Would she lean into it… or pull away?
The thought tightened something in his chest.
He didn’t know how deep the damage from her ex ran. Didn’t know what lines hadn’t healed yet. He only knew that pushing too far, too soon would cost him whatever fragile trust she’d started to give him.
He forced himself back to the moment.
They were still standing there, facing the ocean, his arms locked in place. Training. That’s what this was supposed to be.
But his pulse kicked harder than it should, and he was suddenly very aware of every point where their bodies touched.
“Uh, Maura?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Yes?”
There it was again—that shift in her tone. Not fear. Not resistance. Something else.
He cleared his throat. “Are you waiting for something, or is there another reason we’re just standing here?”
“I, um… was waiting for you to tell me to start fighting you.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “Do you think an attacker is going to give you permission?”
“Well, when you put it that way?—”
She never finished—just exploded into motion. Her elbow drove back, her heel came down hard on his foot, and she snapped her head toward his face. He barely turned in time, her skull grazing his jaw instead of his nose.
“Jesus—” He caught himself, teeth clamping down as he shifted his weight, trying to keep control without shutting her down. She used everything he’d shown her—hands, elbows, hips—fast, instinctive, and relentless.
He stepped back to avoid a sharp strike and caught his heel on something solid. Driftwood.
Losing his balance, he went down hard, pulling her with him. Instinct took over as he twisted, keeping her from taking the brunt of the fall. He landed on his back in the sand with a thud, the impact knocking the air from his lungs as she came down on top of him.
Seconds ticked by, but neither of them moved.
He dragged in a slow, unsteady breath, fighting to get his lungs working again.
She shifted over him but didn’t pull away, her weight still pressed to his chest. He felt her hesitate, her hands brushing over him, unsure.
“Oh, my God, KC! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
A strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, escaped him. “Only my ego. Listen… do me a favor, will you? Do not—under any circumstances—do nottell my team or my family I was taken down by a woman who’s barely half my size, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He forced his eyes open to find her face hovering inches above his.
She smiled, but concern still lingered in her eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth—soft, pink, and just within reach—and he drew in a sharp breath. Her body stilled.
His focus flicked briefly to her eyes, then back to her lips as her tongue slid out to dampen them.
He lifted his head slightly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
His hand came up, cupping her cheek, guiding her down the last inch.
Then his mouth was on hers.
The contact hit harder than the fall. For a heartbeat, she stayed tense above him—then softened, melting against him as if something inside her had finally given way.
