Page 17 of Beyond Enemy Vows

He's dressed all in black again. Tailored three-piece suit with a coat that's gathered rain on the shoulders. His hair slightly damp from the weather. One hand holds a closed umbrella, the other in his pocket.

He says nothing at first. Just looks at me. His dark eyes drop slowly from my flushed face down to my sports bra, lingering on the exposed skin, before moving to my stomach, hips, and then back up again.

When his gaze returns to mine, it's darkened.

"I knocked twice," he says.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

"What—" I step back instinctively. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you I wouldn't wait long." He tilts his head slightly. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I should say no. I should close the door on this terrible idea, but Keira's voice floods my thoughts and instead, I step back, making room for him to enter.

With a confidence that's both infuriating and magnetic, he steps forward and walks past me into the cottage.

He pauses to survey the room casually and then looks back at me.

"You should shut the door. The rain's getting in," he says.

I look down. Dammit, he's right.

I hesitate for a moment, but I don't feel like ruining Keira's family's wooden floors.

I do, and as I lock it, I'm suddenly, acutely aware of how I look—sweaty, disheveled, exposed.

I look down at my wrapped hands.

"You train here?" he asks.

"I train wherever I need to," I say, not moving.

He turns to face me, his eyes studying me like I'm a puzzle he's already solved but still wants to take apart.

Silence stretches between us, the kind where you know something's going to happen, but you don't know what.

He steps closer.

"You look different out here," he says, voice still soft. "Without the fake smiles and expensive outfits."

"And you look the same," I shoot back, crossing my arms. "Though a little wetter."

That earns me a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

He then approaches and reaches out, not touching, just hovering over my hand.

"May I?"

I don't know what I'm agreeing to. But I nod.

He takes my hand in his.

His thumb drags slowly along the inside of my wrist, over the damp wrap, like he's reading something etched beneath it.

Then he lets go.

The heat of it lingers.