Page 112 of Brutal Ice

“Don’t you dare talk that way about the man I love, do you understand me?”

He did not speak. Mostly because he couldn’t.

“This is some absolute bullshit,” she fired back. “You are great. You’ve saved me. Over and over, you’ve been there for me. Listen up, Royal. I want to be with you. Now. Always. I want you to take me to New Orleans, and I want you to show me why the city is so beautiful to you. I want you to make me jambalaya, and I want to dance with you while jazz music plays in the air around us. I want to be with you.” Her gaze searched his. “It’s you. Don’t you get that? For me, it’s just you.”

The loud drumming of his heartbeat filled Royal’s ears. “Did you just say that you love me?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I said. And don’t tell me it’s too soon. Don’t tell me it’s some crazy hero-worship crap. I know what I feel. I know that when I’m scared, I want you with me. I know that when I’m happy, you’re beside me. I know that when I think of the future, I think of one with you. Me. Us.” Her hand lowered from his cheek. “And I know that in that future, I see a family. Our family. Where everyone belongs. Where everyone is wanted. And loved so much.”

He had to swallow. Twice. “I didn’t use protection the other day.” In this limo. Nearly in this exact same spot.

“I didn’t want you to use protection. I happen to think a mini-Royal would be pretty wonderful.”

“A mini-Violet would be even better.”

She blinked quickly. “Royal…”

“I’m scared.” Stark. Rough.

Another blink. “Why?”

“Because I shouldn’t want you so much. Because you are too good for me, and I know it. But I don’t want to let you go. I want to put the entire world at your feet. Anything you want, you whisper it to me, and it’s yours. I would fight, lie, and kill for you in an instant.” Now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “I’m not even sure this is love. It’s darker than I thought love would be. Consuming.” On the verge of obsession. “I just know that when I think of my life, I think of you. You are life for me, Violet. I don’t want to let you go.”

Her mouth came close to his. “Then don’t. Don’t ever let go.”

His lips pressed to hers.

But…Sweetheart, there is more I have to tell you.

“Royal?”

“Trouble’s coming.” He could all but feel it. His instincts screamed at him. “And we need to be ready.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the new switchblade he’d bought for her. He tucked it into her palm.

“You always give me the best presents.”

“This is bullshit,” Micah growled. He was out of the hospital. Still freaking in pain and with stitches in his side, and he was at the police station. In an interrogation room with his stuffy lawyer sitting at his side. “I’ve told you a million times, I did not kill Simone.”

“But you were fucking her,” FBI Agent Teresa Duncan pointed out.

“Yes,” he hissed. “But fucking isn’t a crime.”

Teresa and the detective shared a long look. Then Teresa glanced back at Micah. He did not like the smirk on her face.

“We recovered a butcher knife at the scene. It was covered in Simone’s blood. Violet had mentioned her attacker had a knife, but in the struggle with him, she thought the knife fell. It wasn’t recovered inside the old gas station, but our crime techs did find the weapon about fifty yards away.”

“Okay, great. Then you can run it for prints.” He straightened. The stitches pulled. “And when you get the real killer, I expect you to apologize to me. A nice, public apology because you have trashed my reputation.” Fury boiled within him. “They canceled my show. Can you believe that? I had dancers and crew members counting on me. We’d had freaking sold out shows booked.”

“A woman died,” Detective Curran Barlow reminded him.

Micah cut a glance at his lawyer. The old guy glared at him. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m grieving for Simone,” Micah rushed to say. “But I didn’t kill her.”

“Then why were your prints on the knife?” Teresa asked in fake confusion. She blinked her beady eyes at him. “To be specific, a thumb print. Right on the inside of the handle.”

As if on cue, the door opened. A uniformed cop walked inside. He held a big, plastic bag. And inside that bag? One big-ass butcher knife.

Oh, shit.

It looked just like the knife that he had in his kitchen. In his knife block.

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