Page 47

His scent lingered.
It was faint at first, like the trace of incense after flame, but it grew stronger the closer she got to the elevator. The doors opened, and it surrounded her. Warm. Spiced. Masculine. Her breath caught. Her fingers brushed the sunflower at her throat, grounding herself, anchoring in the storm.
She followed the trail down. Out. Toward the lower floor.
The scent thickened. A thread in the air, an unspoken claim, tugging at something feral in her blood. When she reached the gym door, she knew he was inside. Her fingers curled around the handle. She opened it and stopped breathing.
Nash was moving like a force of nature, each strike precise, devastating. His muscles coiled, legs grounded, sweat carving trails down his back. He was shirtless, the lighting catching every ridge of power, every brutal line of discipline honed by years of war and willpower.
He didn’t see her, and yet she felt seen. Known. Owned.
The bag rocked beneath his blows, his fists like thunder. His jaw clenched. His breath heavy. A man trying to purge something too big to name. The tight hitch in his right shoulder, the sharp twist of his body just before impact. The burn had cooled but was still visible. He fought his pain, and she couldn’t look away from his magnificence. Danger made flesh, and hers.
“Nash,” she breathed.
He froze. Shoulders tightening. Head dropping. For a second, he just let the bag hold him. Then he turned.
His eyes hit her like heat. She saw the flicker, the lace, the pendant, the robe, the flush in her cheeks, the scars she wasn’t hiding. He dragged in a breath. “Grace,” he whispered, hoarse and reverent. “Have some mercy. I’m almost done.”
But she shook her head, barely. “Don’t tell me what to do. You broke me open, Nash. I get to decide what that means.”
He pushed off the bag slowly, every line in his body taut with warning and want. When he turned fully, her knees nearly gave.
His sculpted chest. His cut abs. The dark waistband of his shorts low on his hips. Every inch of him sweat-slicked and glistening.
Then that voice, low, guttural, rough enough to scrape her skin. “I will tell you to get the hell out of my personal space,” he growled, “and go get some fucking clothes on.”
Her mouth curved, helpless. Too late. She wasalreadyhis.
She was confident enough to know she could meet him beat for beat. Special operators liked to act like they were in charge, but one of the most dangerous men on the planet wanted her. She wasn’t going to let him back down. Not this time.
They were in this together. She was letting go. Evolving. Maybe even healing. But before she handed him her heart, she wanted to know what was holding him back.
She lifted her chin, touched the sunflower around her neck. "Then why did you leave the door unlocked? For a man like you, that’s an invitation."
He stood there, loose but coiled, crimson wraps flexing as he clenched his fists. Like he’d rather be pounding the bag than facing her. That tension? God, it made her blood heat. Every inch of her wanted that fire turned on her.
He scrubbed a towel over his dark hair, down his neck, his chest. The whole performance was a tease, and he didn’t even know it. Or maybe he did. Maybe it was a warning.
He tossed the towel aside. She met the storm in his eyes head-on. Those eyes didn’t shine. They smoldered. Trained to strip her down to her core and catalog what was found. Dangerous. Beautiful. Unrelenting.
She saw her reflection in the mirrored glass behind him, cheeks flushed, pupils wide, mouth parted. But what caught her breath wasn’t the hunger in her eyes. It was the certainty. The raw defiance. She didn’t look afraid. She looked alive.
This wasn’t about proving anything. Not to him. Not even to herself. This was about showing up. Letting herself be seen. Not as the smartest in the room or the most prepared or the girl with every angle covered. Just her. Wanting. Risking. Taking up space.
She didn’t just want his attention. She wanted him. The risk, the confrontation, the fallout, whatever came next. It would be worth it. For the first time in a long time, she wasn't trying to disappear.
She walked toward him, hips loose, gaze locked on his. She wanted to move to rivet his attention, and he didn’t look away. His breath shifted. His gaze dropped to her mouth, darkening.
"You like what you see," she whispered. "You left that door open for a reason."
His eyes dipped to her lips, then dragged over her face with a heat that nearly brought her to her knees. She didn’t let him touch her. Not yet. She settled her palm on his chest, right over the pounding of his heart. His skin was hot. Damp. His breath unsteady.
He dropped his head close. "You wouldn’t want me to make you, Grace."
"I dare you to try."
His nostrils flared. Tension radiated off him like heat from asphalt. His arms caged her against the wall. This close, there was no armor. No distance. Just her pulse hammering in her throat and the iron control slipping behind his eyes.