Page 24 of Wraith’s Promise

I move around the island before I can second-guess it, close the distance between us until I'm standing directly in front of him. Close enough to see the gray in his eyes, to count the faint lines at the corners from years of squinting at plans and contingencies.

"Listen to me," I say. "I've spent the last few years trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with my life after the military. Tried a dozen different jobs, a dozen different versions of myself, and none of them felt right. None of them felt like they mattered."

He's watching me intently now, completely focused.

"And then Ranger called and told me about you and Mariah, and something in my chest just clicked into place. Like maybe this is what I've been looking for. Not a job or a paycheck or a way to pass time, but something that actually matters. Someone to protect who deserves protecting. A family who needs what I can give."

"Quinn—"

"I'm not finished." I take a breath. "I know it's only been a day. I know this is happening fast and probably feels insane. But I need you to understand something… I don't make promises I can't keep, and I don't walk away from people I've committed to protecting. When I told you I'd keep Mariah safe, I meant it. When I put myself between her and those Vipers, I meant it. And when I stay, because I am staying, Dean, I mean that too."

We're standing so close now I can feel the heat coming off his body, can see his pulse jumping in his throat, can watch his eyes darken as he processes what I've said.

"You can't know that," he says, but his voice has gone rough. "You can't promise forever after twenty-four hours."

"Watch me."

Dean's hand comes up slowly, like he's giving me time to step back if I want to. His fingers brush against my jaw, gentle despite the violence those same hands committed just hours ago.

"This is a bad idea," he says.

"Probably."

"Terrible timing."

"The worst."

"You work for me. Live in my house. Take care of my daughter."

"All true."

"And I still want to kiss you so badly I can barely think straight."

“Then stop overthinking and just do it."

He does.

Dean's mouth finds mine with a certainty that suggests he's been thinking about this longer than the last five minutes, and whatever hesitation I was expecting, this isn't it. This is consuming and absolutely overwhelming in the best possible way.

His hand slides from my jaw into my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it, and I make a sound I'm not proud of against his mouth. My hands find his chest, flatten against muscle and the rapid pounding of his heartbeat.

This is insane. Completely insane. I've been here one day. I'm supposed to be his employee; this crosses every professional boundary that exists.

But his mouth is moving against mine like he's mapping territory he plans to revisit, and I can't find it in myself to care about boundaries or professionalism or anything except the way he tastes like cookie dough and coffee.

He pulls back just far enough to breathe, forehead resting against mine, both of us breathing hard.

"That was—" he starts.

"A bad idea?" I finish.

"I was going to say incredible."

I laugh, breathless and slightly unsteady. "That too."

Footsteps on the stairs make us spring apart like guilty teenagers. Dean moves back to his side of the island, I grab another cookie I don't want, and we're both not looking at each other when Mariah bounces back into the kitchen wearing a fresh shirt with a unicorn on it.

"I'm clean now!" she announces. "Can we play a game?"