Still holding her against the wall, one hand steady at her waist, he reached into his back pocket with the other. The shift in his weight pressed her harder against the plaster, and she felt the change in his breathing.
"Logan?" Her voice came out uncertain, questioning.
Then he pulled out a small velvet box.
Rachel's heart stuttered. The box was navy blue, worn at the edges like he'd been carrying it for days, maybe weeks. Her throat went tight.
Ghost opened it with one hand, the other still holding her against him. The ring wasn't delicate. It was bold, designed to be seen. A single-cut diamond, set low in brushed platinum, flanked by dark metal edges that caught the light from the window. The design was sleek, clean, unmistakably modern. A statement: she was taken, protected, and his.
Rachel's eyes stung. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring herself.
Ghost looked at her, and she'd never seen his eyes like this, raw, unguarded, stripped of every defense. "I know this has moved fast. And I'm not saying we have to get married tomorrow. But you're it for me, Rachel. You've been it since the moment you slammed into my life."
Her breath hitched. The cool air from the window touched her bare skin, but she was burning everywhere he held her.
"I want you. All of you." His thumb brushed over her hip. "Not just in this fight. Not just in the business. I want you in my bed. In my home. In my name." His forehead pressed to hers, his breath warm against her lips. "Marry me."
The words hung between them. Rachel stared at him, her pulse hammering in her throat. The ring caught the afternoon light, throwing tiny prisms across the wall behind them.
She thought about every moment that had led here, Afghanistan, her apartment, his house, the warehouse. The way he'd looked at her after he rescued her, like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
"Yes." Her voice cracked, barely audible. "Yes, Logan. Yes."
The grin that broke across his face was nothing like his usual smirk, it was open, boyish, completely unguarded. His hands trembled as he pulled the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. The metal was cool against her heated skin, solid and real and permanent.
She kissed him before the ring was even fully seated, her mouth crashing into his with everything she couldn't put into words. He made a sound low in his throat, his hands sliding up to frame her face, kissing her back like he was trying to memorize the taste of this moment. When she pulled back, her eyes were swimming. She blinked hard, trying to clear them, and realized her cheeks were wet. "I'm crying."
"I can see that." His thumb swept across her cheekbone, catching the tears.
"Happy crying," she clarified, laughing through it, her hands sliding into his hair.
"I know." He kissed her again, softer this time, and she tasted salt on his lips, couldn't tell if it was from her tears or his.
Her newly-ringed hand stayed in his hair while the other drifted down, palm flat against his chest. She could feel his heart slamming against his ribs, could feel the heat radiating through his shirt. When she kissed him again, deeper, she felt the shift, the way the tenderness bled into hunger.
Rachel's fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one. His hands tightened on her waist, then slid higher, thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts through the thin cotton of her dress.
Instead of answering, she reached between them, her fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. The metal was warm from his body heat, and when she finally got it open and slid the zipper down, the sound that tore from his throat was pure need.
She pushed the denim just low enough to free him, and his hips jerked forward. The movement pressed them together, and Rachel gasped at the contact, the heat of him, the solid weight.
"Rachel." Her name came out ragged. His hands gripped her thighs, hitching her higher against the wall, and the ring on her finger caught the light as she tightened her hold on his shoulders. The plaster was cool and rough against her shoulder blades. Then, with one deep, smooth stroke, he filled her completely.
They gasped together, sharp and broken, the air punched from both their lungs. Forehead to forehead, hips grinding, Rachel feltthe tremor that ran through his body, or maybe it was hers. Maybe it was both of them.
She was soaked and trembling, her inner walls clenching around him. His rhythm was rough, every stroke driven home with intent, the angle perfect. Each time he withdrew and drove forward again, her spine scraped lightly against the textured wall, the friction adding another layer she felt everywhere.
"God," he said against her temple, his breath hot and ragged. "You feel so fucking perfect."
Her nails bit into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and she didn't care. "Don't stop."
"Not a chance, baby." Then he slammed into her harder.
The sounds of their bodies filled the space, skin against skin, harsh breathing, the slick slide of him inside her, the occasional thud when her shoulders hit the wall. Rachel's dress was bunched around her waist, twisted and damp with sweat. The ring on her finger pressed into the back of his neck where she held him, the metal warming with her body heat.
Release built fast, coiling low in her belly, spreading outward in waves that made her thighs shake against his grip. Her whole body tightened around him, and she heard herself moan, high and desperate, before his mouth crashed into hers, swallowing thesound. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth and broken breathing.
Then she shattered. She came hard around him, her inner muscles pulsing, her cry muffled against his neck as she buried her face there. Her body locked around his, arms, legs, everything clenching, as he kept moving through it, prolonging every second until she couldn't tell where the waves ended and began again.
