Page 82 of His Reckoning

He pushes off the counter and walks slowly around the island. I don’t move. Mostly because I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

He stops a few feet away. “You push people on purpose.”

“Only the ones who deserve it.”

“And I deserve it?”

“Constantly.”

“You keep expecting me to stay controlled.”

I tilt my head. “Well … you won’t.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “That’s a bold statement.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

I set my laptop aside and cross my arms. “You keep acting like you’re about to do something,” I say. “But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because men like you always stay in control.”

The words come out lightly, teasing, but the moment they’re in the air, the conversation suddenly stops feeling harmless.

Sawyer takes another step closer. Heat rushes through me instantly, which I choose to blame entirely on Sawyer.

“You’re very confident about that,” he says.

“I’m observant,” I say, repeating his words.

“Or reckless.”

“I prefer curious.”

He’s close now. Close enough that I have to tilt my head slightly to keep looking at him. Close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

My pulse picks up, which is annoying because I’m the one who started this.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That look you get right before you try to take over the conversation.”

“That doesn’t seem to be working.”

“It’s not.”

He leans one hand against the counter beside me, and suddenly there’s nowhere else in the kitchen worth looking at.

“You’re very sure of that,” he says quietly.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because” I say, lifting my chin slightly, “if you were actually going to do something … you would have done it already.”