Page 121 of Dark Love

Vex chuffs but doesn’t turn away from the pan as he pours oil onto the hot metal. “I’ll let you know when I’m bored.”

“Just wait. You’ll see. I’m a homebody.”

“A sexy homebody.”

Rather than think about that response, I take some of the berries he bought and wash them. They’ll make an amazing compote on the ice cream… unless he got a weird flavor. “What kind of ice cream did you get?”

“Chocolate custard.”

“Perfect.” I head to the pantry to get a few extra ingredients. “Do you need anything from the pantry while I’m there?”

“Is it as empty as your fridge?”

Hardly. “A well-stocked pantry is the sign of a good homemaker.” Did I just quote my mother to Vex? I duck into the pantry without waiting for a response.

Why would I even say that? Do I want Vex to think of me as a good homemaker? I’m about the farthest thing you can get from being a homemaker of any kind. That infers I want a family…

A family…

My chest gets tight.

What are we even doing?

I’m playing house with a murderer. I’m obsessed with a man that I can’t ever have a future with.

Is that why I finally allowed myself to feel something? Because I know there will never be anything more than a few fleeting moments with the sexiest man I’ve ever met?

It might not even get that far. Vex wants to get to know me. He’s going to find out just how boring I am. There’s got to be something I can do to make myself a little less boring.

Spicier.

In books, spice means… If I did that, I’d become the person they all called me…

My body starts to tremble as their vile words echo through my head along with the pictures they put up everywhere…

The Inner Sanctum

Vex

After one last toss, I scoop the meat out of the frying pan and place it in a bowl next to the stove. A wok would have given the chicken a nicer sear, but it looks good.

There’s an odd thunk in the pantry.

Dahlia!

My first impulse is to run in, with gun drawn—I don’t even have one on me. It’s locked in the car—but there isn’t a window or door into the pantry. She probably dropped something. “Dahl, you need any help in there?”

“No. I’m fine.” Her voice is a little strained.

She’s far from fine. What changed in the last couple of minutes?

Dahlia walks out with her arms full of all sorts of sweet things. “I hope you like hot fudge.”

Even the idea of homemade hot fudge doesn’t distract me from her ashen face. What do I do? There needs to be a manual or class on how to respond when a woman smiles at you one minute and looks like she’s ready to pass out the next. If I called Payne, he’d just laugh at me. If I call Barb, she’ll quotesome complex medical terminology or hang up. Barb doesn’t do human interaction well.

She should have been a surgeon or a researcher, so that she could stay hidden in her lab all day.

Neither of them can help me now.

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