Page 16

“If the girl had an ice bucket,” he said, then softer. “They teach me stuff like that in officer school.”

Zorro covered his mouth to keep from making noise, his eyes dancing at her stupid mistake. It took everything she had not to respond to his antics. For Joker’s sake, she shrugged it off. “Jet lag. Forgot the bucket.”

“Mmm…humm.” The door closed behind him.

Zorro blew her a kiss, then disappeared into his room like he hadn’t just smacked her senseless, barefoot and shirtless, like sin wrapped in a big, beautiful package.

Her phone buzzed again.

Did his eyes turn red?

She smiled despite herself, thumbs hovering.

Yes. It’s no cookies and milk for you tomorrow.

She padded into the bathroom on autopilot, splashed water on her face, but nothing could cool the heat running wild under her skin. When she came back out, her gaze fell on the scattered conference materials still strewn across the carpet like her thoughts. Still Rob.

His photo stared up at her from where it had landed, black and white, still and solemn. That smile that looked so perfect. So polished.

Her gaze shifted to the shirt in her hand.

Zorro’s shirt. Still warm from his skin. Still holding his scent, cedar, rain, something elemental. Real.

She crouched slowly, knees trembling, and gathered the pieces of the mess. With deliberate care, she tucked everything back into the conference bag, folders, charger, notes, and finally, the photo. Rob’s face disappeared into the dark. A symbol. A mercy.

Then she stood and stripped.

Her clothes hit the floor in a silent fall.

Her skin prickled, nerves too awake. Her hands shook as she lifted the shirt, and before her brain could catch up, she let it drift down over her bare skin.

It was too big. Soft. The hem brushed her peaked nipples, as she made a needy sound, then ended at mid-thigh.

His scent enveloped her.

Zorro.

She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and let it settle in her chest. It filtered through her like comfort. Like a balm against wounds she hadn't dared touch in years. She didn’t question it. Not tonight.

Everly pulled back the covers and slipped beneath, the hotel sheets cool against her legs, the cotton of his shirt warm against her breasts. She tucked herself in, curling her hand into the fabric, anchoring herself to something that wasn’t memory. Something that pulsed with life.

Zorro was nothing like Rob.

Nothing.

Yet, her heart clenched with the familiar ache. Was he the kind of man who could ever get her past this darkness? Past the bitterness that twisted sharp in her gut, and this aching, unnamed feeling she couldn’t quite pinpoint? Could anyone get through to the real her?

The version she’d hidden, especially from herself, beneath logic and grief, beneath white coats and protocols. Rob had never tried. Not really. Not once, not even on their wedding day, had he said the words Zorro had offered so easily.

You're beautiful.

She closed her eyes, that single sentence still echoing in her head as she pulled the shirt close, her fingers fisted in the cotton like it was the only thing keeping her from drifting back into the loneliness that used to feel like home.

Tonight, it didn’t feel quite so familiar.

Tonight, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

When her phone chimed this time, she almost didn’t want to look. He was already devastating her without even breaking a sweat.

Goodnight, Doc S. Thanks for the save. An emoji ice bucket and the rolling-around-on-the-floor-laughing-with-tears-in-its-eyes emoji.

She stared at the message, her heart still galloping, her lips swollen from the kiss. She brought part of the tee to her face, breathed him in again, heat, rain, salt, and something that made her chest ache.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them.

I’m keeping the shirt, not just because it smells like you…fuck it. That is why I’m keeping it.

She hesitated. Her pulse thundered. Then slowly, like peeling back the edge of a wound she didn’t want to hide anymore, she typed:

Zorro?

Yes, quieda?

I think you’re beautiful too.

No emojis. No follow-up. Just that.

She set the phone down on the nightstand like it might burn her, then crawled under the covers, snugging around his shirt like a lifeline, heart thudding in her throat.

The next thing she knew, it was dawn’s early light spilling across the carpet, but it wasn’t the sunrise that woke her.

Everly jolted upright, heart slamming into her throat.

The room was still blue with pre-dawn light.

She fumbled a glance at the clock, barely five a.m., but that wasn’t what mattered.

It was him . That sexy voice. Low. Familiar.

Dangerous in all the right ways. She scrambled out of bed, Zorro’s shirt clinging to her thighs, her pulse jackhammering, disoriented with sleep, aching from head to toe with the deep need to see him.

She didn’t have time to think, just moved on instinct, tugging down the hem of the oversized tee and yanking open the door, and froze.

