Supreme confidence. Ridley was a man who had been in dangerous situations, she could tell that. In some circumstances he was probably a very scary man, but no one was in Rafe's class. No one. She couldn't explain him to anyone, they'd think she was insane. They'd lock her up and make it easy for Rafe to come get her.
What had she been thinking? She'd let walking with a very attractive man override her good sense. Fun wasn't worth getting someone killed.
She sent Ridley a quick look from under her lashes. It was there again. The expression that told her she'd made a terrible mistake revealing this side of her. She'd suppressed it for so long, it just came out, as unexpected to her as it was to him.
"I'm used to being alone, that's all. I'm careful. I don't want you to think I was flirting with you, I wasn't." And she hadn't been. She didn't even know how to flirt. She didn't look at men. She'd made an art out of finding everywhere to look but at any man in the room with her. She'd trained herself from the time she was eleven years old.
"You don't have to try to flirt, Kitten." Ridley's voice was soft, gentle even.
For some reason the way he spoke made her insides melt a little. Her body reacted to just the sound of his voice. She bit her bottom lip hard to try to counteract the effect.
"You smile at a man, or look at him with your gorgeous eyes, and he's a goner. That's just the reality of it."
She refused to wrap herself up in his compliment. She'd never had compliments before. Not ever. Not personal. About her coffee maybe, but not like this. She couldn't remember anyone being so fun. She'd had her first kindness from Malcom. Now she had her first best time with a man. She couldn't keep him, but she could have the memories, and when she was alone, then she'd wrap herself up in his compliments and savor them.
The warehouses loomed on the next block. They turned the corner and crossed the street, angling toward the center one. It looked old from the outside. Old and tired. A single light illuminated a heavy door. There were three cargo doors, all padlocked. Ridley scowled at them.
"You didn't tell me about the time you were followed. I'm still waiting to hear that story."
She snuck a peek at his face from under her lashes. He was like a dog with a bone. She hadn't distracted him at all. She sighed. Loudly. "Seriously, Ridley, it isn't important."
"That's bullshit, Cat, and you know it. You're scared of something. It's not all that hard to tell. You walk everywhere, which means you don't want to drive your car . . ."
"It doesn't mean that," she hissed. She stabbed at the number pad a little viciously, punching in the code to unlock the door. "Gas costs money."
She was horrified that she blurted out the truth. It was just that he had such an edge to his voice, as if he knew all about her. She wasn't doing her best job of running him off and she knew it was because she was lonely and he made her feel alive. Okay, happy even. There, she'd admitted it to herself. But it had to stop. She paused before she pushed open the door, her hand on the doorknob.
"Thanks for walking me home. I can take it from here." She used her best dismissive voice. She'd had a lot of practice using that particular tone, and it was one of her best weapons. It didn't even faze him. He kept moving, crowding her, pushing her inside.
"Ridley. Seriously. You did the white knight thing. We're good."
"We're not good. What kind of man would let you walk into a warehouse without checking it out first to make certain you're safe?" His hands settled on her waist and he picked her up, stepped inside and put her to the side of the door. "You stay right there."
It was pitch-black inside, the way it always was. She had heavy drapes on all the windows to block out every bit of light so she could sleep during the day. That didn't seem to faze him, although he swore under his breath as he took a careful look around.
"Light switch?"
For some reason, she thought he had a super power and could see in the dark. Maybe it had been the slow, careful perusal of the empty space, but she just stood there, not breathing, waiting for something, her heart pounding and her mouth dry.
"Kitten."
He just said one word. But it was his voice. How he said it. The gentle, amused tone. She felt his voice slide in under her skin, slip into her bloodstream and rush straight like an arrow for her most feminine core. She hadn't expected it.
Instantly there was heightened awareness. She smelled him. That faint masculine, almost wild smell, mountains and jungles and maybe a rain forest or two. He was so solid, all flowing muscle, his shoulders wide and his hips narrow. He moved with fluid grace, and heat radiated off of him, enveloping her.
She stepped back from his sheer potency. His hand instantly went to her waist, slid to settle on her hip.
"Catarina, I'm just going to make certain you're safe."
Thank God he thought she was frozen with fear, not flooded with female hormones at the worst possible moment. She cleared her throat, trying to get past the unfamiliar hunger rising like a tidal wave. The itch under her skin was terrible. It came in a wave, rising and falling, and deep inside something she feared above all else gave a lazy stretch, making its presence known.
She stepped back again and hit the wall, her breath coming in a long rush, but suddenly his touch was too hot, melting through her skin to brand her very bones. She felt something rise in him, wild and feral, trying to break free. The moment was fraught with danger. She didn't move or speak, terrified if she did, something would happen that could never be taken back.
