Physical reaction? She couldn't be flat-out referring to his...
Shit. She was. He did not intend to stand here and discuss hard-ons with this woman. "I have work to do."
Like beating his head against a wall until he passed out and woke up to find this conversation never happened. He executed a sharp military pivot and started back toward the light.
"It is okay, you know." Her voice dogged him. "There is no need to worry I expect anything long-term from you. I understand that men can not control when it happens for them."
What the hell did she know about men with no self-control? The light faded until he saw red. Thoughts blasted into his head, harsh images brought on by too many years of seeing the worst so-called humans could inflict on the helpless.
Hand on his military-issue side arm holstered on his hip, he charged back to her. His other hand thumped the side of the metal hangar beside her as if already erecting a wall between her and any threat. "Has someone hurt you?"
"Hurt me?"
Anger blew away his frustration, gelling into a cold-core call to protect. "Assaulted you? Sexually."
Her eyes widened with her gasp. "No! No."
Tension unwound inside him. His arm fell back to his side.
"But thank you for your concern for my well-being."
Her smile kinked that tension right back to an overwound spring.
"I'd be concerned about anyone. It's all a part of my job description to protect." He barked the words gruffer than he intended, but for the best.
She winced. "I realize that."
He'd hurt her feelings, and he ignored remorse. Now maybe she would back off. He could have some peace of mind and overlook the fact that he'd started searching for her every time he stepped away from his room.
Or a meeting.
Or another bowl of goat slop.
She relaxed against a metal beam. "I think you must have been very young when you had your daughter. How old is she again?"
"Twenty-one."
She smiled. "So I am older."
"By only two years. Now this conversation is over." Why didn't he tell her he was a grandfather?
"Men in my country have many wives."
The W-word.
A curse in his vocabulary he'd given up long before becoming a grandfather and a conversation he knew damned well to avoid. "So I hear around the water cooler."
"My mother was my father's fourth wife. Some say being the first wife is the most honored and important position. My mother always said being the last was best because it meant my father wanted no one else after having her."
He refrained from making a comment about monogamous marriages since that would lead him deeper into a discussion he wanted finished. "Well, rest assured, I can control myself, and having had one wife, I now have absolutely no intentions of taking another."
Yasmine studied him silently. Wind tugged at her silly scarf, revealing a hint of silken black hair. And just that fast, the attraction blindsided him again.
She tightened her scarf against the tearing gusts. "You loved her that much?"
Hell, no. But he knew an out when he saw one, so he kept his yap zipped and let her think what she wanted. Damned persistent woman would, anyway.
"How tragic for you." A frown ribbed her brow. Then she smiled. Man, did the woman ever know how to smile, creasing dimples in her smooth skin. "But also fortuitous for our situation. There are no worries now since I never want to marry, either. Once I am in the United States, I will be my own woman. No relatives to claim me and what is mine as their own."