Page 135 of Tide of Treason
“This can’t be the part where you play bashful, baby. You like me. Say it.”
The dashboard suddenly deserved a Pulitzer for Most Interesting Object, but he cupped my jaw in two rough palms, running his thumb along the shape of my mouth. His eyes were a study in blue. The sun hung around them in a hazy halo, a burnished gold crown for his head.
“I like you,” I offered softly.
“You love me. Say that.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I’d like to blame hormones and post-adrenaline, but the truth was, I was a grown-ass woman who’d gambled on a younger man, and I’d have to live with the consequences. My treacherous heart spoke first.
“I love you.”
Relief exhaled from him. Lucius dropped his forehead to mine. “I know. I’ve got enough of your love to go full Catholic on it—burn it, beat it, and beg it for mercy. We deserve more than this,principessa. Something permanent.”
The dash was too bright. My heart was too loud, a clumsy percussion thrashing around the cage of my ribs. My eyes flicked to his lips, then the wheel. The edge of the ravine was closer than it had been five seconds ago. Tires whisperedagainst damp earth. A subtle slide.
The man wasn’t braking.
He had a hundred tells when he was bluffing, and this wasn’t one of them.
My pulse slipped out of rhythm. “Lucius. Brake.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
“Say yes first.”
“You’re using gravity to emotionally manipulate me.”
A small grin. “I’m using physics to clarify your priorities.”
Another inch.
“You think this is how you ask a woman to marry you?” I snapped. “By dangling her off a cliff and threatening emotional intimacy?”
His voice was all low fire and unrepentant devotion. “You’re not dangling. I’m here.”
A sharp groan of earth pulled the car half a foot forward. My nails dug into the leather seat. The ravine below glittered like a black mouth—open, waiting, hungry. God, what a fucked-up proposal.
“Yes,” I hissed, gripping the dash. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Now brake—”
The engine roared. He pressed the pedal hard, and centrifugal force slammed me into the seat. I swore in five languages, three of which were dead, and still none of them came close to articulating the feeling clawing up my throat as we finally—finally—came to a halt, parked crookedly on a bedof pine needles and hubris.
“You’re out of your mind,” I breathed, glaring.
He smiled to himself. “Out of my mind about something.”
39 | Kayla
30 years old
Present day
“Well,” Papà drawled,eyes sliding over my face. “Look who crawled home.”
I pulled off my gloves. Leather kissed skin, slow and spiteful. “I drove.”
Technically, it was Lucius, but I didn’t want to give him any more cannon fodder than necessary, which was considerable, considering my current condition.
