Ignite （Book 1）
One fire drill, one fake fiancé… one blazing love.
The fire alarm shrieks through Devil’s Peak Elementary like the building itself is having a panic attack.
Which, honestly, same.
Twenty-two five-year-olds stare at me with various degrees of horror, excitement, and pure chaos—paper construction-crown projects slipping sideways on their heads while Junie clings to my leg like a terrified koala.
“This is fine,” I lie out loud, cheerful and bright and absolutely panicking on the inside. “It’s just a practice! Remember our line? Quiet feet, quiet hands—”
A stack of glue sticks falls off the table. A kid starts crying. Someone else starts laughing because the crying kid sounds like a baby goat, and then two of them bleat back at him because apparently that’s contagious.
Perfect.
Exactly how I pictured my first day as a kindergarten teacher.
I try to redirect everyone toward the door. “Okay, friends! Outdoors! Single-file li—”
And then I see the switch I pulled wrong. The one right next to the actual drill indicator. The one labeled: Alarm System — Full Activation.
My stomach sinks.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
The sound gets louder. Boots pound somewhere in the distance—heavy, urgent, nothing like the mild-mannered drills we practiced yesterday.
And then the hallway shakes.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“Friends,” I squeak, “let’s go now.”
I herd the tiny group toward the exit, muttering prayers and curses under my breath as we stumble into the sunlight. The kids wobble into a crooked semi-circle, their crowns glittering in the breeze like I’ve led some sort of very short, poorly-organized parade.
Then something massive moves behind me.
No—someone.
I turn—and I freeze.
A firefighter with the name Captain Saxon Cole and Devil’s Peak Fire & Rescue emblazoned on his jacket stalks toward me like an entire natural disaster dressed in turnout gear.
Six-foot-something of controlled fury, helmet low, gloves on, jaw set as if he intends to personally fight the building with his bare damn hands.
Holy—
His eyes lock onto me.
And I swear the earth tilts.
“Ma’am,” he barks, deep and sharp enough to vibrate through my bones, “is everyone accounted for?”
“Uh—yes.”
Words. Words would be helpful.
I gesture at my tiny crooked line of bedazzled royalty. “My class is right here. All present. No smoke. No fire. Just…volume.”
Saxon doesn’t look amused.
He does, however, look furious.
His gaze sweeps the area like he’s expecting flames to burst from behind the playground slide at any moment.
Then he turns back to me.
And starts stalking closer.
Oh God. He’s close now.
Broad shoulders filling my entire field of vision.
Brow tight.
Jaw ticking.
Chest rising and falling like he sprinted the length of the building.
“Did you pull the alarm?” he demands.
Technically no. Technically yes. Technically I’m an idiot.
“It was a mistake,” I rush out. “New switches, new classroom, new…everything.”
His voice drops, low and lethal.
“Kindergarten fire drills don’t activate the entire goddamn station, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
My brain short-circuits.
I’m ninety percent mortified, ten percent offended, and one hundred percent aware of how his voice sounds like gravel and smoke and something I should not be reacting to.
“I said it was a mistake,” I snap, irrationally defensive.
His brow lifts. He actually looks like he might combust. “A mistake that pulled three engines, an ambulance, and half my crew off shift. Care to explain that?”
“I hit the wrong switch.”
His eyes narrow.
“Which wrong switch?”
“The…red one.”
“Which red one?”
I throw my hands up. “Why are there thirty identical stupid switches in a row? That’s the real emergency here.”
He steps in closer—so close I feel heat radiating off him.
I swallow. Hard.
He leans down just enough his voice barely carries to anyone but me.
“The real emergency is you nearly triggering a building-wide evacuation.”
“And the real solution,” I whisper back before my brain intervenes, “is labeling your damn switches better.”
His head jerks back a fraction.
Oh no.
Oh no.
I think I just sassed the grumpiest man in Devil’s Peak.
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not a smile. Something darker. Something that punches straight through my stomach.
Before he can respond, one of his firefighters jogs up. “Cap! Building’s clear. False alarm.”
Saxon doesn’t look away from me as he answers.
“Copy that.”
His stare pins me.
My pulse flutters.
This man could melt me on the spot and he hasn’t even touched me.
He mutters something under his breath, then straightens.
