Page 20 of Boomer (SEAL Team Tier 1, #7)

“I didn’t. Boomer was with me. We made K?sesp?tzle together, but I made an apfelstreusel .”

Bash’s mouth tightened. “For Southern fried?”

She avoided his gaze and turned to the counter, pulling the foil-wrapped soda bread toward her. The scent hit first, warm, dense, familiar. She peeled it open and broke off a piece with careful fingers, grounding herself in the motion.

“We shared,” she said lightly. “My dessert for his Irish soda bread.”

She offered him a sideways glance, trying for casual. But his expression had soured.

The corner of his mouth tugged down. The flex of his jaw tightened just enough to make her stomach dip. Something in the air between them went still…pressurized. Like she'd tripped a sensor she didn’t mean to.

A pulse of nervousness slid down her spine. This wasn’t just teasing. This wasn’t just Bash being Bash. This was something else .

Verdammt. She had enough to handle with Boomer, his restraint, his gravity, the ache he stirred in her that still hadn’t settled. That was something she wanted to explore , not dodge.

Adding a sulking Bash into the mix was lighting a fuse.

“Old guys do love their women to be in the kitchen and quiet,” Bash said, tone light but the edge was unmistakable.

Taylor laughed. Sharp. Surprised. “Old? Boomer? ” She shook her head, smile curving before she could stop it. “Far from it.” Her voice dropped an octave. “He’s wise beyond his years.”

And Gott , if Bash had any idea how far off he was. She’d had her hands on him. Felt the coiled strength in him, heat and steadiness and kinetic restraint. That was not a man aging out of relevance. That was a man at his absolute prime. Gott , was he ever prime.

The second part of Bash’s sentence stuck harder. Women in the kitchen and quiet.

Her stomach twisted.

Boomer would never expect that from her. He’d tasted her fire, heard her voice crack like command. But still…that line touched something that she had never unraveled.

She’d been raised by a woman who ran their home and career like an empire, her father, sweet and silent, had handed her mother the crown and never reached for it again.

There was no war between them. Just surrender.

So, when Taylor entered rooms filled with men who took up too much space, GSG 9, NATO liaisons, intel briefings with thick accents and thicker egos, she adapted. Sharpened. Tightened. Controlled her tone. Her smile. Her pulse.

Navigating alpha-male spaces was like walking through a minefield.

She never had a role model for holding her ground with someone who didn’t want to claim it from her.

So now, when she felt Boomer’s quiet weight settle beside her without pushing?

When he stood still and let her choose? She didn’t know what to do with that.

She didn’t know how to be seen without being dominated or respected without being deferred to . Maybe that’s why she pulled back. Not because he demanded too much.

But because he asked for nothing. In her world, that was a trap she’d never been taught to navigate.

Bash’s eyes narrowed. “I heard he almost got you killed yesterday.”

Taylor whirled on him. “What? He did not . He saved my life. He’s an amazing breacher and a fine warrior. Don’t you dare say that about him, Bash. I mean it.” Her voice caught just slightly. “I won’t be able to stay friends with you.”

He stepped in closer. “What if I don’t want to be friends anymore, Taylor. What if I realize I was an idiot and I shut you out? Can’t we put that in the past and explore what we had?”

“I don’t think so. So much time has passed, and I’m not sure I have those kinds of feelings for you, Benedict.”

“Come on, love. Give it some thought. Don’t put the kibosh on it until you remember what happened between us and how good it was.”

He had been fun. So much fun. They’d laughed and loved for hours.

He was beautiful. Kind. Powerful. For a time, it had felt like enough.

But he wasstrong-willed, loud in the way that left no space for her to breathe.

He never meant to overwhelm her. But he had.

Back then, she hadn’t known how to protect her own space.

How could she even entertain thoughts about Bash when Boomer intruded. Somehow, by doing less, by never asking, never pressing, he’d wrecked her completely.

He was warm. Gentle. What they shared in the kitchen wasn’t just food. It was heritage and touching that man, seeing how her cooking, her respect for his Oma made him light up inside, left nothing but a craving for more. Trust.

Quiet magic. Boomer didn’t try to stake a claim. He just showed up and s tood still enough for her to reach for him if she wanted.

