Sammie leaned over the bed, gently running one hand through Clare's thick curls. Clare shifted in her sleep, uttered a sleepy mumble, then curled onto her side, one tiny arm wrapped around the fluffy stuffed bear.

Something in his chest squeezed tight, making it hard to breathe, affecting his lungs and heart and even his vision as he stared at his daughter clutching the bear. He remembered when he bought it, nothing more than a last-minute gift he had seen at the PX on his way to pick up Sammie and Clare from the hospital. He remembered walking—no, he'd been strutting, every inch the proud father—into Sammie's room, carrying her small bag because he'd been so frazzled he had forgotten to throw it in the car when she went into labor. He held the bear in one hand, laughing when Sammie's eyes widened.

"Jon! That thing is bigger than she is!"

"So she'll grow into it." He leaned over, brushed his lips against the top of Clare's head, feeling the downy softness of the baby-fuzz that covered her scalp. Then he leaned up and claimed Sammie's mouth, this kiss much more than a brushing of lips.

Sammie pulled away, an enchanting blush staining her round cheeks, chasing away some of the exhaustion that had put dark circles under her eyes. The labor hadn't been easy or quick, and weakness still threatened to cut him off at the knees when he thought about it, thought about how helpless he had felt, unable to do anything except hold Sammie's hands and whisper soft words of encouragement in her ear.

He reached for Clare, his hands shaking as he pulled her tiny little body into his arms. She was perfect, just like her mother. Dark blue eyes, already showing a hint of brown—at least, he thought so. Chubby round face. Ten tiny perfect fingers and ten tiny perfect toes.

Perfect. Just like her mother.

Jonathan blinked against the memory, rubbed at the tightness spreading through his chest. Had he forgotten that day, just over three years ago? No, never. But he had shoved it deep into the back of his mind, afraid of pulling it out, afraid of remembering.

They'd been so happy back then, even as they stumbled through each day, trying to figure out that thing called parenthood. Reconnecting with each other as they enjoyed each new little milestone as it happened. Clare's first bath. First smile. First coo. The first time she lifted her head. And the first time she slept through the night, scaring the hell out of both of them.

And then he received his orders to ship out for the second time. They had both known it was coming, had both tried to prepare for it.

But leaving them had nearly killed him. Saying goodbye, seeing Sammie's eyes fill with sadness and fear while she held Clare and that big fuzzy bear in her arms…fuck. Seeing that had torn him apart. Had he known even then that something would happen?

Maybe.

And then—

Jonathan shook his head, forced his mind to the present as he watched Sammie ease away from Clare. His wife and daughter.

Except Sammie wasn't his wife, not anymore.

And he hadn't been a part of Clare's life since that day he'd left them standing on the porch of their small house, almost three years ago.

He stepped away from the doorway to let Sammie pass, watched as she pulled the door closed behind her, leaving it open just a few inches. Jonathan followed her down the hallway to the living room, watched as she crossed her arms in front of her. Her eyes met his, darted away and focused on something just over his shoulder.

"She usually sleeps through the night but you should keep an ear out, just in case."

"I'm a pretty light sleeper." The answer was automatic, the words leaving him before his mind really registered what Sammie had said. He stepped closer, frowning. "Wait. Are you leaving?"

"I should. It's getting late."

"But—" Jonathan cleared his throat, trying to tamp down the panic. It wasn't just panic. He didn't want Sammie to leave, not yet. "How about some coffee?"

"I don't—"

"Or maybe you should run through that list again. What if she wakes up crying, asking for you?"

"Then you hold her and read her a story until she calms down."

"What about—"

"Jon." Sammie stepped closer, placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. "You'll be fine, okay?"

He shook his head, needing to tell her no, he wouldn't be fine. Needing to tell her that he was scared shitless. Needing to confess every single doubt and worry and fear.

Needing her.

Desire slammed into him. Hot. Desperate. Not just desire—need. Bone-deep and frantic and so powerful his legs nearly buckled from the force of it. He swallowed, tore his gaze away from Sammie's hand, and looked up.

She was standing there, an odd expression on her face as she watched him with wide eyes. She started to move her hand, started to back away. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her in place.

"Stay." Just a single word, filled with raw need.

"I can't. This—" Her tongue darted out, swiped against her lower lip. "This is a bad idea, Jon."

"Please."

He held his breath, waiting, expecting her to pull away. But Sammie didn't move, didn't even blink as she stared up at him with those deep, brown eyes. He tightened his hold, pulled her closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

Waiting for her to push against him and run out the door.

Praying she wouldn't.

He lowered his head, slow, inch by inch, giving her time to pull away. To tell him to stop. Watching. Waiting. And then his lips brushed against hers. Once. Twice. The touch featherlight, nothing more than a gentle grazing of flesh against flesh.

