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CHAPTER 14

He watched the flames lick at the darkness, the fire casting flickers of gold across her face. She sat cross-legged on the blanket he’d retrieved from the truck across from him, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, marshmallow stick in one fist like it was a torch. Her laughter had quieted now, replaced by a thoughtful silence that wrapped around them as gently as the night air.

He should’ve looked away, given her a break from the weight of his gaze. But damn—it was hard. There was something about her in the firelight, the way her expression softened, like she was letting herself just be for once. No sharp comebacks. No armor. Just her. And he liked her like that. Hell, he liked her too much.

She caught him staring and tilted her head, curious, not coy. “What?” she asked, her voice low and husky from the building chill.

He shook his head slowly, a smirk playing at his lips. “Nothing. Just . . . you’ve got this look. Like you belong out here.”

She raised a brow. “You mean like a raccoon?”

He chuckled. God, she was good at dodging compliments. But the way her lips curved afterward, the faintest hint of a real smile, told him she’d heard it, anyway.

“Have you always worked for the security company?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. He noted she ignored his compliment as if she didn’t know how to respond to one. Jeeves knew her father was to blame for that, positive that the man had never once complimented his daughter. Learning about her difficult upbringing, a burning resentment toward her father welled up inside him, a mixture of fury and sorrow. It was bad enough knowing he’d sold her so callously. From the few details he knew about Cammie’s childhood, it was readily apparent that her upbringing was far from idyllic.

She brought her knees up and hugged them, watching the flames, but every now and then she glanced his way. Curious. Patient.

Jeeves shifted on the blanket, arms resting on his knees. “I was in the Army before. A Ranger.”

A look of shock washed over her face as her eyes widened dramatically. “Really? That’s . . . amazing. Thank you for your service.”

He’d been thanked many times throughout his service, but for some reason, Cammie’s thanks bothered him. He didn’t do what he did for recognition. He didn’t want anybody to be beholden to him, especially not her.

Jeeves let the silence stretch. It wasn’t uncomfortable—she never made silence feel like pressure. That was one of the reasons he found himself lowering his guard around her without even realizing it.

“It wasn’t all action movie stuff,” he said finally, voice low. “Being a Ranger.”

She looked over at him, eyes soft. She didn’t push, just waited.

He drew in a breath, leaned back on his hands, and stared up at the stars. “People hear that title and think adrenaline, guns, hero crap. And yeah, some of it’s like that. But most of it . . .” He shook his head. “Most of it’s just grit. Bone-deep exhaustion. Doing the job because someone had to. And trying not to lose pieces of yourself in the process.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. It just slipped out. And for some insane reason, he wasn’t done. “Most of it’s waiting. Quiet. Stress that eats your bones. And then it’s chaos. Fast, loud, ugly. And sometimes we don’t all make it back.” Like his teammate Liam.

She didn’t flinch. She just listened, like he was saying something sacred.

“I got out five years ago. Still feels like I’m halfway there sometimes.” He let out a soft laugh. “Hell, I still sleep with my boots by the bed.”

The fire popped. She leaned forward, elbow on one knee, while her other hand found his. He linked their fingers and sat still as she studied him—not like he was broken. Not like she pitied him. Just . . . curious. Open.

“And you went straight from that to working for a security company?”

“Condor’s Overwatch is more than a security company. We do some security missions. Our primary function, however, involves investigating and executing missions that are beyond the capabilities or jurisdiction of the government.”

“So not just bodyguard jobs,” she interpreted.

“We do those too when needed.” He wanted to tell her that Baker had reached out to Condor’s Overwatch, requesting their help in watching out for her, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how she’d react. And frankly, it wasn’t just about the job for him anymore. She’d weaseled her way past the armor he’d shielded himself with and into his heart. Hence why he was oversharing, spilling his guts with the desperate hope of connection . . . understanding.

“I never talk about it, you know.” he said. “About my Ranger days. The loss of my teammate. Not because I’m ashamed. Just . . . it’s hard to explain that kind of weight to someone who hasn’t carried it.”

“I’m listening,” she said, voice just above a whisper. “And I understand more than you know.”

His stomach tightened, and he was already dreading what she might say. He knew her story, but hearing it from her . . . He’d seen glimpses of her past pain, the shadow of it lingering in her eyes.

“You ever feel like the worst parts of your story don’t belong to you anymore?” she asked softly.

Jeeves turned to her, his expression unreadable, but his attention fully hers.

“I was asleep. In my own bed. Men barged into my room. One moment I was sound asleep, the next, I was being dragged down the hall.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

“I felt a prick in my neck, then there was nothing. When I woke up, I was in the back of a box truck, having no idea where I was or how I got there. When the truck stopped and the back opened and the hot and humid air hit me, I knew. I was no longer in LA. There were men. Guns. Chaos. With the Spanish the men spoke, I figured I was somewhere in Latin America.

