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She stood, frozen as he disappeared behind his door, that low rumble of a voice still curling in her ear. Wait. That was it? He was retreating? Had she said something wrong?
Disappointment caught her off guard. Normally, the idea of being alone was a relief, retreating to the comfort of her own private space where nothing could touch her, nothing could pull too hard. But now? Now she didn’t want the night to end.
She didn’t want to stop talking to him.
He had a way of teasing things out of her that no one else could reach. The man was an enigma, dangerous, funny, gentle when she didn’t expect it, and she wanted to unravel him. From the way he was so damn cute to the way he had survived when the people she loved didn’t.
She stepped into her room, but it felt just a shade emptier than before.
She needed solitude. That was the truth. She needed it to recharge, to reorient, to make sure she had what she needed to face the world each day.
But him? How did he do that? How did he project presence like that, just standing there, shadowed and bruised, energy banked low like coals under ash, and still manage to command the entire room?
She exhaled slowly, pressing her back to the wall. She wondered, not idly, not innocently, what he’d be like in bed. Would he hold that power tight… or let it go? Would he whisper? Growl? Say nothing at all? Would he brace his body like he did in the gym, shoulders locked, core engaged, or would that restraint break? Would he worship her, slow and reverent? Or pin her down with all that force and finally, finally, unleash?
Her skin prickled. Talk about drowning.
She blinked hard, shoved the thought back where it came from, but it left something behind. A pulse. Low. Unrelenting.
Dangerous.
She was pent up and unsettled, her breath still not back to baseline. That low rumble of a goodbye kept echoing in her chest like a subharmonic she couldn’t tune out.
What was it about him thatintriguedher?
Obviously, he was a whole human being, layered, experienced,scarred, but if she broke down the individual parts, would she find an answer?
Maybe understanding him piece by piece would ease whatever this was that was pressing beneath her skin. She had to know more. Everything.
Shrugging out of her coat, she swung her laptop off her shoulder, dropped onto the bed, and settled cross-legged like she was prepping for a digital stakeout. The moment the screen came to life, she typed the only question that mattered: What Makes a Navy SEAL?
The search page bloomed to life, and with it everything that made up him.
Grace stared at the screen and devoured the information. Okay, she was looking this up for…research. All right, she wasn’t exactly in tune with her body. She really found relationships worse than a puzzle that couldn’t be solved. Men normally were confusing and annoying most of the time, but Nash wasn’t on either count.
She clicked the first link. BUD/S. Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. Six months of evolution forged in surf, sand, and pain. Another click. Drown-proofing.Hands and feet bound. Thrown into water. Expected not just to survive, but to adapt. Swim like that.Thrivelike that. Another. Hell Week: Five days of sleep deprivation. Hypothermia. Psychological stress designed to fracture even the most iron-willed. She read firsthand accounts. Men hallucinating from exhaustion. Crawling through freezing mud. Eyes so swollen they couldn’t open them, voices hoarse from screaming, not in pain, but inencouragement.
They sang to each other under the surf. They didn’t fight alone, and if they broke, there was someone there to have their backs. Her throat tightened.
Another article.
The brotherhood. Bonded in blood and fire. Instructors said the man beside you would carry you when you couldn't move. That no SEAL ever completed BUD/S alone.
She took a breath.He’d done this. All of this was just a preliminary into one of the most elite forces in history.She sat back, breath shallow, heart pounding. The training hadn’t made him, he’d risen to the challenge with grit, courage, and that elusive mental toughness.
Wow, his mind was more fascinating than anything she’d ever encountered, more than code, more than systems, more than military. How did that work? In tandem with his heart?
Then, when he lost it? Oh, God. Stripped from him in a discharge report that probably read like cold paperwork, “medical disqualification,” when it was really the severing of something essential.
That hit her like fresh shrapnel.Losing his teammates had to have gutted him. But losingthe work? The identity? The brotherhood?The service.
That had to be a second death. She blinked, hand trembling slightly on the trackpad. The algorithm had caught on. Suggested searches stacked up like temptation.
Navy SEAL physical training
Tactical endurance testing
Anatomy of elite warriors