12. Chapter 12
She was falling apart in Heath’s arms. Her body trembled against his, her breath shuddering, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like she was holding on for dear life.
He hadn’t expected it. Not like this.
But sleep deprivation had a way of boiling poison to the surface.
Heath had seen it in his teammates before. Men who thought they could muscle through exhaustion until something cracked.
Maddie had been running on empty for too long.
And now?
Now she was breaking. Right here, right now.
So he did the only thing he could do.
He carried her.
The house was dark, quiet, warm from the lingering heat of the day.
She didn’t protest as he strode through the halls, her body tucked tightly against his chest, her face hidden in his shoulder.
But instead of turning into her old bedroom, he kept walking.
Past it.
To the master bedroom.
The room he’d spent all weekend fixing, rebuilding, making new.
He pushed open the door and set her down gently.
For a second, she just stood there.
Then, slowly—like she was just now realizing where they were—she lifted her head, her gaze sweeping across the space.
And she froze.
The shock, the disbelief, the way her lips parted slightly in stunned silence—
Heath swallowed. He didn’t want applause.
Didn’t want to stand here waiting for gratitude or some emotional reaction.
Because this wasn’t about that.
This moment was bigger than him.
So instead of lingering, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers, guiding her toward the ensuite.
She let him.
Silent, shaken, stirred in a way he couldn’t quite name.
The bathroom was still unfinished, but it was better.
Cleaner. More modern.
At the very least, he’d gotten the shower working properly.
He flipped on the water, adjusting the temperature, letting the steam start to rise.
Then he turned back to her.
Her eyes were wide, glassy, still taking everything in.
Still processing what he had done.
His chest tightened.
He reached for her. Tilted her chin up.
Held her gaze.
Then—calm, steady, no room for argument—
“Strip.”
Steam curled through the air, softening the edges of the dimly lit bathroom, wrapping around them like a haze.
Heath stepped back, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter, watching her.
Maddie hesitated. This was about trust.
Slowly, she reached for the hem of her oversized sweatshirt, peeling it off and letting it drop to the floor.
Heath’s jaw tightened.
He had already known she was beautiful.
Had already felt her beneath him, against him, around him.
But seeing her like this—bare, raw, standing in the soft glow of the bathroom light, sleep-deprived and stripped of all her usual defenses—was something else entirely.
His gaze traced over her, taking in every detail.
The delicate curve of her collarbone, the smooth expanse of her stomach, the faint line of hair on her pussy that demanded to be licked.
The dip of her hips, the slender muscles of her thighs, strong but tense, like she was still bracing herself for the fight she didn’t need to have anymore.
He didn’t gawk.
Didn’t rush her.
He just… took her in. Admired her in a way that made her shift on her feet, like she wasn’t used to being looked at like that.
Like she wasn’t used to being worshiped.
His chest ached with something he didn’t quite know how to name.
He reached for her.
Unhooked her bra.
Slid her shorts down, his knuckles grazing her skin, slow, reverent.
Maddie sucked in a breath, watching him like she was waiting for him to say something, do something, push this moment into something more.
He didn’t.
Instead, he pulled his own shirt over his head, unfastened his jeans, stripped down in front of her, letting the heat of the moment settle between them.
Then, with a steady hand, he took hers.
Guided her into the shower.
The rush of warm water hit first, washing over her exhausted frame, sliding down her shoulders, down the curve of her back.
Maddie let out a shaky exhale.
Heath reached for the soap, lathering his hands before pressing them to her skin.
And God, he meant to be gentle—he really did—but the second he touched her, he realized just how much tension she’d been holding.
Her shoulders were rigid, her neck tight, her muscles wound up like she was still stuck in fight-or-flight mode.
So he didn’t just clean her.
He massaged her.
Starting at her shoulders, kneading into the knots there, working slow, watching the way her body responded to him.
She let out a small, quiet sound when his thumbs pressed into the base of her neck.
Heath swallowed hard.
This wasn’t about sex.
But Jesus Christ, the sounds she made could unravel a man.
His hands trailed lower, over her arms, her back, smoothing over the ridges of her spine, pressing into the base of it until she melted against him.
He washed her hair next, fingers sliding through the strands, taking his time, tipping her head back under the water so the suds ran clean.
Maddie let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed.
His chest tightened.
He turned her gently, pressing her back to his front, letting the warmth of his body wrap around her.
She leaned into him, and for the first time all night, he felt her finally let go.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips barely grazing her damp skin.
And in that moment, he knew—
He wasn’t just fixing a house.
Maddie McAuley wasn’t just another project.
And things just got too damn complicated, even for him.
* * * * *
The water was hot, steady, soothing, washing away the exhaustion, the weight, the ache in her muscles that had settled too deep for too long.
And Heath—
He was behind her, his chest broad and solid against her back, his hands slow and careful as they moved over her skin.
It was the most relaxing thing she had felt in years.
Her head tipped forward slightly as his lips brushed her temple, then lower, trailing soft, unhurried kisses along her damp skin.
Her neck.
Her shoulder.
Each press of his mouth was gentle, reverent, like he wasn’t just touching her—he was grounding her.
She exhaled, body melting against his, sinking into the quiet safety of him.
She wasn’t small by any means—at 5’10”, she was taller than most women.
But against Heath?
He was a mountain. A wall of heat and strength that made her feel entirely, completely hidden from the world.
It was the safest thing she had felt in so, so long.
Her eyelids grew heavier, the warmth lulling her into something dangerously close to sleep.
And somehow, Heath seemed to notice.
Because his hands slowed, his touch shifting from firm to featherlight, and—
He started talking.
Just little things.
Details about his work, about the training operation from earlier in the week, about the endless bureaucracy that kept SEALs tangled in paperwork when they weren’t deployed.
His voice was deep, smooth, steady.
She barely processed the words, but the sound of him, the rhythm, the way he talked like it was just another night, just another routine—
It kept her from spiraling.
Kept her from thinking too hard, from feeling too much, from crashing into the thoughts she wasn’t ready to face.
God, he was so good at this.
At knowing exactly what she needed without her saying a word.
She didn’t remember when the water stopped.
Didn’t remember when he turned the knobs and reached past her for a towel.
She just felt the absence of heat for a moment—then the warm press of cotton as he wrapped her in it, shielding her from the cool air.
“Maddie,” he murmured, his breath close to her ear.
She barely lifted her head.
His hands found her waist, steadying her.
And then—
She was in his arms again.
She should have protested. Should have told him she could walk, that she wasn’t some fragile thing that needed to be carried.
But she was too tired to fight him.
So she just… let him.
Let him hold her close, press her against his chest, let herself feel small and weightless as he carried her through the darkened house.
The next thing she knew, her back was hitting soft sheets.
Her sheets.
Wait—
Her bed.
In the master bedroom.
Her half-lidded gaze traced the room, taking in the fresh paint, the new fixture, the smooth, polished floors.
He’d done this.
All of it.
For her.
Her stomach tightened, something overwhelming surging through her, something she couldn’t name.
She blinked up at him, vision hazy, watching as he grabbed another towel, wrapping it low around his hips.
He looked like he was about to leave.
No.
Her fingers curled around his wrist, tight, instinctive.
He paused.
Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Stay.”
A long beat.
Then, finally—
He exhaled, reaching over to shut off the bedside lamp.
And when the room went dark, he slid into the bed beside her, curling up behind her, pulling her into the warmth of his body.
She let out a tiny, content sigh.
Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, Maddie McAuley slept deeply and soundly.