Ch 1-10

Summary

She left him. No warning, no goodbye—just a note that ripped him apart. For six years, Mike Lancaster told himself to forget Amanda McDawson. He buried himself in missions, in war zones, in anything that would keep her ghost from haunting him. Then she walked back into his life. And she’s not alone—danger follows her like a shadow, and the past they never faced is ready to explode. This time, he won’t let her go. But in a game of lies and betrayal, loving her might be the most dangerous mission of all.

Chapter 1

POV: Mike

I stepped off the jet with my suitcase in hand, the warm evening air brushing against my skin as the sun dipped low on the horizon, setting the sky on fire with hues of orange and red. Johnny was right behind me, dragging his feet, muttering something about losing the coin toss.

My Jeep was parked at the airport, just where I left it. I popped the trunk and helped Johnny load the suitcase into his car. That damn case was the result of our last mission—a grueling two weeks in Korea that had tested our patience and our bodies. Johnny lost the bet, which meant he had the privilege of delivering it to the agency before heading home.

“See you Monday,” he said, shutting the trunk with a heavy sigh.

“If they don’t call us in before then,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.

Johnny scoffed. “We just got back. They wouldn’t dare.”

I smirked, knowing better.

The moment I got home, I poured myself a whiskey, took a long, scalding shower, and collapsed into bed. The plan? A weekend of doing absolutely nothing—junk food, TV, and silence. No missions. No gunfire. No adrenaline spikes. Just me and my shitty choice of action movies.

But, of course, that plan was dead before it even started.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through my sleep. Groggy, I reached for it and squinted at the screen. Johana.

Shit.

I debated ignoring it, but I knew better.

“Hello, boss,” I grumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Mike. Emergency. Code 3. Agency. Now.”

Her voice was clipped, sharper than usual. Johana never wasted words, but this was different. It wasn’t just urgent—it was bad.

I sat up, rubbing a hand over my face. “On my way.”

The agency rarely pulled us in so soon after a mission. We usually got at least two weeks between jobs—one at the very least. The fact that they were calling us in now meant something serious had gone down.

By the time I pulled into the agency parking lot, the uneasy feeling had settled deep in my gut.

Inside, I strode past Cindy, the receptionist, who barely met my gaze. She looked… tense.

“Rough morning?” I asked.

She forced a weak smile. “Something like that.”

Yeah, this was bad.

When I entered Johana’s office, Johnny was already there, arms crossed, mirroring my concern.

“The agency short on teams?” I joked, sprawling into an armchair, trying to mask my unease. “Could’ve given us a full night’s sleep.”

Johnny, sitting across from me, nodded. “Seriously, boss. What’s the rush?”

Johana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she ran a hand over her neck—a nervous tick I’d seen maybe twice in all the years I’d known her.

That was my second red flag.

Johana was a rock, steady even under fire. I’d seen her talk down a terrorist with a gun to her head without so much as flinching. But now? She was hesitating.

Before I could push, the door swung open behind us.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

Danna, our hacker, strolled in, adjusting her oversized glasses. She flopped onto the couch, barely noticing the tension in the room.

“Right on time,” Johana muttered, then took a slow breath, as if choosing her next words carefully.

“Ten hours ago,” she started, turning on the large screen behind her, “one of our undercover agents stopped responding to communications. She was working as a reporter, infiltrating a high-risk operation—”

I sat up. “Wait. Ten hours? Protocol says we wait twenty-four before classifying it as a disappearance.”

Silence.

Then, a voice—deep, rough, and painfully familiar—cut through the room.

“Not when that agent has standing orders to send proof of life every six hours.”

My stomach dropped.

I turned slowly, dread curling in my chest before my brain even processed why.

Colonel Gordon MacDawson stood in the doorway, every bit the authoritative figure I remembered. His square jaw was set, his thick brows furrowed, the strands of gray in his dark hair more prominent than the last time I saw him. He was still the same hard-ass, dressed in a sharp suit, his presence commanding the room without effort. And the same intense green eyes.

I shot to my feet. “Sir.”

Johnny followed suit, saluting. So did Johana. Only Danna remained seated, wide-eyed, looking between us like we’d all lost our minds.

“Dismissed,” Gordon said, waving off the formalities as he walked toward Johana’s desk.

My pulse pounded. No. No, this couldn’t be—

“Wait,” I said, my voice almost hoarse. “This agent isn’t… Amanda, is it?”

The room fell deathly silent.

Johana exhaled sharply, avoiding my eyes. Johnny stiffened.

I took a step back, the air suddenly too thick, my chest tightening like a goddamn vice.

“Wait—Amanda?” Johnny echoed, eyes flicking between us. “Your Amanda?”

Johana sighed, and that was my answer.

Amanda.

The name alone sent a shockwave through me, years of buried emotions breaking free like a dam bursting. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

“Where is she?” I turned to Gordon, my voice bordering on desperation.

“She never stopped looking for Horatio,” he said.

The words hit like a gut punch.

She never stopped, Gordon, the one who took me out of Horatio’s trail, telling me she never stopped.

I swallowed hard, my head spinning. I didn’t know what was worse—the fact that she had never stopped hunting him, or the fact that I had convinced myself she had moved on.

Gordon continued, but I barely heard him.

“Last contact was in Germany. Ten hours ago.”

I forced myself to look at the screen.

And there she was.

Amanda McDawson.

The photo was recent. Her blonde hair was tied back, green eyes were sharp as ever. But there was something else there—something hardened.

Fuck.

“She’s never missed a check-in before,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

“That’s why you’re going to Germany,” Johana said, her voice firm. “We’ll send more intel on the way.”

I shook my head, my pulse hammering. “I can’t. I—”

“Lancaster, you’re the best agent we have, you know her,” Gordon interrupted. “You know the case. And if Horatio already has her, it doesn’t matter if you’re in the same place or not.”

His words should’ve been reassuring. They weren’t.

My team left, but Gordon stayed.

“Mike,” he called, using my first name. He only did that when he was speaking like family, not as my superior.

“Yes, Gordon?”

“Bring her back,” he said, his voice carrying a plea.

“I will,” I promised—both for him and for myself.

I barely remembered what happened after that. Everything blurred as reality sank in.

Amanda was missing.

And I was the only one who could bring her back.

The next thing I knew, we were on our jet, cutting through the sky on our way to Germany. Johnny, my best friend and someone who knew me better than most, sat a few rows back, giving me space. He knew Amanda’s story. He knew Gordon. He knew when to push and when to let me be. So I sat alone, staring out the window, my thoughts an endless spiral of memories, what-ifs, and the gnawing dread in my gut.

“Mike?”

The voice was distant, almost drowned out by the hum of the engines.

“Mike?”

This time, it was clearer, followed by a gentle touch on my arm. I turned and saw Danna standing beside me. She hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down next to me, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

She let out a small sigh before speaking softly. “Do you mind telling me who Amanda was?”

Her eyes were wide, filled with curiosity and maybe even a hint of concern. I couldn’t blame her. She’d just witnessed the scene back at the agency, and watched as I nearly lost my composure. She had questions.

I looked down, resting my arms on my legs, inhaling deeply. Talking about Amanda hurt—hurt in a way that felt like reopening an old wound that never quite healed. But at the same time, there was something about our story that I loved, something that still felt so raw and alive inside me.

“Okay,” I murmured, offering a weak smile. “You remember that I served in the army, right?”

Danna nodded.

“I was finishing my training as a long-range sniper when the agency recruited me. I accepted, and everything changed overnight. At the agency, in addition to all the ballistic training, I had to improve my combat and hand-to-hand fighting skills. And on my first day of training…”

The memory hit me like a tidal wave, dragging me back to that moment as if it had just happened yesterday.

Chapter 2

POV: Mike

6 years ago:

I’d seen it all—warzones, bloodshed, the friends I buried, the family I lost. I’d walked through fire, survived ambushes, stared death in the face more times than I could count. I built walls so high no one could climb them, locked my emotions away because that was how you survived. That was how I became the man everyone knew—the tough one, the unshakable one.

But standing there on my first day of training at the agency, surrounded by strangers, something in my gut told me this was different. This wasn’t just another battlefield.

The doors to the training facility swung open, and I stepped inside, trying to shake off the nerves that had been clawing at my gut all morning. I was used to high-pressure environments, but this was different. This was a whole new world. And then… I saw her.

She stood at the center of the room, effortlessly commanding attention without even trying. Petite but undeniably strong, her athletic frame was a perfect balance of lean muscle and grace. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a long braid, a few strands framing her delicate but striking features. She was talking animatedly with a few other trainees, a wide, easy smile lighting up her face. And then, as if sensing my presence, she turned.

Our eyes met.

Green. Intense. Playful and sharp all at once.

I swore the rest of the world disappeared in that moment.

I wasn’t the kind of guy who believed in love at first sight. But in that moment? I might’ve become a believer.

The sound of the door slamming behind me jolted me back to reality, snapping our locked gaze. More trainees filtered into the room, and I forced myself to focus as the instructor began speaking. But she was a distraction—one I didn’t mind in the slightest.