“They took me out of that truck,” she continued. “Dragged me into the jungle like I weighed nothing. Beat me. Starved me. Kept me there for months. No light, no clocks, no names. Just orders. And silence. Except when they wanted to make sure I knew how small I was. And a man was always there. I’ll never forget him. His dark eyes. The stupid smirk that said he enjoyed watching my pain and fear. I hated him.”

A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn’t brush it away. His hand itched to reach out and swipe it away but resisted, squeezing the hand that was still linked with his instead. Jeeves sat very still. Tension rippled across his shoulders, but he didn’t speak. He let her have the space she needed.

“The worst was when they brought the girls in. Little girls, some no older than six or seven. One by one, they’d disappeared from our prison. I knew they weren’t being adopted by loving families. It broke my heart. And there was a good amount of fear realizing that was probably going to be my fate, too. I told myself stories at night just to remember what hope sounded like.” Rage hit him like a gut-punch. His jaw locked, vision narrowing. But then she looked at him—really looked—and he forced himself to breathe.

“It was a team of SEALs that found me. I don’t think they expected me to be there, but they took me and the remaining girls with them.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “The thing is, I didn’t feel rescued. I felt . . . broken. Like they’d taken something I couldn’t name, and I’d never get it back.” She let out a shaky breath. “I still wake up sometimes expecting to hear boots outside the door.”

Her voice caught, and for the first time, she turned to him, her eyes glistening in the firelight. Jeeves’s chest constricted, and he couldn’t stand the look in her eyes. He turned toward her, his hands hovering hesitantly in the space between them. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she met his gaze, her face pale but composed, as though the act of sharing her story had taken something out of her. A deep breath trembled through her lips, and for a moment, Jeeves thought she might say more, but she didn’t. She didn’t need to.

He could see it in her eyes now—the remnants of that woman who had been through hell and survived it. He wanted to protect her. To do everything in his power to make sure she never felt that kind of fear again.

Gently, he brought his hands up to her face, cradling it in his palms. He gave in and swiped the tears away with his thumbs. “They didn’t take everything,” he said quietly.

She turned to him, eyes glossy in the moonlight.

“I see the way you carry it,” he said. “But I also see the way you keep going. That’s not weakness. That’s survival. That’s strength.”

She embodied pure strength. Stronger than him. His pain, while great, was nothing compared to what she carried with her. He needed to take a page from her book. Needed to let himself finally grieve. To move past the pain. Tear down the walls he’d built to keep people out. He could start by telling her his story. All of it. The good stuff and the shameful acts of his past that weighed heavily on his mind. But not tonight. Tonight was about her.

“It was those SEALs and their wives and girlfriends who helped the most. I couldn’t go home, so they took me in. Helped me recover physically and mentally. I owe them my life.”

“I would like to buy them a beer.” He’d never met that SEAL team, but if he ever got the opportunity, he’d shake their hands.

She laughed once, dryly. “I haven’t told many people. Most wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“I’m not most people,” he said quietly. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she looked down at his lips, and he felt her tremble—not in fear, but something else. Something deeper.

Jeeves sat there, still reeling from her words, and the sudden rush of blood to his cock made him curse to himself inwardly. This was not the time.

She’d just told him the story—her story. The one that had haunted her, shaped her. The one that made his chest ache with a kind of helpless rage and reverence all at once. He hadn’t known what to say when she’d finished. There weren’t words for that kind of pain. And yet, she’d trusted him with it. Laid it bare like a wound finally unbandaged.

The fire crackled beside them, casting flickering shadows across her face. Her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion and something he recognized now—relief. But her shoulders were still tight, her fingers still nervously twisting the hem of her sweatshirt.

She looked . . . breakable. But not weak. Never weak. Stronger than anyone he’d ever met. And more beautiful than he could ever remember seeing her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice gravel-thick. “For trusting me.”

She gave a soft nod, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but the words never came. Instead, she looked at him. Really looked at him.

And God help him, that look broke what was left of his restraint.

He knew it wasn’t the right time. Knew he should give her space, let her come to him—if she ever did at all. But there was something in the way she leaned toward him, the way her breath hitched, just slightly, when his thumbs brushed against the apple of her cheeks. The space between them was charged, crackling with something he didn’t dare name.

He inched closer, his eyes never leaving hers. She didn’t pull away.

His eyes searched hers, and he saw the same question there—the same pull.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, low and raw.

But she didn’t.

So he kissed her.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. Her lips trembled against his, hesitant at first—like she hadn’t been kissed in years, maybe ever in a way that meant something. And then she kissed him back.

She leaned into him with a sudden need that undid him completely. It wasn’t desperation—it was something deeper. Something fragile and fearless all at once. And when her hands curled into his shirt, when she let out the softest breath against his lips, he knew he was done for.

This wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t pity. It was something neither of them had been ready for—but couldn’t ignore.

When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the still night air.

“I know it’s not the right time,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back. “But I couldn’t not.”

She smiled faintly. “Me neither.”

And in that moment, with the fire crackling beside them and the past still heavy in the air, Jeeves knew something had shifted. Maybe they were both still broken in places. But something new had started. And this time, neither of them had to face it alone.