Page 173 of Toxic Temptation
Last night, when he held me while I cried, when he promised to stay as long as I needed him, he was being kind. A friend helping another friend through a crisis. He didn’t mean any of it.
How could he? Our entire arrangement has an expiration date.
But this feels cruel and unusual. I know why we’re doing it, I know we have to, I know the motive is pure—but does it have to hurt so bad while it’s happening?
“Hey,” I mumble, “I need to talk to you about something.”
Luka has moved to the swings, and Kovan and I have taken shelter under a massive oak tree. The moment I turn to face him, he grabs my waist and pulls me flush against his body. The solid wall of muscle beneath my palms makes my brain short-circuit.
“What is it?” he rumbles. I feel his voice more than I hear it, and my whole body vibrates along with his.
“Could you—” I squirm in his arms. “Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“So talk.”
I glare up at him. “You’re too close.”
“Since when is that a problem?”
Damn him and those hypnotic green eyes. How is anyone supposed to think straight under these circumstances? “Since right now. Can we talk with a reasonable amount of personal space between us?”
He smirks, brushing his knuckles across my cheek. “We’re still being watched. We need to look like the perfect couple.”
Swallowing my frustrated sigh, I slide my hands up his arms. For the performance, of course. Definitely not for my own personal satisfaction. Definitely not because his biceps are lean and gleaming beneath the cuffs of his clean white t-shirt.
“Fine. Jeremy texted me this morning. The pediatric ward is getting three new incubators and two radiant warmers.”
“Good.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s it? ‘Good’? That’s your entire response?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“This is because of you, isn’t it?” My hands tighten around the back of his neck. “You went to see Jeremy. That’s why you were at the hospital when the shooting happened.”
He shrugs, which I can already tell is the only confirmation I’m going to get. “You needed new equipment and you needed that piece of shit to lay off your case. I accomplished both.”
“What did you say to him?”
“The short version? If he messes with you, he messes with me.”
It’s difficult to hide my surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d respond well to threats.”
Kovan laughs, the sound rich and warm and utterly out of place, given the subject we’re discussing. “Jeremy Fleming is a bully. And like all bullies, he is a coward wearing a tough-guy mask. I could destroy him with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back.”
“Thank you,” I breathe in shaky gratitude. “This will make a real difference for my patients.”
“I’m only doing what we agreed on.”
My hands drop from him. “Right. Of course. But still… thank you.”
He hooks a finger under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “For the record, though, even if we hadn’t agreed on anything, I would have done it anyway.”
My heart stops. Starts. Stops again. “Why?”
He looks genuinely taken aback by the question, as if it simply does not compute. “Because you needed those machines, and I want to give you whatever you need.”
He says it as if it’s all so easy. And when he does, when he says things like that and touches me like this and looks at me in his way, nothing else seems to matter.
