Page 14 of Ranger's Honor
Fuck.
That right there is the kill shot. Because she’s right. In that moment, I didn’t see encrypted files, perimeter breaches or even my best friend's little sister. I saw her. The woman who’s kept me awake more nights than I care to admit. The one I’ve trained myself not to dream about, not to touch, not to want.
But wanting doesn’t care about training.
I rise from the chair and walk past her without touching. I need space. Distance. Anything that isn’t her eyes tracking me, like she’s wondering if I’ll kiss her again—or keep retreating like a coward.
The backyard is quiet. I pause, scanning the shadows, listening for anything off. The breeze carries the scent of dew-soaked grass and salt drifting in from the Gulf. Still, I can’t shake the feeling crawling along my spine—unease, sharp and restless, like eyes on the back of my neck.
I crouch near the hedges lining the fence and press my fingers to the dirt. No tracks. Nothing recent. Still, something’s off. There’s too much cover back here. One sharp-eyed bastardwith a silencer and a grudge could turn this place into a kill zone. And I’ll be damned if that happens on my watch.
I circle the perimeter, counting the steps from one weak point to the next. I mark anchor spots for cameras, test the shed lock, and curse when it swings open with a high-pitched whine.
She joins me a few minutes later, barefoot in the grass like the earth belongs to her—and she knows it.
“You know I’m not fragile, right?”
I nod. “Doesn’t mean I want you hurt.”
“Then stop pushing me away.”
I meet her eyes. “I’m trying to protect you.”
She starts to turn away, then stops and locks her eyes on me. “From the cartel or from yourself?”
That hits harder than it should. Like she drove a blade between my ribs and twisted, clean and deliberate. My pulse stutters—a sharp skip that makes everything else fade. It’s not just the words. It’s the truth buried in them. Primal, unflinching, and too goddamn accurate.
I feel it in the tight pull behind my sternum, in the way my spine locks, in the heat that crashes through the cold already clinging to my skin. For a moment, I can’t breathe. Because for all the danger waiting outside these walls, it’s her voice that lands the deepest blow.
She sighs and leans against the fence. “You’re not my brother, Dalton. You’re not my handler. And you’re sure as hell not my priest. You’re a man. I’m a woman. What happened last night? That was real. Don’t insult me by pretending it wasn’t.”
The wind picks up, and before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us. I brace one hand beside her head—close but not touching—just near enough for her to feel the heat rolling off my skin. The fence presses into her back, rough wood biting her shoulder blades. The space between us snaps tight, charged, crackling.
Her breath catches—shallow, sharp—and mine answers in kind. I breathe her in—citrus and something warm, like sun-drenched cotton. My arm grazes the edge of her hair, and for one suspended heartbeat, I’m not a soldier. Not a protector.
I’m just a man, a breath away from kissing the one woman who makes me forget every goddamn rule I’ve ever followed.
“I don’t know how to be around you and stay professional.”
“Then don’t be professional. Be human.”
I almost kiss her. Almost. Her breath mingles with mine, warm and sweet, and for a second, I forget why I’m supposed to stay away. I see the flicker of hope in her eyes—tentative, defiant—and it tears through me.
But I can’t give in. Not yet. Not when this is the moment I either ruin her safety or walk away with what’s left of my sanity.
So I force myself to step back, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Because I know exactly what comes next. The second my mouth finds hers, we won’t come up for air. I won’t stop until she’s mine in every way that counts.
And that? That’s not a line crossed. That’s a wildfire I can’t afford to start—not when her safety and her brother’s trust are riding on my restraint.
I need my head clear. The breeze rustling through the trees feels colder now, sharper— a whisper of danger threading the air. It’s the same chill that used to settle over a site just before everything went sideways.
My muscles tense on instinct, body moving before thought catches up. This isn’t just a drop in temperature. It’s a warning—sharp, immediate—scraping down my spine like the blade of something unseen, ready to strike.
There’s a pressure in my chest I can’t shake. The kind that comes before it all goes to hell.
There’s something moving beneath the quiet. A shift in the air, sharp and sudden. I can feel it. Not in instinct, deeper. Bone-deep. If I’m not ready—if I’m still tangled in her scent, her voice, her skin—she’ll be the one who pays. Not me. Her.
And that’s a cost I won’t let the world take from me.
