“Do I make you nervous, pretty girl?” he rumbles. He moves in a little more, his nose almost brushing mine, his hand still covering my neck. “No,” I answer firmly, bluffing, like I’m in a game of poker with my life at stake. The corner of his mouth moves a little, as if a smile is trying to sneak through before his face returns to the stoic look he’s allegedly famous for. “Your throbbing pulse tells me otherwise.”
