Page 30 of Zorro

The version she’d hidden, especially from herself, beneath logic and grief, beneath white coats and protocols. Rob had never tried. Not really. Not once, not even on their wedding day, had he said the words Zorro had offered so easily.

You're beautiful.

She closed her eyes, that single sentence still echoing in her head as she pulled the shirt close, her fingers fisted in the cotton like it was the only thing keeping her from drifting back into the loneliness that used to feel like home.

Tonight, it didn’t feel quite so familiar.

Tonight, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

When her phone chimed this time, she almost didn’t want to look. He was already devastating her without even breaking a sweat.

Goodnight, Doc S. Thanks for the save. An emoji ice bucket and the rolling-around-on-the-floor-laughing-with-tears-in-its-eyes emoji.

She stared at the message, her heart still galloping, her lips swollen from the kiss. She brought part of the tee to her face, breathed him in again, heat, rain, salt, and something that made her chest ache.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them.

I’m keeping the shirt, not just because it smells like you…fuck it. That is why I’m keeping it.

She hesitated. Her pulse thundered. Then slowly, like peeling back the edge of a wound she didn’t want to hide anymore, she typed:

Zorro?

Yes, quieda?

I think you’re beautiful too.

No emojis. No follow-up. Just that.

She set the phone down on the nightstand like it might burn her, then crawled under the covers, snugging around his shirt like a lifeline, heart thudding in her throat.

The next thing she knew, it was dawn’s early light spilling across the carpet, but it wasn’t the sunrise that woke her.

Everly jolted upright, heart slamming into her throat. The room was still blue with pre-dawn light. She fumbled a glance at the clock, barely five a.m., but that wasn’t what mattered. It was him. That sexy voice. Low. Familiar. Dangerous in all the right ways. She scrambled out of bed, Zorro’s shirt clinging to her thighs, her pulse jackhammering, disoriented with sleep, aching from head to toe with the deep need to see him.

She didn’t have time to think, just moved on instinct, tugging down the hem of the oversized tee and yanking open the door, and froze.

The entirety of SEAL Team Alpha stood in the hall in running gear, T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers, sweaty water bottles and morning smirks in hand. Eight gorgeous, tall, so-fit-it-hurt warriors, already out of bed and getting ready to keep those bodies honed. America’s finest. America’s weapons.

Oh God. She hadn’t changed. She hadn’t brushed her hair. Her face felt flushed from sleep and…everything else.

Zorro was mid-sentence, talking to Buck, who was nodding, until he caught the movement. Even worse now. There was complete silence.

Then Buck’s brows shot up like they had a life of their own. “Nice bedhead, Doc.”

Professor blinked once. Then twice.

D-Day nudged Zorro, clearing his throat like he was trying not to laugh. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Oh no. No. No no no.

She swallowed, straightened her spine, and somehow summoned what dignity remained. “I thought it was room service,” she said, managing a voice only two octaves too high.

Blitz smiled gently, eyes dancing. “Z…you making house calls?”

Zorro’s head snapped toward her, and the second his gaze landed, his entire body stilled. It was like someone had flipped a switch and unplugged his brain. His mouth parted, just slightly, his eyes dragging slowly, too slowly, down the length of her bare legs, back up to the T-shirt, her unfettered breasts swelled, her nipples tightened.

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