Well.
That definitely counted as progress.
He cleared his throat. “We should go.”
I smiled faintly. “Running away again?”
His gaze lingered on me a beat too long, then his eyes narrowed. “Keeping you alive.”
“Those mutually exclusive?”
His mouth twitched. “Sometimes.”
We grabbed coats, and moments later we stepped into the cool Paris morning, the city waking around us.
Walking beside Kane was strangely natural. My stride adjusting automatically to his. His attention constantly scanning without looking obvious about it.
I noticed it now.
The way his hand occasionally brushed my lower back guiding me around pedestrians. The subtle positioning that always kept me away from traffic.
Protective.
Possessive, almost.
And the unsettling part?
I liked it. Scratch that—I loved it.
We reached the metro entrance, descending into the bustle below. Morning commuters packed the platform, conversations blending with announcements overhead.
I stepped closer to Kane as a train thundered past, wind whipping through the station.
His hand settled at my waist automatically.
Warm.
Solid.
Claiming space.
A group of guys across the platform glanced our way, eyes lingering a little too long.
Kane noticed instantly.
His arm tightened fractionally.
The look he gave them was calm.
Cold.
A quiet promise of consequences.
They looked away first.
My stomach flipped.
“That was unnecessary,” I murmured.
