Page 24 of One Small Spark
I snort. “I am not afraid of you.”
“I know.”
His soft smile makes my stomach tumble as easily as if he’d tossedmeinto that stupid bin. We don’t do this. We don’t get perceptive about each other and go digging around in each other’s heads. We don’t talk about anything real.
Not anymore.
The fact that we used to spins through my mind so fast I’m dizzy with it. Before I heard what he said about me. Before he stole an investor out from under Blackbird’s. We used to be?—
“What is that?” He stalks closer, his brows furrowed like a storm cloud descended over us. “Did someone do this to you? Who?”
That “Who?” sends a shiver down my spine.
He gets right into my space and gently takes me by the elbow. It stays warm in the bakery, so I only wear T-shirts at work even through the winter months. His light touch on myskin is pure heat in the chill fall air. That warmth radiates along my arm, raising goosebumps like an electric current.
He’s staring at my bare upper arm as if he’s ready to go nuclear on someone.
I finally look down to see what he’s so worked up about and have to stop myself from laughing. I’ve had that bruise approximately six hours. “Stop hulking out. Nobody gave that to me. I did it.”
His gaze collides with mine, all protective and warm and ready to defend me from unknown assailants, and I don’t hate it.
Something is definitely wrong with me.
“I was carrying a tray of pies from the back room, and I slammed into the doorjamb like a klutz. Relax.”
He nods, and his worry seems to lessen, but I don’t like the fire lingering in his eyes.
Or…I like it too much. I don’t know anymore. I need to shut this down. I came out here to stop thinking about Callahan, and now I’m thinking about him more. In worse and worse scenarios.
He ticks his head to the side. “Sorry. The bruise looks like…”
He doesn’t explain, but it’s easy to guess where his overactive imagination went. It’s the right angle for a too-firm grip.
“Trying to be a protective romance book hero, are you?” I ask.
The flames in his eyes burn brighter. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” I scoff, but it’s weak at best. “Is that whatyouwant?”
Why am I even asking? I don’t care what he wants. Or, honestly, whatIwant if it has anything to do with Callahan. It’s the stupid book club. Intertwining him and romance has turned me upside down. The sky is green, the villain is the hero, and the guy I thought hated me keeps staring at my mouth like he’s just waiting for permission.
His fingers are still wrapped around my elbow. I should shake him off. Tell him to get lost. Do anything other than stand here inches away from him, staring into his eyes, and letting him touch me so tenderly.
“You don’t want to know what I want.” It’s not a warning so much as…regret.
Whatever is happening makes no sense. I don’t like Callahan. He doesn’t like me. The back and forth between us is based on dislike and resentment, not the fire currently coursing through my veins and turning my body into searing lava.
“I’d probably be disgusted.” My voice is way too breathy to give that sentence any kick.
His brown eyes darken. “Probably.”
He doesn’t elaborate. That’s unhelpful. I need to know what he wants like I need to draw in my next breath.
“You should tell me. So we can be sure I’d hate it.”
His eyes spark, and he takes a step closer. Instinctively, I move a step back, but that puts my shoulders against Blackbird’s door. He rests the hand not holding my elbow against the doorframe.
I swallow hard. Might even gulp. He’sleaning.
