The words sound like a promise. A dangerous one.
"Sasha…"
"I know." He sets down the knife. "I know I'm probably the last person who should be making promises about keeping you safe. But until we figure out what's going on, you're stuck with me."
"Is that what we're calling this situation?"
"You have a better term?"
"Clusterfuck comes to mind."
He laughs again, and I realize I like that sound. I like it way too much for someone who should be keeping her distance.
We eat at the small table, and Sasha asks questions about the area, about the trails. I answer carefully, giving him information without revealing too much. It's a dance we're both doing, circling around the bigger questions neither of us wants to ask.
After dinner, he insists on cleaning up. I let him, partly because I'm exhausted, partly because watching him move around my kitchen is doing things to my pulse. The way his jeans fit, the way his back muscles shift under the flannel.
This is insane. I'm attracted to a man who might be a criminal. Who definitely has blood on his hands.
"You're staring," he says without turning around.
"Just making sure you don't break anything."
"Liar."
Heat floods my cheeks. "You're awfully confident for someone with no memory."
"Some things you just know." He glances over his shoulder, and the look he gives me is pure heat. "Like when someone's checking you out."
"I was not…"
"You were." He turns, leaning back against the sink with his arms crossed. The position makes his biceps strain against the fabric. "It's okay. I've been doing the same thing."
My breath catches. "Have you?"
"Hard not to." His gaze travels down, then back up, slow and deliberate. "You're beautiful, Maya. Even when you're pointing a shotgun at me."
"Especially then, probably, given your apparent taste for danger."
"Maybe I just appreciate a woman who can take care of herself."
The air between us feels charged, electric. I should move, should put distance between us. Instead, I stay frozen.
"I'm going to bed," I finally say, my voice rougher than I intend. "You should get some sleep too."
"Agreed."
I retreat to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. My heart is hammering.
I change into sleep clothes and go through all the normal motions. But nothing about this feels normal. When I finally climb into bed, I lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to Sasha moving around in the main room. The creak of the couch as he settles in. The soft click of him checking the rifle one more time.
Am I safer with him here? Or am I in more danger because of him?
The question circles in my mind. On one hand, he's clearly capable. Dangerous. Whatever skills he has, they're the kind that could keep us both alive if those men come here.
On the other hand, what if he's the reason they're here in the first place? What if I've invited a wolf into my home?
I think about the coldness that came over his expression when we talked about the tire tracks. The way his whole demeanor shifted, became harder. More lethal. That's not the face of a good man.
