She reached down to pick it up. “Shame about the book.” She studied the cover. “Maybe it will dry if we set it out in the sun tomorrow?”

“Toss it. I’ll buy you a new copy.”

“Throw away a book? That’s sacrilege.”

He laughed. “I’m sure the author won’t mind. It’s destroyed. He’ll get an extra sale.”

“I mind. I’ll see if I can dry it.” She removed the dust cover. Beneath, the hardcover was etched with the title and author name. Rand felt a tremor as she traced the gold letters that spelled Reece Foresman with her finger before flipping it open.

Rand held his breath as she painstakingly separated the wet pages. Peeling them apart with infinite care. Blank page. Title page. Copyright. A second title page with author name and publisher logo.

Finally, she reached the dedication.

Her gaze was idle until the name must’ve caught her eye.

Then she sucked in a sharp breath and held up the open book. Her eyes were wide with surprise. And there were the words he’d agonized over in late December, two weeks after she’d been abducted:

For Kira. A Valkyrie and a Siren.

Chapter Thirty

“You are Reece Foresman?”

Kira was having a hard time wrapping her brain around what she’d read on the page, but Rand’s unsure smile told her it was true.

“Yes?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, yes. Yes. I am. But you can’t tell anyone. Only like…only eight or ten people know, and one of them is my sister. None of them are Freya or Morgan.”

Rand was New York Times bestselling author Reece Foresman. The author whose book she bought at the airport and read more than half of on her flight.

“So…last December, when you suggested the cover story before we went into Gillibrand’s offices…you were telling the truth and pretending it was fake?”

“Well, I’m not mega-rich or anything, which was also part of the cover story. My second book only released last month. But yeah, I knew I could pull off the author thing if needed.”

“And you keep it a secret because you’re a SEAL?”

He nodded. “You might be wondering how it happened.”

She laughed. “A little, yeah.” Not a little. No, she was desperate to know.

“So…about four and a half years ago—a few months after the deployment when I met Morgan—I was back stateside and was injured during training. It was bad. I needed surgery. Months of rehab. My whole future was in doubt. I didn’t know if I’d be able to return to the team. I was frustrated and, frankly, scared. I had no clue what I would do post-Navy, let alone post-SEAL. And I was bored and anxious. To escape, I started writing this story I’d been kicking around for years. I liked writing. It gave me something I could control. It wasn’t long before I thought I had something. I knew it needed polish, but it held together. I changed it up because once I thought about publishing, I couldn’t write about SEALs. I adapted the plot to the kind of work Pax and Cal had done on their deployments. Next thing I knew, I had a Green Beret thriller set in North Africa. Then I did the most foolish, clueless, newbie writer thing and emailed my favorite military thriller author. Told him I was a SEAL and liked his work, and I had a manuscript, but didn’t know what came next.

“Thank god the guy was amazing and didn’t see me as competition or anything like that. He told me to send him the first three chapters and he’d give me his honest opinion. A week later, he was referring me to an agent and a literary attorney. The attorney helped me set up a trust that completely separates my legal name. Even my publisher only knows I’m in the military and a special operator, not which branch or command. The Navy signed off as long as I stay away from everything SEAL and keep my fiction fictional. Nearly three years later, the first book was out. It hit New York Times, which was cool, but I couldn’t exactly celebrate. My sister made me dinner and my niece ate too much dessert and tossed her cookies on me, but she would have done that whether I was a bestseller or not.”

Kira laughed and was taken by surprise at the rush of emotion triggered by the realization he was trusting her with something no one else in her circle knew. And he said it shyly, even nervously. This big, badass SEAL was nervous about her reaction.

But then, she’d read half of his first book and given him her opinion of it just this morning.

She set the wet book that had been dedicated to her aside and slipped her arms around his neck. She planted a solid kiss on his lips and said, “Congratulations on hitting the Times. I understand that’s a big deal.”

“Would I have gotten that kiss even if I wasn’t a bestseller?”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed. “How about this one?” Then he kissed her, and it wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was hot and carnal as his tongue stroked hers. She melted into him, kissing him back with all the emotion that surged through her.

She was breathing heavily when the kiss ended, her belly swirling with heat. Desire tugged at her core. “Yes, that kiss was just because you are you. Now explain how—and why—you dedicated the book to me. Aren’t you afraid someone will figure it out?”

“The only people who know you’re a Valkyrie can be trusted if they do see the dedication, but also, I don’t think they’re likely to read it.”

“I’m not really a Valkyrie.”

“Yes, you are. You were then. You were today.” He kissed her softly, then said, “My publisher had to hold the final proof for after I got back from a deployment last fall. Last December, my plan was to go skiing in Aspen, then do the final read-through. It was cutting it close with the printing schedule, but I could hardly be expected to do the final proof while on an aircraft carrier. A few days after I turned it in, I emailed you and got the reply that said your boyfriend didn’t like my reaching out to you. It was a kick in the gut for about thirty seconds, but then…I figured you were struggling because of what happened. I even considered that it might not be from you. Your dad wasn’t subtle in the hospital. Plus, Freya had never mentioned a boyfriend—I checked in with her often to hear how you were doing.

“I wanted to send you a message, even if it was one you’d never see. I’d dedicated my first book to my sister, and didn’t really have anyone to dedicate the second one to, so there was no dedication in the final proof. I thought about the moment when you said, ‘Today, and today only, I’m a Valkyrie.’ And I knew what I wanted to say. I sent a hurried message to my agent, insisting the publisher add a dedication page. It hadn’t gone to print yet, so it was no problem. I mean, I’m sure they griped, but they did it.”

She kissed him again. “I’ve never had a book dedicated to me before.”

His smile was a sexy smolder. “And I’ve never dedicated a book to a woman I wanted to woo before.”

She laughed at his word choice. “Woo? I don’t think that’s something Reece Foresman would say.”

“That’s because my main character isn’t so much interested in wooing as he is in fucking.”

“Is there sex on the page? I haven’t gotten that far.”

He drew a line across his lips, as he’d done this morning in the bookstore. “No spoilers from me.”

She laughed, then stepped back. She wanted him, but at the same time, her brain was spinning. And she was so tired. “You should shower.” Then she grinned. “I think I’m going to read for a bit, then go to sleep.”

She found her copy of the mass-market paperback of Reece Foresman’s first novel and crawled into bed. As he’d described, the book was dedicated to his sister, using her first name only.

For Maggie. Best little sister in the world. Sorry about leaving all those Legos on the floor.

She smiled and looked at the cover again, tracing the R and F in the author name. The initials were clearly deliberate. If it didn’t require getting out of bed, she’d grab her laptop and look up his website. See if there were more clues to his identity hidden in the author bio. Probably not. With the exception of naming her and using the word Valkyrie, it appeared he’d been exceedingly careful.

She held the book, but found her mind was racing too much to focus and read. She wanted Rand to read it to her. To hear his voice as he shared his art with her. Maybe someday, she’d show him her paintings. She was nothing like her mother, but she liked to dabble and had never shared her work with anyone. Not even her family.

She was staring at the book, not really thinking about anything, when Rand stepped into the room wearing nothing but a white towel around his hips. “Sorry. I left my bag in here. I just need to grab some clothes.”

Water drops dappled the most perfect chest she’d ever seen. Thick shoulders. Cut pecs and delts. An abdomen to die for and that perfect V groove. She sucked in a breath as she stared. Without thinking, she was on her feet, moving toward him.

His body was a magnet, and she was helpless iron.

Rand froze as Kira moved toward him, her eyes hot with desire. She met his gaze and smiled, the twist of her lips and the spark in her eyes now showing mischief.