Sophia considered the new tidbit she’d learned while Blayze greeted the bellboy who’d delivered the room service. It seemed her efforts to discover new layers of him were paying off already. Emily… who could blame her? It’d be heart-wrenching to endure nights of waiting and dreading and fearing the worst.

Yet Sophia knew in her heart she couldn’t walk away from the man she loved, no matter the circumstance. Beyond that, she’d been raised with a deep appreciation for service men and the families who sacrificed the time and safety of their loved ones.

But it wouldn’t be easy. Not anywhere close.

She set her eyes back on Blayze. He’d signed for the room service, said goodbye to the bellboy, and was locking up behind him.

Blayze admitted to ordering a Pepsi for himself but she had no idea he’d been talking about a two-liter. It was huge. And if she were being honest, rather tempting as she considered how long it had been since she’d had a soda. And though she never drank more than a small glass or two, Sophia preferred not to drink alcohol in the company of those who weren’t. No need to tip the scales in their favor, as her father always said.

He set the tray on the coffee table, revealing a few other items as well. A glass dish filled with bright red strawberries, accented by leaves that glistened in the light.

“Would you be terribly offended if I save the champagne for another day and join you in a Pepsi toast?” she asked.

He glanced down at the two-liter. “You’d rather have this?”

“Yes, please.”

Blayze shrugged. “All right.” He rested his hand on a copper dome that covered something besides the strawberries. “Bet you can’t guess what’s in this…” he challenged. He was different now. More at ease. This was nice—seeing a new side of him.

Since they’d eaten just before coming home, she really couldn’t imagine what it might be. “Cheesecake?”

His shoulders fell. “We had that at the banquet.”

She laughed. “I know. I give up.”

Blayze bent into a low bow before lifting his chin a bit. He looked at her severely through his lashes. “I present to you… le croissant.” He’d used a French accent for effect.

Sophia gasped, touching both hands to her cheeks. “Le croissant.”

Blayze lifted the champagne glasses off the tray and poured Pepsi into each. He lifted a strawberry by the stem and dangled it over the glass with a lifted brow.

She grinned. “Why not?”

At once he released the stem, sending the bright berry into the drink with a plunk. He did the same with his before joining her back on the couch. A bit closer this time.

“Thank you.”

“So, tell me how you’re doing, after having just lost your mom,” she said before taking a sip.

“I guess I’m doing all right. It’s different from the way you lost your mom,” he said. “Since my mother had cancer, we’d known it was coming. Guess that gave me time to grieve before she was even gone. But at least I got to say my goodbyes. All of us did.”

“Thank you for putting up with my hectic schedule.” She remembered herself once more. “I don’t know why I make comments like that to someone who’s been through what you have. Maybe I need it drilled into my head. Can you tell me about your best day out there? And if you don’t mind, one of your worst? I’d like to get a glimpse of what you guys really do out there on our behalf, so I don’t take it for granted.”

Blayze set his drink down and lifted a bent leg onto the couch. “Best day, huh? Okay…” His brow furrowed, softened, then lifted. “All right. We were overseas, of course. Me and my Navy SEAL brothers from Team 7 had been choppered into this remote area where eight military officers were being held hostage. We received word they were ready to negotiate, so we went in there, unannounced of course, armed and prepared to use force if necessary.”

He draped an arm over the top length of the couch as he continued. “We lost connection with our commander, which was terrifying because he was supplying a translator. I’d gone through brief courses on a handful of Middle Eastern languages, but in making negotiations, one misunderstanding can be fatal.”

Sophia gulped hard. “That makes sense. So, you were supposed to do the negotiations?”

“Yes,” Blayze said. “That’s what I specialize in. Hostage situations, negotiations.”

“You seem like you’d be good for that,” she said. “You’re good at staying level headed, from what I can tell.”

He gave her a soft smile. “It’s a pretty long story, actually. And possibly a boring one with the way I’d tell it. But there was a moment when we huddled together, the sixteen of us. This guy named Cannon, used to be a chaplain, lifted a prayer to the man upstairs asking Him to give me the words to communicate. If there was a word I needed to speak to get our men set free, Cannon asked that it would come to my lips.”

