And in that moment, she stopped fighting it. Stopped pretending this was just physical. His hands on her body, his mouth against hers, the way he looked at her like she was something precious—it terrified her. But she couldn't pull away.
Each slow, deliberate movement stripped away another layer of her barriers, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, but wonderfully alive under his gaze. His movements were precise, a mix of patience and raw need that left her clinging to a liferaft only he could provide.
He kissed a trail from the curve of her collarbone to the base of her throat, stopping to nuzzle against her skin, lapping at her pulse point in a way that sent tendrils of heat spiraling down her body. His breath, warm and slightly ragged, ghosted over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Sweat pooled between their bodies, the thin sheet beneath clung to her as they moved in perfect rhythm. Lark let her hands roam across his back, tracing the ridges of his muscles, feeling the way they flexed and relaxed under her fingertips. Every touch, every groan that escaped his lips, was like a note in a melody only they could hear.
"Kawan," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she clung to the intensity building within her.
He responded to her call, increasing his pace ever so slightly. The room filled with the sound of their shared breaths, the slickness of their joined bodies, and the silent testament of two hearts beating in unison. Time continued to blur, their world narrowing to the space between them, to the rhythm they established, to the breathless, stolen kisses .
It built like a crescendo, her body drawn taut as a bowstring ready to snap. She clung Kawan—her lifeline, her anchor in the storm that threatened to consume her. His breath hitched. His grip on her tightened, desperate and possessive.
"Let go, Lark." His plea was a low growl against her ear, wrapped in reassurance. His fingers dug into her hips, guiding her as she matched his frenzied thrusts
Her world shattered. Her body tensed, back arching off the bed as everything inside her broke apart. The tempo of their bodies slowed, the symphony of their lovemaking quieting to a gentle hum as the final notes faded.
They collapsed against each other, and despite the ache in her ribs, and the dull throb in her shoulder, Lark didn’t want to move. The silence felt perfect, broken only by their laboredbreathing and the occasional sigh of contentment. She traced random patterns on his sweat-slicked back with her good hand. She stilled when he lifted his head, and their eyes met.
With a languid motion, Kawan kissed her again, a soft, chaste brush of lips that held a promise of more. An exquisite afterglow pulsed through her as he pulled back, resting his dampened forehead against hers.
In silence, they stayed locked in each other’s gaze. Lark found herself lost in the depths of his eyes, hypnotized by the raw emotion swirling within them. Echoes of their desperate want still reverberated within her, silent affirmation of the connection they'd shared, but there was more. Beneath the physical need, beneath the intensity of had just passed between them, there was something more profound—an elegant dance of vulnerability and strength that both frightened and thrilled her.
Kawan dragged a thumb across her bottom lip, pulling her from her thoughts. The touch was soft, yet it sent a tremor coursing through her, setting her skin ablaze once more. She reached up, her fingertips lightly tracing the harsh line of his jaw, the stubble rough against her skin. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, a soft sigh escaping him. It was such a small thing, yet it left her heart thrumming wildly.
She didn't want to move. Didn't want to think about what came next. Right now, wrapped in his arms with his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, she could pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. No mission. No protocol. No dead teammates waiting for justice. Just this—his warmth, his breath, the weight of his hand on her hip. She knew it couldn't last. But for now, she'd take it.
He pulled the top sheet over their bodies. Her eyelids grew heavy, her breathing shallow as sleep beckoned. She didn’t resist.
Just as she teetered on the edge of sleep, his voice, softer than a whisper, cut through the darkness. "Lark," he murmured. “What we have is real."
The words lingered, a near-tangible enemy in the quiet room. What they had was indeed real—a connection forged in fire and cooled in the icy winds of the circumstances they found themselves in. And yet, it was this raw, unscripted intimacy that scared her. It lured her closer, promising sanctuary and solace, yet it held the power to bury her alive.
As sleep slowly reclaimed her, her heart thrummed a silent response to his confession—an approval, an acceptance of their twisted, beautiful reality, the promise of what could be. And for that moment, just for that fleeting sliver of time hovering on the edge of sleep, she allowed herself to bask in the warmth of being wanted, loved even, by this man who’d always been one of the few constants in her storm-tossed life.
6
HOTEL LUNA MAR–SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Kawan stared at the ceiling fan as it lazily spun overhead. One leg draped off the side of the bed, while the other continued to throb since Lark had plopped her knee right on his wound. But he didn’t care. Not really.
She curled up against his body, hand fisted on the center of his stomach, head resting on his chest, her muscles tensed, but at least she slept. It was fitful and wrought with unease, but it was better than pacing a path in the carpet.
He drew little circles on her skin with his thumb, his arms ready to catch her if—more like when—her dream turned into a hellish nightmare.
It had been months—maybe a year—since he’d had a woman in his bed. But only one mattered.
Lark.
God, he’d missed her. Not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought about her. He tried not to. He tried to move on with his life as best he could. He figured, like everything else, being in love would pass. The intensity of it had. The crushing pain of her not caring enough even to have the conversation had eased to a dull ache.
Holding her now, stuffed those feelings into his heart, closed the chambers, and locked them away. There was no way he could let them go now—and he didn’t want to. He’d never wanted to—she just hadn’t given him a choice. Or maybe he’d given up.
He wasn’t going to do that so easily this time.
She murmured something under her breath and shifted, her body tensing into a rigid ball as if fighting off invisible hands. Kawan kissed her forehead. “Shhh,” he whispered.
But the battle raging inside her continued as she dug her nails into his skin. “No,” she said, her voice broken. “Wes—don’t—Alvarez—no…”
