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There was history in him. Not the kind you read about. The kind that survived by memory, whispered through generations. He was a descendant of poets and warriors. Of men who protected caravans with curved blades and sacred vows. Of cities lost to sand, and stories too dangerous to write down. A face like that didn’t come from nowhere. It came frombloodlines, the kind forged under burning suns, shaped by honor, and carried forward by men who didn’t just fight… theyendured.
Former Navy SEAL.
Special operator.
Warrior.
Different bones. Different ghosts. A body built for war, endurance, and survival, a body made to love, to touch, to devour, to hold.
But it wasn’t just power. It was control.
There wasrestraintin him.
A gentleness, tucked behind the battlefield.
She swallowed hard at that.
God, he was overwhelming. She hadn’t just been blowing smoke, and with that shiver came fear, it rushed through her with debilitating force, trying to consume her. It whispered,you’re not safe, Grace. He’s not your protection. He’s your destruction. This man will wreck you. Run.But she pushed it back. Let him wreck her. She was sick of being numb.
They sat in shared silence until the food came, and she enjoyed the hell out of her pasta.
“So, about the gaslight with the cooking logs. What does that mean for us?” Nash asked, still watching her carefully.
Grace blinked, as if surfacing from somewhere deeper. Her body was still humming from the moment they’d just shared, but the analytical part of her brain, sharp, relentless, was already locking back into place.
“It means someone’s actively trying to misdirect us,” she said. “They’re scared we’ll figure out what they don’t want us to see.”
She reached for her laptop, fingers moving with calm precision. “This isn’t just a locked door. It’s a warning. Whoever set it expects us to get frustrated, to walk away.” She paused, just long enough to meet his gaze. “We’re not walking.” Then she leaned back, her voice cool and measured now, almost clinical, but Nash smiled. “This is turning into a cat and mouse situation,” she murmured. “I intend to be the cat. Not the kind that chases. The kind that waits right at the mouth of the hole.” She folded her arms, tone dropping to a purr. “I’ll be still. I’ll be patient. When that whiskered little bastard shows his twitching face—” She smiled, slow and razor-edged. “I’ll pounce.”
Nash let out a low whistle. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
“You already did,” she said, not missing a beat. “But I’m letting it go. For now.”
No reaction. Not even a twitch. God, she loved his cool-as-hell attitude. Like he was made of ice and storm, pure, composed, lethal force.
Fucking gorgeous SEAL.
Nash tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a touch, like he was reassessing her, cataloging her weapons. “You ever think about trying out for BUD/S?”
Grace blinked. “Excuse me?”
He grinned, that lazy, dangerous curve that should’ve come with a warning label. “I’m serious. You’ve got the patience of a sniper and the killer instinct of a demolition charge.”
She snorted. “Please. I'd cyber the bell before day one’s over. Rewrite the protocols. Maybe hack the instructors and makethemring out.” She leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming, voice like velvet over steel. “I wouldn’t survive BUD/S.”
Nash’s brow lifted, intrigued.
“I’d be theirHell Week on wheels.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’d pay to see that.” He shook his head, then. “But then the whole command structure collapses and suddenly the DoD is asking why SEAL Team Harlan is running black ops with code and caffeine. So...scratch that.” That earned him her low chuckle. “You should still write that mouse hole method into doctrine. Make it official canon. Grace Harlan’s Law: Wait. Watch. Wreck.”
She gave him a sly smile. “You want my autograph now or after I catch our twitchy little bastard?”
He leaned closer. “I’ll take it when he’s in cuffs.”
After dinner, they walked back to the room. Nash seemed careful, subdued, almost brooding, and along with the cuteness and that devastating smile, his attractiveness just kept adding up in the sexy column.
“Good night, Grace. Thank you…for dinner.”