“What happened?”
“I found out. Confronted him.” A bitter smile. “He didn’t deny it. Just said it was nothing personal. That I was convenient.” She exhaled. “I reported him. He went to prison. And I learned that the people I let close are the ones who can hurt me most.”
Just like he’d been betrayed by the CO who hadn’t listened. By the system that had let three men die.
So yeah, he got it—the pain underneath her words.
“You should know . . .” She looked at him directly now. “Fair warning. I’m not good at this. The closeness. The trust. I tend to do better if I just keep moving. Keep things . . . casual.”
“You ruin things before they can ruin you.”
She blinked at that. “You get too close to me and things could end badly.”
He lifted a shoulder. Smiled. Then he walked over to the bed and sat down. “So, I guess we have right now,” he said, his gaze falling to her mouth.
She swallowed, nodded.
And then, aw, he didn’t know why he did it—especially since Ham had just suggested she might be an assassin. Every instinct he’d trained for years was screaming to pull back, verify, wait for data. She was sick, vulnerable, and she’d just told him to stay away.
And he kissed her anyway.
Soft. Careful. One hand coming up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palm. Then leaning in to press his lips to hers. Sweetly. Perfectly.
Because he simply couldn’t stop himself.
He probably should have asked, but?—
She softened her lips and kissed him back.
Oh. My.
She tasted like ginger tea and something else, something that was just her, warm and certain, and when she made a small sound against his mouth—surprise, or surrender, or both—something broke open in his chest.
He moved his hand behind her neck and drew her closer. She came willingly, her hand fisting in his shirt like she’d been waiting for permission to hold on. The kiss deepened, unhurried now, the reckless edge of it smoothing into something that felt less like a question and more like an answer.
Kissing her felt like coming home, as if she belonged in his arms, and the sense of it sank into him, turning his bones to fire.
The kiss had come without thinking—pure reflex, a sudden need to prove something he couldn’t have named. But everything about this woman pulled him in. Tempted him to let go, to forget who he was, what he wanted.
No. He knew what he wanted.
This. Her. The what-ifs.
The tomorrows.
Her fingers slid up to the back of his neck, into his hair, and the small tug undid him. He kissed her like he meant it, like he had no intention of stopping. She tightened her arms around him, breath catching, and for one dizzy moment there was nothing else—no mission, no questions, no reason this couldn’t be exactly what it felt like.
Which was the problem.
What was he doing? He hadn’t let himself want anyone in years. Didn’t have room for it, didn’t have the kind of life that left space for a woman in it. One day at a time, one job to the next—that was the deal he’d made. He couldn’t see all the way to the end of this.
Someone was going to get hurt.
He broke away. Leaned back, breathing hard, one hand scrubbing down his face. Couldn’t quite look at her. “I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She stared at him, lips parted, an expression he couldn’t read. Surprise. Confusion. Something that looked almost like fear.
So maybe she felt exactly the same.
