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“I’ve worked with a lot of doctors,” he continued.

“Some brilliant. Some who think they’re brilliant.

” Another laugh. “But Dr. Quinn? She’s the kind you want on the other end of a bad day.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stall. Her hands move like they already know what’s needed.

If she doesn’t have what she needs, she improvises.

Which is something you don’t learn from books.

It’s instinct and ice in the veins.” He paused, just long enough to make her pulse skip.

“Honestly? Her presence in battlefield medicine is what raises the bar. It reminds guys like me what we’re fighting to get our people back to.

We’re holding the line. But she’s where we send them to heal. ”

Her throat tightened.

God, he was good at this. Not just the words, but the weight behind them. The steadiness. The earnestness . There was no ego in his voice, no need to prove anything. Just quiet, devastating truth.

“She’s also real handy with a needle and thread,” he added, grinning toward her. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that bedside manner. Crisp. Efficient. Some might say cold-blooded.”

Everly narrowed her eyes. “You always say it’s a flesh wound in that cocky tone. I wanted to remind you, it wasn’t.”

“Apparently, I needed several lessons.”

“The cockier they are, the harder they?—”

“Get taken down a few notches. I couldn’t have had a better teacher.”

The audience was laughing now. The tension was gone, replaced with something warmer. More human.

Everly leaned toward her own mic, arching a brow.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “medics improvise, and so do I. Especially when I have to compensate for a certain patient who insists on offering surgical advice mid-hemorrhage. ”

Zorro made a wounded sound. “Just consulting with a professional.”

“You told me my suturing lacked dramatic flair.”

“Constructive feedback. Although, some of me rubbed off a little. That tiny happy face you sutured into the stitches wasn’t protocol.”

She covered the mic, as people murmured, whispering.

“I never stitched a happy face for anyone else.” She shook her head, hiding a reluctant smile.

She remembered the remark, and the moment.

She hadn’t been sure he’d noticed. Of course he had.

She uncovered the mic, his eyes sparkling.

“You have a sassy mouth, Petty Officer.”

He winked. “Yet you stitched it shut with remarkable restraint.”

Another round of laughter. But beneath it, under the table, she felt it. The soft slide of his fingers against her wrist. Slow. Intentional. Just a brush at first…then a gentle curl, like he was anchoring her, building a connection .

Everly swallowed, pulse tripping, eyes still fixed on the room in front of her, but her whole body had gone warm. A little undone. There it was again, that damn grin he wore like a second skin. Sassy. Shameless. He had meant for it to be hers, and now she could claim it.

She turned back to the audience, voice steady.

“To answer the second half of the question,” she said, forcing her brain to work, “medics like Petty Officer Martinez operate under pressure that most of us only simulate. Their tools are limited. Their timelines, brutal. Yet they routinely do what should be impossible.”

She looked at him then, their knees brushing, his gaze quiet now. Serious.

“What sets them apart isn’t just skill. It’s judgment . Gut-level clarity. When to act. When to fight. When to stop the bleeding .”

Her foot found his under the table. Brushed. Paused. Stayed.

“I would trust that judgment with my life,” she said.

There was a long moment of stillness.

Zorro didn’t speak. Didn’t smile.

He just reached under the table and squeezed her hand once. Quiet. Fierce.

The panel moved on. Another question. Another speaker. But Everly barely heard it.

While her body had surrendered last night…

…her heart?

It had already gone quiet into his hands. No resistance. No warning.

This time, there was no getting it back.

She knew she’d fallen. Knew she was in love with him.

Somehow, here between the laughter, the teasing, the steady warmth of his fingers brushing her wrist under the table, it didn’t scare her.

So, he was good at this world-building thing. This right here, with him, with them , felt like some kind of miraculous foundation. Maybe not perfect. Maybe not finished. But solid. Real. Something you could build the rest of your life on.

He’d given her his trust last night, and she’d taken it and given hers back. He had finally released the shackles on her armor and she was now completely defenseless, bringing her back to her earlier thoughts as emotion tightened her throat. He deserved what he asked for last night.

Everything .

They stepped out into the corridor, the hum of applause still echoing behind them. Voices rose around the conference exits, attendees murmuring, joking, flooding the hallway with post-panel buzz.

But Zorro didn’t let go of her hand.

Not once.

He waited until they reached the corner where the corridor curved toward the west elevators, half-lit and empty.

Then he turned, pressed her gently against the wall with both hands on either side of her shoulders, and leaned in, breath catching on the edge of such joy his heart was aching with it.

What happened in there…fuck. It was so genuine, so real it slaked his thirst for her in so many ways, and generated nothing short of dehydration.

He kissed her. Not like the playful, flirty way he teased her under the table. Not like last night’s hungry, unraveling want. But slow. Deep. Certain.

A kiss that said this is real. This is now. This is us.

His mouth moved to her temple, to the shell of her ear, his breath warm.

“ Mi corazón ,” he murmured. “You are my heart. Mi cielo. You…you already took it.” She shook, tremors that concerned him. He pulled back just enough to look at her. “I made reservations. Beachside. After your last panel. Good food. Quiet. Just you and me.”

She touched his lips. That bruised look in her gaze, the way her shoulders were drawn tight as piano wire, spelled something coming his way.

It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was devastation.

Zorro knew devastation. It wore that same rigid mask.

The one that cracked only when you were finally alone.

But her being alone…that was fucking over.

Her chest heaved. The tenderness in her voice, the hint of nerves beneath the confidence. It broke him open all over again.

She managed a whisper. “You planned a date?”

Zorro smiled, that slow, sassy grin she always reacted to with blown pupils, now soaked in love.

“I’ve been planning a future. Dinner’s just step one.”

