Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Saxon
The second Junie is cleared by the medic and Briar stops shaking, the world starts to stitch itself back together. The sirens fade. The fire is mostly out and families gather in small clusters, whispering relief. Kids cling to their parents as the smoke thins in the air.
But I’m not watching any of them.
I’m watching Briar’s ex storm toward her across the parking lot—face twisted, jaw tight, looking like he wants to pick a fight with the whole world. Great. Just what I need.
“Briar!” he snaps. “What the hell was that? Leaving her alone in there? Letting some—some firefighter play hero?”
I stiffen.
He keeps going. “You can’t rely on men like him, Briar. They leave. They disappear. They’re babysitters with badges. That’s all. A uniform. Nothing real underneath.”
Briar tenses, eyes wide, protective arm around Junie.
He steps closer. “You think he’s some kind of savior? He’ll ditch you just like everyone else eventually. That’s what guys like him do.”
I walk toward them. Slow. Controlled. But every step might as well be a warning siren. He doesn’t see me coming until I’m two feet away.
Briar looks up—relief mixing with tension. “Saxon—”
Her ex scowls. “Oh look. Here’s your fake fiancée.”
I stop right in front of him. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” he spits. “You gonna threaten me? In front of my daughter?”
“She’s not your daughter when it’s convenient,” I say. “You don’t get to play protective father tonight.”
His face contorts with anger. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you didn’t run into that building,” I growl. “I know you didn’t carry her out. And I know you’re damn lucky she’s still breathing.”
He opens his mouth, stupid enough to argue.
I cut him off, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’d marry her right now.”
Silence drops like a weight. Parents stop talking. Kids freeze. Even Rowan, standing twenty feet away, mutters “Holy shit.”
Briar’s eyes go wide.
Her ex sputters. “You—you can’t just—”
But I’m done. He’s not worth another second. I turn my back on him and walk straight to Briar. She steps toward me like she forgot how her legs work.
“Saxon…” she whispers, voice shaking. “What did you just—”
I stop in front of her, chest still heaving from adrenaline, from anger, from fear I don’t want to admit out loud.
“I meant it,” I say quietly.
Her breath hitching is the only sound I hear.
“Saxon… you didn’t have to—”
“I did.”
Her lips part. “You really meant it?”
Everything inside me snaps.
I step in close, too close, crowding her back toward the side of the ambulance. My hands settle on either side of her hips, caging her in—not touching, but claiming the space around her like it’s my territory.
“Sweetheart,” I murmur, voice scraping the air, “I’ve been trying not to kiss you since the day you set off that damn alarm.”
Her breath shudders.
“And I’m done pretending.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond. I grab her waist. Hard.
She gasps as I pull her into me, her chest hitting mine, her breath crashing into my throat in a sharp, broken sound that goes straight to my sanity.
Her hands fly to my shirt, gripping the fabric at my ribs like she needs something to hold onto or she’ll fall.
I lean in. Slow. Calculated. Deadly.
Her mouth tilts up, lips parted, eyes wide and hungry and terrified in the best way. Then I kiss her. Hard. Deep. Claiming. She makes a sound—half gasp, half moan—that destroys whatever restraint I had left.
My hands slide up her sides, fingers digging into the soft curve of her waist, dragging her closer until her body melts against mine. She fists my shirt, pulling, needing, opening for me in a way that steals every ounce of oxygen in my lungs.
I kiss her like I’m starving. She kisses back like she finally stopped fighting gravity. Her lips are warm, desperate, perfect. Her breath mixes with mine, hot and frantic. Her body presses into me like she belongs there.
“Saxon…” she breathes against my mouth, voice shaking, “oh my God—”
“I know,” I rasp, kissing her again, deeper, pushing her gently but firmly against the ambulance. “I know, sweetheart.”
Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, then to my neck, then into my hair. I groan.
She jerks at the sound, shivering.
I break the kiss only long enough to drag my mouth down her jaw, across the warm line of her throat, tasting smoke and sweat and something so sweet it makes my head spin.
