Page 37 of Boomer
Could he keep going like that?
Could he be with her, touch her, kiss her, crave her, and still hold back the part of him that was so raw, no healing had ever reached it?
He took a hard breath. What if she saw it? What if she reached in and pulled that pain out of him, laid it bare? Who would he be then? How would he survive that kind of purge?
Would he do what he’d done to Lila? Would he shut Taylor out when it got too real, when she looked at him and saw everything? Would he be able to live with that? With the echo of yet another woman walking away because he wouldn’t let her know him?
The one thing he’d always feared was the thing she might actually want.
Him.
Still, he clung to the idea that if Bash wanted to compete for her, fuckingallof her, he’d rise to the occasion. That’s what he did. That’s what hewas. A breacher. Built for impact. Trained to win. Even if winning meant never showing how much he was bleeding. Even if it meant she never saw the man behind the blast door. The only thing scarier than losing her was letting her open him all the way.
Taylor stepped back.Bash’s cologne was sometimes overpowering. She couldn’t help thinking how clean and masculine Boomer smelled without anything but soap and water. Damn, she had tossed and turned all night thinking about him, his body, his skin, his muscles, and that mouth beneath her hands and lips.
“Smells like you cooked last night. Didn’t think you were one to eat alone.”
“I didn’t. Boomer was with me. We madeKäsespätzletogether, but I made anapfelstreusel.”
Bash’s mouth tightened. “For Southern fried?”
She avoided his gaze and turned to the counter, pulling the foil-wrapped soda bread toward her. The scent hit first, warm, dense, familiar. She peeled it open and broke off a piece with careful fingers, grounding herself in the motion.
“We shared,” she said lightly. “My dessert for his Irish soda bread.”
She offered him a sideways glance, trying for casual. But his expression had soured.
The corner of his mouth tugged down. The flex of his jaw tightened just enough to make her stomach dip. Something in the air between them went still…pressurized. Like she'd tripped a sensor she didn’t mean to.
A pulse of nervousness slid down her spine. This wasn’t just teasing. This wasn’t just Bash being Bash. This was somethingelse.
Verdammt.She had enough to handle with Boomer, his restraint, his gravity, the ache he stirred in her that still hadn’t settled. That was something she wanted toexplore, not dodge.
Adding a sulking Bash into the mix was lighting a fuse.
“Old guys do love their women to be in the kitchen and quiet,” Bash said, tone light but the edge was unmistakable.
Taylor laughed. Sharp. Surprised. “Old?Boomer?” She shook her head, smile curving before she could stop it. “Far from it.” Her voice dropped an octave. “He’s wise beyond his years.”
AndGott, if Bash had any idea how far off he was. She’d had her hands on him. Felt the coiled strength in him, heat and steadiness and kinetic restraint. That was not a man aging out of relevance. That was a man at his absolute prime.Gott,was he ever prime.
The second part of Bash’s sentence stuck harder.Women in the kitchen and quiet.
Her stomach twisted.
Boomer would never expect that from her. He’d tasted her fire, heard her voice crack like command. But still…that line touched something that she had never unraveled.
She’d been raised by a woman who ran their home and career like an empire, her father, sweet and silent, had handed her mother the crown and never reached for it again.
There was no war between them. Just surrender.
So, when Taylor entered rooms filled with men who took up too much space, GSG 9, NATO liaisons, intel briefings with thick accents and thicker egos, she adapted. Sharpened. Tightened. Controlled her tone. Her smile. Her pulse.
Navigating alpha-male spaces was like walking through a minefield.
She never had a role model for holding her ground with someone who didn’t want to claim it from her.
So now, when she felt Boomer’s quiet weight settle beside her without pushing?