His fingers dug into her hip. Hard. Possessive. She felt the difference. The heat seared her. Scorched like a thousand flames. He went from being protective to predatory in one single moment. She felt the difference, felt the change sweep through him. A single sound escaped her throat. She heard it in the silence of the warehouse. Fear. Pure fear.
Instantly his hand dropped from her hip and moved to the nape of her neck. His fingers curled there. Gentle.
"Cat." His voice was pure indulgence. "Nothing is going to happen to you. Tell me where the light switch is."
She was acting crazy. She was letting fear dictate, fear and imagination. She wasn't over her past. She would never be over it, and she'd never be truly free. She took a breath, forcing air to move through her burning lungs.
"Right by the door as you walk in. Just about a foot above the door handle."
He flicked the light on immediately and she found herself staring up into his eyes. They looked like gold to her. Ancient Florentine gold. His eyes glittered down at her. For a moment she saw speculation. The interest he'd shown when she gave him attitude, but there was no aggression in them. Nothing in the least bit predatory. Just a man being kind to a woman who lived alone. A man taking charge.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded, feeling like a complete idiot. She knew danger and there was none radiating from this man at all. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I don't have men in my space." How lame was that?
His hand slid her hat from her head and handed it to her. "You have a big space here, Kitten. Stay here and let me look around."
His eyes didn't leave her face and she couldn't move, only nod slowly. His gaze drifted over her as if inspecting her carefully. Seeing her. Seeing too much. She had secrets to hide. Not little tiny secrets, huge ones. She couldn't afford a man like this around her. He took in too much. Saw past every guard. And for some reason she wasn't very good at keeping things under wraps around him.
Abruptly he turned away and began to walk around the warehouse. Not walk--he prowled. He moved like a great jungle cat, all flowing muscle, fluid and absolutely silent. He was a thing of beauty to watch. He moved with absolute confidence, and she doubted if he missed anything.
His gaze searched the high places as well as the low. She could see he was systematically checking every concealed space and yet at the same time, seeing everything. There wasn't much to see. Mostly, the warehouse was empty. It was a single story, very long and very wide. What had been an office was now her bedroom.
Malcom had begun work on renovating the warehouse some years ago and then stopped when he met his wife. She hadn't been so enamored with the idea of living in the warehouse district. He had thought it would be nice to have his apartment and dojo together so he'd bought the building. He met his wife four months later.
She was very happy it had taken Malcom four months to meet the woman he had fallen madly in love with. That meant he'd worked on the warehouse. She had a makeshift bathroom and a really good bedroom space. Her kitchen area was the most finished of any room. She had a sink, counter, stove and small fridge. Malcom had started with a kitchen and bathroom, paying most attention to the fact that he liked to eat properly because he worked out so much.
"You have a hose for a shower."
Of course he would notice that.
"It's still in the building phase," she admitted. Since he was talking now, she assumed there was no one ready to jump out and murder her. She trailed after him, moving quickly to catch up.
He was in her bedroom, looking carefully around him. His gaze took in everything, the bed, the small safe on the floor beside the bed and her beat-up chair. She refused to be embarrassed. She'd found the chair at a thrift store and it was comfortable. Ignoring him she went to the safe, opened it and shoved her tip money inside.
The bedroom had three walls. The fourth was open to the warehouse floor. Straight ahead was her heavy bag hanging from the ceiling, a mat and a speed bag. She'd spent precious dollars on her equipment but felt it was a necessary expenditure.
"Nice workout area."
She looked at him over her shoulder, trying not to look too proud. He took up her entire bedroom area. Before she thought it was a lot of space for a bedroom, now it seemed small.
"I like to work out."
"It shows when you're in the dojo."
He wandered out of her bedroom area and into the workout space, his hand moving over the heavy bag. A stroke with his open palm. Almost a caress. Her heart fluttered. They had one thing in common--clearly he liked to work out as well.
"Malcom is a good instructor." He made it a statement.
Catarina was uncertain how to respond. "I think so. He certainly has helped me learn fast."
"You're a good student. I've watched. He tells you something once and you've got it. You listen and you don't get upset when he critiques you."
"I pay him a lot of money. I don't want him to tell me how good I am, I want him to tell me everything I'm doing wrong so I can get better."
"Unusual," he commented, and moved around the heavy bag. His gaze took in her neatly shelved equipment, the gloves and the small weights. "You're really serious about learning."
"I wouldn't spend the money on it if I wasn't."