Page 49 of Dirty Fighter

My senses are coming back online, bringing a tingly awareness of his careful touch and gentle prodding.

I try again, and this time I’m able to whisper his name.

Jason’s breath rushes out in a gust like he’d been holding it for a month, and when he looks away, I’m almost positive I see his lips move in a silent thank you.

But then just as quickly, he’s refocused. “Tell me what hurts.”

My voice is unsteady after the adrenaline surge and break from breathing, but aside from being stunned and a little shaky, pretty sure I’m fine.

“Just my pride,” I manage, steadier now.

Half-wild eyes flash confusion, like he doesn’t understand. Like he’s beyond levity.

So I put my hand over his at the side of my face, brushing his knuckles with my thumb. “Hey, I’m okay.”

Because of him.

“Really… you’re sure?” The way he says it, it’s like he’s afraid to actually believe it.

“Promise.” I bring my other hand to his face, the palm absorbing the rough scrape of his stubble as he turns into my touch.

“If anything happened to you—” He swallows, his brows drawing together like the words alone are more than he can bear. I get it. He lost his dad, and now the situation with my mother and the cabin.

The last thing this man needs is some woman getting killed on his island.

When he lifts his head, there’s something different in his eyes. A primal sort of blaze that stirs an awareness in me that shouldn’t exist.

For one heart-stopping moment, I see it. The battle raging behind those too intense, too blue eyes as they land on my mouth…

No. I can’t be seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Maybe I bumped my head.

The tether on his restraint stretching taut as that look lingers long enough that I can almost feel the heat of it against my lips.

His jaw flexes, and his fingers tighten incrementally in my hair. And I most definitely did not bump my head because that slight tension feels unbelievably good.

“Jason,” I whisper, the ache of a desire I never let myself acknowledge edging his name like a plea.

In the next beat, his mouth meets mine in a crushing kiss.

17

Jason

She’s safe.

I didn’t lose her.

It’s what I keep telling myself in response to the nightmare playing on a loop through my mind.

But the reassurance isn’t enough to counteract the endless versions of what might have happened if I hadn’t reached her before that giant jagged branch, if I had fallen short and instead of catching her, my arm slipped through thin air. If her fearful cry had been the predecessor to something pained and prolonged… or worse, to nothing at all.

Silence.

People died. Cars went off the road. Complications happened⁠—

No. She’s safe. I didn’t lose her.