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No, she only wanted to fill his belly and share what she had with him.
“This soup is delicious,” he said.
“You have low standards.”
“Not at all.”
No offense to Fritz’s venerable French training, but this soup-and-toast routine was the best meal he’d ever had. And dearest Virgin Scribe, what he really wanted was to feed her from his dagger hand, off a plate he had piled high with food he had hunted for her. And he wanted to do this in a secured home, built on a defensible position. With an Army anti-tank gun within easy reach.
“Seriously, thank you,” he murmured. “For this.”
Her brows arched. “You’re welcome. I mean, it’s nothing special.”
It is to me, he thought.
Abruptly, she smiled again. “Can you believe I still don’t know your name? Clearly, it’s not St. Nick—”
“Darius.” He placed his dagger hand over his chest and inclined his head. “I am pleased to meet you, Anne. And I should have introduced myself about twenty-three hours ago.”
Except back then, he’d been thinking there was never going to be any more contact between them. So what was the point.
Now, however, he’d evolved to thinking there shouldn’t be any contact.
Progress, thy call sign was self-deception.
“That’s a nice name,” she said. “It’s old-fashioned. It suits you. Is it okay if I ask you what you do?”
“You can make any inquiry of me you wish.” He smiled, even though he didn’t like fudging his truth. “And I’m a security guard.”
“Oh? Like for a building or a mall?”
“Private security, actually.”
“A bodyguard?”
Well, yes, if Wrath ever decided to assume the throne, and the Brotherhood returned as a personal guard unto the King.
“Pretty much.” He leaned into the table. “That’s why I’m going to give you my number. If you ever feel threatened, you can call me. I have some background and experience when it comes to protecting people—and of course, there’s always your police, too. You should never hesitate to call them, either.”
“Was that fancy BMW your boss’s car?” Anne put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh, God, are you in trouble at work? I’m so sorry I ran into your—”
“No, I’m not in trouble.” God, he hated not being totally honest with her. “And it was worth it. Meeting you, I mean. Well… not like that. Crap—I’m babbling.”
Anne opened her mouth. Closed it. Lowered her eyes.
“Sorry,” he said remotely. “I don’t want to get creepy on you.”
“You’re not. And if I’m honest, I don’t quite know how to handle… this.” She frowned and wiped her hands on her napkin. Even though they were clean. “I mean, not that this is a this. You coming here tonight, I mean. Like, anything date-ish, or anything—you know what, I need to shut up, too.”
“No, you don’t. I always want to hear what you’re thinking.”
She flushed and looked away, as if she didn’t want him to know how much that pleased her. “But you just brought my shoe back. That’s why you’re here. That’s the purpose. Right?”
In the silence that followed, he studied her downturned face, memorizing the curve of her lips, the lashes that hid her eyes, the flush on her cheeks.
“It’s not just about the shoe, Anne.”
As her stare flipped back to his, he spoke slowly so that there was no risk his accent would get in the way of his meaning. “I know you’ve just gotten out of a really bad situation, so I’m not asking for anything other than a little time to get to know you. But blind luck put us both on that road at that moment. Don’t you think that might mean something?”
Of course, blind luck had also brought her a fucking psycho with an upward-mobility fixation and a wardrobe out of a Florsheim ad.
Also a round of X-rays.
“I’m not going to push you,” he murmured. “I’m not like him.”
“Oh, you are definitely not like Bruce.” She shook her head. “He never said thank you, and he never brought me a shoe.”
“Next time I’ll show up with something even better.”
“I’m not really a flowers person.” She flushed again. “Sorry, that’s not really romantic of me, is it. And maybe you aren’t thinking in those terms—”
“I was thinking socks, actually.” As Anne laughed, he knew it was the best sound he would ever hear. “Maybe it’ll be a set of tubes. Could be tennis with the little balls at the heels. Hand knit or machine washable? I’m going to leave you guessing in hopes the mystery keeps you interested.”
She threw her head back and outright giggled—until she grimaced and put her hand on her side. “Oh, jeez, I’m going to have to take it easy over here. Or you’re going to have to be a lot less charming.”
Sitting back in her modest house, in her modest kitchen, at a small table in a little alcove… Darius realized that he suddenly, and most unexpectedly, had the whole world in front of him.
