I gasp softly. “What are you doing?”
His voice is rough. “Coming closer.”
My cheeks heat.
He climbs onto the couch beside me, his body crowding mine just enough to make my skin buzz. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone in that same steady, possessive way.
Then he kisses me.
Slow at first—like he’s tasting, like he’s savoring, like he spent the whole day thinking about this too. My hands grip his shirt and pull him in, and the kiss deepens until it’s no longer gentle.
It’s heat.
It’s need.
It’s the ache that’s been sitting under my ribs since the moment Hanover said “no funding” and my world felt out of control.
Jack’s mouth moves against mine like a promise.
His hand slides into my hair, holding the back of my head, keeping me right where he wants me.
My body melts into him.
I make a soft sound that I don’t mean to make, and Jack groans like it costs him restraint. He breaks the kiss just long enoughto press his forehead to mine. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath rough.
I nod, barely breathing. “I’m more than okay.”
His mouth brushes mine again—one quick, hungry kiss—then another. And another.
My hands slide over his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the strength, the steadiness. “Jack,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
“I hate that this is happening,” I admit, voice shaky. “The fear. The unknown. The… why.”
Jack’s mouth pauses at my jaw. His voice turns low and fierce. “We’ll find out.”
My throat tightens. “Promise?”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then looks at me—eyes dark, unwavering. “Promise.”
And for the first time since this started, I believe it. Because Jack isn’t just watching my back. He’s holding me together. And when he kisses me again—slow, deep, heated—I let myself forget the missing money and the quiet boy and the questions for just a moment… and I cling to the one thing that feels certain.
Him.
ELEVEN
JACK
I wake up before the sun, because my body doesn’t know how to do anything else.
It’s not the military that did it—though that didn’t help. It’s the fact that Stella Hart is lying next to me breathing softly, and somewhere out there, someone decided she’d make a good target.
That makes sleep feel like a luxury I don’t deserve.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, boots in hand, listening.
The cabin is quiet. No cars on the road. No crunch of gravel. No voices. Just wind moving through trees and the faint hum of the fridge.