When the session ended, I barely had time to catch my breath before she approached me.

“New?” Her voice was smooth, edged with confidence.

I straightened up, offering a nod. “Yeah. Just joined the agency.”

She grinned, and I never expected the words that came next.

“Want a tour? I grew up here—I have privileged information.”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

And that was how it started.

I learned that she was the daughter of Colonel Gordon McDawson, the President of the Agency’s Special Operations. She had been raised by agents, trained since childhood, and became the youngest to ever graduate. She was a prodigy, a force of nature, and I was completely captivated.

That first night, after the tour, we talked for hours. It was effortless, like we’d known each other in another lifetime. And the next day, when I needed help with a fighting technique, she was the first to offer.

“Here, let me show you.”

I followed her lead, mirroring her stance as she demonstrated the move. But when I executed it, I managed to turn our bodies at the last second, pinning her to the mat. My hips pressed against hers, my hands locking her wrists above her head.

A slow smirk spread across her lips. “You learn fast.”

I wanted to kiss her right then and there.

From that moment on, we trained together—her sharpening my combat skills, me perfecting her long-range shooting techniques.

She was perfect in everything she did. And I was a damn fool for falling so hard, so fast.

We had been training for weeks, and I didn’t know if it was the magnetic pull I felt toward her or the fact that no one wanted to be the target of Colonel McDawson’s wrath, but I got paired with Amanda every single time. Fighting, shooting, hand-to-hand combat—whatever the drill was, she was there.

Before I even saw her, I heard the quiet shuffle of her feet across the mat. She always moved like that—like a shadow, effortless and controlled, her confidence woven into every step. Amanda McDawson. Small, fierce, and always one step ahead, even when you thought you had the upper hand.

She stepped into the training area, her green eyes scanning the room with that sharp, calculating look that told me she was already a step ahead of me. That gaze lingered on me for a second longer than usual. I was used to her studying me—assessing, strategizing—but today, it felt different. Heavier. Like she wasn’t just reading me as a fighter.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you?” she teased, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

I chuckled, rolling my shoulders, trying to ignore the heat curling in my chest. “We’ll see about that, Sparky.”

Her smirk widened at the nickname. I called her that because she was fast—dangerously so. Unpredictable. The kind of spark that could burn you alive before you even realized you’d caught fire.

She was quick—her movements sharp and fluid, like she was reading my every move before I even made it. She knew my style as well as I knew hers. And she knew how to get under my skin.

“You think you’re faster than me?” she taunted, slipping under my swing with effortless grace and landing a sharp jab to my ribs.

I grunted, stepping back, throwing her a grin. “I’ve got more muscle than you, blondie. You’ll tire out before I do.”

Her eyes flickered with something—amusement, challenge, maybe something deeper. The air between us shifted, just for a moment. I felt it. I knew she did too. A charge. A pull. Something we both refused to name.

I moved fast, closing the space between us, throwing a calculated punch, but she sidestepped easily, her body flowing like water. It was frustrating as hell. And impressive. Not that I’d admit it out loud.

“You’re holding back,” she said, tilting her head, studying me. “You’ve been holding back for weeks, Mike.”

I froze, my pulse jumping.

She wasn’t just talking about the fight.

She knew. She always knew. And I hated that.

I clenched my jaw, forcing a scoff. “You’re full of shit, Sparky.”

Her smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, like she was enjoying the fact that she had me cornered. That she was inside my head, peeling me apart piece by piece.

I threw a counterpunch, my knuckles grazing her shoulder—closer than I’d come in weeks. Her smirk faltered for half a second before she adjusted, fluid as ever, spinning away with that infuriating ease.

She circled me, that familiar mischief dancing in her eyes. “You’re getting better,” she said. “Maybe I should teach you some new moves.”

The way she said it—low, teasing—sent a rush of heat through me. And I knew, without a doubt, she damn well meant more than just hand-to-hand combat.

I exhaled through my nose, trying to force the tension out of my chest. We had been here before. The close calls. The moments where the air between us grew thick, charged, impossible to ignore. The way she looked at me like she knew exactly what I was thinking, and the way I hated how much she was right.

She started to walk away, but then she did it—

A wink.

Just a quick, playful flick of her lashes. And damn her, because it worked.

I stood there, jaw clenched, watching her disappear through the door, knowing this was just the beginning of a very long, very dangerous game.

One we were both already losing.

Chapter 3

POV: Mike

The cafeteria is crowded, buzzing with voices and the clatter of trays, but all I notice is her. I don’t know why I even bother looking for an empty table. Somehow, I always end up sitting with her anyway.

Amanda is already at a table near the window, picking at a salad like she actually enjoys it. She’s got one leg tucked under her, her body relaxed in a way it never is when we’re working. It’s the only time she lets her guard down—not completely, but enough for me to catch glimpses of something softer underneath all that sharp-edged confidence.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, already sliding into the seat across from her.

She doesn’t even look up. “I don’t know. Do I really want to share a table with someone who takes up half the damn cafeteria?”

I smirk, settling in. “You’re just mad I make you look small.”

She finally glances at me, a playful glint in her green eyes. “No one needs to make me look small, Lancaster. That’s just physics.”

I chuckle, unwrapping my sandwich. “Hey, Big Guy needs room to breathe.”

Her fork pauses midair. Her eyes flick to mine, something unreadable in them. And then she smirks, like she’s just decided something. “Big Guy?”

I shrug. “Fits, doesn’t it?”

She tilts her head, considering me. Then, as if testing it out, she leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Alright, Big Guy. You win this round.”

A strange warmth settles in my chest, but I don’t dwell on it. I just take a bite of my sandwich and watch as she twirls her fork between her fingers, eyes sharp, assessing me like she’s playing a game I don’t even know I’m in yet.

After a beat, she smirks again. “So. Who’s going to teach me how to throw darts tonight?”

I pause, giving her a skeptical look. “You think you can beat me at that?”

“Absolutely.”

I scoff. “Not a chance.”

Her smirk widens. “Oh, Big Guy, you just made a mistake.”

There’s something in the way she says it that makes my pulse tick up a notch. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. And maybe she does. Maybe she’s always known.

I lean in slightly, my voice dropping. “Alright, then. But if I win, you owe me something.”

She raises a brow. “And what’s that?”

I let the silence stretch between us for a beat too long, just to see if she’ll squirm. But Amanda McDawson never flinches. Instead, she just watches me, waiting.

And damn if that doesn’t make me want to kiss that smirk right off her face.

The agency gym was nearly empty, the hum of the overhead lights filling the silence between our breaths. Amanda sat across from me on the floor, stretching out her legs, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. We’d just finished a sparring session, but neither of us was in a rush to leave.

She leaned back on her hands, exhaling. “You know, I never really had a normal life.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She nodded, staring at a point beyond me. “I grew up inside the agency. Training, learning, always surrounded by agents, missions, security briefings… My whole world was this place.” Her lips pressed together for a moment. “I barely got to leave, and when I did, it was always under a watchful eye. My dad’s, my mom’s, the agency’s. They made sure I was safe, but it also meant I never got to just—” She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Never got to what?” I asked, voice softer than I meant.

She huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was something wistful in it. “Just be normal, I guess. No sneaking out, no stupid teenage mistakes, no freedom. It was always about the bigger picture, the future, the mission.” She looked at me then, a small smile playing on her lips. “Being an agent… It wasn’t just about proving myself. It was my only chance to actually see the world.”

I held her gaze, something twisting in my chest. “And? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

She grinned, but there was something unreadable in her expression. “Some parts are better.”

I smirked. “And some parts?”

She nudged my leg with her foot, rolling her eyes. “Some parts are just frustrating.”

I didn’t push, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling that she meant me.

We trained together for months, we got a team, and our first mission.

The adrenaline is already starting to flow. It’s a familiar feeling, the kind I’ve had hundreds of times before. But this time, something feels different. Sharper. More intense.

Amanda is standing a few feet away, adjusting the strap on her dress, and I can barely concentrate on anything else.

She’s in black—sleek, form-fitting, a dress designed to command attention. And it does. It’s a different kind of weapon than I’m used to seeing her wield, but damn if it isn’t just as dangerous. I’ve seen her fight, seen her in tactical gear, moving like a ghost in the field. But this? This is something else entirely. Something that makes my throat go dry.

I turn away, adjusting my own suit. The damn thing feels too tight, even though it was custom-made for my size. I tug at my tie, but it’s a lost cause.

“Stop fidgeting,” Amanda’s voice cuts through the quiet.

Before I can react, she’s standing in front of me, fingers reaching for my tie. She’s close—closer than she needs to be—but I don’t move away. I can’t.

Her hands are steady, effortless, as she straightens the knot. “You look good in a suit, big guy,” she murmurs, lips curling into the smallest smirk. “But you’re hopeless at wearing one.”

I huff out a laugh, but my pulse is hammering. She has no idea what she does to me. Or maybe she does.

She pats the knot lightly, her fingertips brushing against my chest for a second too long before she steps back. “There. Presentable.”

