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)
He guides me toward the locker room—not touching, but close enough his body heat cuts through the chill. Once we’re inside, he shuts the door behind us. And the second it clicks closed, the air shifts. Thickens. He steps closer. Slow. Controlled.
“Saxon,” I whisper.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I lie.
He looks at me—really looks.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar.”
I inhale sharply. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it.”
My pulse mutinies. “Your crew saw.”
“Don’t care.”
I choke on a laugh. “They’re going to tease you for weeks.”
“Let them.”
“Saxon—”
“No,” he says, stepping closer, “you don’t get it.”
I stop breathing.
“You show up here,” he murmurs, voice low and dark, “with your kid and your cookies and your little clay moose—”
“That was Junie,” I cut in.
“—and you smile at me,” he continues, ignoring me, “and I can’t think straight for the rest of the damn day.”
I blink.
He leans down slightly. “And then you get drenched and look like—”
He stops. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Look like what?” I ask, breathless.
He exhales sharply. “Like trouble.”
My heart pounds so loud it echoes in my ears. “Saxon—”
“Don’t say my name right now,” he growls.
“Why not?”
“Because if you do, I’m going to forget we’re standing in the middle of my locker room at work.”
Heat crashes through me, and I step backward instinctively—except there’s a wall there. He follows. Not touching. But close enough I feel every ounce of restraint vibrating off him. My fingers curl into the hem of my wet shirt.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
“Do what?”
“Touch your shirt like that.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.”
I swallow. “It’s wet.”
“I know.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
“Same.”
The room crackles with tension. His gaze drifts to my mouth. “You should go home.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Not because I want you to,” he adds quickly. “Because I don’t want an audience next time you walk in here looking like that.”
My stomach flips violently. “Next time?”
He nods once. “Yeah. Next time.”
Before I can respond, a distant voice yells: “CAP! YOU GOOD IN THERE?”
Saxon closes his eyes for a beat. “I am going to kill Rowan.”
I smile. “No you’re not.”
“I’ll try.”
I laugh, and something in his expression softens—barely.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs. “Come on.”
He opens the door, shielding me from view as best he can, then escorts me back to the bay.
Junie runs toward us immediately. “Mommy! Did Captain Saxon fix you?”
He groans. “Jesus.”
I grin. “Not exactly.”
Rowan yells, “Looks like he tried!”
Saxon glares so intensely Rowan actually hides behind the engine.
But I see it—the warmth in his eyes, the way he watches me walk like the tension is killing him. And killing me too. We’re both pretending this thing between us is manageable but it’s not. It’s heat. And fire. And friction that wants to burn everything down.
And as I buckle Junie into her car seat and see Saxon watching from the bay with his jaw tight and his hand flexing at his side, I know one thing for certain: This fake engagement is only getting hotter.
Chapter Ten
Saxon
It’s almost midnight when I drag myself up Briar’s porch steps. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t have the right. But after the shift I just had, the only place my body seems capable of moving toward is hers.
The house is dark except for a warm lamp glow through the curtains. I sink down onto the top step, elbows braced on my knees, head hanging as I suck in a sharp breath. My turnout gear still smells faintly like smoke. My eyes burn. My muscles ache. And my brain—my brain won’t shut up. It never shuts up on nights like this.
The door creaks open behind me. I don’t turn.
Her voice is soft. Careful. “Saxon?”
I exhale slowly. “Yeah.”
“What are you doing here?” she whispers.
“Not sure.”
She steps outside, barefoot, wrapped in a ridiculous oversized sweatshirt that hits mid-thigh. Her hair is messy, like she was half asleep. She looks like peace I don’t deserve. She sits beside me without asking, knees brushing mine.
“Rough shift?” she asks quietly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
She waits. Doesn’t push. That’s why I can talk to her. I stare at the dark yard. The pines sway. The night is quiet except for the faint hum of insects.
“A rookie froze on a call,” I say. “Small structure fire. Routine. Should’ve been easy.”
Her breath catches. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. I covered him. Got him out.” My jaw tightens. “But it shouldn’t have happened.”
She rests her hand lightly on the porch between us. Not touching me. Just close.
I swallow hard. “I lost a man two years ago.”
Her head turns sharply. “Saxon…”
“He was twenty-five. Kid could outrun me any day of the week. Smart. Fast. Good instincts.” My voice drops. “We were inside doing a sweep and the roof collapsed. I was six feet ahead of him.”
She’s silent.
“Sometimes I think… if I’d told him to slow down. Or speed up. Or take a different entry. Or stay with another crew.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Sometimes I think every choice I make costs someone something.”