She blinked and swallowed once. “You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you on that flight. We were getting you to Ramstein. Ford and Chase performed a miracle and got the air corridors cleared.”
He gave a small shake of his head. “I wasn’t afraid of dying.”
Her brow furrowed.
“I was afraid you would see me like that,” he said. “Broken.”
Her voice was soft but firm. “You weren’t broken. You were tortured.”
“Which is worse,” he whispered. “You didn’t see what he did. What I looked like when they dragged me out. I didn’t want that image in your head.”
She swallowed hard. “Dante?”
He looked at her.
“By the time I landed in the evacuation zone, three men in fatigues were….they were fighting to keep a contractor alive. I flew him to the field hospital.” Shannon got up slowly and crossed to him, barefoot and quiet. She sat on the edge of the bed, resting her hand gently on his. “I landed—then found out it was you. And the only thing I saw was you fighting. Trying to hold on. That’s strength, Dante. Not weakness.”
He looked away for a long time. “I’m still not who I was.”
She touched his jaw. “You’re more.”
He looked up then, raw emotion in his eyes. No armor left. Just truth. “I love you.”
She smiled—not the big kind. The quiet, aching kind. “I love you too.”
She leaned forward and kissed him—slowly, carefully. His hand came up to her cheek, tentative at first. Then firmer.
When they broke apart, he whispered, “I want to feel you.”
Her breath caught.
“I don’t know if I can—” He hesitated. “I haven’t—since I can remember. What if I can’t?—”
Shannon didn’t flinch. “Then we take it slow. There’s no rush. This isn’t about performance.”
He watched her. Vulnerable. Hopeful. Starving for connection but terrified he wouldn’t be enough.
She stood, clicked the privacy shield on, and dimmed the light further. He heard the latch on the door click. Then she climbed into the bed beside him—carefully, gently—curling against his side.
He moved stiffly, slowly, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Their kiss deepened. Skin to skin, breath to breath.
She brushed the ridge of the healing catheter on his abdomen and didn’t flinch. He felt the scar tissue near her hip and didn’t pull away.
It was just the two of them—alive, human, whole.
He reached for her hand. She threaded her fingers through his.
Dante swallowed hard and lowered his forehead to hers, his arms drifting around her waist. His breath shook against her skin. She slid her hands to his shoulders.
“Talk to me,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be tense with me. There is nothing to prove.”
“I want you,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “I want… us. Every moment in that villa, it was the thought of you that kept me from going under.” He lifted his head and looked at her, not hungry or impatient—vulnerable. “But…”
She asked gently, “What is it, my love?”
He shut his eyes. “What if my body doesn’t cooperate? What if I can’t… finish what I start? What if I can’t even get started?” His jaw flexed. “Krueger broke me, Shannon. I keep thinking I’m fine until something reminds me I’m not. He took everything. My control, my strength, my… my goddamn self.”
“Dante…” She climbed onto his thighs, straddling him carefully to avoid his healing injuries. She settled her weight against him, a warm, grounding pressure. “Do you really think sex is the measure of whether you’re whole? That your performance is what I need?”