The memory caused an air of awe in him even then. He licked his lips, lifted his gaze back to Sophia. “Let’s just say those words were heard loud and clear. And with God’s help alone, we were able to free all eight of those hostages.”

“Wow,” Sophia said. “Sounds like a miracle.”

Blayze nodded, his eyes turning dim suddenly. “As for the worst… we were working to free a family in the Philippines. Another hostage situation, only this one turned ugly fast. I mean, I’d barely gained communication with the hostiles when gunfire broke out. It had been a set up for an ambush all along.”

Sophia took in the reverence settling over the room. Sensing the severity of his loss. His pain.

“We had this kid on our team named Doug. He was the youngest, kind of like our younger brother. We razzed him like big brothers should. Joked that he was inexperienced with women, that he was still going through puberty, the whole nine yards. But we all…” He paused there, cleared his throat. “We all loved him the most too, I think. It was hard not to concern myself with him while we were on a mission. I’d check in with him more than the others, make sure he was safe. But this day… and he’d made it that far. Was just days off from finishing his term. And then that…”

She already knew what he’d say. Could feel it in the heavy ache in her chest. “He didn’t make it?”

Blayze had his eyes set blankly on something across the room. He shook his head. “No. It’s no surprise that the sound of gunfire triggers PTSD among vets. I had my share of takedowns. Times where I had to shoot, kill to keep me and my team alive. But what that sound triggers for me is an image of Doug— a kid with more energy than the sun—turned lifeless. Never to live the life he’d hoped to live.”

Sophia smeared tears from her face and sniffed. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “I can’t imagine the heartache you all must go through.” She made a resolution to herself then. “I never want to forget this. I don’t want my future children to take the liberties we have for granted.” She scooted toward him on the couch, reached out and sandwiched one of his hands in hers. She brought it to her lips then pressed a kiss to the knuckle of his thumb. “What you did matters. What Doug did matters. And I truly thank you for it.”

She loosened her grip on his hand, lowered it onto the small space between them. In the moments that ticked on, the air changed. She’d experienced spurts of chemistry between the two of them before. Moments where the attraction morphed into a life force of its own. It was happening again. Only with the story he’d just shared, the passion she’d sensed in him, that sensation had grown and swelled.

And that was just it. Men like Blayze Brockton didn’t have to stand up to a pulpit to prove or express their devotion. They’d risked it all. Put themselves on the line. Bled their devotion in the literal sense. Something about the realization made the moment feel all the more right. He was someone worth falling for. Investing in. Maybe losing her heart over.

She dared herself to lean in, softly, slowly. Testing as she looked up at his lips. She cupped his jaw, released a shaky breath, and brushed her mouth over his, the slightest touch. So good.

Blayze slipped a hand around her wrist, the contrast in size making her feel delicate—but not weak. He never made her feel weak.

Slowly, methodically, their lips almost touching once more, he trailed his fingertips up the inside of her arm, causing goosebumps to rise in ripples over her skin. “Sophia.” It came out low, raspy, and loaded with promise.

He moved in then, pressed a strong and fervent kiss to her mouth. Euphoria was the only word for it. Each extended glance and heated look, every playful tease and flirtatious word, all of it led to this shared moment of connection and need, desire and bliss.

She couldn’t be sure if a relationship between them would work; they’d only known one another for a few days. But a connection like this was meant to be tested. A mouth like his was meant to be tasted. And a moment like this—though she might be ruined for any future kiss from any other man—was worth the risk.

* * *

Blayze moved his hand up Sophia’s back, her skin hot through the thin layer of silk. He tilted his head, gave in to another succession of lingering kisses, his pulse shooting to rocket speed.

He pulled back, considered trailing kisses along the hollow of her neck, when a voice kicked in. Not too fast.

He toyed with her lips once more, reveling in the small whimper sounding from her throat, and then forced himself to speak up. “We should probably stop,” he said in a whisper.

“You’re right,” she said in that low, playful tone. But then she kissed him again. Bringing things to a slow, tortuous close. “There,” she said. “We stopped.” She snuggled into his chest then, her hands curling around his waist.

