3. Aria #2
“Have you talked to Dr. Reynolds about it?”
I nod, watching embers spiral upward from the fire. “She says it’s normal. That trauma doesn’t follow a straight line to healing. There are setbacks, loops, spirals.”
“She’s right.” His voice softens, vibrating through his chest against my ear. “What happened to you—what Wolfe did—it leaves marks. Some visible, some not.”
The thin scar on my collarbone tingles at the mention, a souvenir from my time in captivity. Jon doesn’t treat it like something ugly or broken. When we kiss, his lips sometimes brush against it with deliberate tenderness, transforming it from a mark of pain to something almost sacred.
“Do you ever wonder about him?” The question barely rises above the crackle of flames. “About Wolfe? If he survived?”
Jon shifts, his body angling toward mine. “According to the reports, the upper floors of the warehouse were compromised during the extraction. Wolfe was last seen on the roof before the helicopter took off without him. Ember stabbed him with a letter opener.”
“But no body was recovered,” I press, needing to hear the truth.
“No.” Jon’s jaw tightens. “The building was structurally unsound after the operation. Too dangerous for a thorough search.”
“Do you believe he’s dead?”
“I believe in being prepared for all possibilities.” The careful phrasing tells me everything.
A shiver runs through me despite the fire’s warmth.
Wolfe was obsessed with his revenge against my father, using me as a means to an end.
When Ember tried to save me, she’d been taken too, not trafficked like the other children Wolfe targeted, but held as leverage over me.
The thought that he might still be out there, watching, waiting…
“Hey.” Jon’s hand cups my face, turning it toward him. His eyes burn with intensity in the firelight. “If he’s alive, if he ever comes back, we’ll be ready. All of us. You’re not alone, Aria. We’re here and we’ll protect you.”
The conviction in his voice steadies me. I lean into his touch, the warmth of his palm anchoring me to the present. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s perfect.”
“You’re welcome.” His thumb traces my cheekbone, a featherlight caress that leaves a trail of heat in its wake.
We sit in silence, watching the flames dance and listening to the ocean’s eternal conversation with the shore.
The vast darkness stretches before us, broken only by our small fire and the distant lights of passing ships.
Under the blanket, Jon’s fingers find mine, intertwining them in a casual intimacy that still takes me by surprise.
“Can I ask you something?” Courage finally gathers in my chest for the question that’s been circling my mind for weeks.
“Anything.” His focus shifts entirely to me, making me the center of his universe in that moment.
I take a deep breath. “You, Brett, and Charlie… Was it always the three of you? Or did you join them later?” The question remains incomplete, but Jon understands what I’m asking.
“Does it matter?” His voice holds no judgment, only genuine curiosity.
“I—I don’t know.” Heat floods my cheeks, which has nothing to do with the fire. “I guess I’m trying to understand how it worked. How you all fit together.”
“Charlie and Brett were together first.” Jon shifts to face me more directly, his knee pressing against my thigh. “I met them on an operation in Budapest six years ago. We became friends, then more. It evolved naturally.”
“And you all were—together?” I bite my lip, dancing around what I really want to know.
“We were together, yes.” A smile plays at the corner of Jon’s mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. “We did a lot of things together. A lot of—exploring.”
The deliberate vagueness in his tone makes my cheeks burn hotter. He knows exactly what I’m trying to ask, but he’s not going to make it easy for me.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” I mutter, fiddling with the edge of the blanket.
“If you want specific details,” Jon’s laugh is low and rich, “you’re going to have to ask specific questions.”
The challenge in his eyes both embarrasses and thrills me. I’m not quite brave enough to ask outright—not yet—but the knowledge that this conversation isn’t over, that stories are waiting to be told when I find the courage to ask for them, sends a strange thrill through me.
“Fine. For now, let’s just say… Was it complicated? Logistically?” I hedge, still circling what I really want to know.
“The same way any relationship works.” Jon’s shoulder lifts in a half-shrug, though his eyes still hold that knowing glint. “Communication. Respect. Love. Just with one more person in the equation.”
“Weren’t you jealous? Or afraid of being left out?” The question reveals more of my insecurities than I’d intended.
