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“I will bring it to you.”
“Thank you, but last I checked, my legs work perfectly fine.”
I cross my arms over my chest. This woman is frustrating as hell. Stubborn and all too sassy for someone who showed up half dead on my doorstep just three days ago. A normal person would be bedridden and barely functioning. She’s bounced back exceptionally fast.
“The aspirin is on the top shelf to your right,” I tell her.
She glances up and turns, determination sparking across her face. She opens the cabinet and stands up on her tiptoes, reaching as high as she can for the pain killers. She’s too short, but she doesn’t stop trying, nudging the small white bottle with the tips of her fingers. She’s got spunk, I’ll give her that much.
“Need help?” I ask, partially amused.
“No,” she grumbles, continuing to strain.
“You are going to hurt your—”
Raquel winces, one hand shooting to her bruised ribs. With a sigh, I step up behind her, reaching past her smaller frame to grab the aspirin. When she takes a step back, her ass backs into my crotch, awakening something in me that I thought was long dormant.
“Oh,” she moans, soft and breathy.
Raquel turns, tilting her chin up to look at me. There’s just enough light in the dark kitchen to see the blush blooming across her cheeks and neck. Her eyes flit down to my lips, her chest rising and falling with heavy, slow breaths.
I know this is dangerous. Getting involved —more than I already am— is not a good idea. And yet.
When did I become a man who doesn’t take exactly what he wants?
I dip down but don’t kiss her. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to claim her on my kitchen floor. I have to remind myself that while she may be up and about, she’s still recovering. No matter how rough I want to be, no matter how badly I need to feel her, grab her, take her in this moment, it cannot be.
My lips hover just over hers, close enough to feel the heat of her skin and the warmth of her breath. Raquel leans her body against mine, her hands gripping the front of my shirt. Her half-hooded eyes peer into mine, a little confused but definitely aroused.
“Gabriel,” she whispers my name, soft and timid and not at all like the stubborn spitfire she was just fifteen seconds ago.
I press my hips forward, trapping her between myself and the kitchen counter. The cute little gasp that escapes her lips almost makes me lose it.
“What do you want from me?” I growl.
“I want…” She swallows hard. “I want…”
“Say it.”
“I want to know who you are. Who youreallyare.”
I pull away, glaring at this infuriatingly beautiful woman before me. “Never going to happen.”
Just as I’m about to turn away, Raquel grabs me by the upper arm. My shirt’s sleeve rides up an inch, exposing the bottom portion of my old tattoo. She frowns, a flicker of recognition flashing across her eyes. She doesn’t let me escape, moving so swiftly that I have no time to react. She pushes my sleeve up to expose the entire composition: a raven with red feathers and an arrow in its black beak.
Her mouth falls open. “You’re a Red Raven.”
“No,” I stress. “I am anaccountant.”
“That’s how Dad knows you,” she rambles on.
“Drop it.”
“You were a part of his crew!”
I shake my head, something inside me fracturing. “No. You have it all wrong.”
“What?”
