Colt probably held her hand a little longer than necessary, but . . . well, he counted it as a victory that Tae hadn’t pulled away. The fact that she held on told him that maybe, please, she would stop running from him.

Although it seemed he’d convinced her to trust him because she had apologized at the hotel. And had been there when he returned with her clothing purchased at the gift shop. He didn’t know sizes, so he’d opted for leggings and an oversized shirt, a pair of slip-on shoes.

Wow, she was cute in pink, but he ditched that thought as soon as it hit his mind because—hello—the last thing he needed was to start thinking about . . .

Well, about how amazing she smelled after her shower, but even before, standing in the sunlight of the hotel room, her beautiful blond hair rumpled from sleep, her body swallowed in the hotel bathrobe, her eyes too blue, trusting him.

Because in that terrifying moment, he saw himself reaching out, maybe grabbing her lapel to pull her to himself and taking up where they’d left off last night.

Him, diving into a kiss that had spark and heat and all sorts of fire simmering right under the surface. And in his wildest, forbidden dreams, she responded with a soft hum of delight, maybe curling her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

And that, right there, only led to everything that could blow up their friendship, the trust he’d built. Because he wasn’t sticking around—he knew that in his soul. So taking her in his arms and letting up on the brakes even for a moment could land them someplace his body might want but his heart couldn’t bear.

So he hadn’t reached out for her, hadn’t given in to the way she looked at him, her perfect lips, the smell of her, and instead, had walked out to the balcony to get some air.

Then she’d sent him on the mission for clothing and he’d grabbed hold with a hooah that had him nearly sprinting from the room.

Somehow over the past few hours, he’d gotten his head back in the game, despite the easiness of sitting in the car with her, listening to Beethoven or Mozart or whoever this was. He couldn’t believe he’d actually told her about Sudan, but . . . yeah, that felt easy too. Or maybe just not as hard as he thought it would.

And she hadn’t flinched either.

“I think the turnoff is ahead,” she said now, looking at his phone. He’d let her hand go a while back. His gesture was meant to assure her but felt more like he might have been assuring himself. “I just hope they haven’t found her.”

Him too.