But he didn’t want to lie either.
“I flew out of an exploding building,” he said bluntly.
She watched him in open disbelief for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she blinked several times, chewed on her lower lip, then nodded. “Right. And why did you do that?”
His face curved up in a smile at the calm, even delivery of her question. “That’s a long story,” he told her gently. “For another time perhaps.”
“Oh.”
“I’m Rann, by the way,” he said, shoving his hand out toward her, stopping half a foot short.
She looked at his hand, and he could see the hesitation in her. If she introduced herself, it would indicate her acceptance of his presence for the time being. She could choose to do that, as he hoped, but Rann was aware she might choose not to give him her name and send him on his way.
To his utter surprise, he realized he was nervous that she might choose to remain anonymous. He’d never had this feeling before, not with a woman. He was Rann, fire dragon, sex symbol to human women. They wanted him. They should be nervous, not him!
When she finally stuck her hand out and took his, he nearly twitched in surprise.
“Gayle,” she said as his hand enveloped her much tinier one, his fingers nearly touching around the back.
Rann had to fight the instinct to raise her hand to his mouth to brush the knuckles against his lips, and he nearly lost that battle, his dragon shouting at him that it was only proper.
No. She’s not interested in that right now. She needs to relax. To blow off some steam.
“Do you wanna go for a walk?” he asked abruptly, the question at complete odds with his internal dialog. “Get some air, clear your head.”
Gayle frowned. “I don’t know, Rann. I just got dumped. I really shouldn’t.”
He started to nod but stopped when she looked over at Anne, as if asking for advice. That was when he noticed that her hand was still in his. Still touching him. A bolt of lightning raced up his arm and into his heart, spurring it along at a faster rate.
Anne shrugged. “He can be trusted. You’ll be safe with him, if nothing else.”
Gayle nodded slowly. “I can handle the rest, I guess.”
Rann held his tongue, but he could see the thoughts practically written on Gayle’s face. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
Then again, neither can I.
Because Anne was right. Rann would keep her safe, and right now, unlike with every woman before, that was his only concern.
It just wasn’t like him.
Am I really doing this?
Chapter Seven
Gayle
Am I actually doing this?
They walked out of the bar with Rann leading the way and holding the door for her. She smiled in thanks, making sure to keep space between them as they fell in step, walking silently down the sidewalk. She shouldn’t get too close.
Why not? It’s not like I have a reason not to anymore. The only one I did have is now off getting drunk and sleeping with my best friend! Ex-best friend dammit!
“You okay?” Rann asked, perhaps picking up on the thoughts going through her head.
“As I can be,” she said, glancing up—way up—at him, past his thick arms and broad shoulders to the sharply chiseled jaw and cheekbones, and beyond them, the eyes that had stared at her across the bar. “Can I ask you something?”
“Uh, sure?” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “I guess. What’s up?”
What the heck did he think she was going to ask him that made him so suddenly uneasy? Gayle took an extra second, wondering if perhaps she should re-think her choice to go for a walk with him. The bartender, Anne, had said that he was okay though, and Gayle’s gut agreed with her, on that much at least.
What did Anne mean by a flight risk, I wonder?
Shaking her head, Gayle refocused herself on the then and there. Rann was watching her as they walked, waiting for her question.
“Why were you staring at me across the bar?” she asked, forcing the question out before she had more time to think about whether or not she truly wanted the answer.
He didn’t reply. The only acknowledgment that he’d even heard her question was his slow turn of the head to stare straight forward. Gayle waited an appropriate amount of time for him to respond before she nudged him with her elbow, trying to precipitate some sort of response. Even a refusal to answer would be