“Sometimes.” The honesty in his admission touches me. “We’re all human. But we talked through it when those feelings came up.” His eyes search mine. “What are you really asking?”
“I guess… Do you miss it?” The flames capture my attention as I gather my courage. “Does being with me feel—incomplete somehow?”
Jon’s hand finds mine again, his fingers intertwining with my own.
“No.” The single word carries such conviction that it steals my breath. “What I had with them was beautiful and real. What I have with you is also beautiful and real. Different, but no less whole.”
“But you were together for years.” The insecurity I’ve been fighting bubbles to the surface. “And now they’re having a baby, starting a family… They moved on so quickly.”
Jon’s expression softens. “We were together for nearly five years. But people change. What they need changes.”
“They chose each other in the end.” The words emerge smaller than I intended.
Jon exhales slowly, thumb tracing patterns on my palm.
“It wasn’t about choosing one over the other. Charlie wanted children. Brett was ready for that step. I wasn’t—not then. They made the choice that was right for them.”
“And now?” My heart pounds against my ribs. “What do you want now?”
“Now, I want to be here, with you.” His eyes meet mine, firelight dancing in their depths. “Getting to know you. Building something new.”
Tears prickle behind my eyes. “I worry sometimes that you’re not ready. That you’re still healing from losing them.”
“I am still healing.” The admission comes without hesitation, his voice low and intimate.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not ready for this—for us.
” His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away moisture I hadn’t realized had escaped.
“Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. Sometimes it happens in connection with someone new. ”
The honesty in his voice touches something deep inside me. I lean forward, resting my forehead against his. His breath warms my skin, mingling with mine in the small space between us.
“I’ve been wondering,” my voice drops to a whisper, “why you haven’t tried to… You know. Go further than kissing. I thought maybe you weren’t attracted to me that way, or…”
Jon pulls back slightly, eyes darkening.
“Aria.” My name becomes something sacred in his mouth.
“I am very attracted to you, but after everything you went through with the kidnapping, I didn’t want to pressure you.
” His gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes.
“I know trauma can complicate physical intimacy. I wanted to give you space to heal, to feel safe.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected and genuine.
“You’ve been holding back because you thought I needed time, and I’ve been worrying you weren’t interested in being with just me?”
“Seems we could both use some work on our communication skills.” His smile breaks through, slow and warm.
“Maybe we should start now.” Boldness surges through me, heat pooling low in my belly. “I’m not made of glass. The kidnapping was traumatic, yes, but I’m stronger than you think.”
“I know exactly how strong you are.” His voice drops lower, something primal threading through it. “I’ve seen it firsthand.”
“Then stop treating me like I might break.”
The fire crackles between us, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Jon’s eyes darken, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of amber remains. A muscle ticks in his jaw—the only outward sign of his tightly held control.
“Aria.” My name becomes a warning, a promise.
“Yes?” I challenge, leaning closer.
With deliberate slowness, Jon cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. The gentle possessiveness of the gesture sends shivers racing down my spine. His other hand settles at my waist, drawing me closer until I’m almost in his lap.
“I’m definitely interested in you.” His voice rumbles, deeper than I’ve ever heard it, laced with hunger held too long in check.
In answer, I close the distance between us.
His lips claim mine with a hunger that steals my breath.
This isn’t like our previous kisses—polite, careful, restrained.
This is Jon unleashed, taking what he wants with a ferocity that makes my head spin.
His hand tightens in my hair, angling my face to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping into my mouth with possessive intent.
I gasp against his lips, fingers clutching at his shoulders.
He tastes of wine and desire, of salt air and need too long denied.
My body ignites, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch.
His arm around my waist tightens, drawing me fully into his lap until I’m straddling him, the position intimate and thrilling.
Jon breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along my jaw, down the sensitive column of my throat. His teeth graze my pulse point, drawing a whimper from deep in my chest. My hands slide into his hair, holding him against me as heat pools between my thighs.
“God, you taste amazing,” he growls against my skin, the vibration sending new shivers through me. “Been wanting to do this for so long.”