The penthouse was a masterpiece of modern design, all sleek lines and glass walls that framed the glittering cityscape below. Saxton’s sanctuary, perched high above the chaos of urban life, was usually a place of order and control. Tonight, however, it was anything but. A small fountain—courtesy of a busted pipe under the kitchen sink—gushed merrily onto the polished marble floor, mocking his meticulously curated life.
Saxton paced, his tailored navy suit clinging to his lean frame like a second skin. The fabric whispered with each sharp step, his pearl-gray eyes narrowing at the watery mess as if he could intimidate it into submission. “Of all the damn times,” he muttered, yanking at his tie with a frustrated tug. The silk slid free, revealing a glimpse of sharp collarbones beneath his crisp white shirt. He glanced at his watch, irritation mounting. He had a deposition to prepare for, not a flood to manage.
The doorbell chimed, a crisp sound that cut through his grumbling. Saxton strode to the door with the purposeful gait of a man accustomed to winning, expecting a quick fix from some nondescript handyman. Instead, he was met by Ruhn—a towering, muscular plumber whose presence filled the doorway like a storm rolling in. His brown eyes glinted with mischief, a slow Southern drawl dripping from his lips as he tipped his head. “Evenin’, sir. Heard you got a lil’ waterfall problem.”
Saxton’s gaze flicked over the man, taking in the faded jeans, the worn work shirt rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, and the heavy toolbox slung over one shoulder. Ruhn’s eyes, however, lingered on Saxton’s long, black socks peeking out from beneath his suit pants, a smirk curling his lips as he dragged his gear inside. “Nice place. Didn’t peg you for the type to get your hands dirty, though.”
“Clearly, I’m not,” Saxton snapped, his lawyerly arrogance sharpening every syllable. “Just fix the damn sink and spare me the commentary. I don’t have all night.”
Ruhn chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the room as he crouched under the sink. “Yes, sir, Mr. Fancy Pants. I’ll have this sorted quicker than you can bill a client.” His tone was teasing, casual, as if Saxton’s impatience was a game to him. Wrenches clinked against pipes, and Ruhn tossed another remark over his shoulder. “That suit of yours looks mighty tight. Sure it ain’t cuttin’ off circulation?”
Saxton bristled, crossing his arms over his chest, though his eyes kept darting to the flexing biceps on display as Ruhn worked. “Perhaps if you focused on the task at hand instead of my wardrobe, we’d be done by now. Or is that too much for your… backwoods charm to handle?”
Ruhn’s laughter echoed from under the sink, rich and unperturbed. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag, and stepped closer, his height looming over Saxton with an easy, deliberate menace. “Backwoods charm, huh? Darlin’, I’ve fixed more than pipes in my day. You’d be surprised what these hands can do.”
The air thickened, charged with something far more dangerous than a leaking faucet. Saxton scoffed, tilting his chin up to meet Ruhn’s gaze, though his pulse quickened at the proximity. “I’m not your darling, and I’d rather not be subjected to your rural fantasies. Finish the job.”
Ruhn’s grin widened, predatory and knowing. He reached for a tool on the counter, his calloused hand brushing against Saxton’s arm in the process—a fleeting, deliberate touch that sent a jolt through the lawyer’s carefully constructed composure. “You need to loosen up, city boy,” Ruhn murmured, his voice dropping low, rough like gravel. “Things might get messier than this leak if you keep wound up like that.”
Saxton’s retort caught in his throat, his cheeks flushing faintly as he struggled to reclaim control. “I don’t have time for your games. If you can’t manage a simple repair without theatrics, I’ll find someone who can.”
Ruhn just laughed again, stepping into Saxton’s personal space, close enough that the earthy scent of sweat and metal clung to the air between them. “Say that again, counselor. I dare ya.” His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it, a challenge that made Saxton’s usual courtroom dominance feel suddenly inadequate.
The lawyer’s composure cracked further, his breath hitching as Ruhn’s presence overwhelmed him. Those brown eyes pinned him in place, and for a moment, Saxton forgot the deposition, the leak, the carefully ordered life he’d built. Ruhn’s gaze flicked to his toolbox, gesturing lazily to a coil of rope nestled among the tools. “You know, sometimes uppity suits like you need a lil’ lesson in lettin’ go. I’m real good at teachin’.”
Saxton froze, torn between indignation and a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or something darker. His lips parted to snap back, but no words came. Ruhn’s smirk widened, promising something far beyond a simple repair job, and in that charged silence, Saxton realized the game had only just begun.
Want to know how it ends?
This is just the opening chapter. Continue the saga — or write a steamy tale starring you.