Page 18 of Sire
But it’s the soft, intentional way she pauses, gazing down at my wound for her; it does something to my heart.
It flips.
I didn’t know it could fucking do that. I didn’t know I could feel every right and wrong thing for a person so goddamn fast—forget my world—it’s making my soul spin.
Before she takes a sip, she offers, “I think you’ll love the taste of my recipes.”
Mind: don’t even.
I glance down at the grocery list. Apparently, I’m opening a restaurant. “Who taught you how to cook?”
Slowly, I’ll gather the intel on her and where she came from, so she can go right back, before I do something I’ll always and never regret.
“YouTube, necessity, and Nannie.”
“You said you don’t have grandparents.”
After a tentative sip, she shares, “I don’t. I was raised in foster care. I’ve been placed in over eleven homes, and my last one was with Nannie. I was seventeen and she was going to adopt me. But then…”
Her voice trails.
“Then what? She changed her mind?”
“She died.”
The soul-lifting smile Wren’s worn since she exploded into my life tonight falls with her gaze to the floor.
Arousal abandoned me the moment she saidfoster care, and now all that remains thundering through my veins is compassion for her.
This is where it comes from. Her wisdom. Her strength. Her sadness. Her habit of smiling through the pain.
The Iron Angel.
“I’m so sorry, Wren.”
She grins, swiping a tear away. “Nannie wouldn’t want me wallowing.”
“But you’re allowed to grieve her.”
“I did. That was two years ago, and I celebrate her by cooking her recipes.”
But I’m doing the math, and it’s heartbreaking. “How long were you in foster care?”
She steps away, shaking her head. “You can’t send me back into the system. I aged out. I’m on my own now. No one can make me?—”
“Wren, I’m not…”Fuck this.I set my mug down and surrender my hands. “I won’t send you back to wherever. I promise. You can stay here, and I’ll protect you, but from who? I need to know. How did you end up withthatman inthatauction? He sells to the most powerful men in the world. Politicians. Royalty. CEOs. You’re lucky I was there.”
I stare at the bottom of her white mug while she stares at me, draining her cup.Fuck, she’s doing it again.She’s seeing way too much about me with those stunning eyes.
Lowering her mug, she licks her lips. “You killed him, didn’t you?”
I cross one ankle over the other—that’s my answer.
“I hope you killed him,” she adds. “I hope you killed all of those men.”
“You hope you’re living with a killer?”
“A killer who kills men like that? This is my cup of care.” She flips her mug over. “Oh, look. It’s empty.”
