CAPTURED BY MY HOT ENGINEER

Chapter 5

The argument didn't truly end, it simply evolved into something else as we walked back out into the open air. The office door clicked shut behind us, sealing away the blueprints and the tension, but the electricity between us remained, thick and humming in the dusty atmosphere.

"Stay close," Simon grunted, not looking at me, but starting off towards the excavation pit. "Watch your step. One wrong move in those shoes and you'll break an ankle. Or worse."

"I have walked on far more dangerous ground than this, Mr. Williams," I replied smoothly, lifting my chin and following him. My heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete, a sharp counterpoint to the heavy thud of his boots. "And I have excellent balance."

"I doubt that," he muttered. "Balance requires a solid center of gravity. You look like a strong wind would knock you over."

"I manage," I said, a smile playing on my lips. "Besides, if I fall, I have no doubt that a strong, capable man like you would catch me. Wouldn't you?"

He glanced back at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. "Don't count on it, Princess. I catch steel beams, not fragile things."

Princess.

He just called me Princess.

The word rolled off his tongue, heavy with sarcasm and mockery. It was an insult, clearly meant to belittle me, to remind me that I didn't belong here, that I was just a rich girl playing at work.

But strangely, as he said it, something warm and tight coiled low in my stomach. And I don't know why.

I should have been offended. I should have corrected him sharply. I was Ms. Moore, or Eloise. Not Princess.

Yet, hearing him say it... it felt different. It felt like a label he was putting on me, claiming me in his own rough way. It was dangerous and teasing, and against my better judgment, I found that I didn't hate it at all.

In fact, I kind of liked it.

"Careful," I replied, my voice dripping with a sweetness that I knew could cut like glass. "Calling me names might be considered unprofessional. Or are you trying to flirt with me, Mr. Williams? Because if you are, you have a very strange way of showing it."

Simon stopped walking so suddenly that I almost walked into his back. He turned around, towering over me, crossing his massive arms over his chest. The sun glinted off the sweat on his skin, highlighting the definition of his muscles.

"Flirt?" he scoffed, but there was no heat in it. "I don't flirt with liabilities, Ms. Moore. I manage them."

"Am I a liability?" I tilted my head, looking up at him through my lashes, letting my smile widen. "Or am I a challenge? Because I know that look. You like things that are difficult. You like things that require effort to understand. Otherwise, they bore you."

He stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. I could see the surprise in them. He expected me to be shy, or angry, or to simper like the other women he probably met. He expected me to run away crying or start shouting.

Instead, I was standing here, matching him barb for barb, wrapped in silk and poison.

"You've got a sharp tongue," he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "I wonder if it's as sharp as your mind."

"Why don't you test me?" I challenged him softly. "Show me what you're building. Explain the logic. I promise I won't just nod and smile. I might actually understand."

A genuine laugh escaped him then, rough and unexpected. "Alright. Come on then, Your Highness. Try to keep up."

•

We began the tour properly.

As we walked through the massive site, Simon transformed. The gruff, defensive man vanished, replaced by a genius in his element. He pointed to the steel reinforcements, explained the load-bearing calculations, and described how the foundation would distribute the weight of the future skyscraper into the earth.

He spoke with passion. He spoke with authority.

And I listened.

I asked questions. Not the soft, vague questions a socialite would ask, but precise, sharp questions that showed I was following his logic. I pointed out inconsistencies I saw in the workflow. I asked about material sourcing and curing times for the concrete.

With every answer I understood, with every intelligent point I made, I could see his respect growing. It was like watching a wall crumble brick by brick.

"So," I said as we stood near the edge of the massive foundation pit, looking down at the workers pouring concrete into the molds. "You are essentially creating a solid block of concrete and steel that will act as the anchor for the entire building. If this fails, everything fails."

"Exactly," Simon nodded, looking pleased. "It's called a mat foundation. We are digging deep because the soil here is alluvial. It shifts. We need to lock it down."

"It's beautiful," I murmured, looking at the geometric precision of the rebar cages. "In its own way. Raw power held together by math."

Simon looked at me, really looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time not as an obstacle or an ornament, but as a person.

"You see it?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "Most people just see dirt and noise."

"I see structure," I said quietly. "I see order. I see something that is meant to last forever."

"Yeah," he said, his voice softer now. "That's exactly what it is."

We stood there in silence for a moment, the noise of the site fading into background static. The air between us had changed. The hostility was gone, replaced by a current of something else—something electric and undeniable.

"You know," Simon said suddenly, breaking the spell. "You're not what I expected."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "And what did you expect, Mr. Williams? A brainless doll who only cares about her nails?"

