Page 35 of Fire
“Wow. I didn’t realize I slept so much.”
“You needed it. You went for three days without any sleep other than the cat naps you took snoring on your laptop.” He studies me from head to toe. “How are you feeling now?”
“Better.” I pick Delilah up and start petting her for a little kitty comfort. “Sorry about that. Sometimes, I can go off the rails when life gets to me.”
He frowns. “Who the hell doesn’t sometimes?” He walks over to me and low-level glares at me. “And considering you were in a car wreck, kidnapped, and almost framed for an assassination, I think you handled it all with a lot of fucking grace.”
I hadn’t thought about it that way.
He reaches out to pet Delilah, and our hands accidentally touch, causing way too big of a thrill to run up my spine, given the casualness of the touch. “Evan, you gotta start giving yourself credit for being the badass you are.”
I feel color running up my face. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I divert to another subject. “That breathing exercise you coached me through really helped. How did you learn to do that?”
“It was part of my yoga training.”
“Yoga training?”
He looks at me with a smirk. “That’s my profession. I travel around and offer intense two-month workshops to students who want to immerse themselves in mind-body work.”
“I thought you were a bodyguard,” I say dumbly.
His eyes find mine. “Only yours.”
My heart does a funny little flutter at his words. “Why me?”
“Grave and I knew each other before, and he knew I hated the Reivers. He came and found me and recruited me to help bring them down. When I eventually agreed to help, he assigned me to guard you.”
I’d been so angry the first week of knowing Luca I hadn’t bothered to wonder how his presence in my life had come about. We’ve been through so much together. I know the sounds he makes when he comes, and he knows the same about me. I feel like I know him at an elemental level, but now, I’m wondering how much missing knowledge I have about the sexy man in front of me. The nosy journalist in me kicks into full journalist mode. I need to fix that.
“Let’s make some lunch and sit down to eat,” I suggest. “I think we have some catching up to do.”
I start off with simple questions. “What’s your favorite color?”
He answers with an amused smirk. “Amber.”
“Favorite writer?”
“Evan Kelly.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop teasing. Favorite writer?” I repeat.
“Evan Kelly,” he says again and gives me that sexy, intimidating bodyguard look that warns me not to challenge him on his answer.
“Fine,” I huff, pretending to be exasperated when I secretly want to believe he’s serious.
”Favorite singer?”
A sly smile forms on his lips. “Well, I do like the Taylor Swift medley you belt in the shower.”
“What?” I yell out, only to find him laughing at my reaction, and I can’t help joining in.
The laughter goes on longer than Luca’s joke warrants, but it feels good to share something so light between us after the drama of the last several weeks. When we finally quiet, we’re left with an intense silence between us as we’re caught in each other’s gaze, unable to look away.
Lucas’s phone rings, breaking the silence. I nearly jump out of my shoes at the sound, but Luca calmly picks up the phone to see who’s calling.
“It’s Johnny,” he says, his face grim, preparing himself for the news that Cash didn’t survive his second surgery like the doctors warned might happen.
“Put it on speakerphone, please,” I ask.
