Page 98 of Luck of the Draw

“For what?”

“I used you.”

He drew back his chin just a hair. “How do you mean?”

“I needed a place to stay. I saw you in the bar and guessed you were the kind of man who would take a woman home with him. I was right. I used you.”

He furrowed his brow and squinted.

Was that the big ugly secret?

He nearly laughed. The only reason he didn’t was because she was clearly distressed by it.

“Sweetheart…” A lock of her thick, fiery red hair was practically screaming for him to tuck it behind her ear. “I sort of figured that out already.”

She looked at him through a veil of subtle hope. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Of course not.” He shrugged. “Isn’t a one-night stand basically just two people using each other anyway? Right? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. The only thing that bothers me is that you didn’t have a place to stay. But at the same time, I’m really glad that you picked me to use for that.”

“You are?”

His palms were nearly on fire at the urge to just touch her. “Yes. Because I can keep you safe a hell of a lot better than any other man in this entire city. I can help you fix whatever’s wrong better than anyone else. I can save you if you’ll just let me.”

Skye drifted her gaze from his eyes to his mouth but remained silent.

He tilted his head down, attempting to meet her eyes. “Is that what you’ve been so worried about me knowing?”

She lifted her chin again in a way that brought their mouths to the perfect angle for him to claim her lips in a deep, delicious kiss. But he’d given her his word. If she wanted that, she was going to have to make the first move.

She inclined her face slightly forward, and he could taste her breath. “I really want to kiss you.”

He swallowed. “The only person stopping you is you.”

Skye was still staring at his mouth. “This is a really bad idea.”

A smirk pulled at one corner of his lips. “I think it’s a reallygreatidea.”

She cut her gaze up to meet his eyes. “That’s because you still don’t—”

An explosion of glass shattering crashed in the front living room.

Brennan was off like a shot. He perceived Skye following him, whipped around, and held up his hand. “Stay back!”

She didn’t listen and limped after him as he darted into the front room.

The culprit lay in the center of a glittering scatter of glass pieces. A small wooden box with a single brass latch.

“What the hell is that?” Skye mumbled from just behind him.

“I said stay back,” he clipped, throwing his hand back again to stop her. “There’s glass everywhere. You’ll cut your feet.”

She did as he said, and he gingerly stepped across the glass to pick up the box. The hinges groaned a small creak as he opened it. He took one small peek inside, and his stomach dropped like a stone.

Human teeth. Rotted and decayed and roots attached. Caked with dried blood. Putrid and acrid.

If Vito Moreci had a calling card, it was this.

He snapped the lid shut.

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