Her eyes found his again—open, unguarded, completely his.
Wyatt hovered on the precipice.
The way she came apart around him, the sound of his name in her voice, the way she held him through it?—
It broke him open.
He came with his face buried in her neck, her name pulled from him against her skin, and for those few seconds the world went white and silent and there was nothing else.
Just her. Everywhere.
The world came back in pieces. Weight. Warmth. The sound of her breathing beneath him.
He should move, pull back, do something other than lie there breathing like he’d run for days.
Her hands slid through his hair. So gentle this time. Soft.
Her breath was ragged, then slowly evened out.
Neither of them moved.
Seconds stretched. Maybe longer.
Eventually he adjusted, rolling to pull her with him. Her body came easily, tucking perfectly against his side. His arm came around her waist, hand splayed over her ribs. His other hand found hers, fingers locking together again—instinctive now.
A lock within him, sealed shut for years, had given way.
He held her tighter and stared at the ceiling, her warmth pressed along his side. His hand moved over her skin in tiny, unconscious circles.
She mumbled his name, then went quiet, sleep softening her against him.
Wyatt didn’t move.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
34
They lay tangled togetherin the dark, his hand warm on her side, the heat of him sinking into her.
She wanted this. And that should have made it simple.
It didn’t.
Neither of them was sleeping. Neither ready to let the silence settle.
Jen turned her head, finding his profile in the dim light filtering through the windows.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“Why the Coast Guard?”
His hand stilled on her ribs. Tension moved through his body before he answered—tightening in his shoulders, his breathing changing rhythm.
“Seemed like the right move.” He sighed. “My family was here. The mountains were quiet. And the Coast Guard needed pilots.”
She waited.
