He backwalked her out to the open space they were calling a dance floor, his palm firm at the small of her back. The way he moved was its own kind of rhythm, muscles flexing under his shirt with every shift, shoulders loose and steady, hips aligning against hers with quiet precision.
It wasn’t his combat glide, the one he used on mission to move like a shadow through chaos, but it was close. That same efficiency, that same intent, translated now into something slower, more intimate. His steps anchored her, his body heat wrapping around her, until all she could do was let him lead.
Each brush of his thigh against hers sparked, every subtle roll of his hips against hers sent fire streaking through her veins. He was too controlled to grind, too steady to show off, but damn, she felt the power coiled in him with every sway. He was carrying her the way he carried everything else, certain, unshakable, devastating.
They swayed, bodies pressed close, moving slowly to the rhythm. Every inch of him touched her. The firm heat of his chest against hers, the steel of his thighs brushing hers, his breath ghosting her temple.
Her heart tumbled. This was what she wanted, too, this steady, grounding, silent intimacy, and it was devastating.
But the tequila hit her all at once, warm and spinning, a looseness in her limbs she couldn’t quite control. Dizzy. Was it the alcohol, or was it him? Bear’s body surrounded her, chest pressed to her breasts, abs hard and unyielding against her stomach, his shoulders broad enough to block out the world.
She breathed him in, cedar and clean sweat, the faint bite of tequila still clinging to his breath. His scent was heat and earth and safety all at once, flooding her until she couldn’t tell where the burn of liquor ended and the man began.
Her palms slid higher, over the ripple of muscle at his back, until her fingers curled at the nape of his neck. His hair brushed across her skin, silk over her knuckles, sending a pulse of heat low through her belly.
He bent, his mouth grazing her ear, his voice a gravel-edged whisper. “You feel so damn good.”
Her pulse stuttered. She buried her face in the warm curve of his neck, stubble rasping her cheek, his skin hot against her lips. Words broke free before she could catch them. “I should be smart and get out of here.”
His chest rumbled with a low growl, his breath hot against her hair. “There’s smart and there’s safe. Let me take you home.”
The ride was too quiet. Not awkwardly quiet, but a charged quiet, threaded with all the things she refused to say aloud. Streetlights washed through the windshield in rhythmic flashes, painting Bear’s profile in light and shadow. His hands rested easy on the wheel, steady, strong, veins standing out along the ridges of his forearms.
She should have looked out the window, focused on anything but him. Instead, her gaze snagged on the hard line of his jaw, the way the glow caught in the strands of his hair, the relaxed power in his shoulders. Not a wasted movement. Not even here, just driving her home. That calm, that restraint, pulled at her harder than any words of seduction ever could.
God, she wanted him. Every nerve in her body burned with it. But the want was tangled in a knot of fear, tight and unyielding. It wasn’t the loss of control that terrified her. It was what would come after. What if she sank into him, let him all the way in, and everything she’d buried came spilling out? Every truth she’d hidden, every failure she’d carried like a brand. He’d see it all, the girl who hadn’t been called, the woman who’d traded sacred duty for the safety of missions and intel and a different kind of war. What if he looked at her and saw exactly what she feared she was—not enough, not chosen, not worthy?
Exposing that to him and seeing his judgment would be like dying. The fear was compounded by how deeply she cared what he thought, this man of faith and belief, who lived his Lakota heritage not as rebellion or shield, but as truth. Next to his authenticity, she felt like a fraud, a woman who carried the same blood but had turned her face, her heart, away from who she was because of the shame she couldn’t bear. The disappointment lived everywhere, in her people’s eyes, in her grandmother’s eyes, and worst of all, in her own when she dared to meet them in the mirror.
She swallowed hard, fingers digging into her thighs. If she gave in, if she let herself take what she wanted, how could she face him tomorrow and not meet him with the truth of who she was? How could she work beside him, knowing her control had shattered, and her silence had betrayed them both? How could she give herself to this man in body and soul, in breath, in skin, in life, in honesty, when she’d hidden who she was so completely?
Her fingernails pressed crescents into her palms. She told herself to breathe, to remember her training, to focus on consequences. But then he shifted, one hand sliding from the wheel to the gearshift, and the motion drew her eye down to the flex of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Heat slammed through her chest, her belly, low between her thighs.
Resist, her mind hissed. Protect yourself. Protect your job. Protect your silence.
Want, her body countered, fierce and undeniable.
And through it all, he didn’t say a word. Just drove, presence wrapping around her like it had at the bar, as steady and inescapable as gravity. That silence was the worst temptation of all because it told her he didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to push. He could wait her out. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold.
When he pulled to the curb, her pulse hadn’t slowed. If anything, the silence had wound her tighter, until she felt like a bowstring drawn to breaking.
Bear killed the engine. The headlights faded, leaving only the faint glow of the streetlamp outside her place. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he was out of the vehicle, rounding to her side, opening the door before she could reach for the handle. His hand came down to help her out, warm and steady, and she hated how much she needed that touch.
Inside, the air felt too still. She dropped her bag on the counter, heart hammering, the tequila buzzing in her blood. Bear closed the door with a soft click and leaned against it, tall and quiet, his hair brushing his shoulders. Watching. Waiting.
She couldn’t take it anymore. Her body moved before her mind could marshal the consequences. She stepped into him, rising on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.
Heat flared instantly, flooding her veins. His lips were firm, unyielding, his breath rough against her skin. She kissed him harder, desperate, dragging him toward the hallway, toward the dark. Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging, needing.
A low sound rumbled from his chest, raw and hungry. His grip shifted, and suddenly her back was pressed to the wall, his body crowding hers, hard heat pinning her in place. His mouth slanted over hers, rougher now, a kiss that stole her breath, that told her he wanted just as much, maybe more.
For a heartbeat, she let herself drown in it, the feel of his chest crushing to hers, his hips firm against her, his hair brushing her cheek as she clung to him.
Then his breath tore out hard, and he wrenched back just enough to brace his forehead against hers. His hands flexed at her waist, trembling with restraint. “Bailee…” His voice was raw gravel. “God, I want you, but not like this.”
A man without brakes was dangerous. A man with them? Terrifying
His words hit like cold water, but not rejection. It was discipline, the tether snapping taut again. He didn’t pull her closer. He didn’t push her away. Just held her steady while her pulse raced like a runaway train. “Bailee.” His voice was rough, warning threaded through desire. “You’ve had too much.”
