“I just got you back. I don’t want to share you. Even with worry.”
The quiet stretched.
Then Clare moved.
She set her mug down with a soft clink. Stood slowly. Crossed the few feet between us.
Then she knelt beside my chair.
The reversal caught me completely off guard. I’d been expecting her to lean against the counter, maybe touch my shoulder. Not this.
Not her on her knees, studying me with those golden-brown depths full of tenderness.
Her palm came up to my jaw. Gentle pressure turning me to see her.
“I’m here. With you. Not them.”
I searched her expression. Looking for doubt. Finding none.
“I know. I just...”
“I know.” She did. I could see it in her features. The understanding that went bone-deep.
Something in my chest broke open.
I pulled her up. Not gently. Needing her closer, needing her in my space, needing to feel her warmth and weight and realness.
She came willingly. Let me guide her into my lap.
My arms locked around her waist. Holding her like I could keep the world at bay through will alone.
Her head found my shoulder. Perfect fit. Like her body knew exactly where it belonged.
We sat like that for a long moment. Just breathing. Just being.
“What do you want?” I asked quietly.
Clare shifted slightly. Her fingers finding mine, threading them together. “I want the chip out. I want you safe.”
“And then?”
“Then...” She paused. Considering. “I don’t know yet. What about you?”
“Colombia. Maeve. The surgery.”
“And after that?”
I pulled back enough to see her. Brought my forehead close to hers. So close I could feel her breath.
“I only want you.”
Clare’s breath caught. Her gaze wide. Searching mine for something, reassurance, maybe. Proof I meant it.
I cupped her jaw with one palm. Thumb brushing her cheekbone.
“I want to give you the world.”
“I just want you. The rest we’ll figure out.”
