Page 43 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Pausing, Grit gave him the side-eye. “Because she came to me. She’s not what we think she is, not completely. Far from it, in fact. Now there’s a bounty on her head, I need to keep her locked down.”

“Or just keep her?”

Grit laughed. “You don’t keep a woman like Tabitha unless she wants to be kept. She needs a safe place and a strong hand; with me, she’s got both.”

“Mm-hmm. And the, ah, playdate? What’s that all about?”

Grinding his teeth slightly, unused to being questioned about his actions by someone who wasn’t his immediate superior, Grit cocked his head. “Doesn’t matter now, it was a stupid idea. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on her.”

A big hand twice the size of one of his own rested on his forearm. “Explain, please.”

He couldn’t, not really. Divulging her secrets wasn’t something he would do even if there was a knife at his throat. Her childhood, her past, was no one’s business but hers… well, and now his, he supposed. “I thought it would be good for her to have some company other than mine. Until the threat is terminated, she can’t leave the hotel. She’s not used to long periods of inactivity, so I hoped making a new friend might alleviate some boredom.”

Evander’s dark eyes gave away nothing. He studied Grit with curiosity, as though searching for an ulterior motive, then gestured toward the door. “She’s important to you? As more than an assignment?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. I’d like to meet her. Callie is the love of my life, Grit. Introducing new people into our circle isn’t something I do lightly, not when her safety is at stake. I’m sure you understand that.”

“Of course.” Indecision warred in his gut; Tabitha was naked in his bed, sleeping, handcuffed. Ambushing her with a giant Viking would likely be damaging to his health, not to mention the trust they were slowly building. “Mind waiting in the living room? I’ll see if she’s awake.”

“I’m not in a rush.”

Pushing the door open fully, Grit stepped over the threshold and caught a flash of bare skin. Something whistled past his head; he heard a thud and turned to stare at the knife quivering in the doorjamb, perfectly level with his forehead.

Bristling with fury, Tabitha stood by the coffee table, poised to throw another deadly blade. Blood trickled down her right wrist, the one he’d secured the handcuff around, and her thumb was bent at a painfully odd angle.

“Should’ve used the binders,” he muttered to himself, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Should’ve used the binders,” she mocked, adding a snarl. “Only a fucking idiot would leave me tied to a bed with handcuffs. Unsupervised to boot.” Her hand was the slightest bit unsteady, which he didn’t expect. Was it pain or anger causing that little shake? “I do not like being tied down, Grit. Do you hear me?”

Oh, he heard her just fine. It was about time she comprehended just what she’d signed up for when she plunked her tight ass in his bathtub like a lost child, what the hours of stalking him and sneaking into his hotel room were about to cost her.

What the beast in him demanded when let off its leash.

Evander momentarily forgotten, Grit straightened and squared his shoulders. His muscles seemed to swell as he shrugged on his dominant persona to its full extent. “Put the knife down, Tabitha.”

“Make me,” she hissed, full of piss and vinegar.

“No problem.” Stalking forward, he covered the distance between them in a handful of strides. Not a hitch of hesitation, not a flinch of doubt. “I won’t ask twice.”

Ordinarily, it would’ve pleased him to see her wearing one of his shirts. It dwarfed her down to the knees, baggy and unflattering. Now his temper was swirling dangerously, he wanted nothing more than to rip it off her body and dole out her punishment with her naked ass raised high.

The closer he got, the more her teeth bared. She shifted her weight, the hilt of the blade flipping in her fingers from a throwing grip to one intended for up close and personal damage.

When he took the last step, he shortened it, leaning back a fraction to avoid the calculated swing. It swiped across his chest, missing his skin by the width of his finger. Grinning, he tsked softly and taunted her, snagging her wrist on the fly. “Someone woke up from her nap on the wrong side of the fucking bed today.”

She twisted, but his fingers were locked around her wrist like a clamp. Careful of her bones, he put pressure on the joint until she had no choice but to let go of the weapon.

As he kicked the knife aside, Tabitha shoved her weight into his chest, hooking her foot around his ankle and sending them both toppling to the floor, narrowly missing the coffee table.

They grappled for control, Grit on his back beneath her, wedged between the table and the couch. She didn’t aim for the usual spots a woman attacked when cornered; oh no, she went straight for his throat, her small hands trying to latch around his neck, while she lodged a knee firmly against his balls.

Unwilling to be bested by his crazy wild cat a second time, Grit decided to play dirty himself. Ignoring the nails drawing blood on his neck, he reached up and slid his fingers up her nape into the soft white-gold locks at the base of her scalp, fisting them viciously enough she actually cried out.

Using it as leverage, he pulled her head back and reared up, grunting when her knee shifted, digging deeper into his crotch. He took an elbow to the underside of his jaw, a swipe of those damned nails across his chest, and just missed her teeth sinking into his fucking ear.

Forcing her head toward the couch, he pressed her cheek to the cushions, dodging the flailing blows as she bucked and cursed a blue streak. Somehow—by the grace of God, he thought—he managed to roll up onto his knees without losing his balls or his teeth.

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