I swallow hard. “You look beautiful, Amanda.”

She stills, just for a moment. A flicker of something crosses her face—surprise, maybe—but then she recovers, that easy smirk back in place. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mike.”

Lara, standing nearby, clears her throat. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s focus. We have a mission to run.”

I tear my eyes away from Amanda, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. Tommy chuckles, shaking his head as he leans against the wall, earpiece already in place. “You two are gonna be so obvious together.”

Amanda just flashes a knowing smile. “That’s the point.”

She’s right. The role we’re playing tonight is designed to draw attention. We’re undercover, posing as a wealthy couple looking to make connections in the arms trade. The target—a businessman with his hands in illegal tech deals—has a weakness for women like Amanda. She’s meant to get close, to work her magic, while I stay by her side, playing the role of the protective but indulgent partner.

The mission is simple. In theory.

Inside the venue, Amanda takes the lead, gliding through the crowd with the kind of confidence that turns heads. I stay close, keeping my gaze sharp. It’s easy to forget that this is what she does best—slipping into roles, adapting, becoming whatever the situation requires.

She leans in, fingers brushing my forearm as she whispers, “Try not to look so tense, big guy.”

I force myself to exhale, to loosen the grip I didn’t realize I had on my glass. “I’m fine.”

She gives me a look. “You’re watching the room like you’re waiting for a sniper to take a shot.”

“Old habits.”

Her smile softens, just a fraction. Then, before I can process it, she lifts a hand and smooths a nonexistent crease on my lapel. It’s such a small gesture, but it does something to me. Something I don’t have time to analyze.

“Relax,” she says. “We’ve got this.”

I nod, forcing myself to play along, to let the role sink in. But as she turns to approach the target, something tightens in my chest.

Lara’s voice hums in my ear. “Lancaster, you’re in trouble.”

I don’t answer. I just watch as Amanda works her magic, and I know—Lara’s right. I am in trouble.

The mission was a success, of course, thanks to her, and it was a tradition to go out to celebrate.

The bar is dimly lit, loud with conversation and laughter, and packed with agents looking to unwind. The scent of whiskey, beer, and sweat lingers in the air, but none of it distracts me as much as the woman sitting across from me.

Amanda is leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, legs stretched out under the table, a small smirk playing on her lips. She looks nothing like the woman from the mission a few hours ago, but somehow, she still knocks the air out of my lungs. The dress is gone, replaced with jeans that hug her legs in all the right places and a fitted black T-shirt that somehow makes her look just as dangerous as she did in silk.

And I hate that I noticed.

Lara is the first to call me out on it, of course. “Lancaster, you good? You’ve been staring for like a full minute now.”

I blink, tearing my eyes away from Amanda, but it’s too late. Amanda heard, and now she’s watching me, too, with that look. The one that says she knows exactly what’s happening in my head.

“Mike?” she drawls, tilting her head slightly, voice teasing. “Something wrong?”

I grunt. “Nope.”

Amanda leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “So. You gonna teach me or what?”

I frown. “Teach you what?”

Her smirk widens. “Darts, big guy. You promised.”

Shit. I did.

And now I regret it.

Because the moment we’re standing by the dartboard, with her back pressed against my chest and my hand covering hers, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Her scent is all I can smell—something light, clean, with the faintest hint of whatever soap or perfume she wears. And even though we’re in a crowded bar, with agents yelling and laughing behind us, all I can focus on is how warm she feels against me.

“Relax,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

Amanda exhales, and I swear I feel the way her body shifts slightly against mine.

I place my hand over hers, guiding her arm as she aims the dart. “Don’t overthink it. Just line it up, breathe, and—”

She throws the dart, and it lands just outside the bullseye.

Amanda grins, looking up at me. “Not bad, huh?”

I clear my throat, stepping back before I do something stupid. “Not bad.”

She turns fully toward me, tilting her head as she studies me. “You okay?”

I nod. “Fine.”

She doesn’t buy it. “You sure? You’re looking a little—tense.”

I huff out a laugh, running a hand through my hair. “I’m fine, Amanda.”

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes flicker with amusement, and she leans in slightly. “You regretting this lesson already, big guy?”

Yes. So much.

But before I can answer, some guy walks up to her—some cocky-looking asshole who’s clearly had too many drinks and thinks he has a shot.

And just like that, whatever control I had left? Gone.

“Hey,” the guy says smoothly, flashing Amanda a grin. “Saw you from across the bar. You any good at darts, or do you just let your boyfriend teach you?”

Amanda raises a brow, and I open my mouth to tell this guy to fuck off, but she beats me to it.

“Oh,” she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

The guy’s grin widens. “That so? Well, in that case—”

“She’s taken,” I say before I can stop myself, the words coming out sharp and final.

Amanda’s head snaps toward me, eyes wide with amusement and something else—something dangerous. “Am I?”

Chapter 4

POV: Mike

The guy frowns, glancing between us. “Wait, you just said he wasn’t—”

“He’s not,” Amanda says easily. Then, she looks at me, her green eyes flashing with mischief. “But apparently, I’m taken. Which is news to me.”

Lara and Tommy are both watching from the table now, clearly entertained as hell, and I realize I’ve walked right into her trap.

Shit.

I force myself to relax, schooling my expression. “Just looking out for my team, that’s all.”

Amanda leans in slightly, lowering her voice so only I can hear. “Are you, though?”

I meet her gaze, something tight twisting in my chest. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Always.”

She studies me for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure something out, but then she steps back, shaking her head with a small laugh.

The guy, still standing there, shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, so—”

Amanda turns to him, giving him a once-over before flashing a polite but dismissive smile. “Not interested.”

He takes the hint and leaves, muttering something under his breath.

Amanda watches him go, then turns back to me, her expression unreadable. “You know,” she muses, “we’re off-duty, big guy. You don’t have to protect me all the time.”

The words are light, teasing. But there’s something deeper there, something I don’t know how to name.

I swallow hard, my fingers twitching at my sides. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”

But I also know something else.

I don’t just protect her because she’s my teammate. I don’t just watch over her because it’s my job.

I do it because she’s Amanda.

And that’s the real problem.

The agency dorms are quiet at this hour. Most of the team is either asleep or still out at the bar, but I needed space.

So now I’m here, sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, staring at a half-empty glass of orange juice like it holds the answers to all the shit spinning in my head.

Amanda.

The mission. The bar. The way she looked at me when I said she was taken.

She gets to me. Too much.

I’ve spent years building walls, training myself to shove things down so deep they don’t exist anymore. But Amanda? She walks through every damn defense like they were never there to begin with.

A soft shuffle of bare feet on tile pulls me from my thoughts. I know it’s her before I even look up.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Her voice is soft, husky with exhaustion.

I glance at her. She’s in sweatpants and a fitted tank top, her blonde hair a little messy, like she just rolled out of bed. She looks softer like this, less like the lethal agent I know in the field, more like—

I swallow the thought and take a slow sip of my juice. “Something like that.”

Amanda moves past me toward the counter, grabbing a mug. Instead of reaching for coffee, she pulls out a small tin of tea leaves from one of the cabinets.

My brows pull together. “Didn’t take you for a tea person.”

She smirks. “It’s not for me, big guy. It’s for you.”

I blink. “What?”

She busies herself with boiling the water, not looking at me. “It’s chamomile. Helps with sleep. And since you clearly need it…” She shrugs like it’s nothing, but it isn’t.

It’s Amanda. A woman who breaks bones and crushes throats for a living, standing in a dimly lit kitchen at 2 AM, making tea because she thinks I need rest.

Something in my chest pulls tight.

I clear my throat. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”

Amanda finally looks at me, leaning against the counter, her green eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’re an asset to the team, Lancaster. Gotta keep you sharp.”

I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Right. Just looking out for the mission.”

She tilts her head, like she’s considering something, but doesn’t respond.

The kettle whistles, breaking the moment. She turns back, pouring the water over the tea leaves, moving with easy familiarity.

She grabs a spoon from the drawer, and as I stand to get the honey behind her, she hops up onto the counter, blocking my path.

I freeze.

She doesn’t move, legs dangling on either side of me, forcing me to step closer. Too close.

Her body heat, her scent, the sleepy softness of her features—it’s all too much.

“Excuse me,” I murmur.

She smirks, but there’s something softer beneath it. “Say ‘please.’”

I arch a brow. “Seriously?”

She lifts the mug to her lips, taking a slow sip of her own drink, like she’s got all the time in the world.

I exhale sharply, placing a hand on the counter beside her hip as I lean in. Her breath hitches—barely, but I notice.

“Please,” I say, voice lower than I intended.

Her smirk falters just slightly. But instead of moving, she studies me, her eyes flicking over my face like she’s searching for something.

Like maybe she feels it too.

I could kiss her right now.

The thought slams into me hard.

I force myself to step back, grabbing the honey I need and putting distance between us before I do something stupid.

Amanda exhales, like she was holding her breath, then hops off the counter, handing me the mug of tea. “Drink it, Lancaster. Don’t make me knock you out myself.”

