Ninja At First Sight (Knitting in the City, #4.75)

by Penny Reid

Being alone in a sea of strangers didn’t trouble me. I didn’t crave social interaction, but I truly enjoyed watching people. I was enormously grateful for the freedom of finally living away from home, for being around people who didn’t know me and therefore didn’t look at me like I was breakable or about to explode or didn’t understand that brain tumors aren’t contagious.

He was awful. He was irreverent and offensive and abrasive, and, for some strange reason which should have alarmed me, I found him completely enchanting. Perhaps the shock value appealed to me because my entire life had been so sheltered. Or perhaps I was twisted and wrong in some way.

“Because I look at you, and I think, you and me, we’re going to get married one day. And then, if you’re a very good wife…” His eyes skated over my face as he paused, and it felt like a loving caress; but it also felt possessive and dangerous. His cadence dropped, deepened, as his stare settled on my lips. “If you’re a very good wife, we’ll have a mortgage.”

“Yes. I’m also known for my inappropriate sense of humor, offensive jokes, and callous treatment of sensitive topics. I’m a sore loser and an even worse winner.”

“But you’ve never been kissed,” he responded, his tone still flat but his eyes dancing with mischief, “and you’ve never dated. This is my chance to ruin you for anyone else.” “By telling me all about how terrible you are?” “By being honest. By playing no games. When I tell you that I’m a selfish bastard, I mean it. And when I tell you that you’re wonderful and amazing and stunning and definitely the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, you’ll know I mean that, too.”

My body felt needy, tight, straining, and restless. I didn’t know what to do with myself. All my life, my body had been a tool, frequently a disappointment, but not ever a part of me. First, because of the rigors of my training, it was a means to an end. Then during surgery and treatment, it felt like a failure. But suddenly, in this room, with this man, it was my mind that felt disconnected from the rest of me. My body felt like it was the victim, on the side of right; my mind was the failure, the disappointment, the mess.

“I saw you…” he kissed my parted lips, “you’d bent over to pick up your pen, or some such item…” he kissed me again, this time on the corner of my mouth, and my eyelids fell, my heart swelling, my breath catching, “and I thought to myself…” one more press of his lips on my jaw, “I thought, I am going to tap that ass.”

“And other things!” He grinned, wagging his eyebrows, pulling me forward, “I thought, I am going to tap that ass, as well as other things, all having to do with how lovely you are and how much I respect you as a person.”

Greg opened the door for Fern and mumbled under his breath, “I might give Fiona ten inches this afternoon, if she plays her cards right.” Um… hello!

“See? No vanity. You’ve lost the ability to care about bullshit that doesn’t matter. You’re a star, the center of a solar system, with no desire for the planets, asteroids, and moons caught in your gravitational field.”

“Who wants creepy planets anyway? Planets are amoebas, circling mindlessly in the vacuum of space. They’re star stalkers of the worst sort.”

“Point your toes, and imagine that you’re a pole, perfectly straight.” I was impressed I was able to keep my touch disinterested, though I longed to trace and explore his skin. “I’m a pole, I’m a pole,” he chanted. “I’m a pole… I wish someone would dance on me.”

“Face the window, Fe. It’s time to cuddle.” Greg stretched beside me, over the covers, and nudged my shoulder, encouraging me to turn. “Is this serious cuddling?” I teased. “Should I take notes?” “Yes and yes. You should always be taking notes when we’re together. I’m a consistent source of how to do everything right.”

“What are you doing?” I lifted my gaze to his, realizing I’d been staring, and answered honestly. “Remembering you.” His gaze heated, but not in the way I expected. “You realize you’re too good for me, right?” I frowned, my voice cracking as I asked, “Why would you say that?” “Because it’s true.” Now his eyes moved over me like I was being memorized. “I’ve been so careful, taking things slow, because I wanted to fall in love with your mind and heart first, not muck it up with arms and legs and appendages. You’re brilliant. And soulful. And beautiful. And clever and kind.” He’d made each of the complimentary attributes sound like an insult. He looked at me like being brilliant, soulful, and the rest were character traits to be pitied. “Well, you are all of those things, too,” I countered, stepping away.

“I’m not good enough for you, Fe. But…” he shrugged, giving me his crooked smile, “no else one is either. So I might as well take you for my own. Marry me.”