She pointed at a spot over her shoulder. “Over there somewhere.”

“And you took them off because ...”

“Gotta take care of the knee, right? Ice through black denim probably not very effective.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So are you going to bring me that ice pack or should I come over there and get it?”

Crush walked back across the room until he stood in front of her. “I should get you a dishrag or something. You shouldn’t put this right against your skin.”

“Oh, come on. You know I can handle ...” She stopped talking, looked him over. “You’re right. Give me your T-shirt.”

“Why?”

“You want to put a dirty dishrag on me?”

“As opposed to my dirty T-shirt? There’s blood and gunpowder on this thing.”

The feline held her hand out. “Gimme.”

“I have clean ones in the laundry room.”

“But I want the one you’re wearing.” She gave him another once-over. “And I want it now.”

Okay, so her knee was throbbing and she had a headache from getting hit in the face by the big fist and head of a bear. But he was just so cute! And, what was that word? Gallant? Carrying her inside and offering to make her “spaghetti.”

Cute. Cute. Cute.

“Fine. Since you’re so adamant.”

“I am that.”

He placed the ice pack on the table and took off his light jacket, tossing it over one of the chairs. Cella dropped her hands behind her, her palms flat against the wood table, propping her up.

“You sure I can’t just get you—”

“Waiting.”

With a long sigh, Crush reached back with both arms and gathered up his shirt, pulling it over his head and off. And honestly, watching all those muscles flex—and God, there were so many muscles—really did make a girl forget all sorts of aches and pains.

Crush tucked the ice pack inside the shirt and then carefully placed it on Cella’s knee. She winced and, since he was staring at her face, he started to pull back.

“It’s not that bad,” she assured him. “It’s sore but I’ll live.”

Nodding, he settled the ice pack on her. “How is that?”

“Fine.”

He took a step back. “I guess you have your father’s knees.”

Cella scowled. “Big and hairy?”

He blinked in surprise and quickly shook his head. “No. No. I mean, he had the same problem with his right knee. You both skate the same way because of it ... just different knees.”

Cella rubbed her nose. “Wow. You really are a fan.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I’m just fascinated by how hyperaware you are about stuff.”

“Those who can skate, do. Those who can’t, obsessively watch andeither praise or criticize.”

“Which do you do?”

“Depends on how good you are.”

“That’s right. I’m not as good as my dad.”

“I never said that. I just think you fight more than you skate.”

“I’m the enforcer. I’m supposed to fight.”

“Bullshit. You’re supposed to protect your team.”

Laughing, Cella explained, “I do protect my team. By fighting.”

“Everything is a bare-knuckle brawl to you, isn’t it?”

“No. But it should be. Imagine the shit that could be worked out with a good and proper fight. That’s how we handle it. Business deal goes bad, a bare-knuckle fight fixes it.”

“How does it fix the problem?”

“It just does. Think about it. Politicians can only get their long-winded and boring bills through Congress if they’re willing to raise their fists.” She brought up her fists, snarled a little. The bear shook his head, but he smiled.

“I guess you’re all about anarchy then.”

“No way. Malones have lots of rules and everyone abides by them or they get their asses kicked.”

Since the bear was laughing and smiling—not a scowl in sight—Cella wrapped both arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting cuddle-y,” she answered honestly.

“Your knee is severely swollen, your lip split, you have a black eye, and I think your nose is broken.”

“Oh. Right.” She released him long enough to pop her nose back, eyes crossing from the pain. Shaking that off, she put her arms around his neck again and smiled. “All fixed.”

Crush laughed, then cut it off by clearing his throat. “You are—”

“Amazing? Dynamic? Enthralling?”

“I was going to say nuts. Crazy. Loony tunes.”

“You say tomato, I say whatever. Now come here and kiss me.”

Again, Crush had no idea what to do with this woman. He knew what he’d like to do with her, but he was having a hard time getting past the fact that she’d gotten her bell rung by violent bears. She was bruised, battered, and swollen. Not only that, she’d killed. A lot. Shouldn’t she be somewhere trying to emotionally recover from all that? Or off licking her wounds? Shouldn’t he be getting her tea and making her listen to something soothing and Irish? Like Enya?

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he even suggested such a thing, he’d end up looking like her. Besides, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find her kind of hot right now. Was that weird? That was weird, wasn’t it? For the first time, he regretted that he’d spent most of his time with full-humans. He had no idea how to handle a true She-predator. An apparently horny She-predator.