supposed to do.”
His forehead presses harder to mine, breath hot, ragged. “I won’t ever not come to you.”
My breath leaves in a tremble. “You can’t promise me that.”
He lifts his head barely, just enough for our eyes to lock again. “Watch me.”
I don’t kiss him.
He doesn’t kiss me.
But we’re close—too close—and every cell in my body is leaning, reaching, aching for his mouth like gravity is calling us together.
And then—
His thumb brushes my bottom lip.
Everything inside me surrenders.
The sound I make is part sob, part exhale, part ten years of trying to forget him. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back the same storm tearing through me.
“Savannah…” His voice is shredded. “If I kiss you right now…”
My fingers curl into his jacket. “Don’t start something you don’t plan on finishing.”
That does it. His eyes darken, breath unsteady.
“You think I don’t plan on finishing?” he growls, low and devastating.
Heat flashes under my skin. My pulse leaps.
But then he swallows hard, grounding himself, like he’s wrestling the instinct to devour me right here on the turnout bench.
He cups my face with both hands now, forehead to mine again, breath mixing.
“You’ve been through enough fire,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to burn you too.”
“You’re not burning me,” I whisper. “You’re—God, Axel—you’re the first thing in years that feels like oxygen.”
A tremor goes through him so strong I feel it in my bones.
Then suddenly—I’m pulled into him. His arms wrap around me like they were made for it. My body slots against his so naturally it hurts. My forehead presses to his shoulder, breath shaking through me as he holds me tighter, tighter, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.