Page 33 of Boomer
For a moment, it wasn’t about fentanyl shipments or British egos or buried regrets.
It was just two people in a warm kitchen, feet brushing under the table, sharing food they didn’t plan to share. Her hand was so close to his, and unable to help herself, she brushed his fingertips. He looked up at her, his eyes pools of shadowed forest.
The timer dinged.
It was the first moment she didn’t feel alone, and he looked at her like he knew it, like he’d felt it too.
She rose, her fingers tingling, her mouth aching. Instead of doing what she wanted to do, she slid the pie out, steam rising in lazy curls. “Give it ten minutes,” she said, voice low. “Then we taste.”
Boomer didn’t move. Just watched her like she was something he’d never let himself want too much of until now.
The room was dim except for the under-cabinet lighting above the stovetop. Steam rose from two mugs, one hers, one his, black coffee, strong and steady, the German kind she grew up on, full to bursting with their meal. Boomer leaned back against the counter, broad arms crossed, watching the emotions play across her face.
Ten minutes later, she served the dessert, and they sipped coffee and savored it. She finally said it, soft, but certain, “You stepped in front of a bullet for me.”
Across the table, he didn’t react at first. Then he shook his head, voice low. “Wasn’t a bullet. Just a guy with bad aim.”
She looked at him. “Still. You didn’t think. You just...”
Boomer met her eyes. “We train to hit what we target. We put them down. Unless we’ve got a capture order, we clear the room. When we clear...they stay down.” His voice was measured. “We call it violence of action.” He looked at her for a long beat. “You were in my stack. That makes you mine to cover. I don’t think twice about that.”
She leaned into his shoulder, the warmth of him generating more than fire in her. She slicked her bottom lip with her tongue, unable to catch her breath.
“We should get some sleep,” Boomer said, voice thick with restraint. She nodded, and after a quick cleanup, they left the kitchen slowly, reluctantly, like stepping out of a dream still warm and sweet around the edges. The quiet of the compound stretched around them, dim corridor lights casting long shadows as they walked side by side, footsteps soft against the cool tile.
He said it so simply. So matter-of-fact.
You’re mine to cover.His words slid right into her spine and settled. Her body...betrayed her. Her mind twisted it sideways, deeper. She knew what he meant. Knew it wasn’t sexual. But her chest tightened anyway. Her skin flushed. Her heart ached.
She wanted it to mean more. Not just covering her six, but seeing her through. Standing between her and anything that tried to break her. Her reaction wasvisceral. She ached now. Not just in her body, but in the quiet hollows of her soul. The ache was slow, molten, terrifying.
Yes, she wanted him. The body, the weight, the strength of him,of courseshe did.
She wanted what he carried beneath it more. That soul-deep steadiness. That gentleness wrapped in power. That devastating restraint.
She knew, without question, that Boomer would treat her like something fragile. Not because shewas...but because she’d matter. Her mouth went dry. She could almost feel those hands, big, calloused, made for destruction. But she knew they’d hold her like a secret he couldn’t afford to break. The ache sharpened. The hunger spread, and it had nothing to do with orgasms. It had everything to do with Boomer being just freaking Boomer.
He was a serious complication, and it was clear that exploring something with him was inevitable. The ache didn’t fade. It deepened, rooted in her, swirling, demanding she not be a fool and miss out on this man. She glanced at him, lips still tingling from laughter. “Your Iceman isn’t very forgiving, yes.”
Boomer grinned, that slow, Southern smirk that did things to her pulse.
“He’s a hard tyrant-master.”
The laugh that burst from him was genuine, a full-bodied sound that rolled from his chest in waves and filled the empty hallway like the echo of something sacred.
Gott, he was beautiful when he laughed. Not the careful smile he gave in briefing rooms or the grin he flashed in banter, but this…unguarded joy. His eyes glinted, dark and deep and alive, and for a single, wrecking second she forgot to breathe.
Verklemptdidn’t even begin to cover it.
He exhaled the last of the laughter in a huff, brushing a hand over his hair. “No, he isn’t. But it’s tough taskmaster.” Another laugh, softer now. “Though I like yours so much better.”
He took a steadying breath. “Let’s go before he sticks me with log PT for a month.”
They walked on, close enough that her arm brushed his. Her fingers itched. Her whole body hummed. She knew what she was doing,knew, but she did it anyway. She let her hand drift, just barely grazing his knuckles.
The jolt that followed was pure voltage. His stride hitched. He turned to her slowly, eyes unreadable, but burning. “Darlin’,” he said, voice rough. “We’re playing with fire here.”
She stopped at her door. Her heart hammered, wild and loud. Something inside her screamed for caution, for distance, for anything that would keep this from scaring her away.
