Chapter 2 #3
My hands flexed at my sides, fingers curling into fists as I fought the urge to reach for her. Heat pooled low in my gut, spreading through my limbs, making my skin feel too tight. My breathing had gone shallow, and I had to consciously force myself to take deeper breaths so she wouldn't notice.
The worst part was the way my body leaned toward her, like she was gravity and I was helpless against the pull. I caught myself and straightened, putting my weight back on my heels, but it didn't help. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I could feel my pulse everywhere.
And lower—yeah, that was becoming a problem too. I shifted my stance, grateful for the loose fit of my pants, and tried to think about literally anything else. Interrogation rooms. Dawson's smug face. The fact that I was probably going to jail.
None of it worked. Not when she was standing right there, close enough that I saw the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, close enough that if I just moved forward six inches—
I clenched my jaw so hard it ached.
"I promise," I said, and meant it. Because seeing her scared, seeing her put herself between me and a man with a gun—that was worse than any interrogation Dawson could throw at me. "I'll behave."
She studied me for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether she actually believed me. Finally, she seemed satisfied and took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.
"Good." She ran a hand through her dark hair, and I noticed it was trembling slightly. "Look, I need to be straight with you about what happens next. They can hold you for forty-eight hours before arraignment. That means you're here until Monday morning."
"Forty-eight hours?" The words came out drenched in frustration. Two days in a cell was two days too many, especially when I hadn't actually done anything wrong.
"It's standard procedure for a felony arrest," she explained, shifting into her professional lawyer tone.
"They'll process you, and then you'll go before a judge for arraignment.
That's when they formally charge you and we can argue to drop the charges, especially if they have no more evidence than they do now. "
"And if Dawson decides to make those forty-eight hours hell?"
Her jaw tightened. "That's why I made it very clear to him what would happen if they touch you.
But Kael—" She moved closer again, lowering her voice.
"You have to keep your head down. No smart-ass remarks, no provoking them, no matter what they say or do.
And absolutely no physical threats. Dawson will shoot you if he gets the chance, so you can't give him one. Can you do that?"
She was close enough now that I felt the warmth radiating from her body, smelled that vanilla-and-steel scent more clearly.
Her chocolate eyes focused on mine, intent and serious, but something else flickered underneath—that same awkward awareness I'd caught earlier.
Her pupils dilated slightly, and a faint flush crept up her neck.
Her hands fidgeted at her sides. She swallowed.
Looked away for just a second before forcing her attention back to my face.
It was the first time I'd caught her truly thrown off balance, and something possessive curled low in my chest at the realization.
I wanted to argue, to tell her that keeping my mouth shut had never been my strong suit. But the look in her eyes stopped me.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I can do that."
She nodded, seeming to accept it. "It's late. I need to go. But I'll be back tomorrow morning, and we're going to figure this out."
"Sarah—"
"Don't," she said, holding up a hand. She moved to the door and knocked, and Dawson appeared almost immediately, like he'd been waiting right outside.
"If there's so much as a mark on him when I get back tomorrow," Sarah said, her voice carrying that same absolute authority that made my pulse spike, "I'm going to make your life a living hell. Are we clear?"
Dawson didn't answer, just glared at her with pure unadulterated hatred.
Sarah didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked out, and I watched her go, my chest tight with something I absolutely refused to name. My body was still humming with awareness, still responding to the lingering scent of vanilla and steel, and I hated it.
I hated that she affected me like this. Hated that my Orc instincts were betraying my long held preferences, making me react to a woman who was all wrong for me. Sarah was too bossy, too complicated, too likely to make my life difficult.
I liked easy. I liked soft. I liked women who didn't challenge me at every turn.
So why couldn't I stop thinking about the way she'd stood up to Dawson? The way her scent had flooded my senses? The way my body had moved to protect her without conscious thought?
The door closed behind her, and I was alone again with the fluorescent lights and the stale coffee smell and the knowledge that I was going to spend the night in a cell.
But at least Sarah was on my side.
Even if my body's reaction to her was a complication I absolutely did not need.