Page 40 of The Fixer

“You’re not,” I told her, leaning toward her, unable to stay away when she looked at me with those shy eyes. “I want you here. I want you safe.”

She lifted her head and the hand that was holding it reached out. Fingers stretched along the back of the couch until they found mine. “I’ll stay,” she told me, her voice quiet and reserved, “on one condition.”

“What is it?” I asked, leery and intrigued at the same time.

“I want you,” she started, hesitated, her fingers slipping between mine, “to use my room for what it was meant for.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my shoulders locking up.

Eliza gestured to the floor, to the rug I was laying on before I pulled my gun on her. “That can’t be enough for you. Not with the way you look.” Her eyes dripped down my naked torso, lingering enough to bring color to her cheeks again. “Sit-ups on the living room rug? Meanwhile, you have a room decked out in floor mats and exercise equipment that you haven’t been able to touch since I got here.”

“Eliza—”

“No, Jet.” Her chin rose, her delicate neck exposed. “It’s not right. It’s not fair. That bed folds up. You took it down in seconds, it can’t be that hard to put it away again. That’s your room. Your space. And if I’m going to stay here, eating your food and taking up your time, I expect you to kick me out of my room so you can get some proper exercise.”

“Eliza.” I twisted my hand, scooping hers up, my fingers curling around her own. A smile tugged at my lips, and every little freckle lit up like fireworks on her face before that damn dimple caved in with her smile. “I was going to say, thank you.”

“Oh.” Her lips formed a perfect circle, and fuck, my dick kicked in my pants. I rose before it could become a problem, then gripped her chin between my fingers and raised her face to mine.

“Get something to eat,” I told her, keeping the snap out of my voice for her sake. “I’ll go work out.”

“You trust me not to leave?” she asked, all a tease.

But my eyes narrowed and when I spoke again, my voice was low. “I’ll find you if you do, Eliza. I meant what I said. I want you safe with me.”

10

Eliza

Chills raked my skin even as my insides melted in unending flames. Perhaps Jet’s words should have inspired fear inside of me. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. I could see the dark spark of truth in his eyes. He would find me if I left. He would hunt me down. He would drag me back.

And then he would… What?

Keep me close until the sun went down, then push me away?

The man was hot one second, ice cold the next. He was kind, caring, gentle. He was brutal, sharp, and dangerous.

I was sure his previous life had left him emotionally scarred, and the counselor in me ached to know more. Although, his troubles certainly weren’t in my wheelhouse. I specialized in helping battered women, not... whatever he was.

He would kill to keep me safe, of that I had no doubt. His gun was always at the ready, whether it was on his body or not. While he went into my room to work out, I rummaged through his kitchen to find what I needed for my breakfast. And I stumbled upon no less than three handguns and an array of knives that had no business touching food.

When I’d finished eating, the sounds from my room called to me. Something like a train speeding along the tracks in the distance had me ducking my head and peeking through the open door. The sight of Jet pulled the air straight from my lungs.

He was shirtless, as he had been when I found him doing sit-ups on the living room rug. Sweat trickled across his tanned skin, down his back and onto the waistband of his thin athletic shorts. A dusting of black hair kissed his chest, but stopped there, as if in awe of the ridges that pulsed and dipped on his abdomen every time he moved.

But what stopped me, what pulled my eyes like the strongest magnetic force, were his arms. Muscular without being bulky, veins popping out as he worked them, as he pounded at a punching bag hanging from a bar attached to the wall.

I was in awe, watching him. I’d never seen anyone in real life with a body like his. He was something that should grace the pages of a magazine. Hang on billboards alongside the highway. Be in underwear ads on TV. And he was there, just across from me in the room I’d been sleeping in.

Jet’s bare feet danced over the thick red mats he’d laid down over the floor. He spun away from the punching bag with the grace of an action hero, his foot smacking into the large black kick bag set up not far away. He attacked it with a ferocity I’d seen only in the darkness in his eyes, and my body hummed at the sight.

A sudden wave of discomfort trickled through me. I felt like a voyeur, watching this beautiful man. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. It was magic, whatever he’d done to me. Enchanted my mind and body to do nothing more than move silently inside the door and sit against the wall, my attention on him.

The slapping of his fists and feet against the mats and bags should have frightened me. And it did, to some extent. The power behind each kick was a scary thing, but one thought comforted me.

He wanted to protect me. He wanted to keep me safe.

With him.