He smiled at me like I wasn't holding a sword to his throat. He should have been afraid. Most men were. But Basil just raised his hands, said his name like it rhymed with something sweet, and waited to see what I'd do next. I didn't walk away. That was my first mistake. He showed up after that. At every fire, every skirmish, every moment I was certain I'd finally scared him off for good. He never tried to fix me or soften me or ask me to be something easier to love. He just stayed—close enough that I noticed, far enough that it was always my choice. I've spent my whole life taking what I needed and owing nothing. He made me want to be given something instead. He'll tell you he knew exactly what he was getting into. That I was worth every scar, every slammed door, every time I pointed something sharp in his direction and dared him to stay. Maybe he's right. But he looked at me like I was everything he'd been looking for—sharp edges, bloody hands, walls built straight to the ceiling—and not one part of him flinched. What was I supposed to do with that? Court Her at Your Own Risk. He knew the odds. I'm not sure I did. A slow burn paranormal fantasy romance for the reader who has always rooted for the heroine who doesn't smile back—and the man stubborn enough to wait until she does. -- Previously published as Not If He Looked At Me Like That.