“Show me.”
He led her to the narrow balcony that circled the lamp room. They settled with their backs against the cool stone, legs stretched out before them, shoulders pressed close. The ocean stretched to infinity, dark and endless under the star-scattered sky.
“Tell me something.” Narla’s voice was soft. “Something you’ve never told anyone.”
He should deflect. Should change the subject, keep the walls up, maintain the distance that had kept him safe for decades.
Instead, he said the one thing he’d never let himself believe.
“I’ve been coming here for seventeen years.” His voice was quiet against the wind. “Not once did I imagine bringing anyone.” He looked out at the silver path of the moon on the water.
Her hand found his in the darkness.
“So when you say you’ve spent your life keeping people at arm’s length—” She traced a finger along his jaw. “This is why.”
“Partly.” He brought her hand to his lips. “And then you walked into my station and shorted out my computer.” His laugh was rough. “I knew. Immediately. Everything I’d spent years avoiding, standing right there in my station with paperwork in her hands and terror in her eyes.”
“I was terrified,” she admitted. “I felt it too—that pull. And I knew I couldn’t afford to feel anything for anyone. Not with Derren out there. Not with what I was hiding. We’re quite the pair.”
“You,” he said quietly. “You matter. More than control. More than safety. More than any of the walls I spent my life building.”
She kissed him—soft and sweet and achingly tender. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“I used to think Niccolas was it for me. My one chance at love. And when he died, I convinced myself that part of my life was over. That I’d had my shot and lost it.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m sitting in a lighthouse with a man who just told me his deepest pain, and I’m realizing—” She paused, her voice thick. “What I had with Niccolas was real. It was good. But this? This is different. Bigger. Like comparing a candle flame to a wildfire.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Wildfires are terrifying.” Her smile was wobbly. “But they’re also beautiful. And they clear away the deadwood so new things can grow.”
He pulled her close, tucked her head under his chin. His panther settled—truly settled, beyond dormant. Not sleeping, but calm. Watchful. Content in a way he’d never experienced.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The stars turned overhead. The ocean kept its steady rhythm below.
He kissed her—deeper this time, hungrier. Her hands slid under his shirt, traced the muscles of his back. His fingers found the hem of her flannel, the warm skin beneath.
“We should—” She gasped as his mouth found her throat. “There’s a blanket downstairs?—”
“Later.” He eased her back against the cool stone of the walkway. “I need you now.”
The stars wheeled overhead.
THIRTY-ONE
WYATT
Later—much later—they lay wrapped in the blanket he’d retrieved from downstairs, watching the first hints of pink color the eastern horizon.
Narla traced idle patterns on his chest. Her touch was light, exploratory—mapping the territory of him with the curiosity of a new discoverer.
“My panther took one look at you and tried to tear free.” His chest vibrated with quiet laughter. “I’d never felt anything like it.”
“And you kept it caged for all that time.”
“I convinced myself I was wrong about it.” His arms tightened around her. “That the attraction was irrelevant. That you were hiding danger.”
