War(9)

His body also reminded me of his power, left no doubt that if he so decided, he would have no trouble, not the slightest, crushing the life out of me. My gaze dropped to his hands without conscious thought. His hands were strong, the backs veined and lightly dusted with hair as dark as that on his head, his fingers long, thick, his clean, square fingernails cut short.

Looking at his hands led to imagining those hands on my body, not the direction my thoughts should have been going. When he lifted his arm and pulled the car door open wider, I followed the motion of his arm, the fluid, smooth movement only underscoring the power that was currently leashed, but I didn’t believe for a second the ease of his movements meant he was anything but completely alert.

And that alertness was what finally made me move. I got out of the car and stood as close to face-to-face with him as I could be. More like face-to-chest because I only barely reached his shoulder. We’d been in a car together but even those close confines hadn’t brought us as close together as we now stood.

We didn’t touch but were close enough that even the slightest movement would have brought us into contact. I froze, not wanting to move, not wanting to risk touching him. This day had already spun wildly out of control and was so far out of my experience, I didn’t have a framework to comprehend it. But touching him… Everything in my body told me that doing so would change things even more than they already had been.

So I stayed still, and after a deep breath, I lifted my eyes to his. There was an unspoken question in his eye, and I nodded, trying to let him know that I was ready, or as ready as I could be.

He stepped aside, leaving enough room for me to close the door. I did and then began walking toward the house, Priest close behind me. I made it halfway before I realized I didn’t have the key, and when I stopped short, his body bumped mine.

The shock of his touch reverberated through me in a way I couldn’t describe. Fear, desire, exhaustion, a wild and jumbled combination of emotion that left me breathless. That breathlessness only increased when he reached up and settled his hand near my waist, his fingers barely touching me but so warm they scorched me.

I turned quickly, breaking contact and looked at him again.

“The key. It’s in the car,” I said, my voice a whisper, a breathy one that gave away far more than my words.

His eyes went hard, suspicious, in an instant and he looked down at the key in my hand, before he lifted his eyes to mine again. I shivered, and this time it was almost entirely out of fear. Whatever girlish fantasy I was having, I didn’t know this man, and I needed to tread carefully. I hurriedly tried to explain.

“My bag and house key are in the trunk. Tommy told us to pack light today, and I don’t have too much room in my pockets,” I said.

He watched me again, his brows lowering, the previously placid expression on his face going dangerous.

“Are you up to something, Milan?” he asked.

His voice was even, completely unruffled, but I saw the gleam his eye.

“I just want to get the key.”

Some of the new fear that gripped me came out in my voice. He noticed it, but I couldn’t tell whether it helped or hurt my cause, because his expression gave nothing away. After a moment that seemed to drag on for an excruciatingly long time, his dark eyes on me intensifying my discomfort—and again raising that stupid desire—he nodded, seeming satisfied.

I started to walk and he fell in beside me, shortening his steps to match mine, and when I reached the car, I opened the trunk.

“Leave the bag. Just take the key,” he said.

“Okay,” I said as I reached in and grabbed the key and then closed the trunk and headed back toward the house, his steps still matching mine.

“Why?” I asked as we got closer to the duplex.

“I don’t know what’s in there, and I don’t have time to search,” he said.

“What do you mean? What could be in there?” I said, looking over at him.

Instead of answering he asked a question of his own. “You travel at night a lot, don’t you? Working these parties?”

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging.

“So you probably have something in there for protection. You don’t strike me as the type to carry a gun.” He looked me up and down. “But maybe a small knife. No, pepper spray.”

I blanched, grateful that it was both dark out and that my brown skin wouldn’t give away my embarrassment. Not that I had any reason to be embarrassed, though it still galled me that he had so easily pegged me. Probably a part of his profession, I reasoned.

“It’s only smart,” I said. “You never know what you might run into, and I never want to be one of those people stranded on the side of the road with no way to protect themselves.”