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Lena

S he was so ready to go home.

As soon as the nurses had allowed her to get out of bed that morning, she’d shuffled slowly to the bathroom on her new crutches. That had taken a while. Getting dressed, even longer. Her thankfully straight jeans, which her father had dropped off with the nurses while she was still asleep, just about made it past the soft brace on her ankle. That was something, at least. The nest that was her hair, that was more difficult to fix. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get it untangled.

For over an hour now, she’d been sitting on the ugly vinyl-covered armchair, waiting. Every time she shifted, the plastic squeaked faintly, putting her on edge. Not that it took much. Her father had taken care of that this morning, when he’d texted to tell her he had to go to Paris, and that he was sending Lieutenant Devallé to pick her up.

It’s not as if she’d been expecting a long heart to heart with her father. The few words they’d exchanged the previous night were probably all she was going to get. But she had at least expected a ride home. For him to want to see with his own eyes that she was whole and well.

Lena sighed. It wasn’t the first time her father had disappointed her, and it wouldn’t be the last. She just had to get over it.

After what seemed like hours, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Tristan looked so uncomfortable, it was tempting to come to his rescue, even if she wasn’t feeling very generous. Maybe that’s why her father had called him , of all people. Because he knew she’d feel indebted to him, and would be less likely to cause a fuss.

She considered that for a second. She felt something for Tristan, for sure. And it wasn’t indebtedness. More like an irrepressible urge to jump his bones . Not here, of course. Not in a hospital. And maybe not today. In her semi-rigid ankle brace and with her unwashed hair knotted and piled on her head, she felt as sexy as a red-eared slider, and probably looked like one, too.

“Yes,” she said brightly. Too brightly? “I’m ready to get out of here. If you could just help me get my crutches?” She twisted her body to where the crutches were standing.

Tristan frowned. “Shouldn’t we be getting a wheelchair or something?”

“Why would we need a wheelchair? I have my crutches. I have my discharge papers. And my ankle’s not even broken, anyway. It’s just a sprain.” She gave a small smile. “I guess I was a bit of a wimp last night.”

Tristan shook his head. “Not a wimp. A sprained ankle can hurt as much as a broken one.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I do. I may have run a bit wild in my youth before settling down.”

“Piloting a helicopter for the PGHM, saving lost hikers and discovering old skeletons … Doesn’t sound like settling down to me.”

“Speaking of old skeletons. Part of my team is up there today, securing the scene. A forensic pathologist is on his way to get him out of the rock.”

“You think it’s a him ?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know. The jacket looked like a man’s jacket, so I just assumed … We’ll have to wait and see.”

He stood in front of her, holding the crutches in one hand while he offered her his other hand, helping her up. He smelled of something earthy and fresh, like cedarwood and lemons. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him when they’d first met, and she’d smelled it again last night in the cave, when he was using her body to warm her. God. She’d been so cold. She didn’t want to think how close she’d come to losing everything. He’d probably saved her life.

“Okay. Here you go,” he said, waiting until she had both crutches in place before releasing her and taking a small step back. “You okay, Lena?”

“I like how you call me Lena. Your colleagues, they called me Madeleine. Or Mademoiselle Pelegrin.” She winced. That last one was the worst.

“That’s what I should call you. But I can’t help it. You’re Lena to me.” His jaw clamped together, as if he was going to say something else, and then thought better of it.

Lena stepped forward on her good leg. She wasn’t in too much pain. The painkillers they’d given her earlier that morning were still doing their job. But the nurse had warned her she might need to buy some Ibuprofen for later.

Tristan stood right next to her, his body tense. He looked ready to take her up in her arms, as he’d done the previous day, but she didn’t want that. She wanted to stand on her own two feet. She wanted to go home and take a shower. Followed by a nap. Or maybe the other way around, she hadn’t decided yet.

It was slow going—were these crutches even at the right height?—but eventually she made it to the door, and then, slowly—ever so slowly—all the way across the endless corridor. To his credit, Tristan kept pace with her the whole time, not rushing her, acting like her snail’s pace was just fine with him.

“You’re doing great,” he said, pressing the button. She shot him a scathing glare. She did not need a pep talk.

He raised his hands in defeat. “Okay. I’ll stay quiet. I promise.”

And he did, though he stayed close all the way to the exit, his hand hovering near her waist, as if ready to catch her if she so much as wobbled.

“Wow. This isn’t as easy as I thought.” The next few weeks are going to be long.

“Sit here,” Tristan said, helping her down onto a freezing cold bench that made her think it would be snowing soon. “I’ll go get the car and bring it closer.”

He pulled up a few minutes later in a sporty-looking dark gray Lexus. The car was fancier than she’d expected, but it suited him. “Here,” he said, holding her crutches easily in one hand while, with the other one, he helped her into the passenger’s seat. She eased in gently, her ankle throbbing gently with the effort. She ignored it. She was out of the hospital, and that was all that mattered.

“You okay?”

She nodded, then thought better of it. “I feel like I just ran a mile.”

“I can believe that,” he replied. “I’d say you’re doing great, but I wouldn’t want you to bite my head off.”

Lena laughed as Tristan shut the door gently, then rounded the hood before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Seatbelt,” he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes but complied, eager to be on the way.

As he pulled onto the road, she let her head rest against the cool window, watching the familiar streets roll past, the golden leaves fluttering in the breeze. Some things had changed since she was a little girl. Chamonix had become a lot more popular, that was for sure. But other things remained the same. This was, and would always be, home.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Tristan noticed, because he reached over to crank up the heat.

“You warm enough?” he asked, glancing at her before getting his attention back on the road.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just tired.”

“You had a hell of a night.”

Silence settled between them for a few minutes, broken only by the hum of the engine. Lena let her eyes drift closed, but her mind refused to quiet.

“There’s something I don’t get,” she finally said.

Tristan glanced at her. “What’s that?”

“The skeleton.” She turned to face him fully. “The body looked like it was embedded in the rock.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Maybe a landslide sealed it in.”

“And it took another landslide to uncover it. That’s …” She trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

“Creepy?” he supplied.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “I was going to say fascinating, but yeah. Creepy works too. I can’t wait to go through the photographs I took.”

Tristan hesitated, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I know you’re curious. And I get it. But maybe you should take a break from thinking about all of that, at least until you’ve had a chance to rest.”

Lena tilted her head. “You think I’m obsessing?”

“I think you’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours.”

They pulled onto her father’s street a few minutes later. Before she could protest, Tristan was out of the car, retrieving her crutches and opening her door.

“You don’t have to—” she started.

“Please. Let me walk you inside. I want to make sure you don’t face plant before you get through your door.”

Her lips twitched. “How very chivalrous of you.” With an exaggerated sigh, she let him help her out. The cold air bit at her cheeks as she balanced on her crutches, but she ignored it. Just a few more steps, and then she’d be home.

Tristan walked beside her, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Once again, he stayed close but didn’t hover, letting her set the pace. The steps up to the front porch were the hardest. She’d never run a marathon, but this was what she imagined those last few steps must feel like.

“It’s open,” she said, when she finally made it up. “My father never locks it.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line as he opened the door. “Really?”

“Well, thank you for—“ She didn’t complete the sentence, because Tristan was already inside with her. He shut the door, with both of them inside.

“Uh … What are you doing?”

“I’d prefer to stay until I know you’re comfortable,” he said. Not asking. Just telling her. And proceeded to take off his jacket, hanging it up by the entrance.

Lena looked up at him, lost somewhere between irritation and desire. She couldn’t help looking at his strong, capable hands. Hands that had saved her life last night. His muscled forearms. Forearms that could lift her and?—

Comfortable . Nothing about Tristan made her feel comfortable. Not before, and certainly not now. Not ever . She balanced on her crutches carefully—the last thing she wanted to do was face-plant on the wooden floor—and took a small step towards him.

He stayed very still, but the flickering pulse on his neck told her he wasn’t unaffected. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes lingering on a faint scar at the base of his throat. She’d never noticed it before.

“I appreciate the concern,” she murmured, “but I think I can manage.” Her father had asked him to bring her home, and that’s exactly what he’d done. It wouldn’t be fair to ask more than that of him.

Tristan’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering over her face. “I’ll just help you to the couch,” he said. “Then I’ll go.”

Lena swallowed hard and turned away before she did something stupid—like lean into him. “Fine,” she said. “Couch. Then you go.”

They moved slowly across the polished wooden floor, the soft creak of the house settling around them.

When they reached the couch, she lowered herself carefully, exhaling a soft breath of relief as her weight went off her leg. She wasn’t about to admit how much her entire body ached.

Tristan went on her knees beside her, propping her bad ankle on a nearby cushion. He took another pillow and pulled it behind her head—which put him close to her face. So close, it was impossible not to smell him. God, he smelled good. She forced herself to stay still, and not to sniff. She wouldn’t sniff. She wouldn’t?—

Yes .

He didn’t move a muscle, except perhaps for the ticking muscle behind his jaw. But he didn’t move away either, even as she bridged the gap between them, raising her face towards his until their lips met. The softest pressure, at first, her lips against his, and then his lips opened on a sigh. And as he let her in, he slowly, oh so slowly, took over the kiss. His lips were firm, demanding in a way that sent heat curling low in her stomach. It was like the kiss they’d shared outside the bar, after their first date … except even better.

His thumb brushed just beneath her jaw, a slow, careful stroke that sent shivers down her spine. His touch was steady. Intentional. Lena’s fingers curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as she shifted, angling herself closer despite the twinge in her ankle. It didn’t matter. Not when Tristan was kissing her like this—like they had all the time in the world to memorize the shape of each other’s mouths.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, Tristan pulled back. His forehead rested against hers, his breathing ragged.

