Page 11 of Dravin

I was doing my job for thirteen fucking months, watching her while forcing myself not to feel anything.

But I’m being exactly what she said in her texts by not announcing myself.

I should clear my throat. Close my eyes and douse them with brain bleach. Stop trying to inhale the air to see if itcarries the sweet, tempting scent of peonies and roses. I should just walk up and give her hell for letting anyone sneak up on her like this. We’re only safe-ishhere. She still needs to be vigilant and careful.

Do I do any of that? No. I stare at my dead brother-in-arms’ little sister like I’m new to this planet and I’ve never seen a woman before.

She’s tall, but muscular, thanks to the rigid training regime she’s kept up all this past year. I never thought she’d be crazy enough to do something like getting herself involved in a cage fight. I thought her training was a way to ensure she’d be able to fight off anyone if they came for her and I approved. She needed to do something to keep herself from feeling like a victim and focusing on her grief. Some people cry or rage to get it out of their system. She spent most of her learning all the many ways to incapacitate or kill a person.

She’s finely constructed, even with the sleek muscle covering every inch of her body, but her breasts are not fine boned.

I mean…

Damnit.

The only thing her top hides are her nipples, and even then, I can see the dark tips peeking around the scraps of fabric.

She’s got her long black hair piled up in a messy bun. I wanted her to cut it all off, but just like the first time, her response was to tell me to go fuck myself. The only thing she’s been happy about in this new move was being able to take her hair closer to her natural color.

My eyes keep going, writing my own death notice. They trickle down her flat, hard stomach where the ridges of her abs stick out and continue lower, down to the neon green scrap of the bikini bottoms. Her long, shapely legs are spread open, one foot planted on the chair, the other with her toes splayed in the long grass.

For just a second, I imagine myself down there, her foot on my shoulder, my hands spreading her thighs apart so I can devour her sweet—

I tear my eyes over to the fence, adjust my raging erection, and curse under my breath loud enough that she quickly scrambles off the chair. The movement does nothing except dislodge her top.

Exposing one dark, perfect nipple completely.

My mouth goes bone dry. My balls practically burst and my cock weeps in my boxers.

This is sick. It’s dangerous. I’ve always been able to keep my distance. She never knew I was there. I was always just making good on my word. I made a promise to a man who knew his days were numbered that I’d keep his sister safe, not ogle her after just fantasized about how I’d make her come all over my face while riding my tongue and fingers to oblivion.

I rip my t-shirt over my head and eat up the distance to us in three strides. Her lips part and something flashes in her eyes that isn’t quite fear or anger. I whip the t-shirt over her head and grasp her hand, dragging her through the tiny backyard and in through the backdoor of the house.

I break the contact between our bodies as soon as I can thrust her in and change places with her, so my huge frameblocks the door. “What about keeping us on the right side of that unmown fucking grass out there do you not quite comprehend? When I said don’t draw attention to yourself, I meant don’t sit outside practically naked where half the neighborhood can see you andphotographyou.”

“Bro, that’s the most backward, chauvinistic bit of toxic masculinity I’ve heard in a while,” she retorts, enunciating almost every word, dragging them out to drive me crazy.

“I’m not your bro.”

She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up in my t-shirt. “No. My bro isdeadand all I have isyouin his place. You’re right about that. So, I’ll rephrase. You’re a dude-bro.”

Whatever. It’s not important. What really matters is that I find the right thing to say to Kael. How ironic is it that I can locate just about anyone on this planet, but I’m at a loss to string together a few simple words?

I know why she hates me. She never got to say goodbye to her brother and I’m the one who brought her that grief. I’ve uprooted her twice now. She wants to be rid of me and to get on with living and I keep turning up, dragging her back towards that blackness that she’s struggling so hard to avoid getting sucked in by.

I know she has nightmares and misses her brother. I know she probably wishes it had been me and not him. What I don’t know is how to help her get through just one more day. This is her life now, whether she wants to live it or not. The end of it is near. Maybe another year or two and she’ll be truly free. How can I help her hang on until then when she’s so clearly unhappy?

With her crossed arms, twitching eyelid, and flatlined mouth and rage hissing off her like an overheated radiator, she looks like going straight to the kitchen and locating something sharp to plunge straight between my eyes is her current idea of a good time.

The thought of her trying to kill me, using all of her skill, strength, and training, pitting her wits and will against me, should not exacerbate my boner problem, but alas…

I’m starting to realize that I’m well and truly fucked. Kael is no longer just an abstract in Marcus’ stories. She’s not the sweet young woman navigating the world, going to college, the burgeoning artist. She’s not the sad, grieving woman who kept herself shuttered away, so brokenhearted and unaware that all that time, I was with her, even if it was from a distance.

There’s no distance now. Kael is very real, very obviously flesh and blood, and right in front of me.

“We need to talk.” Those are four shitty words that only a realdude-browould say.

She rolls her eyes. “By talk you mean you saying things while I’m forced to listen and obey.”

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