Page 127 of Toxic Temptation
She turns to Waylen, looking for backup. “Are you hearing this? He’s actually trying to make stalking sound reasonable.”
I expect Waylen to jump on the “Kovan is controlling” train. Instead, he starts picking up Legos even though he just told Luka he was on his own. “I mean, considering what’s at stake here, it’s not the worst idea.”
“Waylen!”
He gives her a sheepish grin. “I’ll sleep better knowing someone’s watching out for you at work. That’s all.”
Her head swivels between us. “You two are working together.”
“As if,” Waylen and I say at the same time.
“We will never work together,” Waylen clarifies. “But in this case, I agree with him. You need protection. And you need to eat.”
Vesper shakes her head in dismay. “I don’t know why I recommended you for this job.”
Luka’s face falls. “Are you really mad at Waylen?”
The guilt hits Vesper immediately. “No, honey. Not really. Now, come give me a hug and go to bed.”
He does, and I see a genuine smile cross her face when Luka buries his head against her chest. After Waylen takes the boy upstairs, though, that smile disappears.
She spears a piece of chicken and shoves it in her mouth. I watch color flood back into her cheeks almost immediately.
“Dammit,” she mutters, looking down at the plate. “It’s too good.”
“I think I figured out why you’re so cranky all the time. You’re just permanently hungry.”
“I will throw this chicken at your face.”
“Eat first, then throw. It’ll improve your aim.”
She snorts. But she eats. Devours everything on the plate like she’s been starving, which she almost certainly has been. The exhaustion is still there in her eyes, but at least she has some signs of life back.
“It was Jeremy,” she mumbles suddenly as she scrapes up the last of the carrots.
“What was Jeremy?”
“The tires. It was Jeremy. He’s trying to scare me. Send me a message.”
Jeremy crossed my mind for about five seconds before I landed on a more likely suspect. Someone who deals in intimidation and mind games as a matter of course.
But Vesper doesn’t need more reasons to be afraid.
“Whoever it was,” I reassure her, “I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
I ignore the question. “You’re exhausted. Time for bed.”
“Excuse me? I’m not an eight-year-old who—” She stops talking when I thread my fingers into her hair and start massaging her scalp. “Ugh. God, that feels good.”
She melts into me like ice cream in summer heat, her head sinking down toward my lap, her body going loose and pliant. I should stop. Should move her. Should maintain some distance.
I do none of those things, though. I just keep working my fingers through her hair, even after she falls asleep and wouldn’t notice if aliens invaded.
An hour later, Vesper is snoozing softly in my lap. I’m studying the three small birthmarks on her cheek—her Orion’s belt—when I sense someone watching.
I look up. Waylen stands in the doorway, and his expression is hard to read. Concerned, maybe. Or suspicious.
