Page 74 of Broken Blades

The realization horrified me.

I hated that his acknowledgment mattered. Hated that some desperate part of me had been waiting for confirmation that I wasn't completely failing at this impossible performance he'd forced me into. Hated that validation from my captor felt like victory instead of further evidence of how thoroughly he was breaking down my defenses.

Chapter 14

Wyatt

The protein shake tasted like chalk and regret, but I downed it anyway. Discipline didn't stop just because my morning workout had left my muscles screaming. Sweat soaked through my shirt, plastered the fabric against my chest and shoulders. Hair still damp, dripping occasional cold drops down the back of my neck.

I'd pushed harder than necessary. Punished my body with reps that would make my trainer wince, sprints that left my lungs burning. Anything to silence the loop playing in my head—the soft sound she'd made when I pulled her close during practice. The way her body had fitted against mine like it belonged there.

Like she belonged there.

I shook my head, reaching for the coffeepot.

That was when I heard it. A soft inhale. Sharp. Caught. The kind of sound someone made when they'd been doing something they shouldn't.

I turned slowly. Deliberately casual.

She stood frozen in the hallway entrance. Deer in headlights didn't begin to cover it—her eyes wide, lips parted slightly, cheeks flushed pink in a way that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with whatever she'd been thinking before I caught her.

Before she'd caught herself.

Her gaze darted away. Too late. I'd already cataloged the trajectory—the way her attention had traced the lines of my shoulders, the damp fabric clinging to muscle I'd earned through years of brutal conditioning.

She'd been staring. Absolutely, undeniably staring.

I took a sip of coffee. Let the silence stretch while she squirmed, shifting weight from foot to foot, arms wrapping around herself in that defensive posture I was starting to recognize as her tell when she was rattled.

"See something you like?"

The words came out darker than intended. Rougher. Threaded with an edge I should've buried.

She jolted. Actually flinched. "No! I—I was just—um—wondering if you wanted breakfast."

I lifted a brow. Let skepticism paint itself across my features while something dangerous coiled tight in my chest. "You never wonder about breakfast."

The flush deepened. Spread down her throat in a way that made my jaw clench.

I knew exactly what had happened. Could read it in the panicked flutter of her pulse, the way she couldn't quite meet my eyes, the defensive set of her shoulders fighting against the involuntary attraction her body was starting to register.

She was getting used to me. To my proximity. My touch. The controlled violence I carried like second skin. And that realization landed with the force of a cross-check to the ribs.

Dangerous.

For both of us.

I set the coffee down. Stepped toward her.

She took half a step back.

Half.

She used to take three.

The shift registered somewhere primal. Possessive. Wrong.

I noticed. Worse—I liked it.