“Lena,” he murmured, his voice thick, rough. “You have no idea how much I want to keep kissing you right now.” A part of her wanted to grab his shirt again and ask him to get right back to it, but before she could get the words out, Tristan had stood up, widening the distance between them. “But you just got out of the hospital. You need to rest.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, leaning back against the pillows, trying to get her brain working again. Her traitorous brain, which had scrambled the moment their lips touched. Even now, she was having trouble remembering the problem. There was this irrational part of her that wanted to ask him to stay. But she wouldn’t. Because this man worked for her father. She, of all people, knew what her father’s schedule had cost her family. She’d promised herself that would never happen to her. So, out of all the men out in the world, to date a man from her father’s team … that would be the biggest mistake ever. And not one her heart could survive.

It took her a while, but she finally forced the words out. “I think I need to be alone now.”

His gaze flickered around the room, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What time is your father coming back?”

Lena let out a short laugh. “My father? He’ll be back when all the work is done, and not before.” And that was the crux of the problem. That her father’s type of work— Tristan’s type of work —was never truly done.

“I could stay,” he said. Then raised his hands, palms up. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean, I could make you something to eat or drink. Some tea, maybe. I could stay until your father gets here.”

Man, he was making this hard for her. She wanted so badly to say yes. He was offering to take care of her, and dammit, she needed that today—more than ever. But it was a poisoned offer, and the longer she spent with him, the harder it was going to be to let him go.

“No,” she said firmly. “Thank you. I’ll be okay. I’d prefer if you leave.”

Tristan frowned. “You shouldn’t be alone, Lena.” Something in the way he said it made her throat tighten. There was no pity in his tone, no judgment. Just quiet understanding. Again, making it harder for her to make the right choice. The safe choice.

“I’m fine. Really.” She didn’t need anyone looking after her. “Thank you for dropping me off.”

Hurt filled his blue eyes for an instant, making them even brighter. Then it was gone. “Please call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

“I will,” she lied. Anything to get him out of the house. So she could think again. So she could remember all the reasons why the two of them were a stupendously bad idea.

Tristan

Sitting in his car made him feel like a stalker, but that’s what he was doing—waiting, watching, until the colonel came home.

He’d called Beau to say he needed a few hours off. That had gone about as well as expected—yet another award-winning entry in his recent streak of shitty conversations with his boss.

But sitting here was driving him crazy. He wanted nothing more than to knock on her door and see how she was doing. But Lena had made it clear that she wanted him to leave.

Still, that didn’t stop him from texting.

How are you feeling?

He held his breath, waiting. Eventually, three little dots appeared.

Dozing.

Shit. He’d woken her up.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.

It’s okay.

A pause.

I’m going to heat up some soup.

He sat up straighter, fingers already moving.

Do you need anything? I could be back at yours in fifteen minutes.

Or fifteen seconds, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

No. Thank you.

And that was it. No follow-up. No three little dots. Conversation over.

Tristan let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. He should leave. He knew that. But the thought of her alone in that house, so soon after getting out of the hospital—it made his stomach twist.

And then there was the other thing. The bit he really didn’t understand.

He’d seen in her eyes that she didn’t want to be alone. But she hadn’t wanted to be with him, either. And when she’d said she’d call if she needed anything? She’d been lying. She wasn’t going to call.

That shouldn’t bother him as much as it did. He always kept things light and easy with the women he dated. He wasn’t the kind of man to force things. And now wasn’t the time, anyway. He shouldn’t even have kissed her. He just hadn’t been able to help himself.

Tristan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, staring at the dimly lit windows of her home. The unease wasn’t just about her, though. This feeling—this urge—to take care of Lena, to care for someone other than himself … it wasn’t like him at all. He was an expert at taking care of himself. Now that he knew Lena was fine, that’s what he should be focusing on. Damage control . How not to let his career blow up over this.

Instead, he sat there. Waiting.

Minutes stretched into hours. Long enough that he needed to pee, and still he didn’t move. The street was quiet, th silence only broken by the occasional car passing through. His phone lay on the passenger seat, dark and silent, and still he couldn’t bring himself to start the engine.

He straightened when he saw a slow-moving shadow pass behind the curtains in her living room. A second later, the soft glow of the kitchen light flickered on.

She was up.

Tristan clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to storm up there. He could be at her door in seconds. But she’d told him to leave. She was fine. If she needed help, she could call. But would she? Or would she keep pushing through, keep pretending everything was fine even when it wasn’t?

His phone buzzed. He snatched it up, his pulse spiking.

Not Lena. It was Beau. He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before answering.

“Yeah?”

“You still parked outside her place?” Beau’s voice was as dry as ever.

Tristan scowled, scanning his surroundings. “How do you?—”

“You’re predictable, Devallé. And, unlike you, I actually have a life outside of work, so let me make this quick. The forensic team has arrived in Annecy. They’re expecting you and Lorenz to pick them up at eight tomorrow and fly them to the site.”

Tristan exhaled, forcing his mind to shift gears. “We’ll be there.”

“I’ll text you the details. Keep me updated.”

“Sure.”

A pause. Then, “Go home, Tristan.”

Tristan clenched his jaw. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. “Any idea if the colonel’s on his way back from Paris?”

“You want me to stalk my boss now?” Beau let out a dry laugh. Then a sigh. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Beau.”

Tristan ended the call, tossing his phone onto the dashboard.

He wasn’t leaving.