Page 23 of Little Dove

She hesitates but eventually walks over to one of the beds, wiping away the dust on the sheets and lying down. I watch as she curls herself up into a ball, her tired eyes closing once she burrows in. After a few minutes, I see her body relax and her breathing even out.

I watch her for another few minutes, thinking how positively tiny she looks in that bed. I usually find myself attracted to taller women; they can handle my size better—in all areas. This woman is far from tall.

Only, her size makes me want her more. She feels so small, so fragile, in my arms, but there’s a quiet strength and beauty to her. Like a bird; like one of the doves my mother used to feed and sing to when we were growing up. She would tell us to be gentle because they were fragile birds, but I never thought so. Maybe physically, but there was an intelligence in their eyes and a beauty in their flight.

Exactly like Amara. She might look tiny and delicate, but she’s smart as hell, and stronger than most men I know. Hell, she hasn’t once broken down in hysterics since this whole mess started, other than when Marco’s men were shooting at us. But that’s to be expected. Still, she was calm and collected, and pride swells in my chest.

It’s no wonder I want her to be mine. She’s a good fit for me, and I hope she comes to realize that. I don’t care how long I have to work to make it happen.

I resist going over to her, just to be closer to her for a moment, not wanting to wake her. Instead, I turn back to the surveillance system to see if Marco’s men have returned. There’s no one in the shop, and it makes me wonder if they’re lying in wait outside of it or if they’ve gone back to town to see if we doubled back. There’s no way they’ve given up, but we’re safe enough for now.

I move back to the chair and settle in to wait. The hours pass slowly, but finally, I get a message from Alonzo.

Alonzo: ETA five minutes. We’ll handle Marco’s men, but be ready to move as soon as we get there.

Amara is still fast asleep, curled up in the same position.

“Wake up, colombina,” I tell her, gently shaking her shoulder to wake her.

She startles with a scream, her eyes bursting open, and she sits up quickly, almost smashing her head on the bunk above her before I can put my hand between the two and take the brunt of the pain. She stares up at me with wide eyes, the sleep quickly clearing from them.

“Jesus, you scared me,” she gasps.

“You were sleeping pretty deeply. You okay?”

Her face flushes. “Sorry, I’m just not used to someone waking me up,” she explains awkwardly.

Pleasure fizzles through me at her admission. “You’ll get used to it soon enough,” I promise her. She just blinks at me, clearly not understanding my meaning. Damn, she’s too cute. “Alonzo’s almost here, so we need to get ready to go. You need anything before we leave?”

She hesitates. “I really need to use the bathroom, but a nineteen-fifties toilet is not my idea of a good time,” she admits. “And who knows if it even still works.”

I glance over at the bathroom, and then walk into it to check it out. I flush the toilet and wait, then turn on the sink to make sure it also still works. Other than a bit of a smell, everything seems to be fine. “It’s good,” I assure her. “And it’s a two-hour drive before we get to the plane.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she must decide it’s the better option, so she goes in and shuts the door. I wait outside, and when she emerges, she jumps, realizing I’m standing there.

“Were you standing outside the door the entire time?” she demands, hands on her hips and glaring up at me.

“Yes.”

“That’s creepy.”

I give her an amused smile. “What? Did you expect me to go into the other room?”

“I expected you not to stand right outside the bathroom. It’s weird. Don’t do it again.” Then she walks toward the open door of the bunker.

I shake my head and follow her, turning out the lights and then closing the bunker door. We climb up to the landing silently, but I take her hand when she reaches to open the access panel.

“Not yet. We’re waiting on Alonzo’s signal first. Otherwise, we might step out into a gunfight.”

She stares up at me in exasperation. “Is this going to be my life now? Shootouts, fistfights, and bloodshed?”

“Not typically, but for a short while, it’s possible,” I hedge. “Until we handle your family and their need to make everything a war, it’s going to be hectic. But normally, no, it’s a calm existence, and things like this won’t touch you or our daily life.”

She doesn’t look convinced, and I notice she doesn’t comment on my assertion that it will be our life. Perhaps the idea is starting to grow on her.

My phone buzzes.

Alonzo: Neutralized. Let’s go.

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