My head bounced off the wall of his chest as he crashed into the floor, nearly making me bite my tongue in half. I ripped my arm back and jammed the knife against his side, satisfied by the whoosh of his breath at the impact. He elbowed me hard in the shoulder, numbing my arm and hand. The knife fell from my grip, and he reached for it, but I elbowed him in the upper thigh. He twisted instinctively to protect his soft spots, which put the knife momentarily out of his reach. With my still-tingling right hand, I knocked that knife away from his scrabbling fingers and braced myself as I arched over him and drove my knee into the back of his raised leg, keeping him off balance.

My free left hand yanked a second knife from under my shirt as I threw myself on top of him. He grabbed my wrist with an iron grip and rolled with me, trying to pin me down. All I felt were his hard edges and my desperation to win. To prove to him that I could do this. That he didn’t have to worry about protecting me, that we could be together even though—I pushed that stupid thought out of my head and kicked my legs out and over. There was no way I was going to allow him to get on top of me again.

As we twisted, I let him control my left hand and managed to draw a third knife with my right. The moment I felt gravity working for me, I shoved off with my foot and burst upward with all my strength.

Malachi’s eyes were bright as his gaze darted down to my hand, which now held a blade against his throat. “You’ve killed me,” he whispered.

The deep rise and fall of his chest carried me like a wave. I stared into his eyes, completely caught, storm-tossed and disoriented. Before I could think about it, the knife had fallen from my hand and my fingers were sliding greedily along his neck, up to his jaw. His hands tightened around my elbows while his eyes fluttered shut. His chin lifted, exposing his throat, where his pulse beat heavy and hard, where his skin was soft and smooth and waiting. I wanted to close my mouth around that pulse. I wanted to feel it tick against my tongue. I wanted to taste his skin and hear him moan. But … what if that tilt of his chin was to avoid my touch? What if the waiting was for me to get the hell away from him and stop invading his space?

I rolled off him and stood up. “I think that’s a first,” I said, driving the tremble out of my voice with sheer volume.

Malachi didn’t get up, nor did he open his eyes.