I strain to hear Sarge on the radio. The words unstable, insurgents, too open, are being shouted, and with each bump over the rough terrain, the doubt lodges further into my psyche about whether Beaux is really okay. But I’ve got no way to interrupt him, to ask him to call Rosco and make sure he has her. Sarge is in charge of getting his unit of men to safety, and right now he’s got no spare attention to pay to a reporter who signed on for the risk.

Each jar, each bump, and each mile stretches into what feels like an eternity as my mind races and my cell phone shows no signal, its eerie silence making me want to stomp it beneath my boots in frustration. My watch is not my friend either because each minute that ticks past, each mile that we put between us and the village, is more time and space from wherever the fuck Beaux is with her curiosity to take more damn pictures.

When my phone alerts a text, all of my panic and worry reach a boiling point as I glance down to see who’s sent it. I sag against the side of the carrier in momentary relief before all of the tumultuous emotions inside me morph into anger.

Are you okay? I’m worried. I’m with Rosco. We were under heavy fire.

Yes. I’m okay.

I hit Send on my reply, but my signal fails again and I have no way of knowing whether it was delivered.

“She good?” Sarge shouts in my ear when he sees me looking at my phone. I nod, before resting my head back in exhaustion, the adrenaline still coursing through me, but at least I know she’s safe.

For now.

I swear I’m going to wear a hole in the goddamn floor as I pace back and forth waiting for Beaux to get back. Not only were we separated during the flare up at the village, but then the convoy she was riding in had some mechanical issues. So now we’re going on over an hour that I’ve been back safe and sound while she’s out there. Alone. Without me being able to protect her.

And I’m not stupid enough to think that I could save her from all of the shit that can happen out there, but at the same time, the not knowing is killing me.

Pauly watches me from afar. Poor bastard was the first to greet me and congratulate me for the exclusive on the big mission. It also meant he was the first in line for me to rip into since I had no one else to take out my worry and frustration on. And thank fuck we’ve been friends so long he knows something’s wrong, can assume what’s bothering me given my history and that I came back without Beaux, and won’t hold it against me. Shit. I know I’ll feel bad later and I’ll buy him a few rounds to apologize, but right now it’s the farthest thing from my mind. Beaux is front and center.

Every time the doors to the lobby open, I look up, then curse when it’s not her. I’ve been running the gamut of emotions, hating this feeling of unease that riots within me, knowing I won’t settle down internally until I set eyes on her.

And then there’s the anger I hold out like a shield around me. Of course she doesn’t deserve it; deep down I know that, but I can’t bring myself to care because if she hadn’t asked to take more pictures, she would have been with me when shit went south, and she’d be beside me right now.

“Tanner.”

I whip around at the sound of Beaux’s voice saying my name. And of course she’s standing there in the lobby, looking no worse for wear, with her camera bag strap slung from one shoulder to opposite hip with her hair disheveled. In fact her cheeks are flushed with color and her eyes alive from the adrenaline rush. Even I can see it across the distance of fake marble floors between us.

Still, my feet are rooted in place as relief floods me, and the proverbial breath I never realized I was holding whooshes out. Neither one of us moves; our eyes lock and say so many things and nothing all at the same time. We’re both guarded because there’s no denying that what just happened made whatever that fucking stirring is deep down I have for her ten times stronger. And I think she feels it too.

“Knee-deep in chaos!” Pauly says, his enthusiastic voice booming through the room so that all of the other journalists take notice of Beaux standing there looking exhilarated and beguiling all at once. “Are you hooked now, BJ?” he asks as he approaches her and pats her on the back in welcome. “A goddamn rush, isn’t it?”

Beaux smiles warmly, but all the while her eyes keep flickering to mine, and yet all I can see is Pauly touching her when I want it to be me. I let her have her few moments of rookie glory: being in the thick of an engagement, learning firsthand the rush that some of these journalists can only dream of experiencing. And I’m happy for her, but I experience the next moments as if I were an alcoholic in a liquor store; the craving to take what I can’t have so bad it rules your every thought, your every breath, your everything.

