He quirked his brow. “What is it with you and fire?”
“It makes an impression,” I replied.
“You don’t need fire to make an impression,” he muttered, eyes roving over me.
For a moment, a long moment, I considered staying right there, in that office, on top of his hard thighs, in his soft embrace, forever. But forever wasn’t designed for stillness. Neither was I. Unfortunately.
So, I stood, and he let me, but he did it with a frown. And then he stood too.
“I don’t have time for this. I’m leaving,” I said, rounding his desk to retrieve my bag that had been thrown on the floor and long forgotten. My accessories were really taking a beating with Keltan around.
I picked it up, silently promising to take more care of it. It wasn’t paid off yet, after all.
“Okay,” Keltan said, rounding the desk too, standing with his arms crossed, watching me bend and straighten intently.
My thighs burned at his gaze, but I kept my face impassive. Or tried to. “Okay?” I asked, pleasantly surprised. I was actually expecting the handcuffs.
I had a bobby pin in my pocket for emergencies, and I’d been planning on using it as a makeshift key. I’d done it before. Twice. I was a pro.
With Rosie as a friend, it was mandatory to learn how to get out of handcuffs.
“I’m putting Heath on you,” he added.
There it was.
I stilled, crossing my own arms and narrowing my gaze. “You’re not putting Heath on me,” I told him firmly.
He merely smiled in that smug way that made me want to shake him, then jump his bones. Luckily the words ruled the latter out of the equation, on account of the anger.
“I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a babysitter,” I seethed.
“Babe, you, not two minutes ago, threatened arson and meant it. I know you meant it because of the track record. You would benefit from a babysitter, even in regular times. Now, when you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to investigate a murder to which you’re the sole witness?” His eyes glittered. “You need a fuckin’ bodyguard to make sure you’re not a witness to a second murder. Your own.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need a bodyguard to make sure I’m not a witness to my own murder. Self-preservation and survival instincts will do that just fine.”
He stepped forward so his body brushed against mine. “I don’t doubt your survival instincts, but you were close enough to fuckin’ smell a murderer not even three days ago.”
“Yes, but that’s barely a fair point. He’d doused himself in enough terrible cologne that the neighbors on the ground floor would likely have been able to smell him,” I retorted.
His eyes flared in warning. “This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Snow.”
“I disagree. I think this, going from zero to a million in the space of less than a week and then you telling me you’re putting a bodyguard on me, is a complete fucking joke,” I told him with a raised brow.
He put his hand on my waist to yank me to his body. “We’ve finally waded through two fucking years of bullshit to get you right where you are. Standing in my arms. Still. Listen to me when I say I’m going to do whatever the fuck it takes to make you stay that way. Because you forget that you made me stand still. From what I was running from. You getting yourself in the situation you were in three days ago but not walking away from it?” His eyes swam with chaos. “That’ll get me running all over again. But not fuckin’ fast enough, babe.”
I saw them then. The demons. The ones he’d alluded to. The ones my own had exchanged pleasantries with but had yet to get to know because of their reluctance to get themselves banished. The battle that had him losing his best friend, that sent him to me, was chasing him right now. Because of me.
And that hurt.
I was stubborn and scared of how fast this had happened when it took so long to get here, but no way would I make him fight that battle when it wasn’t necessary.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
His body sagged, but only slightly, and the worst of the battle left his eyes. “Thank you, baby,” he murmured.
And that thank you, with the soft voice, the returning stillness and his arms around me, it was worth the bodyguard.
Just.
Heath had been wonderfully mute for most of the day.
That was after he demanded that he be the one to drive my car, declaring there was “no fucking way he was letting me drive in shoes like that.”
I’d glanced down at the Manolos he was glaring at. They’d done nothing to him. I glanced back up at his icy blue eyes, my brow raised. “I’ve been walking, talking, and kicking macho men’s asses in these since I was fourteen,” I informed him. “I think I’ll manage driving said macho men. But I can always resort to the former.”