Her pulse flutters under my fingers, fast and delicate. I should step back.
A flush sweeps up her neck and colors her face pink. But she doesn’t move away. Instead, she steadies her stance and puts one foot slightly behind the other, just like I showed her.
“Good.” My voice sounds rough. “You learn fast.”
“I learn well with a good teacher.” Her smile borders on cocky and amusement twinkles in her eyes. Is she noticing the power she has over me? The power her body wields over mine?
I take a slow breath. “Let’s test your balance.” I nudge her shoulders lightly.
She wobbles, yelps, and stumbles forward, right into my chest.
My hands come up instinctively, steadying her waist. Her body fits against mine too easily. “Careful,” I murmur near her ear.
She doesn’t move away. “You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me with a challenge in her gaze and something softer. Curiosity.
The desire to kiss her right then almost overwhelms me, but I force myself to step back. “Again.”
I run her through the basic drills until we’re both dripping with sweat. Me from barely staying in control of my body, her from actually having a workout.
After we’d showered, separately, she insists she wants to cook a late lunch. “I need to feel normal,” she explains, tying an apron around her waist like she’s going into battle.
I sit on a stool at the counter and watch. It feels intimate in a way I’m not prepared for.
She chops vegetables with exaggerated caution, glancing at me. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m sitting.”
“With intensity.”
“I always look intense.”
She snorts. “That’s true.” She flicks a strand of hair from her cheek, the movement light and natural. This scene is not something I ever envisioned for myself. My life has been violence, strategy, blood. Watching her cook, frowning at a pan like it insulted her, does something weird to my insides.
She glances over her shoulder. “Are you always this quiet?”
“Only when I’m watching someone dangerous with a knife.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “That joke’s getting old. So I stabbed a guy.” She shrugs, but her voice wobbles.
“You surprised me,” I say.
“I surprised myself.” She turns my way, her green eyes worried.
“You were brave and smart. You reacted before you could freeze and that instinct saves lives.”
Her shoulders ease and it bothers me how relieved that makes me. I can’t afford her feelings influencing what I say. How I think. People can take advantage of that weakness. But she looks at me like she’s starving for honesty and I don’t know how to deny her.
“What do you eat when you’re alone?” she asks suddenly. And then she quickly looks away, blushing. “I mean, not that I think you’re always alone. I’m sure you date a lot and have people to eat with.”
“You’re the first woman to spend the night here. And the first woman to eat in my kitchen.”
“Really?” Her beautiful green eyes widen as she looks at me.
“Really,” I confirm and then gesture to the fridge. “I eat whatever the housekeeper leaves in the fridge,” I say, answering the original question.