I take it, fingers brushing hers. “No promises.”

She rolls her eyes but watches as I take a sip. Then, satisfied, she backs toward the door.

“Night, big guy,” she says, voice softer now.

I watch her go, my grip tightening around the warm ceramic.

She takes care of me. She always has.

And that? That’s the real problem.

The conference room is packed. Every agent in the unit is here, all eyes on the front where Director Colonel McDawson stands, flanked by his wife, Lieutenant Colonel Margareth McDawson.

Amanda’s mother.

I knew she was an agent—hell, a legend in her own right—but seeing her standing there, just as sharp and imposing as her husband, makes it obvious where Amanda gets it from. The same presence. The same cool confidence. The same relentless, calculated edge. Same blond hair, but she had intense blue eyes that I heard could take any confession she wanted to.

Amanda sits beside me, arms crossed, one leg bouncing under the table. If you don’t know her, you wouldn’t see the tension. But I do.

I nudge her knee with mine.

She turns slightly, her green eyes flicking to mine. “What?” she murmurs.

“You okay?”

Her jaw tightens, but she nods. “Fine.”

Liar.

I don’t push, just let my knee rest lightly against hers. A solid presence. A reminder that she’s not alone in this room, even if it feels like she has the weight of two legends on her shoulders.

The mission briefing starts. Her father speaks, his voice clipped and authoritative, the kind that commands an entire room without trying. And her mother? She doesn’t say much, but her presence is just as sharp, her expression unreadable as she listens.

It’s easy to see how Amanda grew up under this. Trying to meet impossible expectations. Prove herself worthy of the name McDawson.

I watch as she sits up straighter, sharpens her focus. She absorbs every detail, every objective, committing it all to memory before the briefing even ends.

By the time the meeting is over, she’s wound so tight I half expect her to snap.

As the agents start filing out, I stay put. So does she.

Amanda exhales slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples.

“Relax,” I say quietly.

She scoffs. “Easy for you to say. Your parents aren’t the ones running this damn place.”

“No, but I get it.”

She lifts a skeptical brow. “Do you?”

I lean back, crossing my arms. “Yeah. The whole Lancaster bloodline is military. My grandfather, my dad, uncles, all of ’em. Warriors. Fighters. That’s the legacy I got born into.”

She studies me, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. “And your family now?”

I hesitate, but this is Amanda. If there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s her.

“Just my sister and my nephew,” I say. “Dad and Grandpa are gone. My sister married a military guy—a good man. Died in Afghanistan a couple years ago.”

Amanda’s lips part slightly, something soft flashing through her eyes. “Mike…”

I shake my head. “It is what it is.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second, but then, she reaches under the table and squeezes my hand. A quick, fleeting touch. But enough.

We sit there in silence for a beat, letting it settle.

“Your dad’s intense,” I finally say.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

“But you?” I tilt my head. “You’re better than both of them.”

That catches her off guard.

I see it in the way she blinks, in the tiny hitch of breath she tries to cover up.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” I tell her. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

Amanda looks at me, and for a moment, it’s just us.

Then, her lips curve into a smirk. “Was that a compliment, Lancaster?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t get used to it, McDawson.”

She grins, but this time, there’s something softer behind it. Something real.

And just like that, the tension she walked in with? It’s not gone, but it’s lighter.

I should have known it wouldn’t last.

Because the moment I see Director Colonel McDawson and his wife, the legend Lieutenant Colonel McDawson, making a direct line toward us, I know we’re not done here.

Chapter 5

POV: Mike

Amanda sees them, too. I feel the way she stiffens beside me, straightening her spine like she’s bracing for impact.

I immediately stand, straightening to my full height and giving them the kind of rigid stance they expect. I might be her partner, but they’re both my superiors. Hell, they’re more than that. They’re legends.

Amanda rises beside me, masking whatever emotions she’s feeling behind a perfectly neutral expression.

“Colonel McDawson,” I saluted her father. “Lieutenant Colonel McDawson.” And her mother.

“Dismissed,” they said.

Amanda’s mother studies me for a beat before looking at her daughter with something almost unreadable in her gaze. But it’s her father who speaks first.

“Amanda.” His voice is steady, and measured. “That was solid work in there.”

Amanda’s lips part slightly, caught off guard, but she recovers quickly. “Thank you, sir.”

Her mother steps closer, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “Your analysis was thorough, and your strategy was well-structured. We’re proud of you.”

Amanda blinks.

Proud.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. I wonder how often she’s heard that from them. If ever.

“Your mother and I,” McDawson continues, “expect the best. And today, you delivered.”

Amanda nods sharply, masking whatever emotions might be fighting their way to the surface.

Then, her father turns his attention to me. His stare is just as heavy as always, but there’s something assessing in it now.

“So, you’re the one they paired with my daughter.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re a good soldier, Major Lancaster.” He folds his arms. “You keep up in the field?”

“Amanda keeps me on my toes,” I answer without missing a beat.

His lips twitch slightly, almost like he approves of that response.

“Good,” he says. Then, with something that might have been humor in another life, he adds, “Your most important job out there is making sure my daughter comes home in one piece.”

Amanda exhales sharply, like she’s heard this a thousand times before. “Dad—”

But I beat her to it.

“Always, sir,” I say, my voice steady. “I’ve got her back.”

McDawson gives me a long look before nodding.

Her mother finally releases Amanda’s shoulder, and with that, the conversation is over.

They walk away, their presence still lingering in the room even after they’ve gone.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Amanda turns to me, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Wow, Mike. That was intense even for me.”

I huff out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “Your dad acts like I don’t already take bullets for you on the daily.”

She smirks. “Yeah, well. He’s got this whole overprotective thing going on. Comes with the whole ‘being my father’ deal.”

“Right,” I say dryly. “So, just to be clear—protecting you means punching anyone who looks at you the wrong way, carrying you out of explosions, and diving in front of bullets, yeah?”

Amanda grins. “Exactly.”

I roll my eyes. “I should’ve asked for hazard pay.”

She laughs, and it’s that warm, genuine kind of laugh that makes all the tension from before disappear.

But something lingers.

Because as much as I joke, the truth is—protecting Amanda?

I’d do it without question. Every damn time.

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Minimal resistance.

But nothing ever goes according to plan.

Gunfire explodes around us, sharp and relentless. The extraction point is compromised. The warehouse is rigged with explosives. And we’re out of time.

“Amanda, cover me!” I shout, taking position behind a rusted-out shipping container.

She moves instantly, her body shifting like a damn force of nature—smooth, precise, lethal. Her gun fires in sharp bursts, every shot landing exactly where it needs to. I should be focused on the fight, on getting us out of here, but fuck—she’s always so fucking good.

Tommy’s voice crackles through the comms, tight with panic. “Uh—bad news. This place is wired to blow right now.”

Amanda’s already reaching for a fresh clip. “Tommy, how much time?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You should already be running.”

Shit.

I grab Amanda’s wrist. “Move!”

We sprint. Our boots hammer against the concrete, gunfire slicing through the chaos. The exit is in sight. Just a few more feet—

Then, the world erupts.

The explosion detonates behind us, a deafening, skull-rattling boom. The force slams into me, hot and unforgiving, and in the split second before impact, only one thing matters.

Amanda.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t think.

I throw myself over her, crushing her to the ground, wrapping my arms around her as the blast rips through the space behind us. Heat sears across my back, the shockwave rolling over us like a goddamn freight train. My ears ring so loud I can’t hear my own breathing. My vision whites out.

For a few agonizing seconds, there’s nothing. No sound. No air. Just the crushing weight of fire and dust.

Then—silence.

My chest is heaving. My pulse is a wild, hammering thing, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.

She’s beneath me. Her breath is warm and fast, shallow against my neck.

She’s alive.

The relief that crashes through me is so intense it almost fucking breaks me. My arms tighten around her instinctively, my hand gripping her waist like I need proof—proof that she’s still here, still breathing, still under me and not—

Not gone.

I exhale sharply, my throat burning. My whole body feels wired, trembling with leftover adrenaline, but I can’t move.

I can’t let go.

Amanda shifts slightly, her fingers gripping the front of my shirt like she’s anchoring herself. Like she’s steadying me, too.

I force my voice past the tightness in my chest.

“Amanda.” My voice is rough, hoarse. “You okay?”

She coughs, nodding weakly. “Yeah.”

I barely hear her.

Because I can see her now—her face beneath the dust and debris, her green eyes wide, searching mine.

Something cracks open inside me.

I reach up without thinking, brushing my fingers along her cheek, smearing away soot and blood. Her breath catches.

We’re too close.

My body is still covering hers, pressing her into the concrete. My palm is still at her waist, fingers curled in the fabric of her vest like I can’t make myself let go.

I should move.

I don’t.

Amanda doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t tell me to get up. She just stares at me, eyes dark and unreadable, her lips parting slightly—

And then I see it.

The flicker of something in her expression. Something real. Something dangerous.

Her gaze drops—just for a second—to my mouth.

