Straight up truth—Rosa was gorgeous. Not pretty, not beautiful, not sexy, but straight-up fucking gorgeous. The kind of natural, makeup-less beauty that stunned a man, kept his eyes riveted like some kind of stalker. Yeah, that's what he'd be if he wasn't careful.

After seeing her for the first time and raveling his tongue back up from the floor, he'd thought of asking her out. But then after following her to ask her if she'd work for Telal, he realized quickly she'd rather date a dead snail. She looked at him like he was repulsive, like he'd start beating her at any moment.

Damn, that had been a slap to a face. He'd always had a big body, was just how he was built. But damn it all if seeing her look at him like some kind of freak didn't twist his ass hairs. Shit. It's not like he'd have a chance anyway. Even if he had a “normal” body like Telal or anyone else. She had the kind of face that made men write poetry and start wars for.

With a grimace, he turned the handle to the sound of wind chimes and ducked inside. He had only a few seconds to look around before he saw her. She finished shelving some bottles behind a counter with a cash register on it then came around with a smile, which died once she saw him. Her pupils dilated in a response he understood well, that he'd seen in many faces before—fear.

Shaking his head, he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Kearnyn MacTafferty. Telal's sent me to supervise over the work.”

She cocked her head at his hand as if he might suddenly make a move to strangle her. Slowly, she stuck her hand in his and just as quickly retracted it. Oh well, he held it long enough for him to feel just how soft her skin was. God, he was a creep.

“I didn't know I'd need supervision.”

He shrugged. “Telal has never worked with you before. He's a precise man, no room for error with him. Don't mind me, I'll just stand in that background. You'll hardly notice I'm here.”

“Like that's possible,” she said under her breath. With a brisk shake of her head, she motioned for him to follow her into a back room.

He had to stoop low as he walked through a partition of colored beads. “Did the shipment of daggers arrive?”

She nodded to cases with Demuzi Manufacturing Inc.’s logo on it sitting next to the back door. “Just this morning.” She headed towards a box, then stopped, turned back to him, not meeting his eyes. “You can sit there if you want.”

Kearnyn saw the small chair she noted and almost groaned. The damn thing looked tiny. No way would his big body fit in that; it looked like a child's chair. He debated over just standing, which he preferred, but he already made her nervous, so he went to the small chair and sat in it. The back of it barely reached the middle of his back and barely held half his ass. He held in a sigh.

Her lips trembled with a smile. Sure enough, she did seem to relax. She went to a box and tried to lift it with a grunt. It didn't budge.

“Here let me.”

She took several steps back to make room for him so he could pick up the box. She must be delicate, the box hardly weighed more than a few sacks of potatoes. “Where do you want it?”

He followed her nod and set it on the table, then pulled off the top of the case for her and returned to his seat like a good little boy. She went to the case and started pulling some of the daggers out when she stiffened, then shuffled around to the other side of the work table so she faced him. That was fine with him, he preferred it this way. He could watch her. Creep.

“So what do you call yourself, a witch?”

She spoke as she started pulling different items out of jars and cabinets. “I practice witchcraft. My powers come from my blood. We loosely use the term 'witch'. After the Salem witch trials in America we started using the term 'practitioner' because it sounded much more innocent to those who didn’t understand.”

Kearnyn sat back in his seat to watch her work, but that only scooted his ass further off the chair, forcing him to sit damn near erect. He stifled a sigh; he'd lived through worse things than an uncomfortable chair.

He kept quiet as he watched her work. She moved methodically: opening a thick leather tome to a certain page, grabbing oils and magnets. Today she wore another of those hooded robe-like dresses, only this one was yellow. He liked the look, the color looked amazing on her. Her darker skin and black hair only made the yellow glow around her in perfect contrast.

“Why do you watch me?” she said in a soft voice.

Kearnyn hid his surprise by looking down at his feet. “Why are you scared of me?” he countered.

She dropped the dagger in her hand; it landed on the table with a loud clang. “I...I am not afraid of you.” She grabbed the dagger in a fist and set her jaw as she got back to work. Her dark eyebrows pulled down into a furrow.

“Your actions show otherwise.” Why was he pursuing this? She looked like a Mayan goddess and he looked like a steroid-junkie meat head. Yet, even as he thought that he knew he wanted to know. Really wanted to know. Hell, maybe under her fear there was the slimmest chance she'd let him take her out. He almost laughed. Yeah, right.

“I am not afraid of you,” she said again, her voice a bit stronger.

For some reason he felt the need to push her. He wanted to hear the words from her soft pretty lips. Maybe because he was a glutton for punishment, or maybe actually hearing the words would make his mind shut her off from his thoughts like it should. He stood, and just as he expected, she took a step back, her eyes jumping to his, wide and alert.

“See, that's fear.”

Her eyes narrowed on his, then whether realizing it or not, her fingers curled around one of the daggers. That didn't worry him any, the blades hadn't been sharpened yet if she decided to use it.

“If I tell you will you sit back down?” His eyebrow flew up but he planted his ass back in the tiny seat. She let out an unsteady breath. “Let's just say that once upon a time I was with someone almost as large as you and he hurt me.”

Kearnyn gripped his thighs to steady himself. He knew he shouldn't, but he had to ask, had to know. “Broke your heart?”

She laughed, the sound hollow. “Broke more than that.”

Kearnyn's entire body froze, muscles pulled tight, limbs stilled, even his heart slowed to a steady crashing thud. “When?”

“Long enough ago,” she said after a minute. She resumed working, but now her hands moved slower like she had trouble concentrating.

“Is he still alive?” He already had plans in the making. They involved ropes, serrated blades, and a hammer. Good old-fashioned weapons made the best torture devices.

She shrugged. “No clue. Haven't seen him in years.” She hung her head and sighed. Then she looked right at him with her dark brown eyes. “I guess I need to apologize. See, he was a big man. Not as big as you are but big. I can't help but think of him when I see you. That isn't fair.”

“I understand.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, or disbelief. “You do?”

He nodded once. “I'd like for you to be comfortable around me, Ms. Medina. Is there anything I can do?” He probably sounded desperate, but something in him didn't want to let any chances with her to slip by.

She thought about it for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “Yes, there is! I could touch you!” The thought of her touching him combined with her smile, gave him the hardest wood he'd had in ages. Feeling very male in that moment, all he could think was that he knew of a few places he'd like her to touch.

But he didn't say any of those things and break what thin progress they'd made. “What do you mean?” There, that was safe to say, no sexual innuendo lurking behind the words.

She came around the table holding her hands out palms up. “If I may? Just let me touch your hands.”