Page 1 of Stolen Hearts

Prologue

New York City, USA

18 months ago

The room was a cocoon, insulated from the world, where time had stretched and blurred over the past three days.

Denver Malone lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting on the curve of Rhae’s hip. Her head nestled against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

The ceiling fan rotated lazily above, its rhythmic creak the only sound accompanying the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. The silence between them was comfortable, yet charged, like the calm before a storm.

“Three days,” Rhae murmured, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Mm-hmm.” Denver’s was a low rumble.

“We said one night.”

He chuckled, but it was a sound devoid of humor. With Rhae, he existed in a different world than the one he walked in normally. The minute he stepped out that hotel room door, he returned to his SEAL team and became a ghost.

A dead man walking.

The moments he’d stolen with her were even riskier than they would be with a nameless woman picked up at a random bar.

It sure as hell would be less of an entanglement.

He smirked down at her. “Plans change.”

“Do they?” She lifted her head to look at him, her pale blue eyes—the color of a misty morning—searching his face in a way that made him take more notice.

He met her gaze, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. “They did.”

They were dancing around each other. As always. What choice did they have when everything about these meetups was forbidden? Not only was he breaking the rules of his team, SEAL Team Blackout Charlie, by having a connection in his personal life…but Rhae was his therapist.

Or had been in the beginning. He was forced to see her five times after a mission went sideways. He thought it was going to be the worst experience ever, but after he fulfilled orders, he found ways to facilitate accidental meetups…that turned into dates…

That turned into three days spent in a hotel room.

Rhae sat up and slipped out of bed. She donned a silky robe and crossed the room to the window, peering out at the city that never slept. Her sexy silhouette was illuminated by the neon lights below, casting her in a surreal glow, accentuating the blonde streaks in her hair that gave her a forever sun-kissed look that intruded on his dreams, and those pale blue eyes that had a way of piercing him far too deep.

And Christ, her long, toned legs had him aching hard for her all over again.

Denver sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. “I should probably leave.”

She turned her head to face him, a sad smile on her lips as if she already knew what would happen. What always happened.

“You should probably stay.” Then she shook herself. “Never mind. That’s not how this works.”

He stood, crossing the room to her. “Why not?”

“Because we agreed. One night. No strings.”

“And yet, here we are, three days later.”

Three days and a lot of secrets neither could share. They danced around their personal lives more than they did the samba in the sheets.

She looked away, her hands slipping into the pockets of the robe. Rhae was the therapist, but he recognized the gesture for what it was —a shield against vulnerability.

“Rhae…”

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