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We keep having these moments where we’re in each other’s bubble, close enough for our body heat to mingle.
In the inches between us, the air is heavy, charged, and alive.
When I look down, a little delight goes through me at the sight of his large hand engulfing my small one.
Finally, Kai lets go, but he doesn’t step back. Reaching for my face, he pauses just an inch away from my cheek as if he’s going to caress me with his knuckle. Then he veers off course and tucks some wayward hairs behind my ear.
It’s such a tender gesture, and for a second, it’s glaringly obvious to me that Kai’s feeling this crackling attraction, too.
But the shutters fall back into place. With a rough clearing of his throat, Kai’s eyes become hard, and he stomps toward the doorway leading to the maze.
Glancing over his shoulder, he sends me a frown that says it’s time to continue the game.
Just like that, doubt about his emotional investment creeps back in.
Mixed messages, indeed.
Kai
Awarrior isn’t supposed to fall for a queen, especially one he’s meant to save, and there’s a reason for that: my feelings could cloud my judgment and I could make a deadly error.
I can’t afford to be distracted by heightened emotions and annoyingly frequent erections, but it’s happening anyway.
Discreetly adjusting the front of my pants, I attempt to lend some relief to my engorged cock. It’s no use. The swollen shaft is trapped inside the leather, and all I can do is try to ignore it.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before.
Icareabout Ro. I admire her, I’m intensely protective toward her, and I have this uncontrollable urge to claim her as mine.
It’d be a lot easier for me to understand my pull to her if it were just physical. Obviously, she’s beautiful. Any man would notice her, but it’s deeper than that.
Earlier, Ro’s tears triggered an unnerving reaction inside me that I can’t quite describe.
I’ve seen many women cry, but it’s never made me want to crawl outside of myself, burn the world to the ground, then kneel at her feet with the ashes of all her enemies in my palms as an offering.
As I wiped the wetness from Ro’s cheeks and looked into her shimmering eyes, I wanted to give her promises of retribution. I wanted to lay my sword down and pledge my fealty to her for the rest of my days.
I wanted to tell her she could have me, as long as I shall live, in any way that she needed me.
Friend. Bodyguard. Lover.
In that moment, I forgot where we were for a second. Most surprisingly, I forgotwhowe were.
I wasn’t an ugly warrior. She wasn’t a traumatized queen.
We were just two people who needed each other.
Then she touched me back, and she shocked me out of my reverie.
When her fingers bumped over the puckered scars on my arms, I was reminded of how mismatched we are, and I jerked myself away from her.
My negative reaction was purely out of habit, and I gave her the same canned response I’ve been dishing out for centuries.
I don’t let anyone touch me.
If I must touch others because of my job, it’s fine. Healing someone, comforting them with a platonic pat, or carrying a person to safety is required sometimes.
Letting someone explore my scars is another matter. It’s always been against my rules. I’m too exposed that way.
