Page 60 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

Fucking stunning.

“I’m glad you did, Little Storm. How’s training going?”

She giggles, settling into the chair across from me. “I would’ve said I was pretty fit, but they’re kicking my ass out there.”

Jealousy surges through me, wanting those moments with her.Mine.I like this side of her, the worn, the calm, the compliant. It’s what most people see when they look at her, the reason her storm goes undetected. The storm I seem to incite in her and can’t get enough of.

I smile, pulling out my sucker and wrapping it back up for later. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“Are you?” she asks, and the question holds far more than a basic inquiry. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. I’m not sure what I want to do with that, but she leaves me little room to teeter. “Because I’ve missed having you there.”

Good fuck.

She holds her breath with that, and everything in me wants to scoop her onto my lap and tell her I’m going to sort all of this out, fix it, protect her. But wanting her like this can only make that job more difficult than it already is. Those cerulean doe eyes are piercing me, twisting my insides.

I hate hurting her.“I am. I’ll make time to see your progress soon.”

She cocks a sassy brow. “It won’t look like progress unless you get a baseline, so you should train with us tomorrow.”

I chuckle at how quick she is. “Valid point. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I have another valid point,” she says, apparently revved up to bust my throbbing blue balls this evening. “I’d like to have a better understanding of what I’m training for exactly.”

“That’s fair,” I concede. “A full explanation will come soon, but for now, I simply need you to understand that there are threats to you, and I want you prepared.”

She huffs, and just like that, my Little Storm rages. “That’s bullshit. What threats and why? Are they because of your business dealings?”

“They’re all connected to that. Yes.” Truth.

“Can you tell me more?” She leans forward, hand on my desk, the vulnerability in her now-rolling eyes a thing of the past. “Do they know who I am? Is that why you’ve got me hidden away? How dangerous are these people? Should I be scared?”

She’s right. Those are all valid questions, but the truth is so disturbing at the moment that I can’t share. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I tell her the only thing I can. “I’m not ready to unveil more yet, but I don’t want you to be scared. I want you to be ready.”

She smacks the desk and throws herself back into her chair, twisting her long, wet hair around her palm. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Why can’t you answer a damn question without launching a riddle?”

“That’s not my intent, Ivy. I want to tell you everything, but there are new developments I can’t explain fully. So, not yet.” Taking my typical hard line here probably won’t serve me well, so I try another tactic. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she confesses, no hesitation. But her next words decimate the brief swell of pride that gifts to me. “For the life of me, I don’t know why. I feel it in my gut, and I want to … my dad taught me to trust my instincts, and I’m not the kind of girl who breaks down.” Her features hold a heaviness to them, a weightiness shackling me. “But this is crazy. Not quite right, like a Picasso painting.” She grunts while I marvel at her fascinating thought process and how supremely that Picasso comparison sums up this fucked-up, nothing-aligns situation. “I sense something, and nothing feels safe anymore—not even going back to my own home. Except you guys, oddly enough. But then you’re all aware of something that’s happening and …” She grips her neck with a wince.

“Sore muscles?” I ask.

“Sore everything.” She blows out a broken sigh.

“Let me give you a massage, and we’ll talk through it.” My dick spits out the offer before my mind catches up.Shit.

Her eyes light with clear elation, and I could kick myself for the suggestion in spite of the obvious ability it has to distract her.

She rolls her lips in. “Okay. Would you mind if I lie down for it?”

Jesus Christ.

“Of course. Go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She walks out, dabbing at a fugitive tear, a lip-biting smile taking its place. Her tears make me fucking stupid. And her joy makes me dumber.

I grab a bottle of oil from my bathroom cabinet and make my way to her room. Her door is cracked open, the corner light bathing the space in a warm amber glow.

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