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He blinked, wildly curling lashes sweeping down to hide the incredible color of his eyes for a split second. When he looked at her again, it was like he’d pulled on a mask.
The hard lines of his face smoothed out.
The deep groove between his brows disappeared.
And although he didn’t sit up, everything about his demeanor changed—a second ago, he’d been in pain, yeah. But he’d had this ... watchfulness to him. An alertness that told her he might not be looking for trouble but fuck the world if it thought he couldn’t handle it. She knew that attitude. She hadn’t realized just howwellshe’d known it until she was away from it, either. The men her father had calledfriendsoremployeeswho had actually been his hired muscle had moved with an awareness similar to what she’d just seen in Travis outside.
Similar. Not the same.
It made her uneasy.
Now he looked at her with a half-smile that was nothing more than the grown-up echo of the boy he’d been. Lazy, confident and easy.
She felt like she had whiplash.
He went to push himself into a sitting position and that spurred her into action.
“Be still,” she snapped, striding over to him. She paused only long enough to turn on the light.
He blinked in protest, the hand on his unaffected side rising as if to block the glare.
It gave her a littletoomuch pleasure to march over to the large window facing out over the Atlantic and snap both curtainswideopen, then oh, so, slowly lift the blinds so the bright, late summer sunshine came pouring in.
She heard a sharp breath behind her.
Nothing else.
Turning to face him, she gave him a bright smile. “You were kind enough to help my kids out. I can’t just leave you to bleed all over Miles’ couch, now can I? Let me go wash my hands.”
It took a conscious effort to walk past him and keep that smile in place, though.
Because when she’d met his gaze, he hadn’t been scowling.
No.
Travis looked at her with something akin to longing in his eyes.
And it left her shaken down to her very soul.
He could have turnedthe air blue with his curses.
He wanted to stare after her, watch the swing of hips that had become deliciously curvy in the years since they’d last seen each other.
He wanted to stroke his fingers over skin that was no longer delicate ivory as if she never saw the sun. Warmth kissed her cheeks now, just the faintest hint of a glow to her complexion that made her even more beautiful to him,
But she’d always been beautiful, becoming more so with every year that passed between their short, infrequent assignations—if you could call their summer romance that.
The subtle change in the air currents told him she was returning. He only caught a bare hint of sound, her feet all nearly silent on the floor as she rounded the couch and came to a stop a few feet away.
She gave him a quick once-over, her lips pursed in a slight frown. “Can you get that shirt off?”
“My shirt?”
“Yes. The one you’re bleeding all over. Can you get do it or should I just cut it off?” She stared at him, her gaze far more direct than it had been when they were kids.
She’d had a strong personality then—it had been necessary to survive her father. But she’d also learned coping mechanisms, the same way many in abusive homes did—avoiding conflict with abusers became habit.
The Isabel Steele in front of him looked like she’d spit conflict in the eye and tell it to kiss her ass.