And my heart fucking stops.

My blood is rushing so loud in my ears I can’t hear anything else. Can’t think past the heat curling through my body, past the primal, undeniable pull toward her.

Fuck.

I don’t know who moves first.

But then—

“Mike! Amanda!”

The moment shatters like glass.

I jolt upright, gun already in my hands before my brain catches up. Amanda pushes up beside me, breathing hard, eyes still locked on mine—like she felt it, too.

Like she’s still feeling it.

Lara and Tommy appear through the thick haze of dust, both looking rattled.

“You two alive?” Lara demands, scanning us.

Amanda exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Barely.”

I push a hand through my hair, still wired, still too fucking aware of her. My body is still running on adrenaline, but my mind is stuck in that moment. The weight of her beneath me. The way she looked at me.

The way I almost—

Shit.

Amanda dusts herself off, then meets my gaze. And there it is.

That knowing look.

That silent, loaded look that slams into my chest like another fucking explosion.

We don’t say anything.

We don’t have to.

But something changed.

And there’s no going back now.

Chapter 6

POV: Mike

The sting of hot water on my back should bother me more than it does. I know the cuts are there, know they’ll need to be cleaned, but I don’t care. Not right now. Not after what happened in that damn warehouse.

I thought I lost her.

The thought slams into me like a second explosion, stealing the breath from my lungs. I press my palms to the sink, gripping the edge like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. My reflection stares back at me, jaw tight, eyes still dark with adrenaline.

A knock at the door makes me straighten, pulse kicking up again.

I don’t need to check. I already know it’s her.

I yank the towel off my shoulders and toss it onto the bed before opening the door. Amanda stands there, still in her tactical clothes, the dust from the explosion clinging to her skin, her hair tied back but messy.

She looks at me, then away, like she’s trying not to let her eyes linger too long.

“I—” She hesitates, shifting her weight. “Your back. You should let me take care of it.”

I don’t move. Not for a second. Because there’s something about the way she says it. Like she needs to do this. Like she needs the excuse.

Then I step back, leaving the door open.

She walks in, the air between us stretching tight. I sit on the edge of the bed, hands resting on my thighs, my muscles coiled like a damn wire. Amanda moves behind me, and I hear the quiet rustle of the first aid kit opening.

Then—hesitation.

I feel it before I see it. The pause. The moment where she’s close enough to touch me but doesn’t. The moment she sees the bruises, the cuts, the proof that I threw myself over her in that explosion.

Her fingers hover, just a breath away from my skin.

I clench my jaw. “I’m not gonna break, McDawson.”

Her breath hitches, so quiet I almost miss it. Then, finally, her fingers brush against my back, and fuck—

It’s barely anything. A light, careful touch. But it sets my entire body on edge. My hands curl into fists, my spine straightening under the weight of it. She presses a disinfectant pad to one of the cuts, and the sting is nothing compared to the way her fingers follow, smoothing the bandage into place.

She’s touching me like she’s afraid of what it means. And I’m letting her because I don’t trust myself to move.

Her hands move lower, working through the cuts with slow, deliberate care. The silence between us isn’t empty—it’s fucking charged. Like we’re both waiting for something to break.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch her in my peripheral. She’s focused, lips parted slightly, green eyes dark. She’s feeling this too.

“Amanda.” Her name leaves my mouth before I can stop it, low and rough.

She stills.

For a second, neither of us breathe. Then, slowly, she moves around me, standing between my knees. My hands are on my thighs, but they’re itching to touch her. To pull her closer, to erase whatever line we keep pretending exists.

She looks at me, and fuck—

I can’t think.

I can’t do anything but watch as her gaze drops to my mouth, just for a second, just enough to send a sharp, hot pulse of need straight through me.

I lean in.

So does she.

And then—

My phone rings.

Lara’s name flashes on the screen, and the moment shatters.

Amanda takes a step back, blinking fast, exhaling like she just broke through the surface of something deep.

I grab the phone, jaw tight. “Yeah?”

“You two ready? Car leaves in ten.”

Amanda clears her throat, already moving toward the door. “We’ll be there.”

The call ends. The room is quiet again.

But the moment is gone.

Amanda reaches for the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at me. There’s something in her expression—something unfinished.

Then she’s gone, and I’m left sitting there, my body still burning with everything we didn’t do.

The shooting range is mostly empty when I step inside, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. The distant sound of shots echoes off the walls, but I barely hear them because she’s already there, waiting for me.

Amanda leans against the shooting bench, arms crossed, that signature smirk playing on her lips. She knows I showed up for her.

She asked me for this.

A long-shot lesson.

I don’t know why I agreed. I don’t trust myself this close to her, not after what happened on our last mission. Not after I felt her heartbeat under my palms, her breath against my neck, her body under mine as the world exploded around us.

But here I am.

I exhale and step up beside her. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She doesn’t hesitate—because Amanda never hesitates. She picks up the rifle, settles into position, and immediately does everything wrong.

I hold back a smirk. She’s testing me.

I step behind her. Too close. Way too close.

“Amanda.” My voice is low. “You know damn well that’s not how you hold it.”

She tilts her head slightly, just enough to look at me. “That’s why you’re here, big guy.”

My jaw tightens. I should back off.

I don’t.

Instead, I move behind her, hands sliding over hers, guiding her fingers into the right grip. She lets me, but I can feel the tension humming between us, thick and electric.

“Relax your shoulders,” I murmur.

She exhales, pressing back against my chest. I feel it. The slow drag of her breath. The way her body molds against mine for just a second longer than necessary.

I swallow hard. Focus, Mike.

I adjust her stance, one hand at her hip, the other guiding her elbow. It would be so fucking easy to turn her toward me, to let my hands slide just a little further—

But I don’t.

Because this is Amanda. And this is me. And this thing between us is already dangerous enough.

She’s perfectly still for a moment, her breathing controlled. Then, she speaks.

“Mike.”

My fingers flex slightly on her waist. “Yeah?”

She hesitates. Then—

“I’m into this too.”

The words crash into me like a bullet, straight through the chest.

I go rigid behind her, my hands still on her body, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

She doesn’t look at me. She keeps her eyes locked on the target, her fingers flexing slightly against the rifle. But I see it—the way her breathing has changed. The way she’s waiting for me to say something.

I should.

I should say something.

But I don’t trust myself right now.

So instead, I step back. Just slightly. Just enough for some distance.

“Take the shot,” I murmur, my voice rough.

A beat.

Then—she pulls the trigger.

The bullet flies clean, hitting the target straight in the center. Perfect.

She exhales, lowering the rifle, finally turning to look at me.

I meet her gaze. My throat is dry. My hands still itch with the memory of her body against mine. My mind replays those three words, over and over again.

I’m into this too.

Amanda smirks. “Told you I was a fast learner.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

She leans in just slightly, voice softer now. “And you love it.”

I don’t answer.

Because if I do, I might just admit she’s right.

Chapter 7

POV: Mike

The mission was supposed to be the final nail in the coffin for a major gun trafficking ring. Intel led us to an abandoned industrial district where the deal was going down—a shipment of illegal firearms meant for a ruthless cartel. We had planned everything down to the last second.

But chaos never follows a script.

Gunfire erupts the second we breach the perimeter, turning the warehouse into a war zone. Amanda moves like a shadow beside me—precise, lethal, untouchable. Our movements are instinctual, perfectly in sync. We clear corners without speaking, understand each other with a glance. This is what we do best.

Amanda is right beside me, her movements fluid, precise, like she was made for this. We don’t speak, don’t need to—we understand each other with just a glance. A sharp look from her tells me to cover left. I nod, already moving before she does. We’ve done this a hundred times, but it never stops amazing me how in sync we are.

Then I see her hesitate.

In the middle of the chaos, she sees the girl.

Small. Fragile. Frozen in fear beside a stack of crates, her hands clamped over her ears. She shouldn’t be here.

Amanda doesn’t hesitate. “Cover me.”

Amanda doesn’t hesitate this time.

She breaks cover and runs straight toward the girl.

“Amanda, don’t—” But she’s already gone, weaving through the crossfire, dodging bullets like she was made for this.“Shit! Amanda!”

I lay down cover fire, my chest tight with every step she takes away from me. My trigger finger is ruthless, making damn sure no one gets a clean shot at her.

She reaches the girl, scoops her up in one swift motion, and ducks behind a crate. I hear her murmuring reassurances even as bullets slam into metal around them. My heart is a fucking hammer in my chest as she risks everything to get the kid out of there.

I move, cutting down two men in my way, my heart slamming against my ribs. I keep firing, covering them, my pulse pounding because she’s out in the open. Exposed.

Then she’s moving again, sprinting toward the exit with the girl clutched to her chest. She shoves open a side door, places the child safely outside, and yells, “Run! Don’t stop!”

I see the little girl disappear into the night. Relief barely has time to register before Amanda turns back toward me, gun raised, jaw set, ready to finish the fight.

That’s when the shot rings out.

Loud. Sharp. Tearing through the battlefield like it was meant just for her.