She pushed away from him, started walking. “Oh, God…you…Mateo,” Everly wailed, her voice barely holding. She didn’t look back. Her heels clicked faster across the marble, toward anywhere that wasn’t him . His gut clenched, his heart suspended. No.

“Everly—”

“I can’t .”

Zorro followed without apology. Steady rhythm of booted steps behind her, trailing like the man she deserved.

He was the man for her, goddammit. He’d always thought it was about being indispensable.

The protector. The person no one could live without, to keep his team alive, his heart hidden, and his role secure.

What the fuck was that? It was soul-sucking thinking, leaving him so fucking empty.

He wanted to matter. Of course, he did. He’d thought he wanted proof of it.

But none of that seemed to gel anymore. Not when she’d come to him naked, laid bare, and showing him how much she wanted him.

This was something else. This wasn’t rejection. This was pain.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice quiet, coaxing.

She kept walking. Faster. Her hands were shaking. He couldn’t let her disappear into silence. Not ever again.

“Don’t you goddamn walk away from me, Everly Quinn. You thinking you’re alone is fucking over! Stop running from me! From yourself! I’m right the fuck here. Talk to me!”

She froze, turning toward him with her mouth open and her eyes wide. He had never raised his voice to her, but he was fighting for his life here.

He caught up in two strides, his hand brushing her arm, gentle but firm.

She flinched. He didn’t let go. Then, without warning, he slid his arm around her waist and spun her into a curtained alcove off the ballroom corridor, small, half-lit, private.

An intimate corner with a velvet bench, meant for whispered conversations and dramatic exits.

Her back hit the wall, breath stolen. She gasped, blinking up at him as he framed her face with both hands.

“Can we just slow down for one damn minute?” he asked, voice low, grounding. His eyes searched hers. “ Please .”

She exhaled hard.

Zorro inhaled like he was breathing her in, like her presence physically hit him.

“I need to say this before you bolt again.” His thumb brushed the edge of her cheekbone.

“You’ve been gut-punching me since I got here.

When I saw you up there, on that stage, I just about lost my shit.

Damn , querida …you looked—” He broke off, jaw flexing, then softened.

“You looked gorgeous. Just as gorgeous as you did in my shirt.”

She blinked once. Twice. Then her face crumpled. The tears broke free in a single, guttural sob.

Zorro jerked back slightly. “What did I say? Ev, I’m sorry?—”

“Stop being nice to me!” she wailed, words tripping over sobs. “I can’t handle it.”

He blinked, stunned, but didn’t move.

“I…I looked like hell, ” she cried, arms waving in wild, weepy emphasis.

“I was a mess, I was awful to you, I judged you, I judged your team , and you…you just saw me. Then you were the one bleeding and I didn’t even…

God, I was so mean, and I blamed you all for what happened to Rob and you didn’t even deserve that, none of you did, and I was just so?—”

Her voice broke into jumbled gasps, incoherent and hiccuping now, words a pile of grief and regret and shame.

Zorro didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms. He just held her.

Held her like she was something fragile. Held her like she didn’t have to carry every piece of her brokenness alone. Her fists pressed into his chest. She buried her face against the soft cotton of his shirt, soaking it with tears, still shaking with the force of her unraveling.

He said nothing at first. Just pressed his cheek to her hair and exhaled like maybe he had been holding his breath, too.

Then, softly, into the space between them?—

“ Shh. It’s okay, querida,” he murmured. “You don’t have to hold it all by yourself anymore.”

She cried harder. Maybe, just maybe…she believed him.

She looked up at him through tear-wet lashes, her breath catching on the words she hadn’t known how to say, until now.

Her fingers, trembling but certain, slid along the rough line of his jaw. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, like she was afraid he might vanish if she blinked.

Zorro stilled.

Every part of him was tuned to her. To the way her body leaned into his. To the ache pouring from her eyes.

She took a shuddering breath.

“What you do to me…” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

His heart thudded once, hard. “If you need time—” he started, forcing the words through the knot in his throat. “If you need space, if you want to step back?—”

“No.”

She said it like a vow.

She shook her head, fierce now, raw with want and truth. “I don’t want space. I want to be so close to you that every time I breathe, your scent is inside me.”

He froze.

“I’ve been dying for you,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “ever since I first laid eyes on you in Niger. I think about you. I dream about you. I’ve been so stupid , Mateo, but I didn’t know things. I didn’t know the truth about Rob. About you. About everything.”

Her eyes flooded again.

“I’m so sorry.”

His chest seized. Her words hit like a body blow, hope and heartbreak and confession all wrapped in one trembling woman. She was staring up at him like she’d finally found the man she hadn’t known she was searching for.

He didn’t speak.

He just kissed her again, his mouth dropping to hers in a bruising, desperate crush, and he drowned in the taste of her.

There was no teasing, no slow burn, just need. Raw and soul-deep. His hands cupped her face like she was the only thing in the world worth holding, and her fingers tightened into his shirt, fisting tight like she needed him to keep her from falling apart again.

Her mouth opened under his, welcoming him like she’d always been his to claim.

When he kissed her deeper, tongue sliding against hers, slow and searching, she made a sound in her throat that undid him completely.

Zorro pulled her closer, as close as two people could get without becoming one.

He kissed her like a man who’d been starving, and Everly kissed him like a woman who’d finally understood the meaning of no longer being alone.

“Dinner tonight.” He cupped the back of her head as she cried harder. “Skinny dipping, I believe, is on the dessert menu. Dress accordingly.”

She huffed out a laugh and slipped her arms around his neck and held him tighter. “Tears and laughter. You know how to show a girl a good time.”

He separated them just enough to look into those shining eyes filled with something that made his heart beat a little faster. “Just wait until tonight. I have a whole modeling session featuring me, some decadent panties, and a scrap of khaki that won’t take more than a second to remove.”