“Gimme your fucking wallet!” the twitchy one snaps, raising the knife toward Chris. His voice is sickly, and my body goes cold immediately. I freeze as panic sweeps through me.
Chris does not freeze.
“Why don’t you two just turn around, okay?” It’s not quite a question. More of a command that sounds like one. He’s completely unrattled.
“Turn around?” the other man laughs. “Why don’t you gimme your wallet!?”
What happens next happens almost instantaneously.
Chris steps aside, drawing the men away from me. One lunges in with his blade, but Chris’s left hand whips up, catching the man by the wrist. In one swift motion, I hear something pop, followed by the man screaming. The knife falls to the ground. The other man cries out and rushes forward. Chris drives his foot into the man’s stomach, folding him in half.
He falls beside his companion, gasping for breath. With a simple movement, Chris kicks their knives away.
It’s all over before my brain could even process it starting.
Chris’s speed, his comfort with violence, his stoicism—it should terrify me. I should probably run.
Instead, a dark heat blooms deep within me. I want to throw myself into his arms.
God, what is wrong with me?
Ignoring the men writhing on the ground, Chris turns to me. This time, he doesn’t go for my hand. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close, leading me away from the scene and over to the car.
“You all right?” he asks. Of course I am. I wasn’t even touched.
I nod. “Because of you.”
I look up and see real concern in his eyes. The man who just dismantled two armed attackers is actually worried now, not because of them, but because I might have been hurt.
“That was…amazing,” I say, still in awe.
“As long as they didn’t touch you.” I breathe deep, cementing his scent into my lungs. There’s a hint of his sweat there now, which is like the cherry on top of the sundae.
I know now that whatever Chris does for a living, it’s definitely not security consulting. The way he moved, the way he took those two apart with such ease—that’s something only a man who has done it countless times before can do.
He looks at me now, still scanning my body for damage, holding me close like my own personal protector.
The realization should change things. But I push it away for later. Right now, all I can focus on is Chris. “Take me to your place,” I tell him.
He drives fast. Controlled, precise. One hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh like he’s still making sure I’m okay. His palm is warm and rests just above my knee, his fingers curling slightly against the inside of my leg. Heat gathers where his fingers touch me, radiating out, up, until my whole body is humming with anticipation.
I’m yearning for more, but he doesn’t move his hand. He just keeps it where it is, steady, like he’s anchoring himself to me.
Without even thinking, I press my thighs together. A reflex. A failed attempt to try and hold back whatever is building inside me.
Chris notices, as he notices everything, and the corner of his lips twitch. The hint of a smile.
We pull into the parking lot of a modern home in Pacific Beach. White, nondescript, but clearly expensive. He parks and kills the engine. Neither of us moves.
“Avery.”
He says my name like he’s been tasting it all evening, trying it on. My entire body reacts. My belly tightens, and a flush comes over my chest and throat. Even my nipples harden against my dress.
I somehow manage to turn and look at him. His face issoclose. His eyes are dark and mesmerizing, and his breathing is slow and rhythmic.
So many feelings that are new to me. A warmth in my lips. A jitter in my heart. And my underwear feels suddenly damp. But why?
“You must be sure,” he says.
