Page 220 of A Vicious Love

“I am comfortable.”

“Liar.”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

I smiled faintly.

She looked at my chest again, and this time she took longer. “How much do you work out to keep that body?”

For one shining second, the world became a better place. My ego, neglected by apologies and emotional growth, lifted its head and purred.

“That body?” I asked.

She groaned and dropped back against the pillow. “I regret asking.”

“You shouldn’t. It was one of your finest contributions to the evening.”

“You’re going to be impossible now.”

“I was impossible before. Now I’m appreciated.”

“I didn’t say appreciated.”

“You said that body. Tone did the rest.”

She hid her face behind one hand.

I loved it.

Fuck.

I loved her talking to me again.

That was the dangerous part. The flirting was manageable, mostly. The dress, the panties, the soft little blushes, all survivable with effort and possibly prayer. But her voice? Her asking questions because she wanted the answers? That went deeper. It made me want to sit in this room all night and earn another sentence.

Don’t screw it up, Crow.

I sat on the other side of the bed instead of crawling over her, which deserved recognition. “Three to five hours most days.”

Her hand lowered. “That much?”

“Combat training, weights, endurance, sparring, range work. Depends what the day needs.”

“Every day?”

“Most.”

“How do you have time?”

“I make time.”

“For exercise?”

“For being difficult to kill.”

She considered that with an earnest seriousness that almost made me laugh. “That makes sense.”

“Thank you.”