He stared intently at the fruit knife, yet he didn't step back one bit. His gaze darkened, like the oppressive calm before a great storm.
He'd never imagined this woman would be ready with a spring-loaded fruit knife at all times. He could see clearly: she hadn't pulled it from her bag, but from the pocket of her jeans, her movements practiced and swift. Clearly, it was a habitual action for her.
This was no ordinary fruit knife; it only resembled one. In truth, it was much smaller and sharper.
She glared at him fiercely, as if he were a mortal enemy.
