And pretending my pulse didn't just spike at the sight of water droplets trailing down her throat is going to be harder than anticipated. Pretending the way she looks right now—bruised and defiant and entirely too tempting—won't be memorized in perfect detail.
This is going to be harder than expected.
5
FALLON
Living next door to a SEAL is like having a very polite predator as a neighbor.
Days into this arrangement, and Holden's routines are impossible to ignore through the walls. Dawn runs before sunrise. Weights hitting the floor. Water rushing through pipes after his workout. Every morning, precise as clockwork.
My own coffee sits cooling on the counter while I stare at the borrowed laptop Holden brought from base IT. The cursor blinks on the screen, waiting for me to focus on the revised coastal erosion analysis. Words refuse to form. The research Mason, my assistant, has saved could save my life if he’s right about someone wanting this information badly enough to kill for it, but concentration is impossible.
A knock on the door startles me enough that coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug. "Fallon? You decent?" Holden's voice carries through the door, familiar now in a way that should worry me.
I cross to the door and unlock the deadbolt he installed, pulling it open to find Holden standing there with protein shakes, wearing running gear that clings to shoulders I have no business noticing. Sweat darkens his shirt across his chest. Hishair is damp, pushed back from his face, and there's color high on his cheekbones from the run.
The apartment suddenly feels smaller. Like his presence takes up more oxygen than the space was designed to hold.
"Morning run?" The question comes out steadier than it should given how aware I am of every inch of him.
"Always." He sets a shake on the counter in front of me, close enough that his knuckles brush the ceramic edge. "You eat breakfast yet?"
"Yes." He quirks an eyebrow. "I had coffee. Coffee counts."
"Coffee doesn't count." He leans against the counter, all casual competence and morning energy that makes my own exhaustion feel heavier by comparison. "Protein shake. Drink it."
"Are you always this bossy in the morning?"
"Are you always this stubborn about basic nutrition?" He takes a long drink from his own shake, throat working in a way that draws my attention to the strong column of his neck. "You didn't eat much dinner last night either."
Because sitting across from him at the tiny table in my apartment, sharing Thai takeout like we were on some kind of date instead of a protection detail arrangement, had tied my stomach in knots. Because being near him makes me aware of things I've been trying to ignore for weeks now. The way his hands move when he talks. The slight rasp in his voice first thing in the morning. The fact that he remembers I like chocolate peanut butter and extra vegetables in my pad thai.
"I ate enough." The shake is exactly what he said it would be. My favorite. Which means he's been paying attention to more than just security protocols. "Don't you have SEAL things to do? Team meetings? Training exercises?"
"I'm on temporary assignment. Protection detail takes priority." His gray eyes study me with that unsettling intensitythat makes me feel like he sees past every defense I've built. "You sleep okay?"
"Fine." The lie tastes bitter. Nightmares about drowning, about Bruce finding me, about bombs and seabirds and threats I can't outrun had jolted me awake more times than I could count. But admitting that feels like handing him ammunition I'm not sure he won't use.
Except Holden isn't Bruce. Hasn't been Bruce in any of the ways that matter.
He doesn't call me on the lie. Just watches me drink the shake with that patient predator stillness that should feel threatening but somehow doesn't.
"Video call with Mason soon," I tell him, needing to break the tension building between us like humidity before a storm. "My research assistant. He's been compiling backup data since the boat explosion."
"I'll be next door if you need me." He pauses with his hand on the knob, and the morning light catches on the scar tissue across his knuckles. Evidence of a life spent doing dangerous things with those hands. "Fallon? Don't open the door for anyone unless I'm with you."
"I know the protocol." Days of following security measures has drilled it into my head.
"Never said you were careless." His voice softens in that way that does dangerous things to my carefully maintained composure. "Just making sure you're safe."
The lock engages automatically after the door closes. One of the upgrades Holden installed. Additional security that doesn't feel like a cage. Vigilance that doesn't feel like control.
Bruce used to monitor my every move. Check my phone, demand to know where I was going. Surveillance dressed up as concern.
Holden asks if I slept okay. Makes sure I eat. Gives me space while staying close.
The contrast is impossible to miss.
