There's so much hanging between us. I feel like I should say something, but god help me, I have no fucking clue what. Drawing a breath, I decide to approach it the way I would anything else. Directly.
"About last night."
She freezes.
I approach her, stopping close enough for her body heat to reach me. I don't want anything I'm about to say to be overheard, and well … I like being this close to the woman I can't stand half the time.
"Thank you," I manage. It doesn't seem like enough, and yet, it's too much. I'm acknowledging being weak to the one person who won't hesitate to throw it in my face.
She says nothing.
"And I'm sorry about your cheek. When I'm stuck in the nightmare, I'm not always -"
"You didn't do that." She turns and gazes up at me, too close and not close enough. "You wouldn't. Even by accident. You're wound too tight."
What the fuck do I say to that? And why do I have the urge to touch her? Nothing happened between us. We're not in a relationship. Just a few awesome kisses and a hint of what a night with her would be like … and that tension that makes my body flood with adrenaline and anticipation, preparing to charge into battle.
"You're sure?" I ask, eyes on her cheek. "Something happened."
"You didn't hit me. Trust me. I know." She starts away.
My emotions immediately slam silent. "Whoa." I take her arm. "Someone hit you?"
She shrugs. "Stuff happens."
"No, stuff doesn't randomly happen. After last night, you should know that," I snap.
She averts her gaze.
"Who? And don't tell me it's none of my business. I swear if you use that line one more time this week …" Wrong approach. Too late, I realize it.
"You'll what?" She challenges, a flash of fire crossing her gaze as she glares up at me.
Kiss you. Finish what we started last night. There's no safe answer. "If one of my guys laid a hand on you, I will take care of it," I tell her resolutely.
Katya shakes her head. "It wasn't them, and I took care of it myself." She holds up her right hand. "You're right about punching someone. It hurts. Totally worth it."
If this conversation weren't so serious, I'd laugh at her surprised look. I take her wrist without dropping her gaze.
"Who, Katya?" I demand. "Is that why you don't want to go to the mess hall? You're afraid?"
"Of course not." She sighs. "I don't want to get in trouble for hitting him."
"What the fuck? Someone here hits you, and you're worried about defending yourself?"