The entirety of SEAL Team Alpha stood in the hall in running gear, T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers, sweaty water bottles and morning smirks in hand. Eight gorgeous, tall, so-fit-it-hurt warriors, already out of bed and getting ready to keep those bodies honed. America’s finest. America’s weapons.

Oh God. She hadn’t changed. She hadn’t brushed her hair. Her face felt flushed from sleep and…everything else.

Zorro was mid-sentence, talking to Buck, who was nodding, until he caught the movement. Even worse now. There was complete silence.

Then Buck’s brows shot up like they had a life of their own. “Nice bedhead, Doc.”

Professor blinked once. Then twice.

D-Day nudged Zorro, clearing his throat like he was trying not to laugh. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Oh no. No. No no no.

She swallowed, straightened her spine, and somehow summoned what dignity remained. “I thought it was room service,” she said, managing a voice only two octaves too high.

Blitz smiled gently, eyes dancing. “Z…you making house calls?”

Zorro’s head snapped toward her, and the second his gaze landed, his entire body stilled.

It was like someone had flipped a switch and unplugged his brain.

His mouth parted, just slightly, his eyes dragging slowly, too slowly, down the length of her bare legs, back up to the T-shirt, her unfettered breasts swelled, her nipples tightened.

His unspoken thought imprinted on her, the effect pulsating in her clit, and she had to clench her thighs. His T-shirt.

The one she had very obviously slept in.

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.

Someone snickered.

Gator grinned wide, elbowing Professor in the ribs without subtlety, Camarade…regarde ca. J’crois qu’y t’attendait.”

She wished she didn’t speak French. Buddy…look at that. I think she was waitin’ on you.

“Nice slogan,” Buck added, reading off the front of her shirt. “‘ Lift. Run. Shoot. ’ Very motivating, Doc. Is that what you guys did last night?”

D-Day, looking like this was some kind of payback, murmured. “Hey, Z…don’t you have a shirt just like that one?”

Zorro made a strangled noise, like a man choosing between death or dishonorable discharge.

“I’m sure mine isn’t the only T-shirt on the planet,” he managed.

Blitz snorted. “Right.” His eyes danced. “How much time does a medical doctor such as yourself go to the range?”

Professor snorted. “Neverly.”

D-Day coughed into his fist, very much not concealing a laugh.

Everly felt the floor could not open fast enough. Her cheeks were on fire, her hands gripped the doorframe so tight her knuckles were white, and Zorro, dear God, he looked like he wanted to devour her whole.

She found her voice, sharp and brittle. “Wow, you guys are so witty at five a.m.”

Blitz gave a courteous nod. “Just stretching our legs before training with BOPE.”

Zorro still hadn’t moved. His eyes were locked on her like she might vanish if he blinked.

She finally looked at him, really looked.

There was no embarrassment in his eyes, just heat and wonder.

Did anything catch him off guard? She swallowed, and something deeper.

Something almost savage, possessive. Like he couldn’t believe she was really standing there.

That she’d opened the door in his shirt. That she hadn’t hidden.

Her heart twisted.

Her armor shifted.

It shouldn’t have felt like a milestone. But it did.

Everly drew in a slow breath, held it, then, still barefoot, still mortified, tilted her chin up.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Joker said, “Move it.” His CO paused next to Zorro. “Five minutes or everyone does an extra thirty.”

“Copy that, sir.”

He moved as the team, throwing smirks over their shoulders, jogged off down the hall. Zorro moved up to her, grinning, and she wanted to pull him inside and do stuff that made her skin heat, stuff in her dream, her mouth aching for his skin, his lips, his dick.

“Wow. You look?—”

“Like a freaking wreck?” She shoved him with both hands against that hard chest. He didn’t move a muscle, her hands throbbed. “It’s your damn fault.” But she wasn’t done, and they spoke simultaneously.

“ Hoo-yah. I’ll assume all the blame.”

He set his hands on her hips, then his lips parted. In a deep voice, so deep she almost lost her focus. “You don’t have on any underwear?”

She swallowed, her nipples hard as pebbles. “No, I didn’t want anything between me and you…your shirt.”

He blinked several times. “I’m about to go absent without leave,” he whispered. His breathing was ragged. “Jesus fucking Christ, now I’m going to have to run with a freaking hard-on. That is squarely your fault. I don’t know how much more I can take from you before I lose my fucking mind.”

“I just humiliated myself in front of your whole team for God’s sake.” She blinked. “What did you just say?”