Her forehead rested against his.
“That was . . .” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
The Bangkok night pressed around them—humid air, distant traffic, the sweet smell of night-blooming flowers from the neighbors’ garden—but all of it faded next to the woman in his arms.
She sighed.
“What was that?”
“I don’t... Wow, I love kissing you. And I don’t want this to end, but...”
“But?” He stilled.
“It’s not going to be easy.”
He grinned. “Sweetheart. The only easy day was yesterday.”
She frowned, then, “Oh no. You’re using SEAL speak on me.”
“Oorah,” he said softly.
They stood there in the gathering darkness, the weight of everything they weren’t saying pressing down like the humid air.
“Should we go inside?” She looked up at him. “They’re probably watching.”
“No, they’re not,” he said, his gaze roaming her face. “The guys know when to give a man space.”
“The food’s getting cold.”
“Probably.” He smiled.
Neither of them moved.
“Your team probably thinks you’re losing it.”
“They’re not wrong.”
Something shifted in her expression. Softened.
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“You were worried.”
“Terrified.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Skeet?”
“Yeah?”
“Um, when I was at the market, this old woman selling mangoes asked if I was buying fruit for my husband. And for a second... I almost said yes.”
If she wanted to do him in, those were the words.
“Yeah?”