Page 48 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Rena’s pulse thudded so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. The air between them was thick, heavy with everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d tried to ignore for months.

She told herself to stop. To take a breath, to step back, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. They were teammates. Partners. Both bruised and running on fumes after too many close calls.

But Gage’s hands were warm at her back, his breath brushing her cheek, steady and grounding. And for the first time in too long, she didn’t feel like she was standing at the edge of something dangerous. She felt seen.

When he kissed her again, slower this time, the last of her resistance cracked.

Her mind whispered that she shouldn’t—couldn’t—but her body had already made the choice. She didn’t want to stop. Not tonight. She wanted to lose herself in him for a little while, to trade the noise in her head for the solid, quiet comfort of his arms.

They’d been dancing around this for too long, sidestepping what had been building since the first mission they’d shared years ago. Every brush of his fingers, every soft pull of his mouth, felt like a surrender to something inevitable.

Rena didn’t know who moved first, whether it was Gage guiding her backward or her simply following where her heart had already gone. The world outside his cubicle faded, leaving only the soft thud of her pulse and the steady beat of his breath against hers.

He drew her in, the kiss deepening until thought gave way to feeling. Every barrier she’d built to keep herself safe, every rule, every warning crumbled beneath the heat of it.

Gage’s touch wasn’t demanding. It was steady, deliberate, careful in a way that spoke more than words ever could. Even through the chaos of the last few days, he still thought about her first, about her injuries, about her comfort.

When he eased her back toward the small space of his cubicle and shut the door behind them, it wasn’t about privacy. It was about shutting out everything else. The gunfire, the questions, the fear.

For this moment, it was just them.

The kiss turned hungry, full of pent-up need and unspoken promises. Her hands slid over his shoulders, careful where she knew he hurt, and his breath hitched. It wasn’t just lust driving her. It was something deeper, something that had been simmering between them for far too long.

She knew she should stop. That letting this happen could change everything. But she didn’t want to. Not tonight.

For once, she wanted to let herself feel, wanted to remember what it was like to be alive, to touch and be touched by someone who understood what it cost to keep surviving.

Rena drew back, breathless, her forehead resting against his. Neither of them spoke, just the sound of air and heartbeat and need between them. Then she managed a shaky laugh.

“If we keep going,” she whispered, “we’re going to pop every damn stitch Beck fixed.”

Gage’s answering grin was soft, a little reckless. “I’ll be careful.”

That tenderness, that promise, hit her harder than any touch. She searched his face, saw the same war of reason and want playing out there, and realized she didn’t care either. Not about the rules, not about the timing, not about the risks.

All she wanted was him.

They shed what was between them—the layers of uniform, the weight of the last few days, the fear that had been pressing down since the hangar—and tumbled together onto the narrow bed.

He framed her face with his hands, eyes searching hers one last time, silently asking if she was sure. And she was. Completely.

When he finally kissed her again, everything else fell away. All that was left was the quiet truth of it. The ache, the closeness, the choice to let go and reach for something good in the middle of all the wreckage.

It wasn’t about escape anymore. It was about finding something real.

Gage drew her close, guiding her onto his lap, and the careful way he moved, how he made space for both their injuries, told her more about what this meant than words ever could.

They found a rhythm together, slow and deliberate, more about closeness than urgency. Every shift, every breath, pulled them deeper into that fragile, perfect space where nothing else existed.

Rena clung to him, her fingers digging lightly into his shoulders. The moment built between them until it was too much to contain, the heat and emotion cresting like a wave neither could fight. When it broke, it wasn’t just release. It was relief. It was belonging.

Afterward, they stayed tangled together, foreheads pressed, breaths uneven but shared. Rena didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

Because in that quiet, she realized what had truly happened between them wasn’t just passion. It was trust. The kind you only gave once.

Chapter Fourteen

Rena was asleep, her breathing soft and even against his chest. Gage lay still, one arm draped around her, feeling the rise and fall of her body against his. The room was quiet—too quiet, maybe—but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like the silence of waiting for the next attack.