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The medals he’d been given. Medals tucked away in his nightstand drawer at his new place. When he looked at the medals, he tried to think of the lives he’d saved, but he often remembered the ones he’d lost instead. When he’d been in that hospital bed for so long, the dead had visited him again and again.

Why did I make it when so many others didn’t?

Survivor’s guilt.

He wondered if she felt the same thing. She’d told him that her screams would pierce the night. That the nightmares would come to her. But did guilt eat at her, too? Ages ago, Declan had made him talk to a shrink. A guy who’d told him that it was all too common to feel the knife’s edge of guilt cutting into you again and again.

When you survive and others don’t, you try to blame yourself for their deaths. You think you could have done more to save them.

He’d tried hard to save others. So hard that his own body had been wrecked.

Logically, Hunter knew there was nothing else he could have done. But logic didn’t stop survivor’s guilt.

“You’re a hero,” Shelby said.

“No.” He turned to face her.

She shifted from her right foot to her left. “You are. You even have the medals to prove it.”

“Medals don’t make anyone a hero.”

She crept closer to him. “The sacrifices you made, the risks you took, the deeds you committed to earn the medals—all of that makes you a hero.” A few more shuffling steps and she was right in front of him.

His dream woman, as Declan had mockingly called her.

“You saved people.” Her head tilted back as she peered up at him.

“I lost people.”

He was close enough to see the tremble of her lower lip. “Me, too,” Shelby whispered. Her lashes swept down to cover her eyes.

He had to reach out to her. He wanted to grab her and tug her into his arms. Never, ever let go. But, yeah, no. Not the path he was taking with her. Shelby mattered. They would matter. So this wasn’t going to be some hot, dirty hookup. Though, hell, yes, that would be amazing. It would be amazing to strip her out of that silky, black gown with the spaghetti straps. To slide it off her body and let it fall at her feet. Then he’d lift her up, take her mouth, let her wrap those gorgeous legs around his hips, and he’d drive deep into her as he took her to the greatest orgasm of her life.

Shelby had known too much pain.

He’d like to only give her pleasure. Hello, new life goal.

But…

Not happening right then. Because he would show restraint. He would be a gentleman. He would be whatever the hell she needed him to be.

So he didn’t wrap his arms around her and pull her against him in a possessive hold. Only one of his hands lifted, and it tenderly curled under her chin. She’d looked down at the floor, and he wanted her eyes on him. He tipped up her chin.

Her lashes raised. Her green eyes locked with his.

“I’m sorry about your friends,” he told her. “I’m sorry that you lost the people you cared about.”

Her breath shuddered out. “You didn’t do it. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t even know me back then.”

He stared straight in her eyes. “I’m sorry you were hurt. I hate that ever happened to you. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you are never hurt again. That you are protected always.”

“You mean…protected during the case. Protected while we investigate.”

No, he meant exactly what he’d said. He wanted her protected, always.

“That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“I mean I will protect you.” Done.