Page 73 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

Steam swirls around us as I work the shampoo into a lather, enjoying the way his eyes close in pleasure at my touch.

"Your turn," I say softly, reaching for the body wash. I pour some into my palm and begin spreading it across his chest, mapping the planes of muscle, tracing old scars with gentle fingers.

He stays perfectly still, letting me explore.

His hands mirror my movements, soap-slick palms gliding over my skin. We wash each other slowly, reverently, learning curves and angles in the soft morning light.

It's not sexual—or at least, not entirely. It's about connection. Trust. Care.

When we're done, he wraps me in a fluffy towel, using another to gently dry my hair. I lean into his touch, feeling utterly cherished.

"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly, his hands stilling on my shoulders.

I turn to face him, meeting his gaze directly. "Good. Really good." I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "I know things are complicated—with Granger, with everything. But this? Us? I'm sure about this."

The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise breaking through clouds. He leans down to kiss me softly, and I can feel his relief in the gesture.

We dress quickly after that, knowing we need to get to The Forge. Logan tosses me one of his henleys, and I pull it on, breathing in his scent. The fabric drowns me, but I don't care.

The drive to The Forge is quiet, but comfortable. Logan's hand rests on my thigh, thumb stroking absently. The morning sun paints the mountains gold, and for just a moment, everything feels possible.

But as we pull up to The Forge, reality settles back in. There's work to be done. A mission to plan. A threat to face.

I follow Logan into the building, padding barefoot toward the armory where voices drift from the main room.

Not panic—precision. Low, focused, controlled.

No one's yelling. No one's joking.

That's how I know it's serious.

I pause at the hallway, peering around the corner. The Forge team is gearing up with practiced efficiency.

Elias is packing a med kit, his movements quick and sure. Asa's sliding a drone case shut, triple-checking the latches. Ryker and Knox are checking rifles, their faces set in identical masks of concentration. Caleb is securing straps on a thermal cloak and passing out radios with clipped, efficient instructions.

And Logan? He's at the center of it all. Speaking softly, but everyone's listening.

This is where he belongs—leading, protecting, guiding.

I stay hidden for a moment, not out of fear but uncertainty.

Since arriving at Iron Hollow, I've been the outsider. The woman with too many secrets and a target on her back. The one who got the door slammed in her face. The one who let danger follow her like a second shadow.

Will they accept me now? After everything?

Logan notices me first. He doesn't call me out or wave me forward. He just holds up a comm unit and waits, giving me the choice.

My feet move before my brain catches up. I take the comm, our fingers brushing in a way that sends warmth spreading through my chest.

"This one's encrypted," he explains. "Asa patched a line through town in case Granger jumps local channels."

"You think he will?" I ask, examining the device.

"He wants attention," Asa says from behind us. "We just haven't decided where he'll take it from."

I look around the table. Everyone's paused in their preparations, watching me. But it's different now. They're not dismissing me or judging me. They'rewaitingfor me. Including me.

"We know he's watching us," I say, straightening my spine. "Let's make it cost him."