There it was. That was the Pol I knew and I shrank back into the pillow as my body prepared to flee.
He saw it and I was guessing, like Pol, he didn’t miss much. Or, with the shine of intelligence that Pol did not have emanating from his eyes, not exactly like Pol, perhaps he didn’t miss anything.
“I would not harm you, Ilsa,” he gritted from between clenched teeth.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled unconvincingly as anyone would, seeing as I was staring at the wrath in his eyes and listening to him talk between his teeth.
The pads of his fingers pressed surprisingly gently into my cheek and he dipped his face closer.
“Never,” he whispered, his tone fierce and still angry but something struck me.
This was not just a word. It also wasn’t a promise.
It was a vow.
What the hell was happening?
I knew what wasn’t happening. I wasn’t in my bed. There were no police sirens sounding. And the green was gone. Giving that a millisecond of reflection, that green was not right.
Nothing was right.
So, considering nothing was right, I knew I had to get this new Pol out of my face so I could take stock and make a new plan.
Therefore I breathed, “Okeydokey.”
His head tipped slightly to the side and his dark brows twitched.
“Okeydokey?” he asked.
Oh boy.
Why did his deep voice saying that ridiculous word low and bemused make my mouth get dry at the same time it made me want to smile in a moment that was so far from smile-worthy, it was not funny.
Shit!
I didn’t know who this guy was or what was happening. What I did know was that I’d been here before. I’d looked at that handsome face with those fabulous lips and that head of rich, dark, thick hair. I’d looked into those amazing eyes that were pure jade. No joke. They were a milky, translucent green that was so beautiful, once you caught sight of it you never wanted to look away. All of this on a tall, commanding body that made my knees weak and my ni**les get hard.
Years ago, I’d looked at all that was him and I’d made the biggest mistake in my life.
And that was not going to happen again, even if I was currently comatose from a pistol-whipping brain injury and not experiencing any of this at all.
His hand at my cheek slid down to my neck. I focused on him when it did and he spoke.
“I don’t know his word, my dove.”
Who didn’t know the word “okeydokey?”
I didn’t ask that.
I explained. Quickly.
“It means okay. Fine. Good. All right. In this case, I believe you.”
“If you do, why do you press yourself against the pillows still?” he asked.
“Habit?” I said the word as a question as well as an answer and it was another mistake.
His face started to darken again with anger so I lifted up a hand, palm toward him and kept babbling.