His breathing evened out as he shifted higher against the back of the couch. His hand slid from his chest into his lap while his other raked through his sweat-damp hair.
“You’re...” His voice trailed off before he muttered, “Confusing.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Nope.” He gave a short, humourless laugh and rested his head against the couch. “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like that I’m confusing?”
His fingers flexed over his thighs, restless with pain. “I never mean to tell you the truth, yet somehow I always do.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you, yet you know more about me than any of the others. And only because I’ve stupidlytoldyou.”
“Maybe that means youdotrust me.”
“Impossible.”
“What did we just talk about?” I cracked a smile. “Never say never.” Bravery made me stupid. “Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in romance? Now look what just happened. We kissed.”
He made a low, dangerous sound in his throat. “I’d stop if I were you.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that—”
“Whatever happened was an accident.”
“Just like the other night was an accident?”
The air went thin as glass, as fragile as the paper lanterns on the walls.
His angry mask slipped, revealing that I hadn’t been the only one affected by those ‘accidents’.
My heart swelled as another smile hooked the corner of my mouth. “Forget it. You hate everything and everyone.”
His temper flared and his mask snapped back into furious place.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back to his feet. “Get up.”
I obeyed. My hands splayed to catch him again, just in case.
Shaking his head as if getting rid of the dregs of whatever pain they’d injected into him, he fumbled around his waistband. His eyes tightened as if he’d lost something, before glancing at the floor and finding the dagger he’d dropped.
Bending to grab it, he held it up and ordered, “Hold out your hand.”
I shivered. “Why?”
He arched an eyebrow that gave no room for arguments.
“Fine.” I huffed, holding out my right hand.
Without warning, he snatched me, spread my fingers, and inserted the dagger’s hilt against my palm. “Grip it.” Not letting me go, he closed his hand over mine, heavy and possessive and very, very hot.
The world narrowed to the capture of his large hand, the smoothness of wood, and the rhythm of our fast breathing.
“What are you doing?” I swallowed hard, trying to tug my fingers from his.
“Teaching you.”
“Teaching me what exactly?”
His fingers slid tighter over mine, aligning our grip until I fisted the dagger firmly.
