He inhaled deeply, processing her scent with deliberate calm. Then he exhaled against her skin. The sound cracked something open inside her chest. It was him. Not a resemblance. Not wishful thinking. Rex. Her knees weakened, and she lowered herself carefully to a crouch, ignoring the cold seeping through her slacks.
He stepped closer and rested the side of his head against her shoulder. Not overwhelming. Just present. Solid. “Oh,” she breathed, her voice roughening at the edges. “Oh, sweetheart.” She ran her hands over him slowly, methodically — shoulders, ribs, flanks — the way she had when he came back from training exercises with Michael. His muscle tone was intact.