His expression softened a bit. With humor? It was the closest thing to a real conversation they’d ever had.
He took the file from her hand and closed it. “Anything else you want to know about me? Ask.”
“Okay.” There were things. Lots. She just couldn’t think of any of them with him standing so close.
She backed up a step, trying to be casual as she draped her elbow on top of the file cabinet. She gained only six inches. “With your background, you could have gotten a service dog from any breeder in the country. You came here. Why?”
His lids lowered to half-mast over the dark-gold brilliance of his eyes. “I was blackmailed.”
Jori couldn’t imagine anyone who could force this man to do something he didn’t want to do. There had to be another reason. “Is it because we specialize in PTSD dogs?” She glanced at the file he held. “The extent of your injuries indica—”
“—I got blowed up. That’s not exactly news to me.”
He dropped the folder on top of the file behind her and braced his hand beside her arm on the file cabinet, effectively enclosing her between his body and the cabinet. “Next question.”
Jori tried to ignore his attempt to dominate her space. “Samantha’s specially trained to help with PTSD episodes. I’ve been working with her for four months so I know she’s good at her job.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Do you think she’s well trained?”
“Very.”
Jori thought about that one-word answer for a second. The only way he would know that was if he had seen her in action, too. “Did you experience an episode last night?”
He stared at her, every muscle in his face gone Mount Rushmore hard. Then he jerked his head to the left, as alert as if Kelli’s desk had reared up on hind legs and snarled at him.
For a split second Jori didn’t understand his reaction. Then she realized she’d heard the sound, too. A pile of papers on the desktop had shifted. Nothing to alarm even Samantha. But Battise was blinking as his head swiveled slowly right and left to scan the corners of the ten-by-twelve-foot office space. Though he wasn’t touching her, she could feel the tension making his body rigid.
She’d read about and watched other trainers working with service dogs simulate it. But she’d never seen a real exaggerated startle response in anyone.
Samantha, ahead of Jori in processing what was going on, had risen and come over to Battise. Immediately she pushed in close to him, wedging her heavy body behind him at knee level. Battise didn’t seem to notice.
Wanting to help, too, Jori reached out and touched him just above the elbow. His biceps was more than warm. It was almost scalding.
“It’s okay, Mr. Battise.”
She watched his whole presence change in the wake of her words. His attention snapped back to her. He looked first at her fingers curled lightly on his biceps and then up at her face. His blinking slowed.
“I don’t need your help.” His voice was as hard as the muscles under her touch. His gaze seemed to repel her by force of will.
Determined not to lose him, she clamped her fingers tight on his arm. “I can see that you’re very capable in many ways, Mr. Battise. But this isn’t war. You don’t have to gut it out alone.”
He didn’t answer but he didn’t pull away from her touch.
Maybe she just needed to change the subject. “Look, if you don’t like Sam—”
“I never said I didn’t like Sam.” He didn’t move yet he suddenly seemed closer. “I said I don’t want her.” The words came out as if each one were a whole sentence.
“Okay. Tell me what you do want.”
“What I want?” When his rough and ready gaze rose to tangle with hers, a surge of pure lust burst through Jori. Sexual heat radiated off him like waves from glowing coals. And his eyes. Direct, penetrating. Pure Alpha in search of every advantage against a perceived opponent. At the moment it was all aimed at her.
Self-protection was telling her to run like a scared little rabbit. Not that there was anywhere to go. She was cornered between the file cabinet and his rather impressive body. Another part of her wanted to lean in to him, to touch and taste that heat. Yet the biggest part was urging her to bark back at the Alpha invading her space.
She slapped a palm flat on his chest. “Back off, Mr. Battise. I’m not your enemy.”
Something glinted in his gaze. “Then why do I feel in jeopardy whenever you’re around?”
As if. There was too much male presence in his stance to make her feel safe enough to enjoy his brand of humor. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking, fast, about her next move.
She removed her hand. Her palm went cold from the loss of contact.
“Know what I think, Mr. Battise? You wouldn’t recognize what you needed if it was standing in front of you.”