My stomach drops. My heart stops.

I feel it like it’s hit me instead. A raw, searing explosion of fear.

“No!”

Amanda jerks backward, her body snapping with the force of the bullet. She stumbles, and for a horrifying second, I think she’s about to fall.

No.

Not her.

Everything inside me twists into something dark and primal. I don’t even realize I’m running until I reach her, my hands grabbing her before she can hit the ground.

“Amanda!” My voice is raw, desperate. My hands move over her, searching for the wound, for the blood. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking think.

Then she gasps. A sharp intake of breath.

She’s alive.

The relief is so violent it nearly knocks me over. My hand finds the wound—her shoulder. It’s not fatal. It missed anything vital.

But it was too fucking close.

I exhale, my forehead pressing against hers for a second, my whole body trembling from the aftermath of that terror. She’s watching me, her green eyes burning through me, her breath uneven.

That’s it. That’s the breaking point.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just pull her in and crush my mouth to hers.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s everything we’ve held back for too long, everything we couldn’t say, couldn’t do, pouring out in a kiss so desperate it steals whatever air was left between us. My heart beats so fast, more then any danger I ever was. Everything else faded, it was just us, the dream girl kissing me.

She doesn’t pull away. She presses into me, her fingers twisting into my shirt, matching my desperation with her own. The heat, the tension, the fucking need—it explodes between us, undeniable, unstoppable. I felt my whole body on trance.

This is what we were running from. This is what we couldn’t escape.

We break apart just enough to breathe, our foreheads still touching, her pulse hammering against my palm.

“Mike…” Her voice is a whisper, a confession, a surrender.

I tighten my grip on her. “Never do that again.”

Her lips part, her breath shaky. “You’d do the same.”

I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady myself. She’s right. I would. And that’s the fucking problem.

Because I can’t lose her.

And after this, I know one thing for sure—

I never should’ve kissed her.

Because now, I can’t stop.

The mission was a success. The gun trafficking ring was shut down, the little girl was safe, and Amanda was stable.

But I couldn’t shake the image of her falling. The way my world had nearly stopped when I thought she was gone.

I barely remember the flight back. Someone patched up her wound in the field, just enough to stop the bleeding, and now she was getting proper care. They took her straight to the medical wing the second we arrived at the agency. I should have gone to get my own injuries checked out—the bruises, the cut on my temple, the ache in my ribs from where I took a hit—but none of it mattered. Not until I saw her.

I find her alone in the infirmary, sitting up on the hospital bed, her arm bandaged and a look of annoyance on her face, like she’s already ready to leave.

She looks up when I step in. “Took you long enough.”

My chest tightens at the sight of her. “How’s the shoulder?”

She shrugs her good one. “Hurts like hell. But I’ll take it.”

Of course she would. Amanda never complains. Never shows weakness. Even now, wounded and resting against hospital pillows, she looks like she’s ready to fight her way out of here if someone told her she had to stay another hour.

I exhale, stepping closer to her bed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She tilts her head, a small smirk playing at her lips. “I noticed.”

I shake my head, letting out a breathless, humorless laugh. I don’t know how she can joke about this. I don’t know how I can stand here and pretend like my heart isn’t still hammering in my chest from the moment I saw her go down.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Amanda.”

She blinks at my tone. The teasing fades from her face, replaced by something softer. Something cautious.

I drag a hand through my hair, trying to piece together the storm in my head. “I need to know,” I start, voice rough, “if that kiss was just adrenaline.”

She watches me for a beat. Then she exhales and looks down, flexing her fingers over the bedsheet. “You really think that’s all it was?”

I stare at her. She’s not avoiding the question. She’s waiting for something. Something from me.

My pulse is a damn wreck. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I just know that I—” I exhale sharply. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Silence stretches between us. Thick. Charged.

Then, she moves.

She reaches out, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls me down to her. I barely have time to react before her lips crash into mine.

It’s not rushed like before. Not frantic or desperate. It’s intentional. Confident. Like she’s telling me exactly what I need to know without a single word.

I groan against her mouth, my hands finding her waist, careful of her wound but unable to stop myself from pulling her closer. She tastes like adrenaline and defiance and everything I’ve been holding myself back from for too damn long.

She pulls back just slightly, just enough to murmur against my lips, “What took you so long, big guy?”

I huff out a breathless laugh, resting my forehead against hers. “Hell if I know.”

She smirks, her fingers still gripping my shirt. “Idiot.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, brushing another kiss against her lips. “I know.”

There’s no going back now.

And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

The taste of Amanda is still on my lips when I hear it—the distinct sound of boots stopping sharply just outside the hospital room. A crisp salute follows.

Shit.

Chapter 8

POV: Mike

The taste of Amanda is still on my lips when I hear it—the distinct sound of boots stopping sharply just outside the hospital room. A crisp salute follows.

Shit.

Amanda hears it too. We break apart in an instant, breath still uneven, hearts still racing. My hand lingers on her waist for half a second longer than it should before I step back, straightening just as the door swings open.

Gordon MacDowson. Colonel MacDowson. Followed by his wife, Lieutenant Colonel Margaret MacDowson. Amanda’s parents.

And my superiors.

“Amanda.” Her father’s voice is gruff, controlled, but the worry is evident in his sharp blue eyes as they rake over his daughter’s bandaged shoulder.

Her mother is the first to reach her, stepping past me without a glance. “We came as soon as we heard,” Margaret says, her tone softer but no less concerned. She places a hand on Amanda’s good shoulder, scanning her face. “Are you alright?”

Amanda exhales, shaking her head but smiling slightly. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

Her father’s gaze snaps to me next, sharp as a goddamn blade. “Lancaster.”

I immediately snap into a salute. “Sir.”

His eyes narrow, assessing, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he gives a curt nod. “At ease.”

I lower my hand but keep my stance rigid as he steps closer. “Did you mess it up?” he asks, tone direct.

Amanda scoffs before I can even open my mouth. “No, Dad. He didn’t mess it up. I got shot saving a little girl.”

Gordon exhales through his nose like he can’t argue with that, even if he wants to. He’s still not happy about it, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, his gaze flicks to my shoulder, the torn fabric of my shirt where I took a hit during the mission. “You look like hell, Lancaster.”

I clear my throat. “It’s been a long day, sir.”

Meanwhile, I’m doing everything in my power to keep my face neutral because, five minutes ago, I had my tongue down their daughter’s throat, and now her father is questioning my competence.

Margaret finally seems satisfied with Amanda’s condition and turns toward me with a small nod. “Thank you for watching her back, Lancaster.”

“Always,” I say without hesitation.

Amanda glances at me, something unreadable in her expression. Then she smirks slightly. “Yeah, he does that.”

Margaret finally looks up from Amanda, glancing between the two of us with an unreadable expression. Then, she sighs, shaking her head. “You always have to give us a heart attack, don’t you, Amanda?”

Amanda grins. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.”

“From now on, your status reports should be every ten hours,” Gordon said, his tone firm, issuing it as just another order.

“Dad, this is nonsense. Twenty-four hours is good enough—it’s the standard for all agents,” Amanda argued, frustration creeping into her voice.

“You are not just any agent,” Gordon replied, his gaze steady. “And I am your superior, as well as your father. Ten hours. No discussion.”

Amanda clenched her jaw but gave a tight nod, knowing there was no point in pushing further.

Gordon exhales through his nose, then finally—finally—his expression softens just a fraction. “Get some rest. Both of you.”

Amanda nods. I give a sharp, respectful nod in return.

Then, just as I think I might be able to breathe again, Gordon looks at me one more time. “We’ll talk later, Lancaster.”

I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”

And with that, they leave, the tension in the room easing only slightly in their absence.

Amanda watches me, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “I just kissed my superior’s daughter and then saluted him five seconds later. Yeah, I’d say that’s a special kind of hell.”

Amanda just laughs, and despite everything, despite the chaos of the last mission and the lingering ache in my chest, I find myself smiling too.

I walk into Amanda’s hospital room with three origami flowers in my hand, feeling ridiculous and grinning like an idiot at the same time. She’s propped up against the pillows, looking better—color back in her cheeks, eyes sharp, alive.

She raises an eyebrow as I step closer. “Are those… paper flowers?”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I hold them out to her. “Yeah, well, turns out no one delivers real flowers to the agency hospital. I tried.”

Amanda smirks, taking them gently, turning them in her hands like they’re made of something valuable. “So you made these?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. Look, don’t laugh. It was either this or stealing a potted plant from someone’s office.”

She does laugh, soft and real, and something in my chest tightens. “I love them, big guy.”

Relief floods me in a way that shouldn’t be possible. I sit on the chair beside her bed, watching her fingers trace the folds of the paper petals.

“I was thinking,” I start, voice lighter than it should be for what I’m about to say. “Once you get out of here, let me take you on a date.”

Amanda glances up, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “A date?”

“Yeah. You know, normal stuff. Dinner. Maybe a movie.” I pause, watching for her reaction. “I know you didn’t grow up with a lot of… normal. But I want that with you. Even just for a night.”

