He shook his head, but I caught a half-smile in the shadows cast from the streetlights above us. “I’m a provider, Victoria. A protector. Is that what you want to hear? That I’ve decided to spend my life defending the underdog?”
“If it’s the truth.” I pressed my fingers into his arm. “Is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yes,” he finally said. That single word carried a world of emotion.
I didn’t press him for details, even though I wanted to. Just because I talked to people for a living didn’t mean Rafe did, or enjoyed it. I limped along for a few more steps without speaking. Suddenly he stopped, withdrew his arm and slipped it around my waist.
“Lean on me instead. That’s better.”
Oh, hell.Now the entire side of my body was pressed against his, and every step we took sent lovely slivers of heat straight through me. This was not good. I was not supposed to be attracted to my bodyguard, fantasizing about my bodyguard, wondering what he’d say if I turned to him when we got back to my place and –
“Why is your cat missing a leg?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your cat.”
“I heard you.” While I’d been focused on our chemistry, he’d been thinking about Bruno. “I don’t know. He was like that when I adopted him from the shelter.”
“Kind of pathetic, huh?”
“Pathetic?” Bruno might be many things, clumsy and vocal and overweight, but he was most certainly not pathetic. We reached the car, and Rafe steered me into the passenger seat.
“Sorry,” he said as he slid into the other side. “I was just bein’ honest.”
“Well, you can stop.”
He gave me a strange look. “I thought women liked honesty.”
“Maybe in relationships.” My face burned. “Butthisis notthat.”
When we got to the townhouse he came around the car to help me out, but I refused to let him. “Victoria, come on. I don’t even know what I said that pissed you off.”
“I’m not pissed off. I’m just tired.” I clambered from the car, twisting into a pretzel to avoid touching him. “I can get inside by myself.” And then I made the mistake of putting my palm on his chest to push him away.
Oh.
Sweet.
Jesus.
My fingers slid down the ridges of his abs, each one a perfectly defined work of art, and bounced off his belt buckle. I caught a glimpse of a bulge just below that buckle, and I was pretty sure it was in proportion with the rest of his rock-hard body. For a long second I didn’t move. Neither did he. His breath fanned over my cheek, and a wave of desire nearly knocked me off my one good leg.
“I’m fine,” I said again, but my voice was small and uncertain and I knew if I looked directly at him I’d get lost in his gaze, like a sun I couldn’t help but be drawn to.
He sighed, and I couldn’t tell if I heard resignation or humor or maybe the same restrained sexual tension I was fighting. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And I’ll do my best to avoid the honest comments.” He had the audacity to wink.
I stood there until he drove away, heart pounding, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching me limp inside. This guy was driving me certifiably crazy. How was it possible I could be both turned on by him and mad at him at exactly the same time?
10
Monday morning yogawas followed by Tuesday morning yoga and then, by luck, Wednesday morning coffee with Angela. By then I’d actually learned how to get through a full hour of Sun Salutations and Warrior Poses without feeling like I was going to die. I wouldn’t say I liked it, but I could tolerate it in the short-term.
“Wanna grab a latte after class?” she asked as we rolled out of headstands. I should clarify:sherolled. I fell heavily onto one side and lay there trying to assess whether I’d cracked a rib. “I love that place across the street.”
“Sure.” I was so amped up by the invitation, I couldn’t close my eyes during relaxation at the end of class. I just stared at the scarves hanging from the ceiling and recited mistress dispeller strategy number one inside my head.
“Become her confidante and convince her she can do better.”
