He stepped up behind her, leaving the others to finish the details. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he leaned in, keeping his voice low. “They’ve always been watching for you, and I’m sorry I drew their attention here.”
“It’s not your fault,” she told him, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “You didn’t know anything, so you didn’t know what your search would do. To be honest, neither did I because it was supposed to be over.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m still sorry. And it’s not over. So we fight smart. And we do it together.”
She said nothing to that. She simply reached up and gripped the lapels of his jacket, knuckles white.
“Bobby…” Her voice was different now, low and raw. “This is a bad idea. Deke will not be happy. He’ll want to whisk me away again. He’s already threatened it. More than once.”
He nodded, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah. Probably. But that changes nothing.”
Delaney pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed him hard, her hands on his chest. This time the kiss tasted like memory and warning all at once, tearing through the years like they were nothing but paper.
Elvis didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He loved her once, wanted to marry her and be at her side for the rest of his days. Hell, he had never stopped loving her.
He slid his hands up her sides, relishing the feel of her in his arms. When he pulled away, she held that look in her eyes, that one that had always broken him in the past, and he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ONCE THEY WERE ALONE, Elvis shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, the movement automatic, practiced. Then he turned to face her. “Might as well get comfortable. This is where you’re staying tonight.”
It wasn’t a question. The certainty in his voice hit her harder than she expected, reminding her of the chaotic spin her life had just taken. Her chest tightened as if her ribs had shifted inward.
She simply stared at him. The room had two beds, but that meant Gideon, the one she heard Bobby call Hawk, would have to sleep somewhere else. “I don’t want to put anyone out,” she told him, folding her arms across herself, suddenly aware of how small she felt in the quiet room.
He studied her for a moment, eyes searching her face like he was cataloging every flicker of doubt. “You’re not putting anyone out,” he told her. “I got you into this mess, and they’re helping me get you out. Right now, you’re the priority.”
Something in his tone—steady, protective, and utterly sincere—made her throat close. It wasn’t bravado necessarily. Nor was it heroics to impress her. It was simply fact, delivered with the same calm authority he probably used in combat zones and crisis rooms.
She nodded, because trusting him felt easier than arguing. It felt like the easiest thing she had ever done.
She glanced around the room, suddenly extremely aware that they were alone. No marshals. No Silvers. No one was tapping at a keyboard just a few feet away. Roman wasn’t bombarding her with questions she didn’t feel like answering. It was just the two of them, standing several feet apart in a hotel room that suddenly felt too quiet, too intimate.
Silence settled in—not empty, but charged. She could feel it humming beneath her skin.
Delaney shifted her weight, fingers fidgeting at the hem of her sweater. Elvis cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly more disheveled than before. Neither of them quite knew what to do with their hands. Or their eyes.
They weren’t teenagers sneaking kisses behind the gym bleachers anymore. They were adults carrying scars and secrets and fifteen years of absence. And she had no idea what to do with that right then.
She caught him watching her and looked away, then immediately regretted it.
God, this is awkward.
It wasn’t a bad awkward, though, but more of a tender awkward, one born from too much history and not enough time to unpack it.
“I, uh…” Elvis gestured vaguely toward the beds. “Hawk was using the other one, so you can take that one. He won’t be back tonight, obviously. He’s with Blaze next door.”
“All right,” she said, though she hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even thought about it, to be honest. When had she had the time to even think about anything other than the next step she had to take?
Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the muted lamps, the drawn curtains, the faint glow of city lights bleedingthrough the edges. She suddenly felt hyperaware of everything—her heartbeat, the way her heels scuffed softly against the carpet, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him.
He took a small step forward, then stopped himself, like he wasn’t sure if crossing that space was allowed.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
She almost laughed, the smile pushing up her cheeks. He was always the protector, even back then. “I’m fine,” she assured him. Then, softer, “Thank you.”
His jaw tightened as he worked it, and he nodded once, pushing his hands into his pockets. He looked as lost as she felt right then.
