She circles around me in a wide arc, out of my reach. “Yes?”
“Besides the pageant PTSD, is there any other trauma in your past? Anything that triggers anxiety or depression?”
Her head tilts, and she licks her lips. “No.” She waits a moment, but when I don’t follow up with another question, she turns and heads upstairs.
We’re not done for the night, but I’m not going to chase her until I’ve eaten. Heading into the kitchen, my mind’s still on how sweet her mouth tastes even when it’s frowning.
I chop some herbs to add to ground beef for burgers, listening for sounds of her. None come. The fact that she doesn’t return while I’m grilling tells me she’s either distracted, or she’s avoiding me. I toast a bun on the grill and melt cheese on the burger before sitting down to eat. That earthy flavor suits me.
When I’m finished, I head upstairs and go straight to her room, passing the empty guest bathroom on the way.
Her room’s empty, too.
Well, well.
I’m surprised she’s in my room, which she must know is dangerous ground if she’s trying to keep her distance.
As I pass the locked room, I check to be sure the door’s still secure, which it is.
I enter my bedroom, and Avery’s standing next to a nightstand with its top drawer open.
My eyes narrow, dropping to her hands.Jesus Christ.She’s fiddling with my spring-action knife.
The worst-case scenario of what happens if it pops open explodes in my brain like a bomb.
“Drop that,” I bark.
Her head jerks toward my voice, and her fingers release the weapon, which falls to the floor.
I stalk over and bend down to grab the knife. She managed to disengage the safety.
When I stand, I glower at her. “You’re like a kid I’ve gotta watch every minute.”
Her expression is mutinous.
“This blade is sharp enough to cut your fingers right off. And it’s spring-activated to pop open.” I hit the button, and the carbon blade releases from its sheath. With no force at all, I bury the blade in a pillow and, with a small movement, slice it open until its feathery guts pour out.
Her eyes widen.
I smack the pillow, which sends dozens of feathers into the air. They land like snowflakes on the dark carpet. I close the blade and re-engage the safety before dropping it into the nightstand drawer.
Exhaling some frustration, I shake my head. My heart’s still pounding in my chest as though I’ve run a mile. There’s not much in life that raises my blood pressure, but the thought of Avery getting hurt gets a rise every time.
For fuck’s sake.
“Later, we’re going to have a physical conversation about knife fights and hand-to-hand combat.” I blow out a breath through my pursed lips, then I grab her hands and raise them. “These are beautiful fucking hands. I don’t want you to lose a finger. If you want to examine a weapon, ask first.”
“I was just looking,” she says defensively.
I arch a brow and give her a stern expression. “The safety was on before you touched it, so you did more than look. You could’ve hurt yourself.”
She needs to be punished, but she also needs me to teach her weapons safety. Everything’s a delicate balance with Avery, especially now.
I glance down at the knife and shake my head before I close the drawer. “I promise I’ll teach you. Don’t get ahead of yourself, baby.” Pulling her against me in a tight hug, I kiss the top of her head.
Her body relaxes a little. “You ruined your pillow,” she murmurs against my chest. “Look at the mess you made.”
“Made my point though, didn’t I? That blade’s razor sharp.” Fisting her hair, I tug her head back so I can kiss her.