She studies me for a second, then leans back with a smirk. “You’re assuming I say yes.”

I match her smirk. “I know you will.”

She exhales a laugh, shaking her head. “Cocky.”

I lean in just slightly, lowering my voice. “Confident.”

Her eyes flicker to my mouth, and that pull between us—stronger now than it’s ever been—tightens. Then, she tilts her head, playing along. “You better make it a good date, Lancaster.”

“Already planning it, McDawson.”

And then, she tugs me down by my collar and kisses me.

It’s slow but deliberate, her lips soft but insistent, and my brain short-circuits because this is happening. She’s kissing me. Amanda McDawson is kissing me.

I let myself sink into it, my hand sliding to the side of her face, fingers brushing her jaw. I can feel her smiling against my mouth, and it damn near kills me.

When we finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, still trying to catch my breath. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Amanda grins, eyes glinting. “You’d better survive at least until our date.”

I chuckle, shaking my head, because I already know—I’d survive anything if it means having this. Having her.

Two days. I just have to wait two days.

Chapter 9

POV: Mike

I check my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of my blazer. It feels strange wearing something like this—no tactical gear, no bulletproof vest, no weapons strapped to my side. Just a blazer over a fitted shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. It’s not like I don’t know how to clean up, but it’s been a long time since I dressed up for something as simple as a date. And this one isn’t just any date.

It’s with her.

Amanda.

We’re sneaking out of the agency, which feels ridiculous considering we’re both highly trained operatives, but we don’t want anyone to know. Not yet. This thing between us is still new, still fragile, and for now, it’s ours. Just ours.

I step outside and lean against the jeep, waiting. And then I see her.

God.

She steps into the dim glow of the streetlights, and I swear time stops for a second. She’s wearing the dress. The black one that hugged every inch of her the night we worked our first mission together. The one that made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on anything but her.

Her blonde hair is pulled into a loose bun, soft tendrils falling around her face. And she’s smiling—that teasing, knowing smile that tells me she remembers exactly what this dress did to me before.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, because it’s all I can manage.

She tilts her head slightly, smirking. “I borrowed it from the agency again. Figured you’d appreciate it.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “So we’re both wearing agency-issued clothes on our first date? Real romantic.”

She arches a brow. “You think this is a real date?”

I step closer, letting my eyes roam over her. “Yeah, I do.”

Something flickers in her expression, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she slides into the passenger seat of my jeep, and I take the driver’s side, sneaking us off base like a couple of reckless kids.

The restaurant isn’t far—just a quiet little place I found near my apartment. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s warm, candle-lit, and completely separate from the chaos of our lives. We sit across from each other, and for the first time, we’re not talking about missions or training or life-or-death situations. We talk about us.

I learn things about her I didn’t know before—like how she never really celebrated birthdays growing up because her parents were always away on missions. How she always wanted to go to Italy but never had the time. How she actually doesn’t like dark coffee that much but drinks it anyway because it keeps her sharp, but she loves lattes.

And when I tell her that I rented an apartment near the agency but never actually moved in, she laughs. “You have a home you don’t even use?”

I smirk. “You live in a glorified dorm room, so you’re one to talk.”

She grins. “Touché.”

After dinner, I drive us there—to my apartment. It’s not much, just a simple space I thought I’d need when I first got recruited. But stepping inside with her, it suddenly feels like more.

Amanda walks in, running her fingers over the kitchen counter, the bookshelves, the barely-used couch. “This place suits you,” she murmurs. “A little empty, though.”

I watch her, my chest tightening. “Maybe it just needed the right person in it.”

She turns to me, and for a second, neither of us moves. Then, slowly, I reach into my pocket and pull out something small—a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny compass charm.

She frowns slightly. “Mike…”

“You mentioned once that you always wanted to see the world,” I say. “Figured you should have a compass for when you finally do.”

She looks at me then—really looks at me. And something shifts. The teasing fades, the walls lower, and for the first time, she lets me see how much this means to her.

I barely have time to react before she closes the space between us, pressing up on her toes, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kisses me. Hard. Desperate. Real.

I groan against her lips, pulling her closer, feeling everything we’ve been holding back crash into us at once. My hands trace the curve of her spine, her hips, anchoring her to me like she’s the only thing that matters. Because right now, she is.

She smiles, and I swear, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to keep her here, just like this.

With me.

My brain wasn’t actually processing everything. Everything with her was too much. I had hollowed myself out for far too long, and now, God, it was good to have her in my arms. My hands roamed over her body—her hips, that perfect round butt, the dip of her waist, the curve of her spine. I traced up her back, over her shoulders, then cupped her face, tilting her head slightly just so I could see her better. My eyes drank her in—those intense green eyes that stole my breath every damn time I looked at them. And that smirk, that teasing, knowing smirk that made my knees weak.

I kissed her again, but this time, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was deep, lingering, filled with all the emotions I had been holding back for too long. I kissed her with all the passion burning inside me, and she followed my lead. But the moment my tongue slid into her mouth, reason snapped, and restraint vanished. It was raw and consuming. Her hands ran over my neck, then down my chest, fingers making quick work of my jacket. My hands gripped her hips, lifting her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I carried her through the dim apartment, never breaking the kiss, until I reached my bed and laid her down.

Amanda’s green eyes locked onto mine, searching for something, but then she smiled, slow and sultry, and her fingers slid down the front of my shirt. She unfastened each button with precision, teasingly slow. I kissed her again, then rested my forehead against hers, breathing her in, trying to steady myself. I had held back for so long, imagined this moment too many times to count. I wanted to savor every second.

I pushed the silky fabric of her dress off her shoulders, my fingers gliding over smooth, warm skin. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I wanted to see you out of this dress the second I saw you in it.”

Her smirk deepened. “I know.”

She arched her back slightly, helping me slide the dress down, letting it pool at her waist before slipping it off completely. The only thing between us now was a pair of black lacy panties. I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Really? Lacy panties, McDawson?”

She didn’t answer. Just held my gaze as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slid them down, agonizingly slow. Then she tossed them over my head. “Okay. I have none now.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

She only grinned before pulling me down into another kiss. I kissed her lips, her jaw, then down to her neck, her collarbone. My lips brushed over the bandage on her shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the wound that had nearly taken her from me. Just the thought of it sent a fresh surge of emotion through me. I needed to feel her, all of her.

I moved lower, kissing down her body, my lips tracing the faint scars we had earned together—proof of every fight, every battle we survived side by side. She watched me with something in her eyes I couldn’t quite name. If I had to guess, it was admiration. And maybe something more.

I kissed lower, parting her legs for me, and pressed my lips to her cleft. The sharp cry of pleasure that left her lips sent fire through my veins. Her hands found my hair, gripping tight, keeping me there. I would’ve stayed there forever, lost in the way she trembled for me, but I needed more. I slid a finger inside her, feeling her tighten around me, warm and slick and perfect. My name fell from her lips, and when I curled my fingers just right, she shattered. Her body arched, convulsing, breath ragged as she came apart in my arms.

I kissed my way up, tasting her on my lips, pressing my mouth to hers so she could taste herself, too. But Amanda being Amanda, refused to let me have all the control. In a swift movement, I was on my back, her straddling my hips, smirking down at me like she had all the power in the world. And maybe she did.

She didn’t waste time, unbuckling my belt, sliding my pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, leaving me bare beneath her. My breath hitched as she wrapped her fingers around me, stroking once, twice. A groan tore from my chest, and when she took me into her mouth, I nearly lost it right there. She was slow, torturous, taking her time. My hands found her hair, gripping, grounding myself in her. “Amanda,” I rasped, tugging her jaw gently, pulling her up to face me.

I flipped us again, pinning her beneath me, covering her body with mine. We were a battle of control, neither of us willing to surrender completely, but right now, this moment, I needed her. I positioned myself at her entrance, locking my gaze onto hers, not looking away as I slid inside her, inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt. Her head fell back, a moan slipping past her lips, and I captured it with mine.

I thrust slowly at first, savoring every second, memorizing the way she felt wrapped around me, the way her body responded to mine. Her hips met mine in a perfect rhythm, legs locked around me, pulling me deeper. I brushed my fingers over her clit again, just enough, and she shattered beneath me, her release pulling mine from me, a guttural sound leaving my chest as I followed her over the edge.

We stayed there for a moment, breathing, feeling. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

I didn’t know how many times we came together that night, how many times I lost myself in her. All I knew was that Amanda McDawson was everything. Everything.

Chapter 10

POV: Mike

The mission was going smoothly—well, as smoothly as covert operations ever did. We were crouched behind a half-collapsed wall, waiting for the signal to move, when Lara glanced at Amanda and me and smirked. “You know, everyone knew you two were a thing before you even figured it out yourselves.”

Amanda arched a brow. “Oh yeah?” she whispered back. “And how’s that?”

Lara shrugged. “Come on, the tension was unbearable. The way you two always hovered around each other, the lingering touches, the way Lancaster looked ready to commit murder every time someone flirted with you.” She shot me a knowing look. “It was adorable, really.”

