Kyler's Justice (Assassins of Gravas Book 3) - N.J. Walters Page 0,12

of water on the counter, she took a slug, then another.

“Well what?” She’d be calm about this, even if it killed her. And spontaneous combustion was a genuine possibility. The kitchen was warmer than the bar to begin with. Now the heat was through the roof.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

Don’t smile. Don’t smile.

He didn’t really smile. It was more a hint of one, but the bottom fell out of her stomach. She was freefalling through space without a suit or safety tether to bring her safely back home. In all her twenty-three years, she’d never had this kind of reaction to a man before.

She cleared her throat. “So, Ky, do you have a last name?”

“Just Ky.”

“So, Just Ky.” That garnered another almost-smile that had every nerve ending in her body standing at attention in anticipation. “Why are you hanging out at Hell’s Gate?”

There was no room for a man in her life, especially not one this dangerous. Maybe he can help you, a sly voice whispered in the back of her head. She ignored the voice. In her experience, men could be pretty to look at, but they weren’t dependable. They looked after themselves first, and she had two children relying on her.

That sobered her quick enough.

“I like the scenery.” His gaze ran over her from head to toe. Her nipples didn’t pucker because of him. It was the cool air system kicking in that caused it.

She swallowed heavily, the lie stuck in her throat. If she checked, her panties would be damp. The man was a walking, talking wet dream.

And that was all she had—dreams and fantasies. She’d never trusted a man enough to have sex. When she’d lived here, it hadn’t been an option. Everyone feared her father and brother. Once she’d escaped, she’d been too damn busy and distrustful to take a chance.

This wasn’t the time or place to be attracted to a man, especially one she didn’t even know beyond his first name. Or was it his last? See? She didn’t know anything about him.

“Scenery wears thin after a while.” Better to discourage him. Why did that depress her so much? There was a crate of vegetables waiting to be prepped, but for the first time, she couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for cooking.

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

She briefly closed her eyes. He so did not just say that. She was hot and sweaty, wore no beauty enhancements of any kind, and several locks of hair fell against her neck, having escaped the knot she’d put it in earlier. When she peeked at him, he was staring. She looked away. His appearance hadn’t changed at all. He was still as gorgeous as ever. And she was as attractive as a wrung-out dishrag.

I should never have asked him to remove his hood.

Everything had changed, and there was no putting this genie back into the bottle. The old fairy tale her mother had once told her popped into her head. Was Ky a good genie or an evil one? Was there any way to know for sure before she was in too deep to save herself?

“Thanks for—” She broke off, not sure how she should phrase it. She waved her hand in front of her.

He solemnly inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

Ky seemed to suck the air and light out of the room with his sheer presence. She narrowed her eyes, studying him. He was the right size as her intruder, but the voice was utterly different.

“You have a twin running around out there?”

He shook his head.

“Then I guess it was you who broke into my room last night.” It was a gamble to accuse him outright, but she’d left caution behind.

He didn’t blink, his face as hard as a diamond. No, that was shiny and bright. Titansteel was a better description. She’d never seen it, but it was rumored to be the strongest metal known and was matte, not shiny. More at home in the dark. That was Ky.

Her clothes were damp, stuck to her skin, a combination of heat and fear.

He pushed up off the stool and strode around the counter. She backed up a step and then another until her butt hit the opposite counter. There was nowhere for her to go. All she had to do was open her mouth and scream. Dozens of men would come running, if only to see what was going on. Surely one of them would help.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. Years of dealing with scary men had