Page 23 of End Game

“Why were you downstairs? Wearing all black? And in tactical gear, for chrissakes?”

When he put it like that, she could understand why he’d acted first, thought later. She’d been operating on instinct. A compulsion to find and protect. Given the circumstances, she was lucky he’d only rendered her unconscious.

“I heard a noise.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“I was worried something had happened to you.”

The hard lines around his mouth softened . . . a little.

“I could have killed you, Kayla.”

Her name on his lips momentarily stunned her speechless. She couldn’t recall having ever heard him say it before. It was nice. Blood warming, even.

Until she registered the barely suppressed terror edging his voice. “I’m sorry, Ash. Really. I couldn’t stand hiding away while you faced a danger meant for me.”

He slouched back in the chair he’d dragged up to the side of her bed and stared at the ceiling.

While she’d been unconscious, he’d removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. His broad chest rose on a deep inhalation.

The moment his chest returned to its natural position, he said, “I’ve trained for situations like tonight. A lot. It’s second nature to me.” He lowered his chin and his beautiful blue orbs locked onto her face. “And I expect my orders to be obeyed.”

Obeyed.

There were no words in Merriam-Webster to describe how much she loathed the word.

“Don’t get your feminist knickers in a bunch, Ms. Krowne. I expect the same from any person under my protection.”

She counted backward from five, a technique she’d picked up in college when trying not to deck every male student in her political science class.

Five, four, three, two, one.

“I understand,” she said, the words drying out her mouth like a handful of sawdust. “But know that inaction goes against every drop of H2O in my body.”

His lips twitched as if he were about to smile, then he seemed to recall they weren’t on friendly terms and shot out of his chair. He scraped two white oblong pills off the bedside table and picked up a glass brimming with water.

“Take these. They’ll dull your headache.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve been there. Plus,” his index finger waggled before her eyes, “the squinting is a dead giveaway.”

Kayla flared her eyes wide. The action released the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been storing. She sat up slowly and took the proffered tablets, washing them down with the water.

He eased the half-empty glass from her shaky grip. “Try to get some sleep.”

If only.

The second she closed her eyes unwanted images would plague her, making sleep impossible. Just as well. Every creak of the house’s joints would likely send her imagination into overdrive. Sounds she’d heard a hundred times would be new and mysterious and absolutely maddening.

“Thanks for everything you did tonight,” she said, handing him the gel pack. “Well, except the head bashing.”

No reaction.

The guy never laughed at her jokes. It was good she loved a challenge.

An unexpected worry crowded aside her amusing pet project. Would he stay if she asked? She glanced down at his right hand, where he rhythmically tapped his forefinger against the side of his thigh.

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