Page 33

He shifted, the weight of him easing back against the cushions, but the tension in his shoulders never quite let go. “In the Teams,” he said slowly, “they trained us to break patterns. Get inside the enemy’s head. You see the edge of a habit, you exploit it. Predictability kills.”
She stilled, sensing the shift. This wasn’t war-story bravado. This was who he was.
“But civilians?” he went on, voice low and thoughtful, “They think they’re unpredictable. That makes them even easier to read. Everyone’s predictable when they’re protecting something they love.”
Her breath caught. A flutter low in her chest. She stared at him, heart skipping a beat.
That insight. Thatprecision.
He hadn’t said it with ego. Just fact.
She took another sip to cover the silence, trying to slow her pulse. The tea had cooled slightly, but her skin still felt too warm.
Nash looked over. His gaze drifted down, pausing briefly on her forearm where her sleeve had shifted up. A pale white scar caught the light.
He didn’t comment. He didn’t ask.
But she saw the subtle shift in his expression. The way his brows lowered just slightly. His mouth pressed together. She tugged her sleeve down without a word. He said nothing. Just met her gaze and gave a small, respectful nod. That quiet acknowledgment meant more than words.
She wasn’t ready to show him. But now she knew he wouldn’t ask her to.
She set her empty teacup on the coffee table and relaxed back into the sofa, feeling the exhaustion of the day finally sinking in. The next thing she knew, she woke up in Nash's bed.
Startled, she sat bolt upright, breath catching. The room was dim, quiet. He was gone, but the place where he’d slept was still warm. The sheets rumpled, the pillow indented. His scent lingered, soap, heat, something elemental that was justhim.
She sat there for a moment, breath caught in her throat, the memory of his arms around her still echoing across her skin with the imprint of his need murmuring in pores and nerves, in every chamber of her heart. That was the true seduction of this man. Her attempts were paltry compared to his care forged in the twin fires of his soul and mind, offered without demand, and worn like a second skin.
Had she let him in without realizing it? That quiet connecting door, like the inescapable collision on that fated path when he ran into her, now felt like a bridge to something more powerful than she’d ever known. To her shock, he hadn’t broken anything, and at that quiet moment had just accepted everything about her as if she’d been more than enough. Yet, he’d pulled that door half-closed last night, and she shivered at the thought of what would happen if…when…
He was the one to open it fully.
Grace exhaled and slipped out of bed, barefoot, the hotel carpet cool against the soles of her feet. His sneakers were gone from the spot near the door. Of course. You didn’t keep your body fat at thirteen percent by sitting on your ass.
Still trembling slightly, she padded across the floor, back through the connecting door to her room. The moment it clicked shut behind her, she leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. She didn’t remember her dreams. Only his warmth. Only the echo of safety still humming in her skin.
* * *
The cold bitat his skin, but it wasn’t enough. Nash pushed harder, feet slamming into the frozen ground, lungs dragging in air that didn’t soothe the fire burning through him.
His body was sogoddamnhot. He’d woken up with Grace wrapped around him, warm skin, wild hair, her breath soft against his throat. A sleepy woman. A brilliant woman. Abeautifulwoman who had shown him, without hesitation, without shame, that she wanted him…in more ways than skin deep.
He’d looked down at her and ached. Bone deep. Muscle deep. Like every cell in his body had been rewired around the shape of her, and he’d barely touched her.
Sex wasn’t intimacy. He knew that better than anyone. He’d used it like a weapon, a drug, a shortcut. Something to burn through the night so he didn’t have to feel. It was the only way he knew how to exist. Fast. Detached.In motion.
Grace offered something more. Not just pleasure.Herself. She stirred that terrifying stillness he never let himself feel. She saw through everything and still wanted more. That’s what haunted him now.
People revealed themselves in a thousand ways, what they said, what they didn’t, the lines they crossed, the lines they drew. Nash had always thought his silence protected him. But it didn’t. It exposed him. Grace had looked at him, right at the hollow places he tried to bury, and found the truth.He’d fucked his way through ghost towns just to stay moving, and she saw that. It was like taking a hit to the head,a concussion of revelation.
She’d touched the part of him no one else even knew about. What had once grounded him, but was now off-center…lost, but never forgotten. She’d seenhim.
You matter to me.
That was what had detonated inside him. Not her touch. Her truth.
Loneliness.
The word settled over him like a sixty-pound weighted ruck strapped to his back. Pushing harder. Breathing through grit. But it dragged at him. God, he missed his team. The routine. The rhythm. The trust. The brotherhood. Riggs. Burner. Superman, and the guys who weren’t on the mission. He’d shunned them because it hurt too much.