Page 21 of Beautiful Villain
“The shirt,” I said honestly.“I’ve owned it for years and never once looked that good in it.”
She glanced down at herself, then back up.“You’re welcome?”
My eyes lingered—longer than polite, shorter than reckless.She noticed.I could tell by the way she straightened, chin lifting like she refused to back down.
“You comfortable?”I asked.
“Define comfortable.”
“Not bleeding.Not cold.Not trying to escape through a window.”
“Then yes,” she said.“Thriving, really.”
I almost smiled.
She shifted again, suddenly aware of the shirt, of me, of the space between us.“Don’t get excited,” she said.“I don’t plan on making a habit of borrowing your wardrobe.”
I met her gaze.“Honesty,” I said.“Honesty is good.”
She snorted.“That’s funny.You take someone from their own wedding, and suddenly honesty is your thing.”
“I did no such thing,” I reminded her.“You ran away.Then you ran into traffic.Then you hit my car.”
“You hit me.”
“Semantics.”
“Very violent semantics.”
Something tight flickered through my chest before I shoved it aside.
“You’re not resting enough,” I said.
“I am resting,” she replied.“This is me at rest.Emotionally wrecked.Physically sore.But technically horizontal.”
I looked back at her face.“You’re not wrecked.”
“Give it time.I’ve had a long day.”
A pause settled between us.
“You don’t ask many questions,” I noted.
“I’ve learned that questions are how men like you get ideas.”
That earned my full attention.“Men like me?”
She shrugged.“The kind who look like they could end wars before breakfast.”
I studied her, weighing something I hadn’t planned to consider.
“You’re braver than you look,” I said.
“Everyone keeps saying that,” she muttered.“No one mentions the stupid part.”
8
Mikayla
