The other wound was just as bad.
How little he’d actually known Mei. How much he’d wanted her, how much he’d imagined, how much of her life had remained closed to him. That moment at the fundraiser when he’d nearly choked on his own jealousy, resenting Fly for taking her from him, only to learn later that she’d loved Than all along.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to face it. That hadn’t been the only time.
Fly drew women easily. Not because he was careless with them, but because he chose ones who didn’t ask much of him. Women who fit the space he had, who didn’t press too hard or demand more than he was ready to give. Than understood that. Respected it, even.
Mei wasn’t like that.
She would have challenged Fly. Asked for depth. Required presence. The thought that Fly might not have been ready for what she carried, what she deserved, twisted something sharp and ugly in Than’s chest. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Fly’s fault, and it still haunted him.
It tore at him from both sides, grief and shame twisting together until he could barely tell where one ended and the other began.
27
RCMP WILD Headquarters, Blair’s Ballet Room, Outskirts of Kamloops, British Columbia
He’d tested her.
He hadn’t even realized how much until now.
During the raid, she’d had his six without hesitation. When that biker used his bruised body against him, she’d thrown herself into the fray without hesitation.
Afterward, she didn’t use it as leverage. Didn’t demand gratitude. She just kept showing up. Calm. Clear-eyed. Real.
Every tactic that had made other women back off, sarcasm, silence, heat, Blair neutralized with that sassy mouth and that agile, dangerous mind. She didn’t chase him. Didn’t fold. She matched him and refused to play the game.
The truth hit hard.
This restraint he’d wrapped around himself like armor wasn’t about protecting her.
It was about protecting himself.
He wasn’t afraid of the mission. He wasn’t afraid of pain.
He was afraid of staying.
Of giving Blair access to the parts of himself he’d locked down so tightly he barely remembered what they looked like.
The temptation of finding a soft place to land with her was enough to unsteady him. He braced a hand against the wall and forced himself to breathe.
If he wanted her, and he did, he couldn’t hide behind control and tactical silence.
But the problem ran deeper than fear.
His mother’s admission about his real father had detonated something he hadn’t even begun to sort through. He’d buried it, ground his teeth around it, kept moving.
He couldn’t talk about that yet.
But after the way she’d seen him, after the way she’d said it anyway, he couldn’t leave her in silence.
He had to give her something.
Even if it wasn’t everything.
Unable to help himself, he leaned in, brushing his lips across her cheek. Just a breath. Just enough to taste the salt of her skin and the softness she rarely showed.
She leaned into his mouth. Christ, she leaned in.
