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“When I was younger, I got caught up in some bad shit, and drinking and drugs were my go to way to cope with it all. When we lost Scotty on our last deployment, I could feel the temptation to go back to that life, so I like to keep in control. I just have a little, but never enough to lose control.”

I reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “That’s incredibly admirable. Not many people possess that kind of strength.”

I’m sure our conversation will end there, but he continues. “It’s not easy, but joining the military gave me a focus. I joined with Scotty, and a year later, Noah, Jack, and Harry joined, and they all saved me in their own ways. The decision to join the Marines saved my life.”

“You must really miss him,” I say, referring to Scotty.

“Every day,” he says under his breath, his voice cracking as he places a hand over his chest, over where I know a set of dog tags hang.

The need to comfort him becomes too strong. I place the bottle of champagne down on the table, crawl into his lap, straddle him and begin, stroking his jaw with the pads thumbs, loving the way his stubble feels under my touch.

I smooth my hands down his neck and onto his chest. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes laser-focused on my hands as they undo the buttons one by one. I open the shirt, pushing it back, revealing his toned muscles, his tattoos and the dog tags.

I lift them and run my thumb over the cool metal, the embossed letters and numbers have a few scratches and dents over them.

“Are these Scotty’s?” I ask softly.

“Yeah, his family gave them to me after the funeral. Said they wanted me to have them.”

My heart aches at the sound of his tormented voice. I can’t imagine losing Ali or Ria. It’s something I’m not sure I’d everrecover from. He’s been through so much, and underneath the harsh exterior is a man who cares deeply, and I feel honored to have been on the receiving end of it. Even if it's only for a little while.

I place the chain back down and trace my finger over the lines of his tattoos. “What made you get all your tattoos?” I slide my hand in his and interlock our fingers. “I really like these ones.” I place a kiss to the back of the tattoos on his hand. I wouldn’t have dreamed of being this brave a few months ago, but with him, I feel confident and free to be how I want to be.

“I got them to cover up the reminders of my past.” My face falls at his admission.

“What do you mean?” Anxiety swirls in my stomach, wondering what he’s done or what he’s been through, that he felt the need to cover it up.

“I’ve done some bad things, Gabriella. Every time I looked at my hands, they were just reminders of the bad shit I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt and the people I couldn’t save,” he says quietly, his voice tight as he stares down at his hands.

“So, I covered them, and then it became an addiction; one that wasn’t going to kill me, so I kept going. Everyone has a story, but…” He clears his throat, and I sense this is becoming too much, so I lean in and press a kiss to his chest to comfort him. His skin instantly pebbles under my touch, and I continue dusting him with kisses until I feel his body relax under my touch.

“Thank you for opening up to me,” I say softly, between kisses.

“You’re the only woman I could open up to like that, Mia cara.” I raise my head to look at him. Those words mean everything. He’s helped me in ways I can’t explain, and if I can do that for him too, then why does this have to end when we go home?

“You help me forget all the bad in my life.”

Oh, my heart.

“I want you,” I whisper, my voice raspy and desperate, and I do one of the bravest things I’ve ever done, I crash my mouth down on his, and when his fingers weave into my hair and kisses me back with the same fervor, I rotate my hips over him, desperate for some friction. My hands work his buckle.

“I want you to have all of me,” I confess through panted breaths and frantic kisses.

“We can’t,” he murmurs against my lips.

“We can. I need you.” My breathing is hot and heavy as I reach inside his pants.

“Gabriella, stop.” I stiffen and pull back, hurt by his words.

“I’m sorry.” My words are barely a whisper.

Embarrassed at my boldness, I climb off his lap and hurry to the bedroom. God, I read that situation all wrong. Tears prick at my eyes, and I want to hide and cry over his rejection, but he’s hot on my heels.

“Gabriella, wait.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. I just… Is it because you don’t want me like that? Are we done with this now, or did I do something wrong? Did I…”

I don’t get to finish my words. He clutches my waist, turning me to face the full length mirror opposite our bed. His wild eyes latch on to mine in the reflection. My racing heart is ready to break through my chest in anticipation for his words, his next move.