Page 13 of Tyson
She'd gone completely still. Not pulling away, not pushing closer. Just frozen there with her hands braced against my chest and her brown eyes wide.
Her pupils dilated as I watched. Black swallowing the warm brown.
"Steady," I murmured.
The word came out rougher than intended. Lower. Like I'd been gargling gravel.
She smelled like vanilla and ink and something else. Something warm and sweet that made me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. Her pulse hammered against my thumb where it rested near her hip bone. Quick little rabbit beats that matched the sudden tightness in my chest.
I should let go. Step back. Apologize for not watching where I was going.
I didn't.
Neither did she.
For three heartbeats, maybe four, we stood there pressed together in the middle of her tattoo shop. Her breasts rose and fell against my chest with each quick breath. Her fingers curled slightly, catching the fabric of my shirt.
Then she blinked and the moment shattered.
"Hands off the merchandise, Soldier Boy."
The bratty mask slammed back into place, but her voice came out breathier than usual. Less bite, more breathless.
She still didn't move.
Neither did I.
"Just making sure you didn't drop anything." My thumbs traced small circles on her skin. Barely there. Just enough to feel her shiver.
"I'm fine." She swallowed. "You can let go now."
I released her slowly. One hand at a time. Letting her slide down my body as she found her feet. Missing her warmth the second air hit the space between us.
She grabbed the bandages like a lifeline, turning away and muttering something about "giants who don't watch where they're going" and "taking up all the damn space."
Rudy grinned from the tattoo table, watching us with knowing eyes. "Y'all need a minute? I can wait."
"No." Lena's answer came too quick. Too sharp. "Just need to wrap this and you're done."
She moved back to the table, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands as she tore open the bandage wrapper. Professional Lena taking over, explaining aftercare procedures while avoiding my gaze entirely.
"Keep it covered for the first few hours. Wash with antibacterial soap, no scented stuff. Pat dry, don't rub. Baby cream is good, under wrap. I'll give you the care sheet . . ."
Her voice steadied as she fell into the familiar routine, but she kept her distance. Careful not to brush against me as she worked. Hyperaware of where I stood.
I stepped back, giving her space while my hands still tingled from holding her. My chest felt tight where she'd pressed against me. Every breath brought her vanilla scent, now permanently etched in my memory next to tactical assessments and threat evaluations.
The air crackled between us. Electric. Dangerous.
I'd touched her for maybe ten seconds. Long enough to catalog a dozen details I had no business knowing. The exact span of herwaist. The way she fit against me like she was made for it. The quick catch in her breathing when my thumbs found skin.
It was also long enough to know I was completely fucked.
Because now I knew what she felt like. Now I had to pretend I didn't want to back her against the wall and find out what other sounds she'd make. Had to stand here making security assessments while my body screamed to eliminate the careful distance she'd put between us.
Had to act like holding Lena Rivera for those few seconds hadn't just rewired something fundamental in my brain.
Professional. I was supposed to be professional.
