“No, I’m not.”
“You are. And you’re a hero.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Girl, you are getting on my last nerve,” he growled.
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with being kind.” Jeez, she’d just been trying to give him a compliment.
“Stop calling me kind. I’m not fucking kind. I would have killed those assholes if I could have.”
“Well, no one would blame you for wanting to do that. I felt rather murderous toward them myself. And I wasn’t very nice.”
“What?”
“I called them names. I nicknamed them Fishy-breath, Frog-face, and Garbage-feet.”
“Gosh, so mean.”
Hmm, was that sarcasm? She thought it was.
“You came to my rescue, so I have to find some way to thank you.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“And you’re funny. You have a very dry sense of humor.”
“Not trying to be funny.”
“And you smell good.”
“No, I . . .” he trailed off and stared down at her as he stepped out onto the street. His eyes narrowed. “Fuck, your cheek. Which one of those fuckers hit you?”
The look in his eyes stole her breath. This man could definitely be dangerous. Then he glanced away, and when he looked back, he appeared softer.
Had she imagined that look?
“I don’t know . . .” She thought about it. “I think it was Fishy-breath.”
“Fishy-breath?” he asked.
“Yeah, the one you tied up back there. How did you tie him up?”
“Zip tie. I carry them in my pocket. They always come in handy.”
“Right. Okay. I mean, most people might have gum or a tissue, but you have zip ties. That’s not weird or anything.”
Nope. Didn’t set off an alarm in her brain at all.
His gaze heated. “You’re wearing a gold dress.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty, huh? Goes really well with my purple velvet shoes.”
“Your dress is riding up.”
She glanced down. Shoot. Her coat wasn’t covering much of anything.