I’m not sure if he’s referring to the mess at the house, or the nights in this bed. I’ll assume both.

My gaze wanders down. He has a runner’s legs and I’m guessing he’s fast. “What’s that scar on your thigh?” I’ve noticed he protects his left leg whenever we’re together, putting more weight on his right side. It looks like it might have been painful.

His hand slides over it, his jaw tensing a touch. He doesn’t answer right away, and I don’t push, simply watching him.

“Bullet wound.”

Sebastian’s been shot? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given his history and his career—and all the scars on him—but . . . I know skin and scarring, and that one is fresh.

The idea of Sebastian being shot recently ties my stomach up in knots.

“While you were working?” I assume so, given his job.

“Yes.”

“Is your client okay?” Maybe not. Maybe this is why he’s taking time off.

He nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m sure he can read. “Well, that’s good.” So maybe he took a bullet for the person. That would be commendable. I wonder when it happened and where. Was it in the news? I should pay more attention to the news.

“Does that happen a lot? You getting hurt?”

“Not a lot. Occasionally.”

“Do you love your job?” He must. Why else would you do this?

“Yes and no.”

I wait, watching him, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“I’m really good at what I do.”

“I imagine so.” I’ve felt a thousand times safer since Sebastian stepped into my life, and he’s not even my bodyguard. Officially, anyway. With the amount of sex we’ve been having, I may as well be claiming it as payment, all joking aside. Then again, I’m benefiting from it as much as he is.

“When do you not love it?”

His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “When I have to do things in order to protect innocent people. Things that a lot of people may not approve of. That may scare them.”

I try to hide my frown but I fail. He’s not looking at me, but I’m sure he saw it. He seems to see everything. What kind of things would a bodyguard possibly do, besides fire back? I bite back the question before it slips out, because my instincts tell me he’ll tell me if he wants to, when he’s ready. He’s simply testing the waters with me right now, I gather. As in, Would Ivy approve? Would Ivy be scared?

I’m not afraid of Sebastian. The first day he strolled into the shop, I was. But since then, he’s been this calm, quiet, reliable safety net for me. He operates with discipline and control and, my gut says, by a moral code. And somewhere in the mix of chaos, I think I’ve started developing real feelings for him.

That scares me more than anything he might have done.

But right now, I think he’s waiting for some kind of answer from me. My breath shakes with a deep inhale. “Do you ever have a choice, doing whatever you’ve had to do?”

“No.” His answer comes quickly, without hesitation. “Not if I want to save lives.”

“Were you protecting someone who deserves to live?”

“Yes.” Again, not a waver.

“Then I’m sure you’ve always done the right thing, even if it’s not the easy thing.”

His shoulders seem to sag with relief, as if he needed to hear that. I’m glad I said it, even as I’m quietly wondering what he’s hiding. Bobby’s warning from earlier resurfaces. He’s not comfortable around Sebastian, that much is obvious. It could simply be because Sebastian leveled him and two of his guys without breaking a sweat.

But what if it’s something else? I’m usually intuitive. Ned always said my mind was as sharp as an upturned tack lying on the floor, waiting for an unsuspecting foot.

What if my feelings for Sebastian are blinding my senses? Because, even with those thoughts swirling inside my head, all I see is a man I am beginning to care deeply about.

I’m falling for you.

He pries his eyes from the street to settle them on me, and my stomach clenches because I realize that I just spoke those words out loud. I wasn’t supposed to. He’s not supposed to know how I feel. Dammit, Dakota!

A conflict is at war in his eyes, and I silently try to guess exactly what he wants to say.

That he’s leaving.

That this isn’t going to work.

That he knows I care way more than I ever wanted to.

That he isn’t falling for me.

He says nothing, though, and after a moment, his gaze drifts over my body, covered in a sheet. I feel it as surely as I feel his hands when they glide over my bare skin. I feel it in my chest, knowing that he’s not going to get up and leave after my accidental admission. At least, not just yet.

“Is there something more interesting out there on the street than in here?” I don’t know how he’s capable of getting me worked up with just a look.

The chair creaks in relief as he stands. “Not at all.” His thumbs slide under the waistband of his briefs as he peels them off and lets them fall, giving me a good eyeful before he climbs back into bed.

It almost distracts me enough that I miss the gun lying on the windowsill.

Almost.

I push that aside because I trust that Sebastian has a good reason for having his gun lying there, and it has nothing to do with hurting me, or anyone who might not deserve it.

His weight is almost too much as he fits himself between my thighs and guides my legs around his hips. I happily comply, my fingers weaving into the mess of hair on top of his head, savoring the feel of his jawline, covered in a thin layer of dark stubble, as his mouth skates across my neck. Needing him inside me right now, to comfort me in my uncomfortable, vulnerable state.

His breathing grows heavy and fast and eager against my ear.

I expect him to reach for a condom from the nightstand. But after several long moments of him simply pressing his body against me and building my anticipation and frustration, I slide a hand under his chin and push his face up to meet my questioning gaze.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I’ve screwed everything up, haven’t I?

He smiles. “Yeah, you should have.”

Relief swallows up this awful, vulnerable feeling inside me. I trail a finger over his bottom lip and he catches it with his mouth, kissing the tip gently, intimately.

And then he leans closer and begins kissing my mouth in the same way, not like he’s kissed me before, with reckless abandon. Like he’s trying to tell me something with each soft sweep of his tongue, with each gentle nudge of his nose against mine.

I try to match this unusual affection with my own. To tell him what I’m feeling right now without saying the words—that I’m crazy about him, strange, mysterious ways and all.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he whispers against my mouth.

“Yeah.” Why is he asking? What is he thinking?

He shifts his hips and sinks into me. He pauses to meet my gaze, waiting for me to object, I’m sure. Normally, I would. Hell, I’d buck a guy off me for assuming going bareback was okay, especially without asking.

Sebastian has never objected to putting on a condom before. He was always the one reaching for one, which made me feel good because it means it’s common practice for him to use them.