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Everly blinked. “You smell like the gym floor at an elite tactical academy.”

He grinned. “Thank you for noticing. I brought all of that to share.”

God help her, she wanted it. Wanted him . This version of him, sweet and exhausted from exertion, loose from teasing his brothers, hard in every right way. She couldn’t stop staring.

Zorro slipped under the spray, groaning deep in his throat. “Best part of the day. Next to your body. Possibly the fact that the entire team now associates my shirt with your legs.”

“Oh my God,” she muttered, covering her face.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, “But since we’re on the subject of revealing garments…we need to talk about your relationship with my UDT shorts.”

She cracked one eye open. “How could I forget the little khaki ones?”

“The very same,” he said solemnly. “You looked at them like they bit you.”

“They did. In the eyes. ”

“They’re iconic.”

“Minuscule inseam that toes the line of inappropriate.”

“Shows off all my work from leg day, babe.”

“They’re tiny.”

“They’re tradition.”

“A stripper wears more.”

Zorro grinned wider. “You’ll have to make peace with them, carino . They’re part of the kit.”

“Do you even wear anything under them?” she asked before her filter could catch it.

He leaned in slowly, lips near her ear. “Ranger panties.”

She choked . Then slapped his chest, which didn’t help because it only reminded her how stupidly built he was.

“You just made that up.”

“I did not. Look it up.”

“I’m too afraid.” She kissed his collarbone, his chuckle a rumble against her breasts. “I think you just have an obsession with short shorts,” she said drily.

He nodded, smug. “Regulation-adjacent. Extremely aerodynamic.”

Her jaw dropped. “So basically you’re running around Rio with nothing but a drawstring and a dream?”

“Relax, Doc.” His voice dropped, rough silk over heat. “They’re compression shorts.”

That did not help .

Her brain, traitorous, filthy thing, immediately conjured up an image of Zorro in tight black compression fabric. Every detail defined. That V-shaped cut of his hips outlined with cruel precision. Thick thighs. Bare skin.

She gripped the tile like it might save her.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Need a paper bag?” he murmured.

“You’re evil.”

“Guilty as charged.”

She turned slowly, chest rising, hair plastered to her skin, eyes locked on his. “You’re lethal.”

He stepped in, sliding one hand up her waist and the other behind her neck. “You’re all wet.”

“So are you.”

She didn’t remember moving.

Didn’t remember whose mouth found the other first.

But suddenly they were there, kissing under the water, lips slick and urgent, the heat between them igniting with every breath.

His hands moved over her body like a man memorizing terrain he’d never get tired of exploring.

She arched into him, gasped when he pinned her lightly against the wall with the sheer weight of him.

Zorro reached between them, and when he slid inside her, it was a single breath, a perfect stretch, like her body had been made to take him.

“Everly,” he whispered, as if it meant everything. As if her name was the anchor keeping him steady.

She clung to him, wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingers clutching his shoulders like he was the only truth she had left.

The thrusts were deep and slow, water cascading down their bodies, steam rising in thick tendrils as he moved inside her wildly, fiercely. She moaned into his mouth. He swallowed it like a promise.

It didn’t last long. It didn’t need to.

She came with a cry that was half release, half wonder. He followed with a guttural groan, her name broken across his lips.

For a moment, they didn’t move. Just breathed.

Just held.

“Be careful, or you’ll fall for me,” he said, voice rough and still catching.

She leaned her forehead against his. “Sailor, I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

They stayed like that for a while, the rhythm of the water softening, slowing. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, their bodies still tangled, the tension melted out of them, replaced with something quieter. Something steadier.

Zorro’s breath brushed her temple, warm and even. His hands moved up and down her back, not with hunger now, but with satisfaction. Eventually, he shifted, kissed the hollow beneath her jaw, then reached back and shut off the water.

Neither of them spoke as he wrapped a towel around her shoulders, tucking it snug like she might disappear if he didn’t hold her in place. She stepped out, dizzy and dazed in the best way, while he grabbed another towel and rubbed a hand over his dripping hair.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, watching her like she might break in the steam.

She nodded, throat thick. “Yeah. Just…” She looked at him, really looked. “You’re a lot, Martinez.”

He smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

Her laugh was muffled in the towel. “You’re impossible.”

He dropped the towel to his hips, let the rest of the water slide off his shoulders like it had no right to linger there. “You know,” he said conversationally, “if you're still skeptical about what I wear under my UDTs…”

She groaned. “Don’t.”

“…I could allay your concerns.”

“Zorro.”

“…conduct a live demo.”

She covered her face with both hands. “This is the worst pillow talk I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, no,” he said solemnly, stepping closer. “This is field-grade investigative research. National security level stuff. I could model the compression shorts. Let you verify fit, integrity, general outline of anatomical assets.”

Everly peeked at him between her fingers. “Anatomical assets?”

He nodded. “Classified. But willing to be declassified…for science.” He leaned in. “Frank and the boys won’t say a word.”

She shook her head, lips twitching. “I should’ve stopped this when you said Ranger panties .”

He grinned, stepping closer, toeing the line between sweet and devastating. “You didn’t stop anything. You climbed me like a jungle gym.”

Her laugh broke free, full and helpless.

He loved that sound. Would’ve gone through Hell Week again to hear it.

“I have to get dressed,” she said, swatting at him with her towel. “I have panels. A tribute. Professional things.”

He looked her over with deliberate slowness. “Is the outfit sexy?”

“It’s…elegant,” she replied, grabbing a comb and smoothing her hair with a little more force than necessary. “It’s from Pippa’s new collection. White and gold. Very understated.”

He stepped in behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder. “So no cleavage?”

She arched a brow at his reflection in the mirror. “You’ve seen my cleavage. You don’t get to ask for more.”

His hands slid lower, fingers grazing the top of her hips. “Just trying to gauge how many of my team are going to walk into walls today.”

She bit back a smile. “It’s a conference, not a SEAL thirst trap.”

He kissed her shoulder. “To be fair, you did open the door in my shirt with no bra. That was tactical.”

“Unintentional,” she muttered.

“Devastating,” he corrected. “I’m still recovering. Blitz might need therapy.”

Everly turned in his arms, her expression softer now. “I don’t know what this is yet. But I’m…glad you’re here.”

He kissed her once, quiet and deep. “So am I.”

Then he stepped back, tugged on his T-shirt, and nodded toward the door. “I’ll see you down there, Doc Sunshine. Dazzle them.”

“If they’re mean to me?”

“Text me. I’ll heckle the next panel into submission.”

She shook her head as he left but couldn’t stop smiling.

God help her, she couldn’t get enough of that man.

The panel room was too cold, too bright, and packed with enough high-ranking uniforms and physician credentials to sink a diplomatic carrier.

Everly sat tall on stage, spine perfect, hands folded in her lap.

The panel was titled Field Trauma, Battlefield Innovation, and the Human Cost of Care , but all she could think about was the man seated one chair to her left.

Zorro.

Mateo.

Hair still damp from his post-run shower, wearing a tailored charcoal shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing those sinewed forearms that were practically classified.

His hands rested loosely on his thighs, dog tags tucked beneath the open collar.

He looked relaxed. Composed. Like this wasn’t a professional panel of international significance but brunch with friends.

Except when he looked at her.

Then the world tilted. The glance held, then released. It shouldn’t have done things to her pulse. Not after what they’d done. Not with that afterglow still humming in her hips.

She crossed her legs under the table. Slowly.

God help her, she missed his body already.

“Next question,” the moderator said.

Hands went up, so many. The moderator made his pick, a tall, confident trauma surgeon from Belgium who had clearly seen his share of field hospitals, who asked, “Petty Officer Martinez, based on what you do in the field, how do you see Dr. Quinn’s role in battlefield medicine?

Dr. Quinn, we’d love to know your thoughts on medics operating in combat zones. Just for a different perspective.”

Everly blinked.

Zorro looked over at her with that slow, devastating smile, then leaned into the mic.

“You don’t pull punches here, do you?” he said, his voice low and warm. “Making it tough on me.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the room.

He shifted slightly, resting his arm on the edge of the table, body still loose but alert. Confidence clung to him like heat. Joy lived in this man. It filled the air around him, even here, even now.