Page 48 of Defended By the SEAL
Sarkisyan roared in frustration, charging at Cowboy with a knife. Cowboy sidestepped, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw in a bone-crunching punch. The knife clattered to the ground as Sarkisyan stumbled. But he wasn’t done yet.
The two men grappled, the fight brutal and unrelenting. Sarkisyan was strong, but Cowboy’s sheer determination gave him the edge. With a final surge of effort, he slammed Sarkisyan into the wall with the sickening thud of a human head against stone.
He wasn’t sure if the other man was alive or dead. He didn’t really care. “Watch him,” he snapped to Austin, indicating Sarkisyan.
The team quickly disarmed the remaining explosives, Tom’s steady hands working expertly to dismantlethe setup piece by piece. The room fell silent, the threat finally neutralized.
Cowboy leaned back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His gaze flicked to the detonator lying useless on the ground, then to Sarkisyan’s unconscious form.
“It’s over,” he muttered, the words feeling both heavy and freeing.
His thoughts turned to Charlotte. He pushed himself upright, his body protesting with every movement, and made his way back toward the tunnel entrance.
When he saw her waiting there, unharmed but clearly shaken, a wave of relief washed over him. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as the crisp cool air and the weight of the night settled over them.
“It’s over,” he repeated, this time just for her, and brought her mouth to his for a punishing kiss full of every ounce of fear and regret that was screaming for release inside him.
27
The warmth of Grams’s house wrapped around them like a soothing balm after the harrowing cold of the storm. The fire in the bedroom fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering light across the room and chasing the shadows from the corners. Charlotte stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly, her profile illuminated by the golden glow. She stared out into the snow-draped night, but Cowboy could tell her mind was somewhere else entirely.
He lingered in the doorway, his body aching from the bruises and scrapes he’d collected over the last twenty-four hours. The adrenaline was long gone now, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. But when he looked at her—when he saw her standing there, alive, safe, her red hair falling over her shoulder in soft waves—none of that mattered.
"Charlotte," he said quietly, his voice rough.
She turned at the sound, her eyes locking on his. There was so much unspoken between them, so much weight from the events of the past days, but also the thread of somethingdeeper, something neither of them had fully acknowledged before now.
"You should rest,” she said, her voice soft but edged with concern.
He stepped into the room, shaking his head. "I’m fine. I’ve been through worse."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and he could see the argument forming in her eyes. But instead of scolding him, she sighed and turned back to the window. "I thought for sure you were going to die out there," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was going to lose you."
The vulnerability in her words hit him square in the chest. He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands finding her shoulders and turning her to face him. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and it was like something inside him cracked wide open.
"You didn’t lose me," he said firmly. "I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere."
Her lips trembled, and for a second, she looked like she might argue. But then she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest, and the fight seemed to drain out of her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his hand resting against the back of her head as he held her.
"I was so scared," she murmured. "I kept thinking about all the things I never said. All the things I never did."
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "You can say them now," he said. "You can do them now. Whatever it is, Charlotte. I’m here. I love you.”
“Did you see the glow of the lighthouse tonight? After the shooting at the bay?”
“I did.”
“That’s when I knew I hadn’t lost you. I knew you must be okay.” A tear fell down her cheek and he wiped it away.
“I love you.”
She turned into his arms and they collapsed onto the bed, Cowboy cradling her against him as if she were the most precious thing in his world. His hands roamed over her back, her waist, as if reassuring himself that she was really there, whole and alive.
A week ago, he would have asked her to marry him for the fiftieth time, thinking this time she would surely see how good they would be as husband and wife, but the thought didn’t even cross his mind. “Charlotte," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you know how much better my life is with you in it?”
She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching his. "You won’t have to find out," she said. "I’m not going anywhere."
They kissed again, slower this time, the urgency giving way to something softer, more deliberate. Cowboy’s hands found the hem of her sweater, his fingers brushing against her skin as he slid it upward. She shivered at his touch, her breath hitching as she pulled back just enough to let him lift the garment over her head.