"Something like that," he admitted shamelessly. "Or a spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around her whims."

"And now?"

"Now..." He stepped closer, invading my personal space again, but this time it didn't feel aggressive. It felt... intentional. "Now I think you're just good at pretending. You act soft, you act polite, but underneath... you're just as hard as the concrete I pour."

He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair that had blown across my face. His fingers were rough, calloused, and warm against my cheek. The touch was brief, almost accidental, but it seared my skin.

"You have fangs, don't you, Princess?" he whispered. "You bite when you're cornered."

"Only people who deserve it," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't step back. I didn't look away. I leaned into him slightly, testing the waters. "And I bite very hard, Mr. Williams. You should be careful."

The smirk he gave me then was pure trouble. It was dark, dangerous, and incredibly attractive.

"I like dangerous things," he said low. "Safe things are boring."

•

The rest of the inspection was a blur of technical details and hidden meanings. Every sentence we exchanged had two meanings—the literal words about construction, and the underlying current of tension and attraction that flowed between us.

He showed me the crane controls. He explained the safety protocols. He showed me the samples of steel they were using.

And all the while, he kept calling me Princess.

"Watch your head, Princess. Low beam."

"Step here, Princess. Solid ground."

"Pay attention, Princess. This is the important part."

Every time he said it, it felt less like an insult and more like a term of endearment. A private language between the two of us. It was possessive. It claimed me. And I found myself drinking it in.

I responded in kind, being savagely polite.

"Thank you for explaining that, Mr. Williams. You make it sound almost simple enough for even me to understand."

"How fascinating. You do know more than just how to use a hammer."

"Is that all? I was hoping for something more... impressive."

Simon ate it up. He loved the banter. He loved that I didn't break. Every time I snapped back at him, his eyes would light up with a fierce kind of delight. He was used to people obeying him or fearing him. I was doing neither. I was meeting him as an equal.

"You are infuriating," he said as we walked back towards the site office, the tour almost over. "You know that?"

"I try my best," I smiled innocently.

"You argue like you fight," he muttered. "Dirty and smart."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Take it however you want, Princess."

We stopped near my car. The driver was waiting by the door, looking away respectfully, giving us privacy.

The sun was beginning to set now, casting long shadows across the site, painting everything in shades of gold and orange. It made Simon look like he was carved out of bronze, strong and eternal.

"So," Simon said, shoving his hands into his work pants pockets, rocking back on his heels. "The inspection is over. Are you satisfied?"

"Partially," I said, smoothing down my dress which had gotten slightly dusty at the hem. "I see that the work is being done well. The quality is high. Higher than the specifications actually required, I might add."

"I build to last, not to meet minimum requirements," he said firmly.

"I noticed." I looked up at him, letting my expression soften just a fraction, just enough to show him that I saw him. "Thank you, Simon. For taking it seriously. For not just building a pretty picture."

The use of his first name hung in the air. It was intimate. It was deliberate.

Simon’s expression changed again, the playfulness fading into something deeper, heavier. He looked at my lips, then back to my eyes.

"You're welcome, Eloise," he said, using my name too, stripping away all titles and formalities. "Just remember what I said. This place isn't a garden. It's a construction site. Things get broken here. People get hurt."

"I'm not made of glass," I reminded him softly.

"No," he agreed, his voice rough with emotion. "You're definitely not."

He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to mine. The world seemed to stop spinning. I could feel his warmth, smell that scent of sawdust and male strength. I thought for a wild second that he was going to kiss me. Right there. In the middle of the dirt and noise.

My breath caught in my throat. My lips parted slightly.

But then, he stopped. He pulled back just an inch, his self-control snapping back into place like a rubber band.

"Go home, Princess," he commanded, but his voice was gentle now. "Get out of these clothes. Get out of my site."

"Will you be here tomorrow?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"I live here," he said darkly. "This project is my life. I don't leave."

"Then I'll be back," I stated firmly. "I have a lot more questions about those column modifications."

Simon smiled, a true, brilliant smile that transformed his whole face.

"I hope you do," he said quietly. "I was getting bored waiting for you."

I turned away before I did something reckless, like throw myself into his arms. I walked to my car, my legs feeling slightly weak, my mind spinning.

As I slid into the leather seat and the door closed, shutting me away from him, I looked back through the tinted window.

Simon Williams was still standing there, watching me leave. Arms crossed, broad shoulders, looking like a king surveying his domain.

And as the car pulled away, carrying me back to my golden cage, I pressed my hand against the glass, over my heart.

He calls me Princess, I thought, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. And I think... I think I want him to.