Amanda turned her gaze to me, that teasing glint in her eyes. “Adorable, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “Focus on the mission.”

Lara chuckled but let it drop—for now.

Later that night, after the debrief, we all ended up at our usual bar. Amanda stood by the counter, talking to Lara and some of the guys, while I leaned against the bar, my hand instinctively resting on her waist. It wasn’t even conscious at this point—just something I did. Natural. Like she belonged there, pressed against me, her warmth grounding me in the noise of the bar.

“Oh, it’s official now,” Noah said, raising his beer toward me. “Lancaster, the most emotionally repressed guy in the agency, is publicly affectionate. Never thought I’d see the day.”

I snorted. “You’re hilarious.”

“Alright, big guy,” Adam said, raising his beer. “Now that it’s official, how does it feel to be dating the Colonel’s daughter?”

I took a sip of my drink. “Feels like dating anyone else.”

Lara snorted. “Oh, sure. Except her parents are the bosses of all our bosses.”

I took a sip of my beer—and nearly choked.

Amanda laughed, patting my back. “Relax, big guy. It’s just a dinner.”

“A dinner with your father. The Colonel. Who still terrifies me, by the way.”

Lara whistled. “Oh, man. You’re meeting the Colonel as the boyfriend now? That’s a whole new level of pressure.”

Adam grinned. “That’s right, man. Meeting the parents is already stressful, but meeting the McDawsons? That’s a whole different level. You’re about to sit across from two people who can order us all to disappear if you break her heart.”

I forced a chuckle, but my grip on my beer tightened. “Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

Amanda, ever the observant one, nudged my side. “Relax, Lancaster. They don’t bite.”

“You say that now,” I muttered.

Amanda squeezed my side. “You’ll be fine. My mom will love you.”

“What about your dad?”

She just smiled. “We’ll see.”

The truth was, I wasn’t worried about them biting. I was worried about them looking at me across that dinner table and deciding, right then and there, that I wasn’t good enough for their daughter.

I could face gunfire, explosions, and near-death experiences without flinching. But this? This was something else entirely. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it.

Dinner inside the agency. Because, of course, the McDawsons didn’t have a home.

I teased Amanda about it on the way there, nudging her with my elbow.

“So you mean to tell me that even your parents live here? You weren’t kidding when you said this place is your whole life.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smirk playing on her lips. “We don’t live here. We just… never needed a house.”

“Right, because most families have their formal dinners in the same room where state officials meet with the president.”

“Shut up, Lancaster.”

The teasing helped, but I was still on edge. Dinner with the parents was one thing. Dinner with my commanding officer and his wife—who also happened to be my girlfriend’s parents—was another level of terrifying. My brain kept reminding me that these weren’t just parents; they were the bosses of my bosses. And even though I’d been in war zones, there was something about sitting across from Gordon and Margaret McDawson that made my pulse tick faster.

When we stepped into the room, my training took over before my brain could catch up. I straightened, and saluted. “Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Gordon huffed out a laugh while Margaret sighed, shaking her head. “Not here, Mike,” she said, and I barely processed the fact that she used my first name before Gordon added, “Yeah, kid, we’re not your superiors at this table. You can call us Gordon and Margaret.”

That threw me off more than I expected. I looked at Amanda, but she only smiled as if to say, ‘Told you so.’

Gordon must’ve caught my hesitation because he smirked. “I get it, it’s a little weird. It’s not easy separating personal and professional when your whole damn family works together.” He shrugged. “McDawsons don’t have houses, apparently. We just have offices.”

Amanda groaned. “I hate you both.”

I chuckled despite myself, some of the tension in my chest loosening.

Margaret smiled knowingly. “You know, Mike, I knew this was going to happen the moment I first saw you two together.”

Amanda scoffed. “Oh, come on.”

“I did,” Margaret insisted. “The way you two looked at each other? It was just a matter of time.”

Gordon leaned back, arms crossed. “Took you long enough, though. Had us all placing bets.”

Amanda gasped. “You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” Margaret said with a grin. “Lara won, by the way. She had it right to the month.”

Amanda dropped her head in her hands while I laughed, shaking my head. Somehow, I had gone from feeling like I was about to be interrogated to feeling like I belonged.

Dinner went smoothly, the conversation light, full of teasing and warm moments. By the end of it, I felt like I could finally breathe.

As we left, Amanda nudged me again. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “Not at all.” And, if I was being honest, I felt something settle in my chest—something warm and steady.

I had worried for nothing. The McDawsons had welcomed me, not just as Amanda’s partner in the field, but as something more. And damn, that felt good.

Dating Amanda McDawson was nothing short of amazing. It had been a couple of months now, and every single day with her felt like a gift I wasn’t sure I deserved. Having her by my side, not just as my partner in the field but as my girlfriend, was something I had never really let myself hope for. And now that she was mine, now that I could wake up knowing she was with me, I wasn’t about to take it for granted.

When we got a break in our missions, I saw the perfect opportunity to introduce her to my sister. Barbara had been asking for months, and I knew Amanda meeting my family was a big deal. So, one night, after we’d finished dinner in my apartment, I leaned back in my chair, watching Amanda sip her wine, and said, “How do you feel about a little road trip?”

She raised an eyebrow. “A mission or an actual road trip?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “An actual road trip. I want you to meet my sister.”

Amanda’s lips parted slightly, and for a moment, I saw something flicker in her green eyes—something soft, something nervous. She covered it quickly, smirking at me. “I didn’t know the infamous Mike Lancaster actually had a family. Thought you just spawned out of an armory somewhere.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah, real funny. But seriously, I want you to meet Barbara. She’s been asking. And Christopher—my nephew—he’s a great kid. You’ll love him.”

Amanda tapped her fingers on the table, considering. Then, slowly, she smiled. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

The drive to Barbara’s was a couple of hours, and I had my hand on Amanda’s thigh most of the way. Just a simple touch, my fingers tracing small circles absentmindedly, but I could feel her slight tension. She was nervous. I squeezed gently, glancing at her. “You okay?”

She let out a soft breath, rolling her shoulders. “Yeah. It’s just… I don’t really do the whole family thing much. It’s new to me.”

I softened. Amanda’s life had been anything but traditional. She grew up inside the agency, under the shadow of her father’s command, her mother’s discipline. Family, for her, had been the people she worked with, trained with. Not Sunday lunches and childhood bedrooms. I lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You don’t have to impress anyone. Just be yourself. Barbara will love you.”

Amanda smiled a little, squeezing my hand. “Well, obviously. I’m very lovable.”

I laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

When we pulled up to Barbara’s house, Amanda took a slow breath. I could see her gearing up, the way she did before a mission, preparing herself. I leaned over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Relax. This isn’t a battlefield.”

She gave me a look. “You say that now.”

Barbara opened the door before we even knocked, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Finally! Mike, I was starting to think you were making her up.”

Amanda let out a breathy laugh, and I rolled my eyes. “Nice to see you too, Barb.”

Barbara’s gaze moved to Amanda, and in an instant, her expression softened. “And you must be Amanda. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Amanda shook her hand, smiling. “You too. Mike’s talked about you a lot.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has.” Barbara smirked, stepping back. “Come in, come in.”

The second we were inside, a tiny blur shot toward me, wrapping around my legs. “Uncle Mike!”

I laughed, scooping Christopher up. “Hey, buddy! Miss me?”

Christopher grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! Who’s that?” He pointed at Amanda.

“That,” I said, setting him down, “is Amanda.”

Christopher tilted his head, studying her like a miniature investigator. “Are you Uncle Mike’s girlfriend?”

Amanda crouched down, grinning. “I am.”

He nodded sagely. “Good. He needs one.”

Barbara burst out laughing, and I groaned. “Alright, alright, let’s move on.”

Lunch was… perfect. Barbara had gone all out, cooking a full meal, and Amanda fit in seamlessly. They talked, laughed, and I sat back, watching. Amanda was glowing, smiling in a way I didn’t get to see often—light, easy. She listened to Barbara’s stories, teased me right alongside her, and played with Christopher like she had known him forever.

At one point, Barbara leaned over, smirking. “You know, Mike’s never introduced a girl to the family before.”

Amanda blinked, then looked at me, something unreadable in her expression. “Really?”

Barbara nodded. “Really. Not once.”

Amanda turned back to me, eyes soft. “That’s… kind of a big deal.”

I shrugged, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “You are a big deal.”

She smiled, and under the table, she squeezed my hand.

When we left later that evening, Amanda let out a slow breath as we got into the car. “That was nice. Really nice.”

I reached over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Told you they’d love you.”

She leaned into my touch. “Yeah. You were right.”

I smirked. “Say that again?”

Amanda rolled her eyes, laughing. “Don’t push your luck, Lancaster.”

I laughed, but inside, I was feeling something deeper, something warm and permanent. Amanda had met my family. She was part of this now. And as I looked at her, seeing the way she smiled, relaxed and happy, I knew one thing for certain. I was never letting her go.