Page 86 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

Something in him breaks. His arms wrap around me suddenly, crushing me against his chest. I smell gunpowder and pine and that indefinable scent that's purelyLogan.My hands fist in his shirt, holding on just as tight.

"Yes, you are," he murmurs into my hair. "Warmth is all I've felt since I met you."

The words sink into my bones, spreading heat through my chest that has nothing to do with physical temperature. I tilt my face up to meet his gaze, finding my own vulnerability reflected in his storm-gray eyes.

When he kisses me, it's achingly gentle. None of the desperate heat from before. Just soft exploration, like he's memorizing the feel of my lips against his. Like he's convincing himself I'm real.

I lose track of time, lost in the tender press of his mouth and the solid weight of his body pinning me to the door. Eventually, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

"Let me carry you to bed," he says softly. "You need rest."

Before I can protest, he scoops me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. One arm supports my back while the other curves under my knees. I loop my arms around his neck, marveling at how natural this feels. How right.

He navigates the cabin with practiced ease, shouldering through the bedroom door and laying me on his bed with impossible care. The mattress dips as he sits beside me, hands already moving to the bandage on my thigh.

"I need to check it," he explains, eyes meeting mine for permission.

I nod, throat suddenly dry as his fingers brush the bandage. He unrolls the bandage with clinical precision, but there's nothing clinical about the way my skin prickles in the wake of his touch.

The bandage comes away slowly, the tear on my pants coming into view. Logan's movements are measured, gentle in a way I never expected from hands that know how to break bones and field-strip weapons.

He examines the graze with laser focus, barely breathing as he assesses the damage.

"Eli did good work," he murmurs, more to himself than me. "Clean edges. No sign of infection."

He reaches for the first aid kit he keeps in the bedside drawer—of course he does—and begins cleaning the wound with antiseptic. Every touch is deliberate, like he's handling something precious instead of just changing a bandage.

I watch his face as he works. The furrow between his brows that speaks of concentration. The slight downturn of his mouth that betrays how much he hates seeing me hurt. The way his jaw clenches when his fingers brush too close to the injury and I can't quite suppress a flinch.

When the wound is clean, he pauses. Then, so softly I almost think I imagined it, he presses his lips to the unmarred skin just above the graze.

The kiss feels like a blessing. Like an apology. Like a promise.

Heat pools low in my belly at the intimate gesture. The wound is high on my thigh, close enough to my core that his breath sendsshivers of awareness racing through me. His stubble scrapes lightly against my sensitive skin as he pulls away.

If he notices my reaction, he doesn't show it. He simply applies the fresh bandage with the same careful attention, smoothing the edges with gentle fingers. When he's done, he pulls the blanket up over my legs.

"Get some sleep," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You need it."

He starts to stand, but my hand shoots out before my brain can catch up. My fingers catch the hem of his black t-shirt, holding him in place.

I don't say anything. I don't need to. He reads the plea in my eyes as clearly as if I'd spoken it aloud.

Stay.

A small smile tugs at his mouth—one of his rare, genuine ones that transform his whole face. Without a word, he toes off his boots and slides under the blanket beside me.

I curl into him immediately, fitting myself against the solid plane of his chest. His arms come around me, one hand splayed protectively over my lower back while the other strokes through my hair.

His heartbeat is steady under my ear. His breath stirs the hair at my temple. His body radiates warmth that seeps into my bones, chasing away the lingering chill of fear and adrenaline.

As sleep pulls at the edges of my consciousness, one thought crystallizes with perfect clarity:

This is what home feels like.

Not a place.

A person.