She wanted .

She could still feel the heat of his mouth. Still taste him, and it was enough to erase every faded memory of Bash. “I can’t promise you anything,” she said carefully. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

Bash nodded, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a brooding refusal to lose.

It made her nervous. It always had.

“Round two with our captives,” she added, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got to go.”

But in truth she was already gone.

She turned and froze. Boomer stood in the doorway.

Jeans. T-shirt. Just worn denim that clung to thighs built for wrecking doors, and a soft gray tee that stretched over his chest and shoulders like it knew better than to resist him.

His arms were crossed, forearms flexed just enough to show the veins, and his dog tags swung lazily against the cotton.

Effortless. Dangerous in so many good ways. Completely unaware of what he did to her.

The jolt of seeing him cascaded through her, sharp, hot, immediate. She smiled before she could stop herself, stepping closer with a calm she didn’t feel.

“Good morning, handsome,” she murmured, brushing her palm over his forearm as she slipped past him, a pretense to steady herself. But she just needed the heat of him. The gravity .

“What? No breakfast? Not even a Brotchen ?” His tone was teasing, but her body locked up for half a second.

Bash’s comment. The kitchen. The old echo of never giving her power away, never settling for less.

Deeper still, her mother’s voice. Never give your life to a man who will use it to build his own.

Gretchen Hoffman had ruled their house with cold logic and ambition.

Her father, gentle and passive, had stepped aside without a word.

Her brother had lost the battle, hadn’t survived it.

He'd been art and vulnerability, all the things Gretchen crushed. Taylor had escaped by becoming everything Emil wasn’t—hardened, pragmatic, exacting.

Now, standing in front of Boomer, she wondered what she had inherited.

What had she lost, and what had her mother done to her?

Boomer’s voice cut through, low and warm. “I was kidding.” His eyes searched her face like he could sense the spiral. Like he knew. Of course he knew. His intuition was uncanny .

She nodded. “You’d die for my Brotchen .”

He was watching her with no teasing now, no grin to deflect.

Just a steady, unflinching look that stripped her bare.

Their eyes locked, and something passed between them, silent and seismic.

“That’s not the only thing I’d die for,” he said, his voice like gravel.

Her smile stuttered, lips parting slightly.

He leaned in, not much, just a tilt of his body toward hers, something that should’ve read as casual.

But it wasn’t. Not with him. His nearness wasn’t empty space.

It was deliberate and warm. The rich color of his eyes caught her off guard again; they were so deep and potent.

A deep forest, shadowed at the edges, sharp as a blade when he focused on her.

There was nothing soft about them, but something true , something that watched the world and never looked away.

Her breath caught, sharp and involuntary.

A single shiver threaded through her body, betraying her.

Bash saw it. Of course he did. She didn’t turn to check.

She simply couldn’t drag her eyes away from Boomer, but she felt the shift in the room.

The sharpened silence. The weight of two very different kinds of attention.

He didn’t touch her, but damn she wanted him to. He was already under her skin.

She wished she could ditch the entire day and interrogate him . Dissect him. Understand the kind of man who could leave a woman breathless one night and centered the next morning.

Last night had felt like a preview of something so much bigger. Something… solid .Something that could hold weight. That could catch her , if she ever let herself fall.

She shivered again.

The physical with him? That would always be easy. But were they on the same page?

There was something unsettled in him, a current of unease or retreat. She wasn’t sure if that was her invitation or her warning.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, stepping back. “Interrogations. But what about lunch?”

“Can’t. Demo with the SBS.” He rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I’d rather be looking at you across a plate of food than listening to Bash call me Southern fried.”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“You know. He wouldn’t tease you if he didn’t like and respect you.”

“God, perish the thought.”

She stepped closer again. Dropped her voice. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now, you devastating bastard.”

Then she turned. Walked a few paces away. “ Schei?e ,” she muttered under her breath, not caring if he heard. She looked back once, sultry, bitten lip, the whole firestorm, and took in his wrecked face.

She took that with her into the cells. Took it like treasure. Took it like proof that she wasn’t the only one falling.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, yank,” Bash said as two of his friends came into the kitchen.