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“I know.”
It was settled.
“Now, put your knife away.”
Katia scoffed, pulled away with one eyebrow raised, and did as I asked.
“Afraid of a little knife, Lucca?”
Her words had been similar before when I had ordered her not to keep any in our room. My reply would be the same.
“No, I just don’t trust a Vitelli with one.” And I had been right.
It earned me a smile I didn’t return.
“Speaking of knives,” she began.
“You mean the secret you’ve been keeping?” I asked instead.
“They were never a secret.”
Katia shrugged and ran her fingers through her hair, taming the locks I’d twisted.
I liked it better then.
Her eyes found mine with bold sparks as she said, “And you never asked. You just made up your mind that they were for collection.”
At first I had. A mistake on my part because once again she had been underestimated for being a woman. That was until the night I saw her wielding them with ease and care as she cleaned each one, but her skill had surpassed my expectations.
How far did her gift expand?
“I meant the secret of carrying one with you.”
Katia’s eyes never left mine, but I saw the feathering twitch of her right fingers that lay below her hip.
She didn’t have to answer. I placed the pieces together.
The frequent touches to her thigh. The soft caresses when she tried to hide her uneasiness and discomfort. Or the times her spirit rose with annoyance and displeasure. Her tell was nothing more than her need to seek comfort.
Then I remembered when I’d asked for all of her knives, and I grew impatient. Because for weeks she had continued with the same tics.
My head fell slightly to the side while I watched her attentively, studying her features. Deliberating whether she’d gone against my order.
If she’d hid and kept a knife in the one room I’d specifically asked not to.
Could she be so mad as to go against me?
Katia didn’t falter as I showed her the rage my mind had inspired. It wasn’t near the turmoil that conspired against my body. The roaring open fire that heated my core into a smoldering and steady ire inside. Or how my veins popped with livid blood.
“How long, Katia?”
Collected, she closed the distance between us. I didn’t move for the simple fact that I couldn’t trust myself. And when her hand lifted from her side, I kept a close watch on her.
Her palms stretched out, connecting to my still chest. Her touch nipped my cruel rage, and as they spread onto my sides, dousing my unsettled state with cool fingertips, I allowed her to continue her effect on me.
Katia’s fingers slid underneath my suit jacket until they met the shoulder straps of my holster. The kind I didn’t wear unless it was necessary, and tonight, it had been.
Then her palms stirred away. One settled on my torso while the other snaked around my side and onto my back and lowered, finding the tucked gun at my waist.
