Page 27 of Controlled Burn
The silence stretched, not uncomfortable. Just full.
He left before it became too much for him.
Dean’s Office (Late)
The bay had fallen silent, quietly settling in heavy layers.
Dean sat alone at his desk, the complaint form folded neatly beside his wedding ring, both stark reminders of lines crossed and boundaries that had been blurred. Cold metal. Heavy silence.
He stared at both, memories colliding like sparks—Talia’s voice cutting through the locker room, her fierce defiance, the strength in her gaze afterward. Not afraid. Not ashamed.
It wasn’t just an attraction. It was a connection. And connection—that was dangerous.
He leaned back, the weight of guilt pressing hard on his chest, filling the silence like choking smoke.
He wasn’t the kind of man who broke rules. Didn’t break vows. But with her? He already had.
And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop.
Chapter 12
The Dare
Maddox
It was supposed to be nothing. A thank you. A quick conversation. A quiet end to a messy chapter.
But the second Talia Cross stepped into his office—damp from drills, hair sticking to her temples, shirt clinging to curves he'd spent months pretending not to notice—he knew he was a liar.
She closed the door behind her. Click. The sound landed like a trigger pull. Final. Fatal.
She stood in front of him with arms crossed, the scent of sweat and faint Chanel clinging to her skin like sin.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?"
Formal tone. Unapologetic mouth. That soft southern lilt curled around every word like barbed wire wrapped in silk.
"You didn't have to defend me," he said, voice lower than he meant.
Her jaw flexed. She didn't look away.
"You didn't deserve that shitstorm. And I'm not the type to sit quiet while someone drags your name through it."
He should've been grateful. Should've said thank you and let her leave.
But his gaze dipped.
Her uniform was rumpled, with a crooked collar. A streak of soot grazed her jaw, and her shirt clung to her chest in all the wrong ways. One sweat bead slid from her throat down the valley between her breasts before vanishing beneath the thin fabric.
He couldn't help it—he followed its trail with his eyes like a man hypnotized.
He remembered the first time she walked into his station—cheeks flushed from drills, gear two sizes too big, voice loud and unapologetic. She was a rookie. A Cross. Untouchable.
He told himself she was just another fresh hire—a complication.
But then she smiled. Bit her lip. Leaned too close.
And something in him stopped being a captain and started being a man.
