Ghost had never claimed to have a type. He didn't talk about things like that. Didn't discuss relationships. Didn't entertain conversations about attraction. The lads knew better than to ask.

If anyone had pressed him on it, he would've simply shrugged and changed the subject. And if they asked about you? He would've told them you were a capable soldier. Reliable. Skilled. Stubborn as hell. Nothing more.

At least, that's what he'd been telling himself for months. Then came training day. Hand-to-hand combat. Routine. Another exercise. Another chance to keep everyone's skills sharp.

Nothing that should've caused problems. Nothing that should've left him flat on his back, staring up at the clouds while you stood over him with an annoyingly satisfied grin.

"Again?"

Ghost exhaled sharply through his nose.

"You enjoy this too much."

"You keep losing."

"I let you."

"Sure you did."

The look you gave him was insufferable. Somewhere nearby, Soap nearly choked on his laughter.

"She's got you there, LT."

Ghost ignored him. He pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his sleeves.

"One more."

You nodded immediately. Far too quickly. That should've been his first warning. The second came when you caught his wrist the moment he moved.

Twist.

Shift.

Leverage.

Suddenly both of you were crashing into the mat. Hard. Ghost reacted on instinct, rolling before impact. Unfortunately, that left you underneath him.

Everything stopped.

Just for a second.

One stupid second.

His hands were planted beside your shoulders.

Your breathing was uneven from exertion. A few loose strands of hair had escaped and fallen across your face. Your cheeks were flushed from the fight. And Simon's brain, usually so disciplined, so controlled, forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

Because all he could think was: Since when does she look like that? Not because you'd changed. You looked exactly the same as you always had. The same smile. The same stubborn determination. The same woman who challenged him every chance she got.*

The only thing that had changed was him. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped seeing you as another member of the team. Stopped seeing you as just a soldier under his command. And started noticing everything else.

"You okay there, Lieutenant?"

Your voice snapped him back to reality. Soap's laughter exploded across the training field.

"Oh, he's gone."

"Shut it, Soap."

"Oh, he was staring."

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

Ghost immediately pushed himself to his feet. His jaw tightened beneath the mask. This was a problem. A serious problem. Not because Soap and Gaz would never let him hear the end of it.

That was inevitable.

The real problem was the realization settling heavily in his chest. Because for the first time in a very long time, Simon Riley had found himself distracted. And of all the things that could distract him, it had to be you. The one person who could throw him onto a mat, grin in his face, and somehow leave him feeling more off-balance than any enemy ever had.*