He heard her swift intake of breath, felt her stiffen for the briefest second—

And then she moved toward him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed her body closer, warm, soft curves against hard flesh. 

Jonathan held her close, his mouth claiming hers with a need so desperate, his entire body shook. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, groaned when her mouth opened under his.

And fuck. She was everything he remembered and more. Sweet. Spicy. Tantalizing. Intoxicating. Had he forgotten her taste? Her touch? He hadn't thought so. It had been those memories that had carried him through too many dark nights to count.

But the memories didn't even come close to reality. He realized that now, as Sammie clung to him, her hands twisting the thin material of his shirt. He deepened the kiss and tightened his hold on her, needing her even closer. Needing to feel more of her, to become one with her.

His fingers trembled as he trailed his hands up her back, fear accompanying the need. And God, he needed her. More than air. More than life. But it had been so long—for him, for them. Too long. Would she shy away from his touch? Push him away as hate and loathing at all the things he'd done filled her eyes?

What if she didn't push him away but he still somehow managed to fuck things up? Things were different between them now—there was no them, thanks to him. They had both changed, become different people. What if—

Sammie sighed into his mouth, the sound a breathy moan of need that gave him courage. Gave him hope. He dragged his hands through her hair, the silky tendrils soft against his fingers, and cupped the sides of her face. Tilted her head back, deepened the kiss.

Sammie's hands dug into his arms, her fingers kneading the flesh of his biceps as she moved even closer, her hips slowly rocking against his. And fuck, she felt so good. So soft and warm against the rock-hard length of his erection.

Jonathan dragged his mouth from hers, gently teased her lower lip with his teeth before trailing kisses along her jaw and throat. Up to that sensitive spot behind her ear and across her damp cheek—

He pulled away, regret slicing through him when he saw the tears on her face. He dropped his hands, stepped back, his blood turning to ice. "God. Sammie. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

The words caught in his throat, nearly choking him. He raised his hand, needing to soothe her, reassure her. He let it drop as hopelessness and despair washed over him.

"Sammie. Please, babe, don't cry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I'm not crying." She stepped closer, ran the palm of her hand up his arm and across his chest, until it was resting against his racing heart. Tears glistened in her eyes as she watched him with an intensity that seared his soul.

Jonathan's chest heaved with the force of the breath he sucked in. He raised one hand and cupped her cheek, wiped away a falling tear with his thumb. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Did he mean then—or now? Both. But he couldn't find the words, didn't know how to tell her he was sorry, so fucking sorry—

Sammie caught his hand with hers, pulled it away then turned her head to the side and pressed a lingering kiss against his palm. Fire danced across the roughened skin, tiny flames that traveled up his body, threatening to engulf him. Consume him.

Jonathan swallowed past the lump in his throat, curled his fingers around hers. "Why are you crying, babe?"

Sammie's only answer was a small shake of her head. He opened his mouth, ready to ask again, so fucking worried that he'd done something wrong, so worried that he had fucked up again—

The words died in his throat when Sammie dropped his hand and stepped closer, her gaze searing him as much as her kiss had. She reached between them, grasped the hem of his shirt, and slowly pushed it up. The palms of her hands grazed his skin—the flat plane of his stomach, the breadth of his ribs, the width of his chest. The beat of his heart echoed in the still air around them. Blood pounded through his veins, slow and heavy, hot. Sammie pushed the shirt higher, nudging his arms up. He grabbed the shirt, yanked it over his head, tossed it to the floor.

Then he just stood there, afraid to move. Powerless to move. Sammie's gaze drifted over him, the gaze followed by the hesitant touch of her hand. Across his shoulders, lower, tracing the bold lines of the tattoo emblazoned on his left chest and the scar that ran across his ribs. Her eyes darted to his, filled with silent questions. Jonathan shook his head, unable to answer. He couldn't speak. Hell, he could barely breathe, not with the way she was studying him, not with the way her trembling fingers touched him, so soft and hesitant.

Like she was relearning his body. Like she was seeing him for the first time.

And in a way, she was.

She moved around him. Touching, always touching. The tense muscles of his arms and shoulders. The back of his neck. The groove of his spine, down to the waistband of his jeans and back up again. Jonathan's breath left him with a sharp hiss. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes as his head dropped back, just…feeling. Feeling each little touch, so afraid to move as Sammie circled him. Still moving, touching, her trembling fingers sending flames dancing across his skin.

She traced the outline of his ribs, his side, back to his chest as she completed a full circle. Still touching, always touching.

And then she pressed her mouth against his chest, above his heart, the kiss light and tender and gentle. The breath left him in a rush. He dropped his head, forced his eyes open, and tumbled into the depths of need filling her watery gaze.

"I need you to touch me, Jon. Please."