Page 35 of Dangerous

I wrapped my fingers around hers for the briefest of moments, under the guise of shaking on it, but really, all I cared about was feeling the touch of her skin. Why,whywas I so desperately attracted to her? From the first time I saw her I’d wanted to bed her, but after our drunken night together, the urge to be inside of her hadn’t diminished. Quite the contrary. I’d never been with a woman who made all others seem completely uninteresting, even for a short while.

Reluctantly, I let go of her hand. “What types of movies do you like? And don’t even bother listing any artsy shit.”

“Oh, the usual stuff. Dramas, rom-coms, an occasional psychological thriller. How about you?” She raised a teasing eyebrow at me. “And don’t even bother listing any action-y shit.”

I laughed at her cheek. It was nice to have a normal conversation for once, even if it was just about cinema choices. Everything had been such a battle from day one, it felt good to just have a relaxed moment together. It made me bold enough to suggest, “Why don’t we see if we can find something we both can agree to? I saw you got us Netflix, and we haven’t even broken in the couch yet.”

Mira looked downright shocked, her mouth hanging slightly open at my suggestion. “What, so… watch a movie together? Here? Now?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t until I saw her reaction that I realized what I’d suggested. Dinner and a movie. Not only would this be the first time outside of meals and taking her to see her horse that we’d voluntarily spend any time together—it also sounded an awful lot like a date.

“Just a movie,” I hastily interjected. “No ‘Netflix and chill,’ I promise.”

She laughed when I crossed my heart. “Alright then. But I’m warning you, I’m a crier.”

She was.

Mira sobbed her way through what was meant to be a “great, romantic drama,” which I found so tedious I nearly dozed off midway through. She even cried through parts of the Jim Carrey comedy I put on next in an attempt to stop her tears and my boredom.

“It’s not sad!” I repeated for the fifth time when the credits finally rolled over the flat screen TV she’d bought for the living room—and which should have been at least twenty inches bigger—and she dabbed at her eyes with a much-used tissue and sipped more wine from the glass she’d been nursing through the past hour and a half.

“His wifelefthim,” she protested with a sniffle. “And he raised those boys all on his own.”

I didn’t manage to smother my eye roll. “That was at the start of the damn movie! I’ve literally never known anyone who could cry at a Jim Carrey movie. Is it that time of the month or something?”

Mira gave me a reproachful look from behind her tissue. “Three hours is your max capacity for not being a jerk, huh?”

“Pretty much. I’m going to put onAlien vs. Predator, and if you shed as much as one tear, our movie-deal is off the table. Got it?”

She wrinkled her nose at me, either at the choice of movie or my threat I didn’t know, but didn’t bite back. I took that as acceptance. A choice I soon came to second guess.

“I thought I said no action crap,” she moaned about fifteen minutes into the movie. “This is so boring.”

“I sat throughThe Notebook. I will hear no complaints. And if you’re bored, at least you’re not crying.”

“You’re such a jerk.”

“We’ve established that. Now, shush—someone’s about to have their head ripped off.”

Somewhat to my surprise she did quiet down, albeit with a semi-rebellious mumble, and I became so engrossed in the movie that it took me nearly forty-five minutes to realize she’d not said a word since. When I looked back at her, she was fast asleep, all curled up against the backrest of the couch with her head in an uncomfortable angle.

Her glasses still had salt stains on them, and a piece of her hair was stuck to the side of her face. I reached out to brush it away and she murmured in response.

“Mira?” I whispered, testing to see if she was awake. No response. She was still out cold.

I looked at her sleeping face and felt something odd stir in my chest. She looked so fragile and innocent, completely at odds with the snarky bitch I knew her to be. It made me want to protect her, even if there was nothing to protect her from at the moment.

I frowned, somewhat confused by the ridiculous notion. I’d only ever had protective feelings toward my family and, to some extent, my crew. And only when there was an actual threat to them.

Perhaps it was because she was under my care. She lived in my house, and it was my money that kept her warm and fed—even if she resented it.

I reached out to stroke her cheek without knowing why I felt the urge to.

She murmured again and pressed her face into my touch, much like a cat would. My heart took a couple of extra beats in response, but it felt good. Hmm.

As carefully as I could, I reached out to wedge one arm underneath her head and the other under her hamstrings, slowly shifting her until she was resting in my lap with her head leaned against my shoulder at a more comfortable angle.

She made small sounds of protests while I moved her, but seemed to quiet down quickly enough once I had her settled in my arms.

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