Page 19 of My Masked Savior
Her brow furrows slightly at that, but she doesn't question it.
“Do you like it?”
“The work?" I hold her gaze. “Yeah. I'm good at it.”
“I noticed." Color floods her cheeks. “At the party, I mean. You were so calm.”
“Panic doesn't help anyone.”
"No." She finishes her drink. “It definitely doesn't.”
I signal the waitress for another round. When Morgan protests, I cut her off with a look.
“One more won’t hurt.”
“Bossy.”
“You respond well to someone being dominant.”
Her pupils dilate, lips parting before she catches herself. The blush deepens, spreading down her neck.
“I—” She clears her throat. “That’s presumptuous.”
“Is it?”
Our drinks arrive. This time, when she reaches for hers, our fingers brush. Neither of us pulls back immediately. The contact sends heat through my arm, settling low in my gut.
Her breathing changes. Shallower. Faster.
I shift my chair closer, closing the distance between us. Our knees touch under the table—just barely, but enough that she notices. Her eyes drop to where our legs connect, then back to my face.
“Tell me about Madison,” I say quietly.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Liar.”
She flinches, but doesn’t retreat. “Why do you care?”
“Because you ran out of that gym class like someone lit you on fire. Because you look over your shoulder every thirty seconds. Because—” I lean in, voice dropping. “Because I want to know what put that fear in your eyes.”
“Damien—”
“Is it an ex?”
Her hand trembles around her glass. “What makes you think that?”
“Experience.” I rest my hand on the table between us, palm up. An invitation. “I’ve seen that look before.”
She stares at my hand for a long moment. Then, slowly, she places hers in it.
Her skin is warm. Soft. My fingers close around hers, and something in my chest shifts dangerously.
“He hurt you.”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Did you see him while you were back in town for Christmas?”
