Page 88 of Crossfire

IVY

He saved me.

Sort of.

He stopped my head before it hit the ground. I had fallen at such an angle that it would’ve slammed against the floor with enough force to possibly leave me with a concussion or a skull crack, even.

In our battle, his reflexes were frustratingly sharp, but those same reflexes had shielded me from disaster.

I’d venture to say that any other man in the same situation would’ve allowed my head to crack open like an egg. After all, I had defied him in every way.

But Grayson hadn’t. That split-second moment when his hand shot around my head told me more about him than anything he had said so far.

Yes, he was an assassin. Yes, he had been sent to kill me. He had kidnapped me, but deep down, I don’t think I really believed him when he claimed he was trying to protect me.

Until now.

Protection.

What a paradoxical thought.

But hehadprotected me.

And the way he was looking at me right now, with all his frustration and anger washing away, he felt nothing like my enemy.

“Are you okay?” he said.

You would think a man with a thin trail of blood dripping down his lip wouldn’t ask such a soft question to the woman who put it there.

“I do hope you’re done, Ivy. Because I really don’t want to hurt you, but anyone going up against your fighting skills could inadvertently injure you.”

I swallowed. I didn’t know what to make of the tenderness in his voice or the way his eyes roamed over my body, seemingly searching for injuries while his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Closing my eyes, I tried to snap myself out of whatever this fog was.

I mean, who cared if he stopped my head from hitting the ground? The reason it was going to hit in the first place was because he pulled my legs out from under me. A man wasn’t chivalrous just because in the middle of a fight, he had a momentary ceasefire. Any thought to the contrary was ludicrous.

Maybe when this was all done, I would get a thorough psychological evaluation.

“Come on.” Grayson kept his voice soft.

He shifted to his knees and held out a hand for me.

I didn’t take it.

But I didn’t bite it either; I couldn’t very well fight him again. Not now, at least, not when he’d be expecting it. He was just as skilled as I was at fighting—maybe more—so my best chance to escape would be to take him by surprise.

Which I would.

So help me, I would not stop until I got away from him.

Skull savior or not.

So, I stood up, breathing heavily as I asked, “Are you really going to kill me if your boss tells you to, Grayson?”

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IVY

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