Page 110 of Pretty Little Threats

There’s plenty of time left in the day.

I move a lock of hair that’s covering her face and tuck it behind her ear, a strange sensation pressing on my chest when she sighs and smiles in her sleep. The two of us have come so far since that day at Frank’s Bakery. She was the enemy, but somehow, this woman has found a home in my heart, and I’ll hurt anyone who tries to take her away from me.

Her dad might be the only person who could, and that’s another layer of complication I don’t want to dwell on. Not today.

Today, I just want it to be about us.

Rose snuggles against her pillow, and I consider pulling her on top of me instead, but even I recognize that hating a pillow for giving her comfort is a little extreme. I study her again, memorizing this moment, and quietly slip out of the bedroom.

After placing an order for food, I wander out to the patio and down the stairs that lead to the beach, mug of coffee in hand. I breathe in the fresh and salty air as the humidity coils around me, dampening my skin after a few minutes in the sun. Clouds linger on the horizon. We’ve been lucky without rain so far, and while I’d be more than happy to keep Rose locked up for the duration of our stay, she wants to get in the water.

Movement to my left catches my gaze. I turn and sip on my coffee, eyeing the couple coming around the bend, holding hands and smiling like they have some big secret. I blink, squint, then huff in annoyance when I recognize the man.

Great. It’s Crue. Never should’ve told the asshole about this island.

“No fucking way. Is that Darian Richardson?” he shouts, obnoxious as always.

I cross my arms and shake my head as he releases his companion’s hand and jogs over. My attention strays to the woman, who looks far too interested in me as she approaches.

“Who’s that?” I say, voice low.

Crue’s eyes widen when he realizes there will be introductions. “Lottie? Lauren? Shit, I forgot.”

“Of course, you did,” I mutter to him right before Lottie-Lauren hooks her arm through his like a vulture staking its claim.

“Crue, baby.” Her whiney voice scratches down my back, nails on a chalkboard. “You left me.”

“Don’t call me baby,” Crue tells her, wearing a smile to soften the blow.

Grimacing, I look away from the train wreck that is Crue’s love life, if you could even call it that. Crue’s attention span is notoriously short. I’ve lost count of how many Lottie-Laurens there’ve been.

“What do you want me to call you?” Lottie-Lauren asks, aiming for a seductive voice that edges a little too hard toward toddler.

“How long are you on the island?” Crue asks me.

“Three more days. You?”

“Depends on the weather,” Crue says with a shrug. Meaning, as soon as Lottie-Lauren gets on his nerves, he’ll leave. Fucker will probably send her home on her own.

“Dare?”

That silky smooth voice I’ve come to know so well strokes down my spine. Crue’s eyes spark with interest as they land on my wife. Growling, I give Crue a warning glare before turning to watch Rose make her way across the sand. The little pink bikini I packed hardly covers her. All her curves are on display. Her soft stomach, full hips, thick thighs that jiggle with each step. And those tits.

Fuck me.

“Well, fuck me,” Crue echoes my thoughts. “Who’s this pretty angel?”

Lottie-Lauren squeaks in protest.

I glance back at Crue, noting that his eyes are all over Rose. Would it be wrong to gouge them out? “Don’t even think about it.”

Lottie-Lauren is pouting her lip and scowling at Rose like she’s the enemy.

Shaking my head, I leave the unhappy couple and meet Rose, pulling her into my arms and kissing her until she giggles and shoves at my chest. Her cheeks are bright pink, and she glances around me, taking in our audience.

“Are you going to introduce me?”

I pinch my eyebrows together. “Do I have to?”

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