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Climbing to my feet, I go to the bathroom, and while I clean the blood off my skin, I glance around me. Just like in the bedroom, nothing is out of place, and every surface is spotless.

Now that I’ve asked the first question, the rest burn on my tongue, and when I return to the living room and sit down beside Annie, I can’t keep them in.

“I don’t know much about books, but those don’t look like light reading. Are you studying something?”

She shakes her head while opening the first aid kit. “I graduated five years ago.”

“What did you study?”

Her eyes lift to mine, and I see something that looks a lot like trauma in their depths, and it instantly makes me want to hunt down whoever dared to hurt her so I can put them six feet in the ground.

Her voice is soft when she answers, “A bachelor of science in mathematics with computer science at MIT.” Pulling out disinfectant wipes, she begins to wipe over the split skin. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“You don’t have to worry. I have a high tolerance for pain.”

Instead of easing my curiosity, the information I learned about her makes it grow. I know she’s been at the bar for three years, and assuming she graduated at twenty-two and didn’t take a gap year, I ask, “So you’re twenty-seven?”

She blows over my knuckles before she says, “I’m turning twenty-seven in four months.”

My eyes lock on her lips while a tingling sensation spreads up my arm, and my body tenses as I fight not to grab her and kiss her until we’re both breathless.

Before meeting Annie, I had never experienced this kind of powerful desire and emotions. When my cock threatens to harden again, I force myself to focus on the conversation.

Because Annie works in a bar, I made the mistake of underestimating her, and tilting my head, I look at her with new eyes.

Everything I picked up on now makes sense. The neatness. Anticipating something before it happens. The efficiency in everything she does.

This woman has above-average intelligence.

My mind jumps to the next question.

“Why are you working in a bar?”

When she’s done cleaning the cuts, her eyes settle on mine. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Fuck.

Everything in me stills as I stare at her.

Annie shifts, and turning her body to face me, she folds her legs beneath her. Once she’s comfortable, she says, “Your turn. What did you do before you started working at the bar?”

“I traveled. Did the nomad thing for a while.”

Annie tilts her head. “Do you have a military background? You fight really well, so it made me wonder.”

Do I say yes or no?

My mind races for the answer that will lead to the fewest follow-up questions.

“No.” I see the question forming in her eyes and answer it before she can ask. “I worked as a private contractor in security.”

“Oh.”

Her eyebrows pull together again, and just like earlier, I get the urge to hold her. My jaw clenches, and my fingers flex.

“That must’ve been a very stressful job. Is that why you left?”

When I nod, an unsure smile tugs at her mouth, then she says, “After all the studying and the pressure of being a quantitative engineer, I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I ran away. It’s not the same thing, but I understand how stress can lead to burnout.”