Page 17 of Provoking Bryan

“I’ve spent my whole life building walls, Bryan,” she admitted, her voice raw. “It’s easier that way. Safer.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But is it better?”

She turned then, her back against the railing, her eyes searching his. The moonlight softened his features, but his gaze was as piercing as ever, steady and unrelenting.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

Bryan lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. “You say that…”

“Because it’s true,” he said simply.

Sara looked down, her hands gripping the edge of the railing. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Bryan admitted. “But then most things worth doing rarely are.”

His words settled over her like a soft-knit afghan. She lifted her gaze back to his, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his expression.

For the first time in a long time, she felt seen—not as the operative, not as the protector, but as Sara.

She reached up, her fingers brushing his jaw, and he leaned into the touch, his eyes never leaving hers. The moment stretched, the air between them charged with unspoken promises.

“Bryan…” she started, her voice trembling.

But he shook his head slightly, his hand lifting to cover hers. “You don’t have to say anything.”

And for once, she let herself believe it.

They stood like that, the world around them fading into the background, the crash of waves the only sound as Sara let herself lean into the warmth and strength of the man who somehow managed to see through all her walls.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Bryan, I need to say something.”

His dark eyes lifted to meet hers, steady and unflinching. “Go ahead.”

“I’m not an easy person to be with,” she started, her tone quiet but firm. “I don’t do relationships—not because I don’t want to, but because I’ve learned the hard way that they don’t work for me.”

Bryan tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but attentive. “Why don’t they work?”

She exhaled, her fingers lacing together as she searched for the right words. “Because of what I need. What I want.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and she rushed to explain. “I’m not talking about flowers and date nights. I’m talking about… control. The kind I have to give up in order to feel like I can breathe.”

The confession felt too weighty to be saying right now, but she pushed through. “Most guys either can’t handle what I can do, or they’re obsessed with it. They’re either intimidated by my skills or turned on by them in a way that makes my skin crawl. And neither of those things works for me.”

Bryan nodded, but he didn’t interrupt.

“And then there’s…” She paused, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “The submission. I need someone who can take the reins—someone I can trust to take them, even when I don’t necessarily want to give them up. But every time I think I’ve found that, it ends with resentment or disappointment.”

The silence between them was deafening, her words hanging in the air like a live wire.

Bryan leaned forward then, setting his glass down beside hers. His voice was low but steady when he spoke. “Sara, I respect the hell out of your abilities. I’ve seen you in action, and I know how damn capable you are. But none of that changes thefact that right now, I’m not thinking about the badass operative who can take down a cartel gunman.”

Her breath stopped, and she forced herself to breathe before she asked, “Then what are you thinking about?”

He held her gaze, his expression softening just slightly. “I’m thinking about the woman standing here next to me in nothing but my shirt while we watch the moon and tide dance together. The one who’s brave enough to say what she needs, even when it scares her. That’s the person I want to know. That’s the person I want to figure this out with.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs, her mind racing. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for, Bryan.”

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