Page 103 of Reckless Hearts

“Voilà ma chérie!”

I grin wider. “Salut, Maman.” My brow furrows as her green eyes meet mine. “Are you okay?”

She sighs, waving her hand nonchalantly. “Ahh, it was nothing,” she shrugs. “Just some assholes trying to take what wasn’t theirs.”

She doesn’t mention the bit about the silencers. I’m guessing she doesn’t know Adrian told me that part.

“Mom,” I murmur quietly. “No sugar-coating.”

She grins. “You’re getting too damn smart.”

“Well?”

“Ce n’est pas un problème, Dahlia!” she says with another casual wave of her hand.

It’s not a problem.

“I’m just here with Celeste and Adrian so they’ll stop fretting about me.”

Gee, I wonder where my habit of burying my problems under so many layers comes from.

She peers at the screen, frowning. “Where are you?”

“Oh, just at a friend’s. I’m doing some studying.”

The door to the guest room opens without a knock, which isn’t exactly unusual. Deimos has made it abundantly clear that me having my own room is only about us not sleeping the entire night together, not anything to do with my privacy.

But this time, when the door swings open, my pulse spikes as a gasp chokes off my breath.

Holy fuck.

Deimos casually leans against the doorframe, rolling the sleeves of his white dress-shirt up to the elbows, the collar already open.

…Andskull paintcovering his face.

Fear and excitement explode through my system when I see the white makeup with heavy black circles and slashes where his eyes, lips, and cheekbones are—somewhere between a skeleton’s face and Brandon Lee inThe Crow.

It’s terrifying, feeling his lethal gaze land on me when he’s looking like that.

…It’s also making me very, very wet.

The main loft area behind him is already blackened. The way his forearms ripple under the rolled-up sleeves is intoxicating.

So is the huge bulge in his dress pants.

“Dahlia?”

I blink, dragging my gaze back to the screen. “Um, yeah, sorry.”

Mom smiles. “You’re okay?”

I glance back up at Deimos, then to my mom again.

“I’m safe,Maman.”

She peers at me inquisitively. “That’s not what I was—”

“I know,” I say quietly, smiling. “But I am.”

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