Saxon
Every man in my station reacts when a woman walks in.
Doesn’t matter who she is—mothers dropping off brownies, girlfriends dropping off lunch, tourists wanting pictures. The guys all snap to attention like they’re posing for a goddamn calendar.
ButIreact when one woman walks in.
Briar Tate.
I feel her before I see her. Light steps, soft breath, the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla drifting through the bay like someone cracked open a warm kitchen.
“She’s here,” Rowan whispers from across the engine. “Your fiancée.”
“Shut up,” I bark.
He snickers. “Fake fiancée.”
“Still shut up.”
Boone calls out from the hose rack, “Captain, you want us to clear the area? Give you two some privacy?”
I glare at all of them. “No.”
They grin like wolves because everyone knows exactly what’s happening inside me and exactly what’s happening inside her, and the worst part? I’ve given them plenty of reasons to notice.
Then she appears at the entrance of the bay, holding a Tupperware full of cookies with both hands like it’s a peace treaty. She smiles. Soft. Shy. Like she doesn’t know she’s been wrecking me for weeks.
“Hi,” she says, breathless.
I don’t say hi back.
I can’t. I’m too busy fighting the urge to drag her into the nearest room that has a door.
The guys gather like idiots. Ash leans on the engine. “Miss Tate. What a surprise.”
Briar smiles politely. “Just bringing a little thank-you for, you know…” She glances at me. “Everything.”
Axel elbows Ash. “Our captain loves thank-yous.”
I snap, “Enough. All of you—gear checks. Now.”
They scatter like children caught stealing. Briar approaches slowly, like she’s not sure I want her here. But I do. I want her everywhere.
“What are these?” I ask, even though I can smell the chocolate.
“Cookies,” she mutters. “For your crew. And you. Mostly for you.”
I clench my jaw. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I know,” she says softly. “But I wanted to.”
Her cheeks are flushed. She’s nervous. And when Briar Tate gets nervous, she fidgets with her hands and rambles and stumbles over her words like she’s trying to outrun her heart.
I love it. I fucking love it.
“Here,” I say, grabbing the cookies before she drops them. “Follow me.”
She blinks. “Where?—?”
