She recognized his face long before she remembered his name. More specifically, she remembered those vivid eyes, the engaging curve of those full lips, the very wrong thoughts of what kissing him would feel like. What she couldn’t remember was if she’d somehow managed to give him her name in those few minutes they’d talked to each other in front of Rage. She didn’t think so. Yet he called her by it, knew she carried a gun.
More importantly, he was here. He’d been looking for her. That couldn’t be good.
He wasn’t moving from where he’d stopped, eyes intense as he regarded her. “I would’ve liked to do this at your house,” he said. “But I saw you leaving for your run and thought that maybe it might be better if we were alone.”
“Is this a fight?” Her voice was clipped and cold, her muscles
