“No, listen to me, Noemi. Your dad is into some dark, dangerous stuff. And I don’t want it coming home to us. But if it does, I want to be ready.”

“Hence the turbo workout.”

“Hence me getting back to my regular PT.”

And then he smiled.

She saw it then—the man she’d met in Florida so many years ago, that solid sense of tomorrow in his eyes. The guy who seemed almost invincible.

“I get it, Range. I do. My dad always said once a SEAL, always a SEAL. But . . . I guess I thought things would be different now. Because . . .”

He drew in a breath. “I know. I just, I just can’t be the guy who stays home and cooks or answers the phone. I . . . I’m not that guy.”

“Always a SEAL.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever. Right now, I’m your husband, the guy who is trying to keep you safe.” And now he wore so much vulnerability, even worry, in his expression, how was she supposed to stay angry?

“Fine. As long as my father doesn’t drag you into his dark world,” she said and stepped up to him, her hand on his chest, over his beating heart.

He pocketed the phone, then cupped her face in his hands. “Yours is the only world I want to be in. We’re in this together, I promise.” He leaned down and kissed her.

She’d come to know him over the past few weeks of being married, to know the differences in how he kissed her, held her. Sometimes he was lost in a place of hunger, sometimes gentle and sweet, loving her out of that tender pocket reserved for her. Sometimes his touch was even fierce, almost resolute in his determination to prove to her that they belonged together.

This . . . this kiss was different. Not hungry, not desperate, not even tender. But something seemed so right, so perfect, she didn’t know where he started and she ended.

He deepened his kiss, wrapped his arms around her, molding her to himself. She didn’t mind the scent of hard work or the heat of his body. She just lost herself in the way he enveloped her into his world. His heart.

Wow, she loved this man. Her husband. Her future.

She pushed away, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Your workout about finished?”

He met her smile. “Not quite.”

Oh. Boy. She laced her hand into his.

Garbled sounds came from the phone in his pocket.

She stilled and Ranger let her go and reached into his pocket for the phone. Looked at it and answered, turning it to speaker.

Then he held up a hand to keep her from speaking.

Muffled voices. She leaned in and looked at Ranger, frowning.

“Is that—”

He put his finger over his mouth.

Russian?

“Shot eta, Peyotr? Kakoi—”

Grunts, a shout, then the call cut off.