Page 93 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
No, cowboy. I just need you.
When I sigh into his neck as I fit myself against his body, Ryan squeezes me tight.
I hope he’s strong enough to hold on for the both of us, because I think we’re in for one hell of a roller coaster ride.
Twenty-Four
Mariana
“God,” I groan. “You’re carrying me again! I’m not an invalid!”
Ryan, holding me in his arms as we descend in the elevator, kisses my temple. “I’m a man, you’re a woman,” he explains, apropos of nothing.
“I don’t understand your logic.”
“That’s ’cause your primary hormone is estrogen.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“No need for you to walk when you’ve got a man around who wants to carry you.”
The elevator doors open, and we enter the house. Ryan calls out the cue for the lights and they flicker on. Then he turns and heads toward the bedroom.
“Keep this up and my legs will atrophy,” I say. “Wait. Are you just using me as a workout for your biceps?”
He doesn’t answer, but his smile is highly suspicious.
“Fine. Moving on. Where’s the diamond?”
“You’re obsessed with that fuckin’ thing, you know that?” he grumbles, but spins around and heads back to the kitchen. In front of the refrigerator, he sets me on my feet.
He takes out a carton of milk and puts it on the table, then gives me a meaningful look.
“Do you think I’m deficient in calcium?”
His eye roll is extravagant. He picks up the carton and shakes it back and forth.
When it rattles, I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “No! You didn’t! In there?”
“Why not? It’s not gonna spoil. And who’s gonna think to look in the fridge for a big ol’ blue diamond? Anybody tries to hit this place—they’d totally fail, by the way, not even a spider’s gettin’ in here—they’d be lookin’ for a safe. Which I do have, but I only keep crypto phones in it. You wanna see it?”
He rattles the carton again. Speechless, I nod.
He turns to the cabinet, retrieves a drinking glass, and sets it on the table, then pours milk into the glass until a big chunk of something falls out with a plop, spraying milk on the tabletop.
He fishes the diamond from the glass with his fingers and holds it up. Even dripping milk, it burns with an eerie gray-blue brilliance.
He offers it to me. I take it without a word and simply stare at it glittering in the palm of my hand. I think of an heiress who died broke and a king who lost his head, and am filled with trepidation.
After a moment, I find my voice. “Do you also have the crown jewels in the vegetable drawer?”
“Freezer,” he answers without hesitation. “Wrapped up in white butcher’s paper marked pork roast.”
It’s disturbing that I actually believe him.
He holds out his hand. I give him the diamond back, watching in silence as he casually drops it back into the milk carton, then pours the glass of milk in over it. He folds the top of the carton closed, sticks it back into the fridge, rinses his hands and the glass in the sink, then turns around and looks at me.
“What?” he asks when he sees my face.
