Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“You still need to know what happened,” I say firmly. “And you can’t turn your back on this place until you have your answers.”
“Somethin’ like that.” Another faint smile flicks across his lips before he looks back at me. “Anyway.” He jerks his chin toward my shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t see you hiding that tattoo.”
It’s not hard to tell he’s changing the subject.
Fine.
I let it go with a smile, squeezing his wrist before I pick up my fork again.
“I don’t want to have to explain it to any upset parents,” I say dryly. “Even if the whole point of getting it was, uh, to upset some parents.”
Lucas arches a brow—but there’s a warmth in his eyes, like he appreciates me accepting the change. He takes a bite of his toast, swallows, and says, “Any parents in particular, or you mean all of ’em?”
“My foster parents. Well, one set in particular, before they sent me back. I was seventeen.” I clear my throat. Now it’s my turn to rearrange my plate, shoving food around with my fork and ducking my head, my cheeks flaring hot. “That foster mother hated me. The way I talked, my temper... and maybe I had a sharp tongue. Maybe I did a few other things, too. She called me a vicious little dragon. I saved up my allowance for weeks and found a tattoo artist who didn’t check IDs and got it just to spite her.”
Lucas barks out laughter. Just like that the tension bleeds out of him, leaving him easy and relaxed again. His eyes glitter.
“I’m curious about those other things.”
“Oh, the usual.” I try to keep a straight face. “Turning in homework late, staying out too late, a little shoplifting once or twice—don’t worry, I felt so bad I gave the stuff back right away. Before I even got caught. Just the usual troubled teenager crap you shouldn’t talk about with the hot cop you just had wild sex with all night.”
His proud grin drips with filthy thoughts brimming in his eyes.
“No worries. I’ll cuff you for your misdemeanors later, after you’re done with the kids. For now, eat your breakfast, New York.”
“You,” I say, pointing my fork at him and very firmly ignoring how my stomach quivers at that subtle promise, “need to stop filling my head with terrible thoughts.”
“Just being polite, Lilah.”
“Lilah. Delilah. Say it. One or the other.”
“Lilah. Miss Delilah.” He smirks. “There. I said 'em both. You just didn’t tell me not to say anything else.”
“You—”
Fighting back my laughter—and failing—I snag the folded paper towel under my cutlery, ball it up, and throw it in his face.
It bounces off his head and he gives me a deadpan look.
“That does it,” he snarls.
Next thing I know, he launches out of his chair with a playful growl and comes diving at me.
Shrieking, I fly out of my chair, darting for the kitchen door—but he catches me around the waist, swinging me around, leaving me laughing wildly as I kick my feet.
How did life get this weird?
Here I am, first day on the job and surrounded by creepy threats.
There’s dried blood splashed on my house. Either from my psycho ex or one of the effing Arrendells or one of their freaky minions.
A girl died in this house, not ten feet from where I’m squirming in Lucas’ arms.
Yet somehow, I’m happy.
Happier than I’ve been since the day I first met Mitsi Clarendon and she pulled me into her arms and burst into tears of joy only a mother denied can have.
Maybe Emma Santos has a hand in this, wanting me to be happy because her life was cut short.
“Let go!” I hiss.
“Brat.” Mock-snarling, Lucas playfully pulls my hair, then sets me down next to my chair, nuzzling at my ear. “Eat your breakfast, I said.” The way he slaps my butt makes me squeak. “Finish your food or you’re gonna be late, brat.”
So I do, giving him an irritable look before I plop back down in my chair. “You’re lucky you’re such a good cook.”
“Y’know,” he says, sliding lithely back into his chair and diving back into his hash browns, “you better go easy on the backhanded compliments. I’m starting to figure out your game, and if you’re not careful, I might start thinking you like me.”
“Really?” I snort. “Then you’re not as good a cop as I thought you were, if that’s the conclusion.”
“See?” That just wins me another sexy smirk. “You went and did it again. Nice knowing you have such faith in my skills.”
“Lucas Graves. There’s an entire roll of paper towels not three feet away from me, and as far as I’m concerned that counts as artillery.”
“Cease fire. I surrender.” He sets his fork down and holds up both hands.
I just laugh, shaking my head, and finish the food while it’s still warm.