The question isn't really about the tactical situation, and we both know it.
"It changes some things." I let go of the helm, turning to face her fully. "We're not under immediate surveillance. No one knows where we are. For tonight at least, we can stop looking over our shoulders."
"And the other thing?"
"What other thing?"
She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp green eyes. "The promise you made two days ago."
My blood heats. "I remember what I promised."
"So do I." She pushes off from the cabin housing and closes the distance between us. Not touching, but close. So close. "I've been thinking about it for forty-eight hours, Ford. I've had all the time you wanted me to have. I've considered every reason this is complicated and inconvenient and probably a terrible idea."
"And?"
"And I still want you." She says it simply, without drama or pretense. "Not because we're trapped together. Not because of adrenaline or proximity or any of the excuses you were worried about. I want you because of who you are. Because of how you treat me. Because when you look at me, I feel like a person instead of a chess piece."
I should say something. Should articulate all the reasons this still might be a mistake.
Instead I reach for her.
My hand cups the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, and I pull her into a kiss that picks up exactly where we left off two days ago. She opens for me immediately, her hands coming up to grip my shirt, her body pressing against mine like she's been waiting for this just as desperately as I have.
No more reasons to hold back. No more excuses about timing or circumstances or the complications waiting for us beyond these two weeks.
Right now, in this moment, there's only her. Only us. Only the hunger that's been building since the moment she stepped off that plane and looked at me like I was part of the problem.
I want to prove I'm part of the solution.
"Below," I manage against her mouth. "Now."
She doesn't argue. Doesn't hesitate. She takes my hand and leads me toward the cabin hatch, and I follow like a man walking toward his own destruction with open eyes.
The cabin is dim,the last light of sunset filtering through the small portholes. Sera stands beside the narrow bed, watching me descend the stairs with an expression I can't quite read. Anticipation. Uncertainty. Desire.
I stop in front of her.
"Last chance." The words scrape out of my throat. "Once we do this, there's no going back. No pretending it didn't happen."
"I don't want to pretend." She reaches up and starts unbuttoning my shirt. Her fingers are steady. Certain. "I want to remember every second of this. I want to remember the way you're looking at me right now like I'm the only thing in the world that matters."
"You are." I catch her hands, stilling them. "Right now, in this moment, you're the only thing that matters."
Then I stop talking and start showing her.
I finish the job she started, shrugging out of my shirt and tossing it aside. Her eyes travel down my chest, cataloging the scars, the muscle, the evidence of a life lived hard and survived anyway. She doesn't flinch from any of it. Just reaches out and traces a pale line across my ribs with one fingertip.
"Shrapnel," I say before she can ask. "Yemen. Ten years ago."
"Does it still hurt?"
"Not anymore."
Her hand flattens against my skin, palm warm over my heartbeat. "What about this? Does this hurt?"
"In the best possible way."
I find the zipper at the back of her dress and draw it down slowly. The fabric falls away from her shoulders, pools at her feet. She's wearing simple cotton underwear beneath it, pale blue against olive skin, and the sight of her standing there half-naked in my cabin does something violent to my self-control.
