Page 30 of Defensive Desire

"It's fine, Logan." She slams the trunk shut. "Really. I just... I need to get home."

She moves toward the driver's side, but I step into her path.

"No. This isn't fine. You're pissed at me for helping you."

Emma stops, looking up at me with those eyes that see too much. "I'm not mad that you helped. I'm frustrated that you always feel like you have to."

"What the hell does that mean?"

She runs her hands through her hair, and I catch a whiff of vanilla and coffee that makes my chest tight.

"It means sometimes you make me feel like a fucking damsel in distress." The curse sounds strange in her soft voice. "Like I'm this fragile thing that needs protecting. And I'm not."

I stare at her, trying to process. "I don't think you're fragile."

"Don't you?" She challenges. "Every time something happens, you're right there. Catching me when I stumble, stepping in when someone bothers me, fixing things before I even ask."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" She throws her hands up. "And everything. Because I like it, Logan. I like that you show up. I like that you care. But I also need to know that you see me as capable of handling my own shit."

The frustration in her voice hits me like a check to the boards. This isn't about me protecting her from that asshole.

This is about us.

About whatever the hell has been building between us for weeks.

"I do see you as capable," I say quietly.

"Then trust me to be capable." She looks up at me, and there's something vulnerable in her expression. "Trust me to tell you if I need help."

I want to argue. Want to tell her that every instinct I have demands I protect what's mine. But then I realize what I just thought.

What's mine.

When did that happen? When did Emma become something I think of as mine to protect?

The answer is simple and terrifying: somewhere between the first time she smiled at me and now.

"Okay," I say finally.

She blinks in surprise. "Okay?"

"Yeah. I'll... try. If that's what you want, I'll try my best to do that for you."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Thank you."

We stand there for a moment, the afternoon air thick between us. I should step back, let her go home, give us both space to figure out whatever this is.

Instead, I hear myself saying, "You want to get dinner?"

The words surprise us both.

Emma's eyes widen. "Like... together?"

"Unless you prefer eating alone."

She studies my face like she's trying to read something written there in a language she doesn't quite know.