“You know,” she said, her face against his shirt, “we should probably turn on the television if we plan to stay stopped. Because I’m already thinking about starting things back up again.”

Blayze was right there with her. He chuckled, scanned the small table beside him for the remote.

“Behind the lamp,” Sophia said without moving.

“Ah.” Blayze snatched it off the table and handed it over, working to catch his breath as Sophia flipped the stations. She landed on an episode of Seinfeld.

Two seconds into it and she was already cracking up. As the show continued, Blayze ran the tips of his fingers over her arms, taking in the comfort and ease between them. He began picturing future nights together, wrapped in each other’s arms. More visions came to mind as the episode wound to an end. Blayze was captivated by this new side of her. A side that knew how to unwind and enjoy herself.

He remembered then, for the first time since Sophia asked him to join her—that they were expecting a package that day. Yet, with midnight a mere half-hour away, they’d all but made it through the day without the dreaded delivery. No anonymous gift. No brightly colored threat wrapped in ribbon and lace. Nothing. Which wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. Waiting for another shoe to drop had never been on the list of things he liked to do.

Yet, just as the thought crossed his mind, an odd, ticking noise sounded from the far corner. Soft, but unmistakably there.

Perhaps that other shoe might just drop after all.

Blayze sat up, tilting his head as he detected the sound once more

after a spell of audience laughter. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, his pulse pounding in alarm.

“No.” Sophia shook her head.

The remote rested on the side table just within reach. Blayze snatched it up quick, tapped the mute button, and leaned toward the back of the penthouse as it waned. More of a hum than a tap. But then it started up again. Tap. Scratch. Tap tap scratch. If he hadn’t known better he’d think Sophia had brought her cat.

“Stay here.” He gulped, scanned the perimeter of the spacious area. A pale, ghostlike glow poured from the large flat screen, casting shadows on everything beyond its reach. No one could be in that penthouse. He’d done a thorough check of the place when they’d got there. But what about when he’d showered?

He spun in place, kept his face toward Sophia, and took slow backward steps toward the light switch. Her brown eyes, thick with worry, stared blankly into the shadows at his back. Tick… tick… tick tick tick tick…

With the jerk of his hand to the light switch, Blayze flicked on all four switches. A burst of light filled the kitchen, dining area, front room and entry. He squinted from the brightness as his eyes adjusted, sensing the direction of the sound. “It’s coming from the window,” he mumbled.

He risked a glance in that direction, catching nothing more than a reflection of the room. White, glossy floors, tall vases holding floral decor, and a terrified-looking Sophia on the couch. Her face drained of color.

Blayze hurried back to the switch as the noise scratched on, sounding more like metal on glass now. He palmed the wall blindly, felt the edge of a switch against his pinky and reached to catch them all at once. Black fell upon them, allowing the city view to come alive once more. His eyes followed the ruckus until he saw the source at last. There, hovering beyond the window was a drone. Beating against the glass like a crazed, robotic bird.

“Duck behind the couch,” he breathed, honing in on the object trapped in the machine’s talon-like claw. An object that erased any doubts as to who sent it to their penthouse.

A curse slipped from his mouth. A wrapped box.

The wrapping, a glossy, candy apple red, was accented by white, curly ribbon and a matching tag. The writing on the tag was red too; however, a ribbon curl jiggled and swayed in front of it, blocking part of the single word printed there.

Eyes squinting, Blayze identified the first two. “B. O…” The drone reared back, sweeping the ribbon out of the way just long enough for him to see the last two. “O. M.” At once the small, hovering device exploded with a barely audible pop.

Scattered sparks flew, as if mere fireworks had blasted from within. Pale green shreds scattered in a much broader display, hanging in the air for a blink. The distinct corner of a dollar bill drifted against the glass, leaving an ashy smudge. Beyond that mark on the window, scraps of dusty red twirled in confusion. A charred ribbon curl spiraled through the cloud and plummeted beyond sight.

The specs grew smaller, fewer and further between, until they too, fell from his view. Blayze gulped, that single, printed word coming to mind once more—BOOM! Guaranteed, the explosion to come wouldn’t be so tame.