She gasps and arches into me.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur against her pulse. “Say the word and I’ll walk away.”
She doesn’t say it. Instead, she pulls me closer. Her hands slide under the hem of my shirt, fingers skimming the skin of my lower back. My breath breaks.
“Briar…” I choke out.
She lifts my shirt higher, tugging it up in her fists, palms flattening against my stomach, warm and shaking and curious. My hips slam into hers. I don’t mean to. It just happens. Instinct. Need.
She gasps, gripping me harder.
“Inside,” she whispers, voice barely a breath. “I want you alone—”
I grab her hips, lifting her slightly, pressing her fully against me.
Her legs almost wrap around me before she catches herself on my shoulders.
I kiss her again—hard, long, devastating—hands sliding down to the top of her thighs, dragging her tight against my body.
Her shirt shifts under my hands, riding up, exposing skin that feels like fire beneath my palms. She moans into my mouth.
I answer with a groan, rough and helpless.
Clothes start to move.
Her fingers fist my shirt and yank it higher. My hands slide under the hem of hers, palms flattening on warm skin. Her breath breaks. Her knees buckle. I hold her upright.
“I’ve wanted this,” I murmur against her lips, “longer than you know.”
“Saxon…” she whispers, desperate. “Please.”
I kiss her until the world disappears.
Until the fundraiser, the hotel, the smoke, the firefighters, the entire damn town fall away and the only thing that exists is the heat between us and the way her body feels pressed against mine.
Her shirt inches upward under my hands. My fingers roam the curve of her waist, the line of her hips, the dip of her back. Skin on skin. Hot. Soft. Addictive.
She trembles.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow beneath her ear, tasting her with a hunger that borders on madness. Her thighs press together. I slide my hands lower, gripping her firmly, pulling her against me again.
She gasps. Lifts her hips. Seeks me.
And for a second—I forget about air. I forget about rules. I forget about everything but her. We’re seconds away from losing control. Seconds from stripping down the rest of the way, audience be damned. Seconds from crossing a line we’ll never come back from.
I kiss her again—slow this time, deep, consuming—hands still roaming, still exploring, still sliding over skin I want more of and all of.
She pulls me down with her, mouth hot and urgent, breath mixing with mine as she whispers, “I want you.”
My chest nearly breaks open.
I press my forehead to hers, breathing hard. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes,” she pants, tugging my shirt, “I do.”
Her thumb grazes my lower lip. My body jerks.
“Sweetheart…” I whisper, voice ragged, “I’m afraid I won’t be gentle. You deserve gentle.”
Her breath trembles. “I don’t want gentle.”
I kiss her again, crushing our mouths together in a way that feels like claiming, like surrender, like both. Her shirt is halfway up. Mine is rucked to my ribs. Her fingers dig into my back. My palms slide down to the back of her thighs, lifting her a little again—
Until the sound cuts through the night. A shout from the medic yard.
“CAPTAIN COLE! THEY NEED YOU FOR A FINAL CHECK—NOW!”
We both freeze.
Her hands still clutch my shirt. My hands still grip her hips. Our mouths are still a breath apart. Her chest rises fast. Mine rises faster.
“Don’t go,” she whispers, soft, broken, trembling.
I close my eyes, forehead still touching hers. “I have to,” I murmur. “Just for now.”
She nods weakly.
I kiss her once more—slow, deep enough to make her knees buckle—because I need her to feel it. Need her to know we’re not done. Not even close. Then I lower her gently back onto her feet. She sways. I steady her with both hands.
“Briar,” I whisper, voice low, rough, absolute, “I’m coming back for you.”
Her breath stutters. “Promise?”
I look at her like she’s the only thing that matters. Because she is.
“Yeah,” I say. “Promise.”
I pull my shirt down and walk toward the medic. But halfway across the lot—I turn. She’s still pressed against the ambulance, shirt wrinkled, lips swollen, hair messy, staring at me like I just rewrote her gravity. And I know—I’m never letting her go.
Not after that. Not ever.