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“Hush.”
That one word sent heat dancing its way up my neck as a delicious warmth spread across my lower stomach. Against my will, my lips parted with a breathy sigh.
Lucifer’s throat bobbed. “How’s the ankle?” He sounded like he’d downed a handful of marbles.
I lifted the offending joint in the air and wiggled my foot. “It still works.”
He continued to stare without so much as a lip twitch, and my heart ached to see him smile at least once more before our private time together came to an end. But then he lowered himself to the mat and draped his forearms over his bent knees, and I decided that was good enough for me.
His gaze cast downward while mine looked up. Our eyes locked, and something stirred in my chest. I could have sworn Lucifer swallowed the same invisible lump of confusion I felt in my throat.
“Thank you for helping me, Lucifer,” I said just above a whisper.
He nodded, and I thought that was all I was going to get, but then he added, “You’re welcome. You can throw a punch. Your da would be proud.”
The invisible lump returned, bringing with it a few unshed tears.
Lucifer leaned forward, gently wrapped his fingers around my wrist, and dragged his thumb over the raised skin on the inside of my forearm just like he had the night in my bathroom.
“I thought I was Kim Possible,” I said.
He stroked the scar again, sending a tingling sensation through my body.
“I thought it was Taylor Swift.”
My heart exploded, and I coughed on the tears I wished didn’t exist. Lucifer pulled his hand back carefully, giving us both space to breathe and collect ourselves.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“Even though you know Raphael won’t like it?”
“Even though I know Raphael won’t like it,” he parroted back.
I rolled onto my side, feeling every muscle cramp and ache settling into my joints.
I propped my head up with one arm. “Did you tell anyone about the Russian I killed?”
He shook his head. “No, and I won’t.”
Unexpected feelings of gratitude and admiration bubbled up from my core. Lucifer didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d want someone to gush over him, so I stayed mum. Or maybe I didn’t say anything because I was still a bit sensitive after he turned down my hug the other night.
When the dead air between us became too much, I went for something I knew would grease the tension. “I see how it is.” I nodded dramatically with a cheeky grin. The corner of Lucifer’s eyes crinkled in guarded anticipation. “You just want to use my kill to up your street cred. Well played, Satan. Well played.”
Another spontaneous Lucifer chuckle meant another round of flutters for my heart. If I could’ve collected that sound in a jar to keep as my own personal melody, I would have.
He looked at me with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn to use knives? I know that wasn’t Jack.”
He was right—knives were never my da’s thing. Like Lucifer, my father’s weapon of choice was a Glock.
“Most of it I learned by observation. The Brennans take their reputation as butchers quite literally. There was always someone training, so I’d disappear into a dark corner to watch and take notes.”
“Were you given your own knives?”
Did they trust you enough to let you have knives of your own? is what he’d really wanted to ask.
I shook my head. “The knives you stole from me were ones I’d stolen from Tiernan’s personal collection after he died. But even before then, whenever I was alone and could sneak down to the training room, I’d throw at dummies until my arm felt like it would fall off.”
