Page 7 of Claimed By Lock

"To me."

The quiet certainty makes my breath catch. I stare at him, searching for the crack in the armor, the place where the performance bleeds through. There's always a performance with men like this. Always some angle they're working.

I can't find it.

"You don't know me," I say again, but it sounds different this time. Less accusation, more confusion.

"I know enough." Almost a smile crosses his face — just a slight softening around the eyes. "I know you stood your groundwhen he grabbed you. Didn't scream, didn't cry, didn't freeze. You were handling it."

"I told you, I didn't need?—"

"I know. That's my point." He cuts me off, but gently. "You didn't need rescuing. But you also didn't flinch when I showed up. Didn't treat me like another threat. You read the situation and decided I was an ally." He pauses. "That takes instincts. Good ones."

I blink at him. "You got all that from five minutes?"

"I notice things."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

The silence shifts. Charged now — tension, awareness, the kind of electricity that comes before a storm breaks.

I find myself studying his mouth. Full lower lip, firm upper, the kind of mouth that looks like it would know exactly what to do.

My eyes linger there too long.

When I drag my gaze back up, he's watching me. He saw where I was looking. Definitely saw.

"Josie." My name in his voice sounds different. Lower. Rougher.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me to walk away."

I should. The smart thing, the safe thing, would be to thank him for his help and go find Maria and forget this ever happened. I just got out of something bad. I don't trust my own judgment anymore. I have no business wanting things from a man I just met.

"And if I don't?" I hear myself ask.

"Then I'm going to kiss you."

Not a question. Not quite a statement either. An offering and a warning, wrapped into one. Giving me the choice.

I should say no.

"Okay," I whisper instead.

He moves slowly. Deliberately. Giving me time to change my mind, to pull away. Every step is a chance for me to back out, and he's making sure I know it.

I don't take any of them.

His hand comes up to cup my jaw, rough calluses against my skin, and the touch sends electricity down my spine. He tilts my face up, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.

He won't find any. God help me, he won't find any.

Then his mouth is on mine, and I stop thinking entirely.

The kiss is not gentle. It's hungry and demanding, all heat and want, like something that's been building for years instead of minutes. His hand slides into my hair, gripping just hard enough to make me gasp, and he uses the moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine.