Page 14 of The Stolen Princess
Drake shrugged.
“Are you scared of commitment?” she asked.
“No.” His neck kicked back like her judgment offended him. “I have other things in life that I’m focused on.”
“Like what?”
His eyes narrowed in on her. “You’re really nosy, do you know that?”
She straightened. “I’m just trying to get the full picture before I label you as a jerk.”
“I’m not a jerk,” Drake sighed. “I have a very demanding job that makes it almost impossible for me to have a lasting relationship with a woman.”
“Then get a new job,” she said.
“I don’t want a new job.”
“So you’re going to be the guy who goes from woman to woman?”
Drake’s smile turned crooked, and he leaned in close. “Sounds like a pretty good life. Are you interested in getting in line?”
Myka grimaced. “You can’t flirt with a girl right after you told her that you won’t ever commit. It’s bad form.”
“Who says I was flirting?” he asked.
Myka was inexperienced when it came to men, but she was smart enough to know what Drake’s cocky smile meant. She shook her head, turning to look for something to tie the bandage with. “Hold this,” she said. She went back to the cupboard but didn’t see anything useful, then she remembered the pink scarf wrapped around her bun.
“How do you know Rommel and Joett?” he asked.
How didsheknow them? How didheknow them?
“I’ve known them for years,” she said, dodging the question. “What about you?” Myka asked as she uncoiled the tie from around her bun. Her long brown hair fell down, landing past her chest.
“Rommel and I are newer acquaintances,” he said as he watched her. His brows pulled together. “What are you doing?”
She wrapped the pink scarf around his bicep and tied it so that the bandage would stay in place. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
His finger flicked the tie covering his wounded arm; she’d finished it off with a big bow. “Colored?”
She was really terrible at hiding the fact that she wasn’t a simple working-class girl.
“Colored dyes are essential now.” She shrugged as she dropped her arms, examining her work. “There. Better than new.”
“I don’t know if it’s better than new, but it will work. You know, you’re the only person who has ever shot me.” He twisted his arm around, revealing a long scar that went down his forearm.
“But not the first person you’ve ever lost to,” she said, pointing to his scar. “What’s that from?”
“A knife.”
Her eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Like you said, I lost,” he said with a smile. “Now, it’s an ugly scar pushing me to be better.”
“I don’t think scars are ugly. They tell a story of who we are, where we’ve been, and how we became the people we are.”
Drake’s brown eyes moved back to hers, and he lifted his finger, pointing to the side of her face where a faint white scar went from the side of her eye down to her earlobe. It wasn’t a noticeable scar. In fact, no one had said anything about it in years, but he was awfully close.
“What’s this from?” he asked.
