Page 29 of Zorro

Like that was supposed to help her sleep.

Before she could react, he leaned in, his hand rising to cradle the back of her head. His palm was warm, firm, fingers threading through her hair like he had every right to be there.

Then he kissed her. Hard. Full and hungry and protective and so completely Zorro that it left her swaying.

“Go,” she whispered, blinking hard, you impossible man. “Before you make me do something reckless.”

He turned, bare back flexing as he made it three steps across the hall as Joker’s door creaked open. Zorro was already inside his room, door still open. Damn, he moved fast.

Everly shoved the shirt behind her back in one panicked motion.

Joker squinted.

She lifted her chin. “Can’t a girl get some ice?”

“If the girl had an ice bucket,” he said, then softer. “They teach me stuff like that in officer school.”

Zorro covered his mouth to keep from making noise, his eyes dancing at her stupid mistake. It took everything she had not to respond to his antics. For Joker’s sake, she shrugged it off. “Jet lag. Forgot the bucket.”

“Mmm…humm.” The door closed behind him.

Zorro blew her a kiss, then disappeared into his room like he hadn’t just smacked her senseless, barefoot and shirtless, like sin wrapped in a big, beautiful package.

Her phone buzzed again.

Did his eyes turn red?

She smiled despite herself, thumbs hovering.

Yes. It’s no cookies and milk for you tomorrow.

She padded into the bathroom on autopilot, splashed water on her face, but nothing could cool the heat running wild under her skin. When she came back out, her gaze fell on the scattered conference materials still strewn across the carpet like her thoughts. Still Rob.

His photo stared up at her from where it had landed, black and white, still and solemn. That smile that looked so perfect. So polished.

Her gaze shifted to the shirt in her hand.

Zorro’s shirt. Still warm from his skin. Still holding his scent, cedar, rain, something elemental. Real.

She crouched slowly, knees trembling, and gathered the pieces of the mess. With deliberate care, she tucked everything back into the conference bag, folders, charger, notes, and finally, the photo. Rob’s face disappeared into the dark. A symbol. A mercy.

Then she stood and stripped.

Her clothes hit the floor in a silent fall. Her skin prickled, nerves too awake. Her hands shook as she lifted the shirt, and before her brain could catch up, she let it drift down over her bare skin. It was too big. Soft. The hem brushed her peaked nipples, as she made a needy sound, then ended at mid-thigh.

His scent enveloped her.

Zorro.

She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and let it settle in her chest. It filtered through her like comfort. Like a balm against wounds she hadn't dared touch in years. She didn’t question it. Not tonight.

Everly pulled back the covers and slipped beneath, the hotel sheets cool against her legs, the cotton of his shirt warm against her breasts. She tucked herself in, curling her hand into the fabric, anchoring herself to something that wasn’t memory. Something that pulsed with life.

Zorro was nothing like Rob.

Nothing.

Yet, her heart clenched with the familiar ache. Was he the kind of man who could ever get her past this darkness? Past the bitterness that twisted sharp in her gut, and this aching, unnamed feeling she couldn’t quite pinpoint? Could anyone get through to the real her?