The slide of a hand moved over my hip, hooking my waist, and my fingers immediately went for the knife inside my skirts. The cava splashed from my glass as I whirled and I pressed the tip of the knife into the crisp white shirt before me, pulled over a broad chest. But a scent I knew poured into my lungs as I inhaled and looked up into green eyes, the glass shaking furiously in my hand. West.
