Page 25 of Zorro

She met his family. Politely. Fidgeted. Reached for her wrap like it might save her from judgment. But then?—

His mother started bragging. About the Navy Cross. About the baby. About the mother he saved in the Philippines. Of course…she brought baby pictures.

Everly blinked and tried to absorb it all, somewhere between dazzled and horrified.

Then came the inevitable.

“What brings you to the conference, cariño?” his mother asked gently.

Everly nodded once. “I’m the keynote,” she said.

There was a pause.

She swallowed. “There’s…a tribute. To my late husband.”

Her voice dropped half an octave. The brightness in her expression vanished, replaced by the cool steel of old grief.

Zorro’s stomach clenched. Shit.

He’d forgotten. Or maybe just pushed it too far down to remember. Of course she was here for that. The pain she wore around her like a second skin wasn’t about him. It was him adjacent. Proximity trauma. Uniform-shaped guilt. Maybe it still was about his team.

His father was watching him now. Quiet, thoughtful.

“Mijo…” he murmured.

Then Bear, always too perceptive, too precise, said, “Talk to the woman, Z. She needs comfort.”

Zorro flashed a crooked grin and dragged a hand through his hair. “Jesus. Can everyone stop channeling Dr. Phil? I’m not some amateur who needs life coaching to deal with a woman in mourning.” He flicked a glance toward Everly, who had just stood and walked to the pool’s edge. “Let me work.”

He peeled off his shirt, all muscle and movement, and tossed it back toward the table. Bear caught it midair and slung it over the back of his chair without comment.

If Buck had been here, he’d have drawled something like “cocky son of a bitch.”

But Zorro didn’t care. His dick was throbbing, and his chest was tight, but that wasn’t the focus. It wasn’t just about the want anymore. It was about her in his arms, in his space, where she could breathe again.

He wasn’t wasting the moment.

Without warning, he walked straight up behind her, scooped her into his arms, and dove.

Her scream cut off as they submerged, her body clamping down on him like instinct. Her skin was soft. So fucking soft. He’d only dreamed of touching her like this, but now he had two arms full of furious, flailing sunshine.

She came up gasping and slapped at him with halfhearted outrage.

“You…you idiot! What the hell? Was this payback for my train wreck in the hallway?”

He slicked his hair back, moving closer, trailing wet fingers down her shoulder as he leaned in near her neck, close enough to feel her shiver.

“Nope,” he said softly. “It’s contrast therapy.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Took your mind off your husband, didn’t it?”

She froze.

Then turned. Swam to the edge.

Fuck.

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