Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,40

surprising depth of affection for my sparring partner.

Which is why I push myself to let my guard down as I lean away from him and smack my hand against his shadowed cheek. “A-hah.” I arch my brows. “Gotcha.”

He leans back on his arms, looking slightly wide-eyed. I climb off his lap and crouch in front of him.

“You know you’re off your game, sensei.” I wrap my hand around his forearm. “Come inside with me and have some food. Maybe that will wake you up.”

His eyes narrow on me like he’s trying to figure out who body-snatched the woman he met last week and replaced her with this assertive lunatic. I snarile—and realize this feels good. I feel so natural tugging on his arm, tipping my head at my porch. “C’mon. Don’t pretend you have a better dinner plan or better company.”

I smirk. He laughs. He looks a little more awake.

I can see him school his features into a more serious expression as he stands up. “You think you set our agenda?”

“Yes.” I put a hand on my hip. “She who wields the spatula has the power.”

He grins, dark and Cheshire. His arm darts out so quick, I don’t even think of blocking it before his hand is gliding through my hair. He wraps a wavy lock around his hand and tugs lightly.

He smirks. His brows arch over his expressive eyes. “That right?”

I wrap my hand around the arm that’s got me by the hair. “Touché.” I want to keep the ruse going, but I can’t stop myself from laughing.

He smiles back at me, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

He lets me go. I fold my arms. “You gonna shun my company? Am I good enough to fight but not dinner material?” I quirk one brow up in mock challenge. I’m not even really sure what I’m saying. I just plan to tease until he comes inside with me, so I can try to figure out what’s up with him.

I feel the strangest blend of pure, 100-proof affection mixed with cheek-staining attraction and a dash of friendly fondness. So I’m not shocked that my heart pounds as I wait for his reply.

His mouth opens slightly. His full lips press together for a moment—in which I wink. “I didn’t think so.”

I hold out my hand. I’m not sure what I expect of his response. Maybe for him to step inside my outstretched arm and come inside with me, like an animal I’m herding. Instead, he takes my hand and laces his long fingers through mine. His fingers squeeze mine slightly and his hand draws mine a fraction closer to his chest.

I watch his eyebrows notch as he tilts his head, his lips curving just slightly. “You’re in a mood today.” The words are quiet. His eyes are, as ever, intense, and underscored by his peculiar brand of kind curiosity. Not curiosity about a certain thing but just…interest in me. At least, that’s how it feels.

Every time I see him, I feel more and more addicted to it.

Since he’s laced our fingers together, I tug him lightly toward my door. “I’m in a giving mood. You look like the zombie version of yourself and I would hate to kick my sensei’s ass.”

His lips twitch, and I’m pleased to see he can’t keep his mouth from blooming into a teasing smile. “You really want to go there?”

“You want to tell me you’re all good so your new friend doesn’t worry about you?”

As soon as the words fly out, accompanied by what I’m pretty sure is my concerned look, I want to disappear into a sinkhole. Way to go, Einstein. Start off dinner with a nagging, mother-hen comment.

My hand tenses in his, but Barrett doesn’t let mine go as I push my front door open, looking over my shoulder at him. His mouth is pressed into a line, but the corners twitch a little. “Worried about me?” The words sound light but his eyes are unhappy. Probably embarrassed, since I came on so strong. ARGH.

My hand is sweating, so I let his go and push the door open, waving him in. “Guests first. And no, I’m not really worried,” I lie. “I’m that friend who sends presents when it’s not a holiday and gives excessive hugs. Former actress, you know? You seem tired and I skipped dinner, so I thought…” I shrug.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes move around my living room, then shift to my own.

“It smells good,” he says simply.

I smile. “Thanks.”

We