“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.
Ohno.
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 likebetter 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.
