Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

19. GRAYSON

19

GRAYSON

I had never met anyone like Ivy before.

Looking at her, you’d assume she was nothing more than a stunningly gorgeous woman, and her petite frame gave no hint at her skills.

She was a walking contradiction.

Petite, with a heart big enough to be cracked by an ex. Brave enough to meet some strange man in a dark parking structure, but lethal enough to incapacitate Vosch’s right-hand man within seconds.

Seconds.

How freaking sexy that she’d turned him into a twisted pile of bones. I couldn’t express to her how I marveled at the fact that someone her size could reduce a man the size of Vosch’s driver to a pile of rubble, though. She didn’t know that I had witnessed the aftermath, nor that I’d originally come here for a singular purpose—to uncover her identity.

Yesterday, the only reason I would have cared if she was a violent criminal was that it would have added another name to the CIA’s list. But now, I cared for a very different reason.

A foreign reason that I had never experienced before—I was drawn to Ivy.

However, prying into her personal life might have jeopardized everything. Not only could it make it more challenging to obtain information from her professionally, but I also feared that I had crossed a line and become too invasive on a personal level.

I wasn’t seasoned in social norms, especially when it came to women, but clearly, asking for her last name had sent off alarm bells.

And while the softening of her eyes and the gentle smile caressing her lips suggested my declaration had gone a long way to soothe those worries, they were still lingering in her shoulder tension.

I couldn’t blame her for being cautious.

It was brave enough for her to share how her father had died and what had happened to her yesterday, but revealing details that would allow someone she had just met to possibly track her down?

What a stupid move on my part to ask that, after she had almost been killed by another man who had obtained her personal information.

“This was nice.” Ivy looked at the time on her phone. “But I do have to get going.”

The thought of having her leaving my sight sent an unfamiliar wave of anxiety through my chest. Or was it disappointment?

Again, I wasn’t skilled at dating or talking to normal human beings, but wasn’t it within reason to ask for a way to contact her?

Plus, I hadn’t gotten her name—or a picture for that matter.

“Could I have your number?” I asked, raising my cell phone slightly as if I was about to input her contact information.

If she gave me her number, we could trace it to a legal name, and once she was officially cleared, I could enjoy her company without any lingering doubts about who she was. As a backup plan to uncovering her identity, I discreetly opened the camera app, preparing to snap a picture.

Just as the screen was loading, however, some idiot walking past our table knocked into my elbow, tossing my cell phone to the ground.

“Sorry, man,” the guy mumbled.

I resisted the urge to snap his wrist for the infraction, accepting the phone with a polite nod when he picked it up and handed it to me.

Great. The damn thing was now repowering itself.

Meanwhile, Ivy’s eyes were round with hesitation. If I had asked her for her number before making that terrifying declaration that someone in her life might’ve tried to orchestrate her death, maybe she would’ve dished it out a little more freely.

“I really enjoyed talking to you,” she started. “But to be honest, after what happened yesterday, I need to be more guarded about giving out my personal information. If I hadn’t given it to that guy?—”

“I get it,” I assured. “For all you know, I could be a killer.”

I regretted the pun as soon as it left my mouth, but luckily, she smiled.

“It’s smart of you,” I continued. “But if it’s okay, I would really like to see you again. Could I stop by tomorrow for coffee? Same time?”

Ivy’s lips parted in hesitation before curving into a smile that spread a warmth deep within me.

“I’d like that,” she murmured, her fingers brushing a loose strand of dark brown hair behind her ear—a gesture so simple, yet I found myself captivated, longing to discover the softness of her hair between my fingertips.

“Tomorrow,” I responded with a slight grin, anticipation flickering between us.

As I moved to let her by, our proximity in the narrow space sent a current of electricity through the air. She was so close that the delicate scent of her vanilla shampoo momentarily eclipsed the café’s coffee aroma around us. She paused, a mere breath away, looking up at me in a silent yet loud moment of chemistry.

The heat radiating from her was a tangible force, drawing me in, urging me to forget the world beyond this moment.

My focus dropped to her lips, the desire to close the distance between us wrestling with the remnants of restraint. The moment hung suspended in time, charged with an intensity that threatened to sweep away reason and caution in a single reckless wave.