Page 81 of Surrender to Me
Then he dives into motion—hard and fast, as if he really is stepping into a confrontation.
Quickly I snap my body into place—a mirror image of him with perfect lines. My movements are so immediate that I startle myself.
Silence hangs between us.
His expression shifts—softens, deepens, darkens all at once.
Slowly, very slowly, he comes in close, until I feel his heat again, until his voice drops into that place that lives low in my stomach.
“That,” he whispers, “could save your life.”
I exhale shakily, adrenaline shimmering under my skin.
“And now the rule.” He lifts a hand to brush back my hair.
His touch is feather-light, almost reverent.
“Tell me what the rule is, Allie.”
“Mirror them. Always mirror.”
“Perfect.”
His approval is a physical thing—warm, steady, devastating, and I feel it everywhere.
“Thank you. You’re a good teacher.”
His lips quirk in a grin. “You’re an excellent study.”
For long moments, we stand there. I have a thousand things I want to say, and I leave them all unspoken.
Stryker stirs thing in me that I’ve never felt before. And his tenderness, his caring, may be my undoing.
After everything we’ve shared, I’m suddenly desperate to regain my emotional footing.
While he moves the coffee table back into place, I curl up onto the couch again.
For a few minutes, we discuss the technique, how it felt for me, my key takeaways.
Then there’s a lull in the conversation.
Even though I’ve warned myself that he might be my undoing, I yearn to know more about him, learn what formed him, made him the person he is.
I don’t know many people who’d be willing to put their lives on the line for a stranger. Hell, I’m beginning to wonder if my own father had betrayed me.
“You okay?”
I blink.
“That was a heavy sigh.”
Because I don’t want to talk about me, my fears, or suspicions, I turn the tables. “Tell me something about your family. Have you always been a protector?”
He goes quiet, sill in a way I’ve never seen him before. “Thought you didn’t want to go into secrets.”
“Sorry.” I turn sideways and back against the arm of the couch. “Didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.”
“You couldn’t know. My situation was…complicated.”
