Page 46 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

I peeked around the doorway, my heart jackrabbiting in my chest. A tall, dark figure stood near the open fridge, wielding a knife.

I couldn’t help it.

I screamed.

“Aaaahhh!!”

“Aaaahhh!!”

The figure whirled around. His knife clattered to the floor as our simultaneous screams shredded the silence.

I didn’t think. I simply darted inside, grabbed a nearby frying pan, and swung it toward his head before he recovered from his surprise.

He ducked just in time. I swung again, but he grabbed my arm mid-arc and sent us both tumbling to the ground.

He hit the tile first with an audible groan. I straddled him and brought the frying pan over my head.

I was acting on pure instinct at this point. If I stopped moving, fear would take over, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. Someone was going to get hurt, and it wasn’t going to be me.Not today, Satan.

I was about to swing the pan down when a familiar voice pierced my cloud of adrenaline.

“Scarlett, stop!”

Wait. Was that…

I blinked, my mindless haze parting to reveal a sharp jaw and emerald eyes. “Asher?”

“Obviously,” he grumbled. “Who did youthinkI was?”

“I thought you were an intruder.” My heart continued to race as it scrambled to catch up with this new development.

“Why would you think that?” Asher eyed my white-knuckled grip on the pan with wariness.

Oh my God. I’d almost bashed Asher Donovan’s face in with cookware.

I flushed and quickly set the pan on the floor. “I came downstairs for a snack and saw the light from the kitchen. I didn’t realize…”

“That I might’ve gotten the same idea?” he finished, his tone dry.

The flush spread to my neck and chest.

My mind had somehow leapfrogged over the most logical answer and straight to the worst-case scenario.

I wanted the floor to open me up and swallow me whole. Free falling into hell couldn’t be worse than assaulting my host with surgical-grade stainless steel.

“I was being cautious. If youhadbeen an intruder…” I trailed off.Don’t make it worse.“Anyway, I apologize.” I should get that out before my face exploded from mortification. “I didn’t mean to, um, almost kill you.”

“Apology accepted.”

Relief ballooned at the twinge of amusement in his response.

Good. He wasn’tthatupset.

Getting hauled off on attempted murder charges would’ve put a serious damper on my weekend.

The hum of the fridge crept between us. He hadn’t closed the door before I swung at him, and the blast of cold air sent goose bumps rippling up and down my arms. Asher’s body was the only source of warmth.

My eyes drifted down of their own accord. A soft green T-shirt molded to his shoulders and chest, not too tight but just enough to hint at the sculpted eight-pack underneath. Unlike the bright, piercing hue of his eyes, the shirt was so faded it was almost gray. It’d ridden up during our altercation, revealing a strip of tanned skin above the waistband of his sweats.

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