Page 123 of Fiery Romance

“Can’t judge a book ‘till it opens its mouth,” I say, kissing Regan’s cheek and thinking about all the comments I’ve gotten over the years. “But when the book thinks you’ve kidnapped someone, you don’t have to read any more pages.”

Her eyes bulge. “Someone accused you of kidnapping?”

“Followed us around the mall and everything.” I set Regan down so she can go play on the swings. I don’t want her reliving those memories, even if she was too small to understand.

Island’s expression is thunderous. She looks ready to hunt whoever committed that infraction and beat them down.

“I would have thrown hands.”

Yes, I think she would have.

“Didn’t it bother you?” Island huffs.

“She was concerned about my child. If it really was a bad situation, she’d have been a hero.”

Her eyelashes bat up and down. “Again, averypositive way of looking at things. Unexpected coming from you.”

I hear Regan yelling, “Daddy, come push me!”

“Why is that unexpected?” I ask, moving behind the swings and giving Regan a gentle push.

Her giggles fill the park.

“Because you…” she gestures to all of me, “are a scary soldier with guns and war experience and a platoon of private security guards.”

“And I’m supposed to pump someone’s body full of bullets because they’re ignorant and disagree with me? Is that the plan?” My lips curl up when Island sputters at me.

“No, of course not. I just thought you’d be—”

“Angrier?”

She shrugs. “It would be righteous anger.”

“You know,” I watch Regan’s sandal-clad foot point to the sky, “when I came home, everyone called me a hero. In the living room, there’s a cabinet full of my awards and,” I swallow, “Anya’s.”

Island’s gaze slips away.

I sigh. “But if you ask the locals in the countries we fought in, they wouldn’t call us anything close to heroes.”

“Yeah, well, that’s… I mean that’s them.”

“Exactly. That’s them. Their thoughts. Their opinions. Their worldviews. It’s different from ours, but they think it’s right. And they have every right to think that because I can’t control anything but my own thoughts and my own responses.”

“No, some thoughts are just plainwrongand need to be called out.”

“Sure, fine. That’s your way of handling it. For me, I won’t police your thoughts. But once those thoughts turn into wrong actions, once those thoughts turn into laws that hurt my child,” my jaw clenches and I allow my expression to reflect my deadly intentions, “that’s when I skip anger and get to the problem-solving part.”

She folds her arms over her chest and studies me. “We’re very different.”

“Really?” My lips tilt up. “I always thought we were exactly the same. Same gender. Same race. Same—”

“You’re hilarious.” She gives me a friendly punch on the arm. Sliding her hands through her dreadlocks—her style for the day—Island exhales. “I don’t agree with you on everything, but I’ll admit that you’re more considerate than you look.”

“Considerate for a scary soldier with guns and war experience?”

Her eyes linger on mine. “Right.”

I stare right back at her, feeling that current of attraction spark between us. It’s absolutely insane to pretend it isn’t there, but neither of us take a step forward.

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