Page 49 of Never Fall for an Angel

“So, you brought me out here to some deserted island with a cottage that leaks, no supplies, and no way out?”

“Oh, there’s a way out. Just not for you.”

“Of course, there’s not. Anything else I need to be aware of? Any bodies stashed away where I might happen upon them?”

“None that have seen the light of day in the last hundred years,” I retort. “Though, you’re welcome to make friends all you want with whatever ghosts linger around here.”

She smiles sweetly, her tone dipped in venom.

“I might just do that. The company’s a little lacking.”

I let her little dig go and move on to the next order of business.

“Tomorrow, we will have visitors. Try anything, and their deaths are on you.”

“How romantic of you,” she muses, finishing her bowl and pushing it back from her. “How about we murder some puppies while we’re at it?”

“Puppies are in short supply around here unless, of course, you’ve got them stashed away in that Mary Poppins bag of yours.”

“Fresh out,” she chimes, crossing her arms over her chest. “There are plenty of pigs around, though.”

“Says the woman who just rolled around in the mud outside.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen in the mud if someone hadn’t kidnapped me and dragged me to a deserted island for their little revenge plot.”

Oh, sweetheart . . . you have no idea that things I have in store for you.

“I wouldn’t have to kidnap you if you hadn’t shot me and left me for dead on a rooftop so you could run off.”

She looks like she wants to stab me, but there are no knives on her side of the table. I can’t lie and say it’s not intentional.

“Why not just kill me and get it over with?”

“As it turns out, I have other plans for you.”

She rolls her eyes, chuckling humorlessly.

“Right, silly me . . . far be it from me to believe you actually cared.”

She can think whatever she wants. In the morning, she’ll still be waking up under my roof in my bed, whether she likes it or not.

“Good, now that that’s out of the way, who were you running from? Besides the obvious.”

“I wasn’t running fromyou,” she grits, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing herself back in the chair. I don’t miss the wince she makes. “And it’s not like it matters anymore, right? I’m on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll find out, Mila. And when I do, you better hope they’re already dead.”

She’s scowling at me, but I don’t miss how her eyes flick down to my lips quickly as if she thinks she can hide it. The way her chest heaves with each heavy breath.

The way her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip . . .

Fucking hell.

I force myself to step back and carry our dishes to the sink. I’ll wash them tomorrow. I’m tired. Mila’s tired. Fuck, how long has it been since I’ve gotten more than a couple hours of sleep in the front seat of a car?

“I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed.”

She doesn’t respond.

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