She’s going to have questions—I can already feel them burning holes in my back as she comes back to the living room.
Questions about what all that meant.
About what I meant by it.
And yeah, I’ll answer them.
I’ll tell her everything.
Just not now.
Not when my head’s full of heat and need and the echo of her moan in my ears.
I’m no good to her like this.
I need to be sharp.Focused.Deadly.
Because there’s some bastard out there who thinks she’s vulnerable.And over my dead body is that prick going to get his hands on her.
I move away from the front door.I’m just waiting in the middle of the living room when she returns, wanting to talk, but I can tell she’s not.
She won’t even look at me.
Shit.
“I’m ready,” she says, and I can hear it in her tone.
All business.
No sign of that heat we just shared.
I frown.
“Angel—”
“My name’s Sabrina.OrMiss Rosetto.”
I grin because her sass is just another thing I adore about her.
“Alright,” I say, hands raised in surrender.“I know you’re confused, but what we just did?—”
“Won’t ever happen again.It was a mistake we’d both do better to forget.My apologies for getting carried away.”
She walks away after dropping that bomb, and now I’m fucking mad.
Nope.
Not letting this go.
She stiffens when I grab her elbow, but I don’t let go.
Not until she looks at me.
Not until those wide, hazel eyes are on mine, full of fire and frustration and the flicker of something she doesn’t want to admit yet—want.
“First,” I growl, voice low, steady, and laced with all the fury she just ignited in me, “I go through doors first.Always.Not because I think you’re weak, but because it’s my job to take a bullet before you ever feel a breeze.”
Her lips part, maybe to argue, maybe to tell me to get bent.But I’m not done.
