Page 8 of Burning Love

“You’re perfectly safe here. Laura is just a few feet away. She’s with Marco, a guy who’s in a pretty bad way. She’s watching over him. If you need anything, you can ask her, or tell her to alert me and I’ll help you get settled,” Alex murmured, her voice rougher now. She didn’t miss the way Sophia’s lips parted, the soft exhale that escaped them. “I don’t sleep in this hangar. And anyway, I’m on duty until 4 a.m., so…”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched taut between them as Alex fought the urge to close the distance between them. She could feel it building—something raw, something inevitable.

I want to hold her hand. Would that be weird? Yes, it would be super weird. For fuck’s sake, Alex.

The moment hung in the air, fragile and electric, before Alex finally stood up. Her fingers curled into a fist at her side, resisting the pull to stay, to linger in the quiet closeness of Sophia’s presence. A feeling that seemed so far in the past. A feeling that seemed impossible in this new world.

“Get some sleep,” Alex mumbled, the sound coming out croaky and strained. She forced a grin. “And tomorrow, we’ll look at getting you out of those clothes.”

Sophia’s eyes lingered on Alex. “Huh? What was that?” she asked in mock surprise.

“Oh… I mean…” Alex mumbled, feeling the burn in her cheeks as she tried to joke her way out of her Freudian slip. “We’ll try to find you something else to wear. We don’t have a whole lot of options, so don’t go expecting some on-trend little London-Fashion-Week combo, okay? But I can sort you out.”

Jesus. I’ve just done it again. What’s wrong with me?

“I’m sure you can,” Sophia smirked. “Goodnight, Alex.”

“Yeah, goodnight, Sophia.” Alex nodded in return, then turned and left the hangar. The door banged shut behind her, the sound echoing in the stillness of the compound. She walked across the courtyard with slow, measured steps.

Okay. Get to work. Stop thinking about her.

But in the early hours of the following morning, after her shift, Alex moved restlessly in her cot. Her chest ached, and her thoughts spiraled as she tried to make sense of what she was feeling. She had spent so long building walls around herself. A lifetime, in fact. But Sophia... Sophia made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in longer than she dared to calculate.

Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of her dog tags. She breathed in deeply, trying to force herself to lay still, though her heart continued to thud in a rhythm she couldn’t ignore.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her. But even in sleep, Sophia lingered in her mind—a vivid and inescapable presence.

4

SOPHIA

Sophia’s entire body ached when she woke the following day. The cot creaked beneath her as she stretched. She felt a knot of tension in her neck and winced in pain. The tension in her muscles was refusing to loosen despite the relatively good night’s sleep she’d just had. She let out a soft groan as she reached for the glass that Alex must have left for her on the cardboard box next to her bed.

The narrow space behind the screen offered little distraction—just the box, a small step that was maybe supposed to serve as a stool, and a plastic bag where someone had left a lightweight, pale blue sweater and a pair of dark gray pants. She looked down at the tattered clothes she’d arrived in. As bloodstained and threadbare as they were, what she was wearing felt like armor, and she wasn’t too sure she was ready to change into something else. They were her last tie to who she had been, the last shred of her old life.

Don’t be mental, Soph. Put the new stuff on. You probably stink. Pull yourself together.

When she stood up and started to undress, she had to sit down again immediately. Her ribs twinged, and she instinctively ran her hand over them. The bruises were still tender, their colors a range of angry purples. With great difficulty, she peeled her shirt upward, exposing the mottled skin beneath, her fingers tracing the bumpy texture of the rough surface.

A flash of discomfort caused her to let out a long, slow sigh as she closed her eyes and tipped her head backward. But the pain was more than just physical. An uncomfortable wave of unease washed over her as she came to a sudden realization. This was her body now—this patchwork of cuts and scrapes and dirt and blemishes together formed the new Sophia. She’d always been slender, her muscles lean from years of classical dance training, but now she looked fragile.

I look like I might snap in half. I’m breakable.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind. He’d always said that a woman’s body should be treated with care, kept in line with virtue and restraint. And surprisingly, she’d never questioned it.

God, Daddy. You were so old-fashioned. I don’t look like your dainty little dancer now, let me tell you. Can you hear me up there? Look at me now.

She continued to run her hands along the curves of her body in a way that felt unfamiliar. It was as if she were discovering it for the very first time. She shifted slightly, and her body groaned in protest. She knew full well the bruises would fade, but how she felt in this new body of hers would remain.

This can’t be me. Why does everything feel so out of control?

Her mind wandered back to the previous day and the strange feeling that had settled over her as Alex left her for the night. The woman was so tall and confident; her presence both intimidating and comforting. Alex had been nothing but polite and kind—nothing out of the ordinary. It was her job to be welcoming, right? But still, Sophia couldn’t shake the sensation that there was more to it.

But what? Sophia didn’t really want to admit it to herself, but when Alex was near, she felt a lurching, giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Butterflies? No. Impossible.

She wasn’t likethat. She’d only ever been with men—straight men, men her father approved of, men who were usually members of his congregation. Sophia had never dared be in anything other than relationships that fit within the narrow mold of decency, the kind of relationships she had been raised to expect. Even at the Royal Ballet School, when she’d had her first taste of freedom, she had never strayed from what her parents had expected from her, even when she’d wanted to. Not even when it came to Sarah, her roommate, and the girl she’d shared those secret, quiet moments with—when their hands brushed during rehearsals, when their glances lingered a little too long, when their laughter carried just a bit more weight than it should have. But nothing had ever come of it.

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