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“I’m impressed,” I admit. “What about injuries? Anything major?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Minor?”
“Few sprains, aches here and there. Nothing big.” Those haunting eyes lift to mine again and he lifts a dark eyebrow. “I broke my arm once. Does that count?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “It counts.” Reluctantly, I pull myself away and roll my chair back behind the desk so I can enter the information. “Which bone?”
“Left humerus.”
“You’re right-handed, though. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Any problems with your arm since the injury?” I glance up when he doesn’t answer. “Killer?”
“No.”
“Mind if I ask how you broke it?”
The clouds must part and the angels are singing because a miracle happens. The man smiles, and it’s so beautiful it’s worth every irritating grunt and nonverbal answer he’s given so far to be able to witness what I assume is a rare event. A single dimple appears on one cheek and the teeth he reveals are perfect. I hold in a gasp. With one smile he takes years off his face and appears a heck of a lot less scary.
“I refused to tap out of an arm bar.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Ah, he’s stubborn. Good thing I am too, or else the handsome but intimidating man would trample all over me and my swirling hormones.
I add his cause of injury to the file and stand up with the intention of asking a few more basic questions. Killer reacts by leaping to his feet in a motion so quick and so soundless, I stumble back over my own shoes, headed for the floor. His massive hands shoot out, wrapping around my shoulders to keep my clumsy self from going down.
Oh my god.
I find myself paralyzed in his arms, our eyes locked, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. Unable to move, I examine this strange, beautiful man, with his secrets and his quiet, gruff voice and intriguing eyes. His scent overpowers me, seeping into my skin and causing a flare of lust to spark.
Close up, I notice a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He appears almost vulnerable, not the hard-edged, take-no-prisoners fighter he claims to be. For me, there’s a serenity in being in his arms. A peaceful calm I haven’t felt since before “the incident.”
“What’s your real name?” I whisper, our faces so close his soft breaths fan across my face.
A gust of air hits me as Killer releases me, jumping back. My skin is cold without his heated touch. I didn’t realize how much I would miss the unapproachable man’s embrace until it’s gone.
He stands a few feet away, hood pulled so far over his brow I can no longer see the silver irises that say so much about a man who says so little. His hands are fisted at his sides and his head is tilted toward the floor.
“My name is Killer.”
My pulse is still racing, my poor heart not yet recovered from being so close to this man, a man I shouldn’t let affect me. But with that blissful calm combined with intense desire, being in his arms could easily become an addiction. To be able to let go, to shut off the anxiety, the worry, the fear… it’s tempting to dive in headfirst and worry about the repercussions later.
“Well, I’m going to call you K.” His head whips up in surprise and for a moment, I get a peek at that vulnerability again. I smile, but because of his tense stance, this time my smile is tense, strained. “You’re too sweet for a name like Killer.”
K’s face goes on complete lockdown, from raw and exposed to hardened lethality in the blink of an eye. Chills break out across my skin at the transformation. Now I detect what I missed the first time around. The man is danger, pure and simple. His muscles are tight, bunched up, ready to attack. His body language would scream at anyone passing by to turn and run in the other direction. His mere presence should be enough to frighten even the bravest of souls, yet here I am, breathing in his scent, leaning slightly forward, wanting to reach out and climb in his arms. Be held by him. Touch him.
“No. Make no mistake. I’m not sweet. I am a killer.” He spins on his heel and with that, I’m left alone in my tiny office. The only reminder K was ever here is the slight scent of his soap and the fact my heart is still hammering against my ribs.
I’m afraid, but not of K. The fact that I’m not afraid of him is what I’m worried about. Instead of heeding every warning my brain is putting out,
I need to find a way to get closer to the man instead of further away.
* * *
Gabriel pulls up the correct file and hits play on his computer. The massive television set in his office lights up. The clip displayed was shot in a practice ring at a gym I’m not familiar with.