I want to be the good guy, to let her taste the glory of being admired, but at some point soon, I want to be the one who has her attention. And enough’s enough. I close the distance between us, working my way through the crowd.

“C’mon, guys, she needs to get upstairs and file her pictures along with my report ASAP. Worldwide is asking and wants it while the story’s hot.”

The group groans but backs off because they know I’m right. Within seconds, Beaux is following me across the lobby without a single word exchanged between us besides my name. The elevator opens as we near it, and although I usually prefer the stairs, I walk into the empty car, knowing that my body is so pent-up with need right now that I won’t be able to make it more than a few flights up without giving in to the pull of desire on me.

“Whose room?” It’s the only thing I say, my voice strained, my body vibrating from her proximity.

“Mine,” she says cautiously. “All of my equipment is there so I can upload and —”

“Fine.” I push the button just as the doors to the car shut, and I brace my hands on the wall in front of me, eyes closed as I concentrate on controlling everything that I can because I know the minute I have her alone, that restraint will snap.

The tension in the car between us thickens. The current of desire is so palpable, I feel like it kick-starts my heart every other beat. I blow out a breath as the elevator ascends, Beaux shifting her feet beside me.

“Did I do something wrong?”

I snort. Fuck yes. But where do I even begin to explain? You made me want you? You made me worry when I told myself I wasn’t going to put myself in that situation ever again? You fucking don’t ever listen about not going off on your own? I want you so goddamn bad right now that the desire is so sharp, it’s painful.

The elevator dings, and I stride off the car to her door without looking back to see if she’s following. My body just knows she is.

It takes her a moment to fumble with her bag, get her room key out, and open her door, all the while casting curious glances my way.

“Put the camera down,” I order the minute we’re inside the door and it’s shut.

“What is your problem —?” she asks, but the question is cut off the second the camera strap leaves her hand, my body crashing into hers and pushing her up against the wall behind her. My lips find hers instantly.

It takes her a millisecond for the shock to fade and for her to respond, but once she does, we meet in a savage union of frenzied hands gripping, mouths taking, bodies begging to join in every way possible.

Beaux weaves her fingers in my hair and holds tight as she tears her mouth momentarily from mine. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

I kiss her fiercely, all tongue and teeth and possession, before I respond. “I’m furious. But I want you more.” It’s as true a statement as I’ve ever given, the moment stripping away any superfluous words. “You came back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” she says, her voice breathless but resolute. And a part of me feels a tiny iota of relief from her words before my senses are shaken and upended when a moan falls from her mouth as my hand finds its way down her pants and I use my one foot to knock her legs wider so that I can have better access. I may be completely consumed with her kiss and taken with the possession of her touch, but there is no mistaking her desire as my fingers run over the tight strip of curls. Her gasp fills the space between us as I part her cleft to find her heated and wet for me.

Jesus Christ. If I didn’t want her enough already, feeling her push her hips into my hands makes that want turn into a need that somehow I feared wouldn’t be satisfied anytime soon. We’ve built up to this moment for so long that I know as hard as I try to hold on to control, as much as I try to slow down, every nerve in my body is at such a riotous fever pitch that it’s going to be impossible not to succumb to the urgency.

Then Beaux shocks me back to reality by saying, “I need you in me right now.”

And that’s what I want more than anything, to be buried in her. Yes, my hand is already between the lips of her pussy, but I need more of her, want all of her, naked and accessible.

“Tanner.” My name leaves her lips as a plea, a moan, and everything in between when she releases her hold on me and moves to help tug her shorts down. But just her shorts aren’t enough. I want all of her clothes off. She must feel the same way because, without a word, we begin an awkward dance toward the bed, an unspoken race to see which of us can get undressed quicker as we cover the few feet of distance. And just as she has her bra off so that we are both completely naked, I grab her from behind and pull her back against my chest.