Page 53 of Sweet Temptation

“No.”

“Which means… he smoked them already? Right before he climbed my wall?”

“It doesn’t mean that.”

“Meth is a stimulant. That means… it increases sex drive, right?”

Ronan didn’t answer that. He didn’t really have to.

And the thought of Blair smoking that shit and then trying to climb into my bedroom…

“We don’t know he smoked anything that night,” he said firmly.

But it didn’t make me feel any better.

I looked at the broken pipe. “What do we do with it?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Just don’t step on it.” Then he continued his fine-toothed combing of the yard.

I went after him, watching for more drug crap in my grass as I followed him around the back and the other side of the house.

“I really don’t understand what you’re looking for. I can get the fence post fixed or replaced or whatever. This house is totally safe. I’ve never had a break-in…” My words faded off as he found the coffee can under the bushes.

He picked it up. “What’s this,” he said, like he knew exactly what it was.

“Nothing.” I plucked it from his hand.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “So, you’re telling me that’s just random garbage?”

“Guess so.”

“That’s strange. Wonder how it got tucked under the bush like that. The rest of the yard is so pristine.”

I planted one hand on my hip, the other one holding the coffee can. “There’s a kid in the neighborhood who takes care of it for me. Mows the lawn and pulls the weeds and stuff. He does a great job.”

“And yet he missed that somehow.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I put it there,” I admitted, because clearly he already knew it. “And I told him to leave it.”

“Please do not tell me you keep a house key in there.”

I turned the empty can over and shook it dramatically. “No key, Magnum P.I..” Thank God I’d thought of it today, and pulled it out of here. It was now safely in my bedroom.

Really should’ve taken the whole can.

Ronan stared me down with his light-brown eyes. They looked all golden, like melted caramel, in the sun. There was a glimmer of fire in them, though, a sharp contrast to his stony expression. “Where’s the key, Summer?”

I sighed. “No one knows about it but my friends.”

“I hope you know not everyone is your friend,” he retorted.

“Obviously.”

“What about your yard boy?”

“He’s fifteen and as pure as the driven snow. Really, you’re overthinking this.”

He made a skeptical little growl sound in his throat.

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