"You know that’s never what I’d thought I'd check off my bucket list.” His voice is lazy, satisfied. "Fucking a gorgeous woman on the side of a cliff."
I laugh. "That was on your bucket list?"
"It is now. Retroactively." He grins against my hair. "If I'd known how amazing it would be, I'd have put it at the top."
"Charmer."
"I try."
His fingers trace absent patterns on my shoulder. Slow. Thoughtful. Like he's working up to something.
"You said you don't do casual," I murmur. "Earlier. When we were talking about what this means."
"I did."
"Why?" I shift so I can see his face. In the starlight, his expression is guarded. Careful. "A man who looks like you, does what you do—I'd think casual would be easy. Safer."
"It would be." His jaw works. “But it’s not.”
"What changed?"
He's quiet for long enough that I think he's not going to answer. Then he exhales—slow, controlled, like he's letting something go.
"When I was twenty-three," he says eventually, "I married a woman I'd known for six weeks...Carmen. She told me she was pregnant, and I wanted to do the right thing. Sent her every penny I made while I was deployed. Came home early to surprise her." His jaw tightens. "She was living with another man. Never pregnant. I was just a steady paycheck."
"Jon—"
"I'm not telling you that for sympathy." His eyes find mine. "I'm telling you why I don't do casual. Haven't done anything at all since Carmen. Haven't let anyone in. It was easier to keep the walls up, keep the jokes going, keep everyone at a safe distance."His thumb traces my cheekbone. "You're the first person in a long time who's made me want to take them down."
The words settle into me. Find the places that have been empty for so long.
"I'm scared," I admit. "The last time I let someone in, I lost myself completely. I'm scared of doing that again."
"I'm not asking you to lose yourself." His voice is fierce. Certain. "I like who you are. The fierce one and the soft one and the wild one who climbs cliffs without ropes. I don't want you to be less of anything."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough." He kisses me—soft, sweet, a promise more than a demand. "And I want to know more. If you'll let me."
If I let him. Like it's my decision. Like, I have the power here.
Daniel never asked. Daniel just took.
"Okay," I whisper. "Yes."
His smile breaks across his face. Warm. Real. The kind of smile I don't think he shows many people.
"Now." He shifts, pulling me closer. "We should probably get dressed before the cold becomes actually dangerous."
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
"The thing is," he says after a moment, "it's pitch black out there. And that last eighty feet has some technical sections."
"It does."
"Climbing technical rock in the dark seems like a bad idea."
