Page 35 of Never Die for a Sinner
An electrifying silence settles between us, and we both stare each other down. I’m the first to break, looking back at the road.
“Levi!’
We smash into the deer standing in the middle of the road, and the car jolts sideways on the slick pavement. Levi tries to regain control while we spin on the slippery road.
It’s not until we skid to a stop that I realize I hadn’t breathed the entire time we were spinning out of control.
I’m also only aware of my hand on Levi’s thigh when a burning sensation slips through my blood.
He cocks a brow at me, his breathing as ragged as mine from the adrenaline, and I look down to where my hand is resting on his leg.
Dangerously close to his dick.
Instantly, I rip my hand away.
“You alright?” he asks when I scrub a hand through my hair.
The deer is gone, lying in the brush somewhere. There’s no way it survived that hit. We were doing well over the speed limit.
My hands are shaking, and my chest feels tight, the adrenaline enough to steal my breath away and my asthma enough to render me speechless. Frantically, I reach for my bag as my throat closes. It’s like someone sucked all the air out of the car.
“Ava.”
Levi tugs the bag out of my hands, opening it and looking inside while I struggle to catch my breath.
He finally produces the inhaler, popping the cap off and placing it to my lips. He keeps his hand on the back of myhead while he pushes the medicine into my lungs, and it’s strangely . . . comforting.
“Breathe.” He says it as if I’ve forgotten how. Not as if I have asthma and we just killed a deer and probably shattered his fancy car.
But . . . there’s also something else in his gaze. Is he worried about me?
Levi Cross, worried about the little maid he was just interrogating FBI-style.
Who would have thought?
I take another breath, laying my head back as my chest relaxes. He doesn’t release me, his fingers winding through my hair at the back of my head to hold me up.
“I’m okay,” I breathe, though my voice is shaky. I’m not sure if it’s from looking up into his eyes or from my breathing condition.
“You didn’t say you had asthma.” It’s an accusation.
“Levi . . . I have asthma.”
He shakes his head, finally releasing me, and grabs the door handle.
“Wait,” I jump, and he pauses, looking back at me. Reaching out, like I’m trying to comfort a wild bear, I touch a spot on his forehead. He doesn’t even wince, though there’s a sizable gash in his skin right above his brow. “You’re bleeding.”
“Not the first time,” he says, looking at his blood on my hand as if something about it disturbs him.
“You need to get it looked at.”
He glances at the rearview mirror.
“I’m fine, Ava. I’ve had worse.”
“It’s not fine,” I argue. He looks down to where my hand rests on his forearm. “Please . . . At least let me look at it.”
He stares at me for a long moment before something hardens in his gaze.
