"That's why you freeze when he's around." Understanding colors Holden's voice. "Why you looked like you were bracing for impact when he walked into that briefing."
"He spent years making me doubt my own reality. Convincing me I was overreacting, being dramatic, misinterpreting his concern as control." The admission tastes bitter. "By the time I left, I couldn't trust my own judgment anymore. Couldn't tell the difference between someone caring about me and someone trying to own me."
Holden sets the weapon aside entirely, giving me his full attention. "You know the difference now?"
"I'm learning." I meet his eyes across the small kitchen. "You brought me coffee without being asked. You compromise instead of issuing orders. You respect my choices even when you disagree with them. That's caring. What Bruce did was possession."
The air between us shifts, tension thickening like humidity before a storm. We're both damaged. Both carrying losses that shaped how we approach connection. Both exhausted from handling everything alone but terrified of the alternative.
"Griff told me I'm in love with you." Holden's voice is rough, honest in a way that steals my breath. "This morning on the beach. Called me out for running at dawn to avoid waking you up."
My heart kicks against my ribs. "What did you say?"
"That it wasn't what this is. That I was just doing the assignment I was given." His mouth quirks in a self-deprecating smile. "He didn't believe me. Neither did Thatcher when he showed up. And neither do I, apparently, because I can't stop thinking about you."
The confession settles between us, raw and honest and terrifying. I should back away. Should maintain the distance that keeps this situation from getting more complicated than it already is. Should remember that mixing personal feelings with a protection detail is a disaster waiting to happen.
Instead, I stand. Cross the small kitchen to where he sits. Place my hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of skin and the tension of muscle underneath.
"I can't stop thinking about you either." Vulnerability I haven't offered anyone since I left Seattle. "And I know this is a terrible idea. You're supposed to be protecting me, not getting involved with me. But I'm so tired, Holden. Tired of pretending I don't feel this."
He looks up at me, and his expression shifts. Recognition. Want. The careful control he's maintained since pulling me from the ocean fracturing under the weight of what we've both been denying.
"Fallon." My name comes out rough, a warning and a question wrapped together.
His expression shifts. Decision made. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. Asking permission with his eyes, giving me every chance to step back.
I don't step back. I close the distance instead, choosing this with full awareness of the complications, the risks, the professional lines we're about to demolish.
The kiss starts slow. Tentative exploration, like we're both testing whether this is real or just the product of proximity and adrenaline. His lips are warm and certain against mine, tasting of coffee and salt and something uniquely Holden. The faint mint of toothpaste. Desire held in check for too long finally breaking free.
My hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the short strands at the base of his skull. He makes a sound low in his throat, half groan and half sigh, and pulls me closer. The kiss deepens, slow exploration shifting to urgent need. His other hand finds my hip, thumb sliding under the hem of my sweater to rest against bare skin.
Warmth rushes through me, want and longing and the sharp relief of finally giving in to what I've been fighting since I woke up wrapped around him. This is real. This connection that's been building isn't just trauma bonding or proximity. This is chemistry and choice and two people finding each other despite every reason to keep their distance.
We break apart breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, his hand still cradling my face like I'm precious.
"This is a bad idea," I whisper, but the words hold no conviction.
"Terrible," he agrees, voice wrecked. "Worst tactical decision I've made in years."
"We should stop. Before this gets more complicated."
"Smart choice." His thumb traces along my jaw, contradicting the agreement. "Very professional."
I laugh, the sound shaky and breathless. "We're terrible at this."
"The worst." His eyes meet mine, smoke and silver and heat. "Fallon, I?—"
I kiss him again before he can finish the sentence. Before either of us can talk ourselves out of what's happening. This time there's no hesitation, no testing the waters. Just raw want and months of denied attraction finally finding release.
His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I'm standing between his knees, one hand braced on his shoulder for balance while the other tangles in his hair. The kiss is deep and thorough and absolutely devastating, erasing every doubt about whether this is mutual.
He wants this as much as I do. Wants me as much as I want him. The certainty sends heat racing down my spine, settling low in my belly.
When we break apart this time, we're both shaking. Holden rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard, hands splayed across my back like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.
"We need to stop." His voice is rough, strained. "Before I forget every reason this is a bad idea."
