Page 62 of Missile Strike

Not again.

With a strength she didn’t realize she possessed, she shoved at his chest.

Danny scrambled to his feet, his fingers tunneling through his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

Isabella’s temper flared.

“If you apologize one more time for touching me, I swear to God, I will stab you with a kitchen knife.”

Danny’s eyes widened.

She brushed past him before she made good on her threat and stomped up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

“Bella.”

Feet poised on the landing, she peered over her shoulder at him.

Arms crossed, expression unreadable, it was as if he hadn’t just had his hands and mouth all over her. “Tomorrow morning, we start self-defense. Be ready.”

A simple nod. Easier than confessing the truth—she didn’t just want to learn how to protect herself from danger.

She wanted to learn how to protect herself from wanting him.

Chapter Fifteen

Isabella buried her face deeper into her pillow, refusing to acknowledge she was awake.

Or that she had to deal with Danny.

He was teaching her self-defense this morning. Which meant getting close to him again—and pretending she didn’t crave the feel of his hands on her.

She rolled out of bed. Stretched. Then dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, putting her hair up in a ponytail.

It was all good. This was his job.

That didn’t make it easier.

Trip whined and pawed at the door.

“I know, sweetie. You probably have to go potty.” She opened the door, following Trip’s bounding steps down the stairs to the living room.

The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen.

Trip first, then coffee. She let him out, then poured herself a cup, adding a splash of milk from the fridge.

Where was Danny?

A thumping sound in her garage came a moment later.

She opened the door to find him hauling blue mats into the space where her car normally sat parked. He had on navy blue athletic shorts and a deep red camo Wounded Warrior Project T-shirt. His hair was tied back with an elastic band.

“Morning, sunshine.” He looked over his shoulder with a breezy grin that made her pulse stutter. “Ready to get to work?”

It looked like they were going to pretend last night’s make-out session never happened.

She hid her disappointment behind her mug. “After I wake up.”