Chapter 82

Maeve

There is no distance between Wyatt and me. He is holding me like a dearly beloved pet, smiling like a dork, even though Victor is behind us. The chemistry between us seems to make the atmosphere sparkle like the fourth of July.

"Maeve… I'm so, so sorry…" He studies my face, speaking in a gentle voice. "Did I hurt you?"

I nod because lying isn't part of my personality when it comes to injuries. Most of my body parts are aching, still sore from having Wyatt crash into me like a professional football player. I'm a trained assassin, not an MMA fighter.

"Don't worry about me." I trace his bottom lip with a finger. It's random, but I like the gentle curve of his mouth, loving the safety of his arms. I'm filled with warmth. "I'm not fragile and a lot tougher than you expect. I'm packed with muscle under these clothes—don't let my five-feet-something height fool you."

Wyatt's eyebrows rise in disbelief while there is a glint of humor in his eyes