She stared at him, torn between fury and reluctant understanding. Because he’d laid it out in a way she couldn’t ignore. They lived in the same world, just different sides of it.
Still, her throat tightened. “But you’re telling me that you’re supposed to be dead, Hudson. How do I reconcile that? How do I build something with a man who doesn’t technically exist?”
The vulnerability in her voice felt foreign, almost frightening to her own ears after all she’d worked for to heal. But she needed him to hear it.
Hudson pulled her closer, tucking her under his chin, his heartbeat steady against her ear. “I exist.” His words were low and firm. “I exist here. With you. In this bed. That’s real.”
Tears pricked her eyes, hot and unwanted. She blinked them away. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not.” His grip tightened around her. “It’s the hardest damn thing in the world. But I’ll take hard if it means I get to keep us.”
For a long time, she let the silence stretch, the only sound the faint whisper of their breaths. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that she could balance her job, her truth, her hunger for answers—with this man who was nothing but shadows and secrets.
But the journalist in her screamed. How could she keep digging, keep doing her job, if she was tied to him? Wouldn’tit always be a conflict? Wouldn’t she always be caught between telling a story and protecting him?
The anger rose again, distinct and bitter. “You make it sound like I should just accept it. Accept being in the dark.”
“I’m not asking you to stop being who you are,” he said gently. “I’m asking you to trust me the way I trust you. With boundaries. With lines we don’t cross. That’s how the team works. That’s how we stay alive.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Team dynamic and rules. You even talk about this like it’s a briefing.”
“Maybe it is.” His mouth swept over her hair. “Rule one: protect the mission. Rule two: protect each other. And you…” His hand slid down her arm, fingers twining with hers. “You’re not just another mission to me, Izzy.”
Her chest ached, torn between hope and despair. Because she wanted to believe it. Wanted it so badly that it scared her.
She finally whispered the question burning her throat. “So what are we?”
Hudson exhaled, a sound that rumbled through her bones. “We’re whatever we can be, as much as we can be. And if that’s not enough…I’ll understand. But I’m not walking away.”
The words settled between them, solemn and terrifying and beautiful all at once.
Izzy lay there in his arms, her heart pounding against his chest. The sex had been good—better than anything she’d ever known. But it was this—this messy, confusing, impossible conversation in the dark—that might undo her completely.
Because she wanted him. She wanted them. And she didn’t know if wanting was going to be enough.
EIGHT
Steele’s hand hit empty sheets before his eyes even opened. The space beside him was cool, which meant Izzy had been gone for a while. He rolled over, squinting against the morning light filtering through his bedroom windows, and tried to shake off the disorientation that came with waking up alone after the night they’d shared.
Christ, what a night.
The memory of her moving beneath him, the soft sounds she’d made against his throat, the way she’d looked at him afterwards—it all crashed over him with an intensity that made his chest tight.
He’d slept with plenty of women over the years, but none of them left him feeling like the world had shifted on its axis.
None of them had made him want to wake up and immediately start planning how to keep them in his bed.
Permanently.
He dragged a hand through his hair and forced himself upright. For a moment, he questioned if she had left the Blackout base. No, she’d risked everything to get here.
She’d probably gone to get coffee. Maybe she was in the kitchen with the other women. Izzy didn’t seem like a kiss-and-tell type of woman, but the idea of her laying claim to their previous night’s activities made him want to thump his chest and bellow in victory.
Quickly, he threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The base was quiet.
Too quiet.
Too tense. The kind of energy that preceded either very good news or very bad news—and in his experience, it was usually the latter.
