Page 5 of The Death Dealer

Trev almost smiled, but years of maintaining a poker face helped hide his amusement. “Death Dealers don’t heal strangers without consequence. Please keep this to yourself.”

Her eyes flared wider in her alarm, but she nodded her agreement.

Needing a diversion from his standard boredom, he studied her workspace. Things looked different up close. Homier instead of chaotic, as he’d first suspected. Benches and bistro tables were scattered about, tucked in alcoves thick with palms. Newly potted plants dotted a stained wooden table running the length of the greenhouse. The overall effect was rustic and charming. Sure, not his style, but nice, all the same.

“Why is a Death Dealer spying on me?” Her voice wasn’t tentative, as he might’ve suspected, but neither was it one-hundred-percent back to normal.

Trev paused in his inspection of an orchid. If he didn’t miss his guess, it was extremely rare.

“Is this a Rothschild’s Slipper Orchid?” He shouldn’t be surprised Soleil owned one, but he was. “These go for upwards of five thousand dollars on the black market.”

Her brows shot up as astonishment lit her face, and Trev noticed for the first time that her brows were almost black. Next to her soft brown eyes and milky skin, the contrast was extraordinary. Much more interesting than the orchid beside him.

“I know what it is and where they are grown, Trevor… or, er, Mr. Blane.” Her forehead crinkled delightfully in her confusion. “How do you prefer to be addressed?”

“Trevor or Blane. You can leave off the mister.”

“Hmm.”

Because her reaction was odd, he felt the need to question why. “What’s wrong with my first name?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

He cocked his head a fraction. “What’s not right with my name?”

“It’s just all the Trevors I’ve ever met are complete assholes,” she blurted, missing his shock as she warmed to the subject. “Total jocks with nothing better to do than to terrorize shy, overweight girls in the—” The instant her diatribe caught up with her brain, her hand flew to her mouth and her skin turned the scarlet shade of the Spanish Dress rose blooming on the bush beside her.

“Seems your schoolmate has given all the rest of us Trevors a bad name,” he managed with a straight face. “Should I kill him?”

Her skin turned parchment white, and she frantically shook her head.

He presented his back to hide his grin. “I don’t know. I have strong standards, and the smearing of so honored a name?—”

A clump of dirt hit him in the back of the head. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to get his attention. For the first time in his entire adult life, he was shocked speechless by a woman. He spun around and looked at her with new eyes.

Apprehension was in every line of Soleil’s round face, and her lips were compressed as if she was attempting to hold back a plea of forgiveness. But her chin, surprisingly pointy, considering, lifted in the air, and fierce determination was reflected back at him from those expressive eyes.

“What the fuck, lady?”

“I don’t want you to kill bullies named Trevor.”

He crossed to where she sat with her shoulders back and her fingers woven tightly into the sofa throw she mostly rested on. Her white knuckles gave her away.

Trev allowed a small, wicked smile. “What about bullies not named Trevor?”

It sunk in he was joking, and her relief was palpable. She closed her eyes, and he wanted to beg her to open them again. The thought shook him.

“I should go.” But strangely, he didn’t want to. This was the most interesting day he’d had in months, and he was loath to leave. Still, she was beginning to have a bizarre effect on his equilibrium, and he’d always made it a point never to interact with potential targets. Not that she was one after today. Once the all-powerful Aether had discovered Trevor’s surveillance of Soleil, the likelihood of Trev carrying through with a definitive action was nil. The man would approach the Authority directly and take matters into his own hands.

“Wait! I have a question.” She lunged forward and grabbed his arm, falling into Trevor as she tangled with the blanket. Her face impacted low on his stomach, just above the waistband of his slacks, as she fell to her knees. With a gasp and a horrified glance upward, she clung to his hips, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

His reaction was shockingly different. The sight of her—flushed cheeks, mouth parted in surprise, and wild hair tumbling down around her shoulders—turned him on like nothing had in months, perhaps even longer. Of their own accord, his fingers tangled in her riot of curls. To do what? He couldn’t exactly say, but when reason took over, he tilted her head back and away from his thickening dick. To do otherwise would embarrass them both.

“I should go,” he repeated, not recognizing the gravelly voice as his own.

Soleil grippedhis wrists on either side of her face and used the strength of his arms to propel herself upwards. She hadn’t missed the sliver of movement indicating he was going to urge her head toward his crotch before his reason returned. And she sure as hell wasn’t certain what she’d have done had he not changed his mind and shifted her head away.

Humiliation became her closest companion.

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