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“Yeah.” His throat worked. “I hope if I need it bad enough, I’ll know how to unfold it again.”
She looked at the rug. Then at him. “I think you already know how.”
The quiet hung thick between them. No flirtation. No tension. Just something deeper. Unsaid. Safe.
He held her gaze, stunned still by the weight of her seeing him.
“Grace.” Her name was half breath. “Why are you asking about this?”
She swallowed. “It matters to you. I want to know what matters to you.”
“Why?”
Her voice didn’t waver. “I think...you matter to me.”
His shoulders tightened, his eyes flashed, then softened just like her heart.
Picking up the mugs, she walked to him. He settled on the couch in the corner, and she sat next to him, setting the mug on the small coffee table without speaking. The silence between them wasn’t heavy. Just...deliberate. Neither of them was in a hurry to fill it.
“You have questions?” When she opened her mouth, he said, “Let’s stay away from my Adonis Belt. I only have so much willpower with you.”
She watched him, still and quiet. A tiny thrill shot through her, bolstering not only her desire for this man but her fortitude, as well. She was beginning to understand Nashir Rahim well enough to realize he was trying to instill a bit of fear in her with his words, and eventually, his actions.
The hotel suite had gone soft with silence. The snow outside whispered against the window, a slow, feathered hush like breath drawn through silk. Across the room, the kitchenette’s under-counter lights cast a golden glow that warmed the edge of the shadows, flickering faintly across the dark blue sweep of the couch.
They sat close but not touching. Two mugs of tea steamed gently on the low table between them.
Grace curled her hands around hers, lifting the ceramic, warm and grounding. The taste of jasmine lingered on her tongue, but her focus was all on him, bare feet flat on the floor, elbows resting on his thighs, head tilted slightly as he studied something invisible on the opposite wall.
The gray sweats molded over his thighs and the cotton of his shirt clung to his chest in all the ways that now made her stupid. Her heart hadn’t settled since the kiss that hadn’t quite become anything more.
She took a slow sip, then glanced sideways at him.
“So…” Her voice came lightly. Casual. Not casual. “You mentioned something earlier… frog hogs?”
Nash’s head turned slightly, one brow lifting. “Seriously?”
She blinked at him, deadpan. “I’m running a comparative study.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh and leaned back, his arm sliding along the back of the couch. The movement brought him closer, but not close enough to touch.
“Women who hang around SEAL bars,” he said wryly. “Some of them are great. Some just want the trident.”
She tilted her head. “That’s a thing?”
“It’s a lifestyle,” he murmured. “For both sides.”
There was no judgment in his voice, just experience. She took that in, sipped her tea again. Then, softer, said, “You said you kept moving so nothing would catch up. That you… used sex to cope.” His jaw tensed. Just for a moment. Then his thumb scraped across the inside of his palm. “I’m not asking for a count,” she added quickly, eyes on her tea. “I just… that sounded lonely.”
He was silent for a breath. “It was.” His voice had dropped, a quiet rasp dredged from somewhere deeper. He rubbed the back of his neck, then settled his hand on his thigh again, fingers flexing. “I was desperate to keep the ghosts quiet.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t work.”
She swallowed, her throat tighter than she expected. The heater hummed gently behind them, soft air rustling the curtain.
“What about now?” she asked.
Nash didn’t answer right away. His head tipped slightly, like he was thinking carefully. Like he was choosing which parts of the truth he wanted to show her. “Now?” he said finally, glancing at her with something that lived between amusement and weariness. “I’m a guy who reads people better than they want to be read… and handles problems too messy for paperwork.”
Grace’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “Is that your job description?”