“Where’s your supply closet?”
“…why?”
“Because we’re having a conversation.”
He steps past me and points. “Show me.”
My heart stumbles. “My kids—”
“The counselor’s right there,” he says without looking. “She’ll keep an eye on them.”
I blink.
Look at the counselor.
She shrugs like better you than me.
Saxon’s hand lands on the small of my back—not pushing, just guiding.
Firm. Hot. Completely in control.
I tense.
His fingers flex.
“Move,” he growls.
I move.
He walks behind me, close enough I swear I feel his breath ghost over my hair. The hallway feels too narrow. His presence presses in, commanding, unyielding, impossible to ignore.
My supply closet door looms up ahead.
This is a bad idea.
This is a terrible, terrible—
He opens it and nudges me inside.
Not gently.
Not harshly.
Just decisively.
The closet is small—shelves of markers, construction paper, bins of pom-poms—and suddenly filled with way too much man.
He shuts the door halfway, leaving only a sliver of light.
“You want to tell me what that performance was?” he asks.
“I didn’t perform anything.”
He steps closer.
Close enough my back hits a shelf.
Close enough I can smell smoke—clean, fresh, like cedar and adrenaline.
“Sweets,” he says softly, dangerously, “you pulled a full alarm on your first day. Fire crews thought children were burning.”
I swallow. “I said I was sorry.”
“You said a lot more than that.”
His stare pins me in place.
“You sassed the hell out of me in front of my team.”
I bristle. “Well you—”
“And now,” he interrupts, leaning one palm on the shelf beside my head, “you’re cornered in a small space with a man who’s been pissed off since he heard your voice.”
I gasp.
He smirks.
Slow. Sinful.
His gaze drags down my body, lingering, unapologetic. “You always talk like that when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
Another step.
I feel the heat of him through his gear.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “your pulse has been jumping since I walked in that hallway.”
My cheeks burn. “It’s loud because you startled me.”
“Did I?”
His body stays inches from mine, tension coiled between us.
“Yes,” I lie.
He chuckles. Low. Rough.
It vibrates through the tiny dark space.
“You want to play with fire?” he asks.
My breath shudders.
He leans in—mouth at my ear, voice molten.
“Try me.”
Everything inside me goes molten.
My knees weaken.
Heat erupts low in my stomach.
This man is dangerous.
Deadly.
And not even a little sorry.
His hand lifts like he might touch me—
but he doesn’t.
He stops just shy of my hip.
Hovering.
Teasing.
A whisper from contact.
I hold my breath.
He drops his voice even lower.
“So here’s how this is gonna go. Next time you pull an alarm? It better be real. Or I’ll come back in here and finish what I’m starting.”
My entire body tightens.
“What…what are you starting?” I manage.
His eyes darken.
“You tell me.”
I choke on air. “I’m not— I don’t—”
He presses his other hand on the shelf above me, caging me in.
The closet shrinks.
The world shrinks.
There is only him.
“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice is a caress.
“If I wanted to touch you, I already would’ve.”
My thighs clench.
“And if you wanted me to…”
He pauses long enough my heart stops beating.
“You would’ve asked.”
I can’t speak.
He leans back slowly, dragging his gaze over me like a brand. “Thought so.”
He steps away, opens the closet door, and lets sunlight burn away the darkness.
Before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder, eyes blazing.
“You’re trouble,” he says. “And I don’t have time for trouble.”
But he looks at me like he wants to make time.
Then he walks away, bootsteps echoing down the hall.
I sag against the shelf, breath shaking, heart in my throat.
Something just happened.
Something big.
Something I should definitely run from.
But when I step out of the closet, the first thing I do is search the hallway for him.
And the second thing I notice is the way his crew watches him—teasing, knowing, whispering like their captain hasn’t acted like this in years.
I smooth my hair and try to gather myself.
My first day was supposed to be simple.
Instead?
I accidentally set off a fire alarm…got cornered by the hottest man alive…and apparently ignited something I can’t put out.
Great.
Perfect.
Welcome to Devil’s Peak.
The Devil’s Peak Fire & Rescue series delivers grumpy firefighters, sunshine heroines, fake fiancés, single parents, small-town meddling, and molten-hot slow burns that ignite into unforgettable, heart-stopping romance.