I smack his hand away, needing to break whatever spell this is. “I’m serious. You’re no lightweight. You put a serious dent in it.”
“I saved you from those thugs,” he says, still grinning.
“Fine. Thank you for that.” I cross my arms, putting a barrier between us. “But I need to drive to and from work in that car. Unless you’re offering to drive me...”
I see the glint in his eyes at that. His mouth curves into a smile that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Well, if you insist—”
“I don’t insist.” I cut him off quickly, hating how breathless my voice sounds. “If you damaged my car because you wanted to bounce on it in your attempt to play hero, you’re paying for the repairs.”
“You’re the most ungrateful woman I’ve ever met,” Grayson mutters.
“Yes, yes. I’m annoying. I’m ungrateful.” I throw his own words back at him. “I’m also broke, and if that car is wreckedbecause of your stunt, I’ll become homeless as well because I can’t commute.”
Something flickers across his face. Guilt, maybe. But he’s stubborn, jaw set in a way that draws my attention to the strong line of his throat. “Men don’t like women who’re ungrateful.”
I bare my teeth at him in a smile. “I’ll get over it, I’m sure.”
He glowers at me. “I’ll see if there’s any damage,” he says finally.
He studies me for a long moment. I can feel him trying to figure me out. Trying to understand why I’m not asking the obvious questions.
The weight of his gaze makes my skin feel too tight.
He opens his mouth, and I slap my hand over it, giving him a sharp look.
His eyes widen above my palm. His lips are soft against my skin, and I snatch my hand back like I’ve been burned.
“I don’t want to know your secrets,” I say firmly, trying to ignore the tingling in my palm. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see anything weird, so let’s keep it that way.”
He removes my hand slowly, his fingers wrapping around mine for just a second before letting go. The brief contact leaves my skin burning. “You’re an interesting person, Miranda Carver.”
The way he’s looking at me makes heat rush to my face. It’s too intense. Too focused. Like I’m the only thing in the room that matters. Like he wants to devour me.
I look away, busying myself with throwing away the bloody gauze. “I try not to be.”
He chuckles.
My stomach tightens in a way that I absolutely hate. This man is infuriating. Arrogant. And now clearly not human. What I hate is how attractive I’ve suddenly begun to find him. Maybe Ishould admit myself to the psychiatric facility. Being attracted to him is a terrible idea. The worst idea. I don’t even like him.
Except my body obviously didn’t get that memo.
“Who were those men?” He studies me. “They clearly knew you.”
I tap my eye. “The same ones who left me this little gift.”
His jaw hardens. “Are the police involved?”
I give him a look. “Of course not.”
“Of course not?” he echoes, the irritation on his face obvious. “You were assaulted. You’re supposed to call—”
“It’s a private matter,” I say tersely. “Don’t get any more involved than you already are. I know how to handle this.”
It’s a complete lie, but the last thing I need is to get the police involved. Who knows how Kozlov will react? He’s not going to be happy about someone beating up his men as it is. I wait for the trickle of fear, but it never comes. After a year of being hounded and harassed for payments and now this, the fear has transformed into something numb, and that terrifies me because it makes me wonder if I’ve begun to give up.
“What if those men come back?” Grayson asks with a pointed stare.
“They will.” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “They didn’t get what they wanted.”
