"Yeah." He doesn't stop kissing my throat. "We should."
"The cabin..."
"I know."
But he pulls back instead of pushing forward. Creates space between our bodies even though I can see what the restraint costs him in the rigid set of his shoulders, and the way his hands clench and release at his sides.
"Not like this." His voice is rough, strained. "Not in the middle of the day when anyone could be watching. Not when we haven't talked about what this means."
The practical objection cuts through the haze of want clouding my judgment. He's right. We're anchored in open water. That boat by the lighthouse could have eyes on us right now for all we know.
"You're thinking tactically even when you're kissing me."
"Old habits." He runs a hand through his hair, visibly composing himself. "Also, you deserve better than a quick fuck on a boat deck where I can't give you my full attention."
The crude language sends another pulse of heat through me. "Who says I want your full attention?"
Ford's eyes flash. "You will. When I finally get my hands on you properly, when there's nothing between us but skin and sweat and the sounds you make when you come, you're going to want every ounce of attention I have to give."
My breath catches audibly.
"That's a lot of confidence."
"That's a promise." He steps back, putting another foot of distance between us. "But not today. Not until we know we're safe. Not until you've had time to think about whether this is actually what you want."
"I know what I want."
"You want me right now. In this moment. With adrenaline running high and no other options around." His expression softens. "I need to know you'll still want me when the danger passes. When you go back to Boston and your altarpieces and your real life."
The words land somewhere tender in my chest.
"You think this is just proximity."
"I think proximity started it. I think something else is keeping it going." He meets my eyes steadily. "But I won't know for sure until you have the chance to choose me without a gun to your head. Metaphorically speaking."
I want to argue. Want to tell him that I know my own mind, that I don't need time or distance to be certain of what I feel.
But he's not wrong. Five days ago I didn't know he existed. Five days ago I was angry and scared and completely out of my depth. Whatever is building between us deserves more than a heat-of-the-moment decision I might regret when reality reasserts itself.
"Okay." The word takes effort. "We wait."
"We wait."
"But Ford?" I close the distance between us one more time, pressing a single soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to hold you to that promise."
His hands come up to grip my hips again, and for a moment I think he's going to abandon his own rules and kiss me senseless.
Then he lets go. Steps back. Puts the professional mask firmly in place even though I can see the cracks in it now.
"Get below." His voice is gravel. "I need to check in with Cal, and I can't think straight with you standing there looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're already imagining everything I'm going to do to you."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Maybe I am."
"Sera." My name is half warning, half plea. "Go."
